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lilyharvord · 4 years ago

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The Chain (Part 9)

Thank you to everyone for being so patient with my update for this fic. I’m officially done with my first semester of graduate school and since I’m on break, I want to try and post as many chapters as possible to get as close to finishing this as possible. We’re time jumping after this by the way everyone. It’s about time we kicked it up a few notches and got to the meat and bones of this fic.

Tag list: @delilahlbard, @king-maven-calore, @thatoddgirl777, @elliekratzzz, @evangelineartemiasamos, @evangeline-of-montfort, @scxrletguardsdawn, @freaky-freiday, @petergrantkavinsky, @kuwei, @whatsup-gorls, @katiemoore, @redqueenetwork, @tranquil-dusk (I’m trying to add you but for some reason it wont @... the same problem happens with @thatoddgirl777 and I have no idea how to fix it)

Find the rest of the fic here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8

Enjoy everyone (:

(/Mare/)

When I run from my lesson with Julian, it feels fake and I wonder if he even buys into it. I have far too much control over my ability now, and it is hard to fake going out of control. Still, the rain feels good on my face when I finally find a balcony. I couldn’t care less about the paint that is most likely being washed away. I tilt my head back and inhale, letting the rain drench my hair. Today is just a bad day, and it is only set to get worse.

The rain is warm as if washes over my face. I wish it were cold. I’ve felt too much lately. I want to be numb for a few minutes.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. A moment later, the air changes as another bolt of lightning prepares to races across the sky. The storm is right overhead. I miss the electricons more than anything as the pressure escalates around me.

We’d go storm chasing on a day like today to hunt down the elusive bolts of lightning so that we could harness them ourselves. Harnessing natural storms is like wrestling with my brothers when I was little. It’s pulling against an impossible force, but the power that roars through my veins when I manage to get what I want out of it is exhilarating.

Gripping the banister, I inhale the smell of ozone and open my eyes to watch the flash of white as it shoots across the sky. Change, lightning is change. Storms come and wash away the old to bring new, brighter things behind it. Tyton had taught me that. Ella taught me it could be elegant. Rafe taught me it was beauty. I taught them it could bend but never break.

A hand closes around my arm and I almost yelp at the freezing touch. Two Sentinels stand over me. They must have followed me out here and given me a careful berth until they were certain I wouldn’t electrocute them.

“My lady,” One of them growls, his grey eyes like dirty snow. Probably a Gillican judging by his touch. He’s twice my size, but nowhere near as powerful. I still hate the sight of them.

“Let go.” I insist as I tug my arm. But he grips me tighter and steel panic laces through my bones. They had found me before, but who knows why they have come looking for me now. Has Elara decided to make a move? Has she found something out?

Tugging against him, I bring my other hand up to grab his wrist and shock him into letting me go. I never get the chance though.

“You heard my bride.” Maven. My blood runs cold as he steps onto the balcony, looking over the two guards like they are common dirt. “Let her go.”

The relief I should feel is replaced by cold fear. I’ll take the Sentinels over him any day. I’m not in the mood to play games with him.

“Apologies your Highness, but we must keep Lady Titanos to her schedule.” The one holding me speaks in a baritone that makes Maven’s lips pull down in a frown. His grip is already loosening though. I can’t believe I never realized how in pocket Maven and Elara had the Sentinels. These soldiers stopped serving the king a long time ago. “It’s orders, sir.”

“Then you have new orders,” Maven’s voice is colder than ice. It reminds me of the freezing nights in Paradise Valley when the wolves would howl at the moon and the wind would answer back. “I will accompany Mareena back to her lessons.”

I’d sooner let him walk me off a cliff. But the Sentinels drop my arm none the less and leave us on the balcony. The buffer they put between me and Maven leaves with them, and then I am alone with the man who destroyed me.

“We have working showers inside, you know.”

I push my wet hair out of my face before turning away from him. Jokes aside, I don’t want to see him. My nightmares have returned in all their supernatural fury. Every night I dream of chasing him down a hallway, the burn of the knife as it cuts my side, and feeling of dying in a Silent Stone room. I wake gasping and on the verge of screaming, but no sound comes out. I’m grateful for that at least. Still, I miss Cal’s warmth, and being able to curl against him to tether myself to reality when the dreams refuse to leave.

“I want to be alone.” I murmur, setting my head in my hand. My patience is holding, but not for long.

“I understand that.”

Oh, I know you do. I keep my lips from curling into a sneer by sheer will alone. Lightning flares across the sky again. The storm is creeping beyond us, but I could still pull a bolt down and hit him if I wanted. My aim is perfect. I could cook him to a crisp like I did Elara.

I grip the banister again to settle my thoughts. I can almost feel the char of her hair between my fingers and the weight of her head if I close my eyes. I can hear the hum of the cameras as I hold up the head of a she-wolf and promise to come for the pup.

“I understand how difficult it is.” He continues as he steps up next to me, bolder than he ever was. My eyes snap to him, but I’m more curious now than wary. What has made him so certain? Before, he had still been wary around me. It wasn’t until we joined the Guard together that he truly pretended to open up to me.

His eyes are cold as he stares out over the palace grounds. “These people. They make it impossible. I can’t say what I want, do what I want—with my mother around I can barely even think what I want. And my brother—!”

“What about him?” My blood runs cold. What has Cal done now? He promised he would stop prying—

The words stick in his mouth, and he pales with a blush. He’s not the perfect statesman that locked me in a cage yet. He’s not the boy listening to a ghost in his head yet. There is still a part of him that is Maven, and not the thing his mother created. “He’s strong, he’s talented, he’s powerful—and I’m his shadow. The shadow of the flame.”

The part of me that always understood that part of him, and even loved it quakes. I step out of Gisa’s shadow because of him, but he never does leave Cal’s. He never gives himself the chance. He keeps chasing the edge of Cal’s shadow like there is one. Maven casts his own shadows though. They haunts me and they haunts Cal in the future. If only he knew that.

When the words come to me, they are true and that is what makes me feel sick. “Then maybe you should try to be more than that.”

His eyes widen at my words, and I find myself unable to stop. “You could be more. I think you could. Stop chasing the edges of shadows, you’ll never find them. Find a way to be alone with your own heart, and be happy with it.”

His entire face folds in on itself, pinching in places I never saw before. I’ve never seen this emotion from him, and I have no idea what to call it. For a moment I wonder if I’ve said the wrong things, and done exactly what I told Cal not to do. But a part of me still wants to save the boy that I thought was trying to save me. Even if its hopeless, and he is too far gone to save. Monsters aren’t born, they’re made. Julian told me that once. Well if monsters can be made, they can be unmade too.

“That’s something you should know about us Silvers. We’re always alone. In here, and here.” He gives me a tired smile as he touches his head and then his heart. The line sends a shiver down my spine though. He’d said the same thing last time too. It only reminds me that perhaps we’re on a track, and there is no getting off. There are no other exits, only the ones that I know are coming.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You better learn to hide that heart of yours, Lady Titanos. It won’t lead you anywhere you want to go.”

My heart aches more than he could ever know. This is the boy, this is the truth. There is nothing to save. I am trying to fix a shattered mirror and cutting my hands on the pieces to spill my blood for nothing. I turn my eyes back to the sky, closing them as lightning strikes again, and thunder roars above us. Battle lines were drawn before; I have to redraw them now.

“I think I can help with your problem.”

I turn my eyes back down to him, and instantly he is the Maven I dreamed about. The mask is so perfect. I forget there are cracks that the darkness slips through.

“What problem?”

“You’re homesick.” Holding out his hand to me, he nods down to it when I don’t take it. His skin is like ice when I slide my palm into his. I thought I remember him being warm by this point. Instead, he’s a corpse before I make him one. “I can fix that.” (/////)

The wind cuts through my hair, ripping it from its braid as Cal and I race toward the Stilts. I’ve ridden a cycle with him numerous times since this night. Nothing takes away the rush or competes with the feeling of flying that this generates though. Usually we tear down mountains roads and I close my eyes, trusting him to keep me safe as he cuts around turns. He’s taken Gisa once too. I had to peel her off of him when they returned because she was gripping his body so tightly.

Right now, his body is warm in my arms, warm and real. It reminds me that I’m safe with him. Even if I’m terrified of the situation we’re in.

When we finally reach the branch in the road that will bring us into the Stilts he brings the cycle to a stop, and cuts the engine. I’m the first off, and I peel away from him like a second skin. He pushes it into the trees, his eyes dancing to me every so often as he does so. I know that look he is throwing over his shoulder. I’ve seen the worry that creases his brows and the concern that flares like a light show in his eyes many times when he’s uncertain what’s going through my mind.

“Do you want to talk?” He eventually asks after throwing a few leafy branches over the cycle to hide it. I tuck my hands into the pocket of my coat to hide the shake in them.

“There really was nothing to save.” It’s a thought that’s been going through my mind since Maven confronted me on the balcony.

His expression melts into true concern faster than I can swallow my words. But he swaps that for a different mask of emotion. There’s no jealousy in his eyes, but I can see the beginning flares of his panic. His one true fear before we started this was that I would choose Maven this time around; that maybe he really was the consolation prize all along and I only chose to try again because I lost my chance to be with Maven.

“He’s still a ghost.” I whisper to him before reaching out for his hand. He lets my fingers interlace with his. I squeeze them tightly, trying to get him to understand. “That doesn’t mean I won’t mourn a chance lost.”

He nods tightly, his jaw squeezing until a muscle in it feathers. I cup the spot with my other hand, caressing it to soothe him. “I love you, you know that. Even if you drive me up a wall sometimes.”

With a light laugh, his worry melts away, and I’m glad for it. We can’t be questioning each other right now. There’s too much at stake. There can be no edges. We filed them down after the war so we could fit together after all. That is where the real truth lies though.

Maven carved himself to fit with me. But Cal and I smoothed down together, cutting off the edges that mattered so we could fit. I didn’t need to change for Maven because he melted what he needed to make the perfect mask. It had been a lie from the beginning. A beautiful, wonderful lie. Cal had been real though, had never bothered to hide what he was, even when those parts hurt. He made me better, and I made him better. Nothing about Maven had made me better. He made me strong sure, but a brittle kind of strong that hurt anyone that got too close.

Reaching out, he pushes my hair away from my face, his smile falling fast. “I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”

He could be talking about anything. Shade. Maven. All the New Bloods. Losing myself. Losing people I love. Even losing him for a bit.

“I don’t.” I insist, even though the words cut up my insides like glass as I speak them. The truth cuts sometimes. I’m used to the sting. (////////)

The meeting with my family still stabs like a knife. Kilorn’s rage burns like a brand. Gisa’s wish rings in my ears. I feel like I’m drowning, being swallowed up by the old emotions. It’s like reading a book where I know the ending and hesitate to turn every page. I hate every second. Even as I make my way straight of Will’s wagon.

Cal trails me, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows so Kilorn doesn’t see him, and so Will’s spies don’t notice him ether. Kilorn knows who Cal is, I know he does. He had known from the moment he first saw him. I couldn’t be more grateful for my friend keeping his fat mouth shut around my family though. I think my dad would have found a way to stand and kill Cal where he stood if he knew he was the Crown Prince.

I hold my hand out, telling him to stay back silently, while I take the final ten meters to the wagon on my own. He melts into the shadows, playing the part of a shadow so expertly I have to do a double take. But even his eyes are gone. Maybe he turned and went back to the cycle. I hope he did. When I step into the wagon, it’s to see Will smiling, already waiting for what I have to say. I tell him everything. And just like he did last time, he admits to knowing everything.

Tristan waits behind the curtain, ready to pounce. I can see the toes of his boots before he announces his presence. He’s more arrogant than I remember. I still see the pole Ptolemus shoots through him though, and the mental image makes me shudder.

“The royal monkeys have chosen a queen this past week.” Tristan’s smile is cold as he looks me over. “You’ve been all over the screens Lady Titanos.”

I hate that name, and all the implications of it. “They aren’t all monkeys.” I insist, and the fire that lights in his eyes makes me wish I hadn’t said anything.

“Are you talking about the prince you’re engaged to or the one waiting outside in the shadows?” Will asks as he leans back and rests his hands on his stomach.

My heart does a jump and a skip, and I’m sure all the blood drains from my face. I thought we’d been careful and I had been incredibly impressed with how Cal disappeared. Still, I should have known, Will is a spy in the Guard for a reason.

Tristan erupts though, and takes two quick steps for the door, his hand flying to his pistol. I leap and grab his wrist though, twisting it expertly and spinning to put myself between him and the door. And ultimately between him and Cal.

“You brought a Silver here?” he hisses down at me, even though my hands are already lighting with sparks. “The Crown Prince? Do you know what we could do if we took him in? What we could bargain for?”

Relax, I want sneer, you get him eventually. And he will do far more this time than he did last time. My words when I do speak are low, like thunder in the distance as I glare him down. “You leave him alone.”

Tristan’s lip curls in disgust. “A few weeks in the lap of luxury and your blood is as silver as theirs,” he spits, looking like he wants to curl his fingers around my throat and throttle me. “Do they take turns?”

“What?” I gasp in surprise. That’s not in the script.

“Do they take turns rolling in the sheets with you?” His lips curl at the surprise on my face. “Or do you pick one over the other? I’m going to guess the one hiding out there gets the most time.”

Fury like nothing before sears through me. I bring a hand up that sparks as I sneer. “You idiot. I’m protecting you from him. He’s a trained soldier that would turn you inside out like a shirt if he wanted. And he’d burn this place down if you so much as tried to go after him.”

You’re only alive because I haven’t burned the oxygen from this room. A real threat, one I believed when Cal said it the first time, and one I believe now. I have to keep Tristan away from Cal. I can’t have a stray bullet finding its way into his chest or his head.

Tristan deflates, his anger melting away as I slowly lower my hand and disburse the sparks. Will lays a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, calming him further. “That’s enough,” he whispers. “What did you come here for, Mare? Kilron is safe and so are you siblings.”

This is what I came here for. To put the pieces in motion finally. To start the game for my side. “Shade was a member of the Guard, and they killed him for it.” The only fact I can trace. “I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re dead if you don’t.” Will reasons.

“I know. I’ll say what they want. But I’m in the palace, the center of the royal family. I’m quick, and quiet. And I will help the cause.”

Tristan sucks in a ragged breath. His eyes light with a new fire, this one vastly different from his anger. He rises to his full height, beaming at my words. “You want to join up.”

“I do.” My words are final, and I don’t bother to look at Will, only Tristan.

“I hope you know what you’re committing to. This isn’t just my war, or Farley’s or the Scarlet Guards—it’s yours. Until the very end. And not to avenge your brother but to avenge us all. To fight for the ones before and the ones to come.”

The ones to come. My chest squeezes as I picture Clare’s toothless grin at the same time that her laugh rings through my ears. My own hand curls into a fist on my stomach. There are plenty to come. I swore myself to the Guard to protect them before I even knew about them, and now more than ever my heart pounds for that future. I will fight tooth and nail for it. I will spill my blood and others so that someday, someday I can sit on my porch and watch a little dark haired boy run rampant in the backyard. So my brother’s name can live on in his daughter. So that someday my family never has to be hungry. So that someday, I never have to be afraid.

I slip my hand into Will’s gnarled one. Cal warned me of war once, of what it brings. We both know the cost now, but I know what waits for us on the other side. There is a light, there is hope, there is good. I will do whatever it takes to get back there. Even if it means mucking my way through blood and mud once again.

“I am with you.”

“We will rise,” Will breathes in unison with Tristan. The words are like hope burning in my chest, lighting up the room around us as I speak them too. “Red as the dawn.”

(////////)

Cal is quiet as we walk through the halls of the palace. And I am too. My silence is contemplative though, his is patient while he waits for what I have to say. He’s always waiting, waiting for me to cross the bridge. He waited for me to say yes too. He asked seven times before I said yes to him in the dead of night wrapped up in cool sheets and half delirious with sleep. I’d pressed a kiss to the space between his brows and said yes without him asking. He waited almost two years for me to say that word after he asked the first time. Now he waits without asking. He knows I will talk eventually.

“I have to tell you something.” I eventually whisper, and grab his wrist. The cameras whisper around us, and I turn my eyes in their direction before saying, “Your rooms are safe.”

When Maven brought me there, I made sure to do a sweep. There are no cameras in Cal’s room. I wonder why, but I don’t bother to question it too much. It’s a silent blessing, the perfect meeting place. I don’t have to wait until the guards change to speak with him.

He nods and takes me a back way. For a moment, I fear we’re lost, until we turn a corner and he brings us to his door. He glances over his shoulder at the same time that I swipe my hand to surge electricity through the camera’s wires, shorting it long enough for me to slide in the room and him to follow me without us being seen.

In the dark of his rooms, I feel like a ghost. He goes to turn the lights on but I catch his hand. And for the first time in a long time, almost shock him. The hairs on his arms rise as my sparks threaten to explode out from under my skin. I haven’t been this nervous in so long. It makes him jumpy.

“What happened?” He asks quickly, spinning to face me and grabbing my shoulders. His shadow looks different in the dark, smaller and less imposing. Strange how that is what made him most human to me the first time as well.

I slip out of his grip only to dive into his chest, wrapping my arms around his middle and burying my nose in his shirt. He smells just a hint like the river as spending a couple of hours in the Stilts, but underneath it, that scent of burning wood clings to him. It relaxes every muscle in my body as I inhale.

He wraps is arms around my shoulders in response. For a moment, I think he’ll repeat his question. Instead he just reaches up to threads his fingers through my hair that I pulled out of the braid long ago, tangling them in the slightly wavy locks. I can’t hold the secret in any longer, not now that I’ve signed up for this, and he will someday too. I should have told him the moment I found out, but I wanted it be a surprise, a little secret that I could tell him with a laugh. Instead, I feel like I’m telling him before we walk to the gallows. It taints the joy, the happiness of what is to come.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you before all this.”

His shoulders stiffen as I bring my hands up to close them in fists on his back. I’m never good at starting conversations like this and I immediately regret the words I spoke. He’s already on edge, and I made I worse. Squeezing the fabric of his shirt softly, I murmur, “before we got here.”

He relaxes again, and disengages from our embrace to lift my chin. He needs to know, deserves to know.

“I didn’t want to go after Giselle that night. I told you I was tired, but there was another reason.” It has never been so hard to put something into words. I wish I had just told him in the first place, maybe this whole mess could have been avoided if I had.

His brows furrow and his face twists as he tries to think back to that strange night and morning. I grab his hands and squeeze tight, willing him to pay attention to my words, more than the memory of what I said.

“I was going to tell you we had to call off the wedding—”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he opens his mouth to speak. I press my finger to his lips to keep him from doing just that. “For just a little while. Something came up.”

He sits with baited breath, his expression confused and fearful. A mix that’s dangerous for a soldier, especially one like Cal that is used to knowing everything. My lips curl into a weak smile as I say, “We have to get back because something’s waiting for us. Or it may have come with us. I’m not sure. If it did, I have to be more careful than I thought.”

His eyes dart around the room like someone might be listening, and he slowly takes my hand to pull me into his closet where our voices will be furthered muffled. Has he grasped what I’m about tell him? Cal’s observant, even with all his bullheaded tendencies, and he’s not stupid. He knows me well enough to notice when my habits change. And they had been changing, little by little. I’m a subtle creature, but he’s very good at reading me now.

In the safety of his closet, I can smile bright. I can let the warmth of my news pulse out of me like sunlight. It had terrified me the moment I knew what was happening, but slowly that panic had been replaced by a strange joy, a strange curiosity. And now, it was longing.

“You can talk freely now.” He whispers.

The words die. They won’t come. Like stones, they sit in my throat and choke me. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. Is it cruel to get his hopes up about something we may never be able to return to? And yet, this is not just my burden to bear. This is our future. I am in this to get back to my family. He is in this to get back to what we had in Montfort. He may need something else, something to fight for that isn’t just me. Even if it’s not as tangible as it is for me.

I’ll just have to say it, push the words out one by one. “I was pregnant.”

They come easier than I thought, and honestly come out more like a garbled rush than the wonderful phrase they should be. As soon as I speak those words into existence though, the joy leaves, only to be replaced by trepidation and the air around us is leeched of its warmth.

“What?” Cal’s question is a wheeze, a word not quite formed.

“Three or four months, I wasn’t sure.” I grab his hand and squeeze as his eyes widen in the dark to the side of moons. “I told you we had so much waiting for us. That’s what is waiting for us. We have to follow everything to the line because of that future.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He whispers, his eyes darting as he thinks back over everything, every action I committed before that night, every word I spoke.

“I was going to tell you that night, but then we got called to deal with Giselle.” I shake my head, laughing quietly. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am not the only one privy to this secret knowledge.

His eyes darken though. Storm clouds gather in his irises as he leans down to whisper. “You said you didn’t know if it came with us.”

“All my knowledge and memories came with me… and I’m in the same body theoretically just--just five or six years younger. It might have come with me.” It’s a long shot, but if I’m right, we have far bigger problems than we originally thought.

“You don’t look like—”

“I didn’t look like it in Montfort either.” I reason dryly. He would have noticed if I did. His lips twist and he nods.

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to wait and see if anything happens.”

He pales at the prospect, but I grip his fingers tightly again, forcing his gaze back down to me. “This is what we are fighting to get back to. Why we have to be so careful.”

“I wish you’d told me sooner.” He murmurs before reaching down to circle one of his arms around my waist. In the dark I’m not quite sure if he’s smiling or grimacing. Not until he cups my jaw and presses his lips to mine. He pours every ounce of the joy that is about to explode out of him into that kiss. It mixes with mine until I’m certain we are glowing like a small sun.

And in that closet, nestled in a nest of snakes and wolves, I finally let myself breathe.

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mcwriting · 4 years ago

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The Marriage Project (1)

Omg I can’t believe it’s taken me THIS long to post this. I wrote this chapter probably in like April or May and it freaks me out to finally post but here it is!

My slow burn (American) High School AU with Tom Holland!

All the general info for this series is on the story masterlist, but I’ll list warnings and word counts on every chapter. Chapters will be much longer than my typical 2000 or less babies

Warnings: This will become a mature story in the future (no smut; more info on masterlist). Some profanity in this chapter

Word Count: 4140 (I told you!)

% approximately the 2nd week of August %

Ah, senior year. One last year of high school, one last year of seeing the people you’ve grown up with every day.

You’ve been told it’s easy. The best year ever. And yeah, maybe it will be. It’s not like you’re taking too many hard classes or overloading yourself with extracurriculars, aside from volleyball, soccer, the National Honors Society, and quiz bowl.

(Okay maybe it was a little much, but you loved it anyways)

The only real problem was the certified thorn in your side, Tom Holland.

He’d essentially been your mortal enemy since the sixth grade when he beat your mile time by only a few seconds.

Now, it’s not that he was a bully or anything, he was just so insufferable to be around. And yes, everyone always says boys pick on girls when they like them, but rest assured that wasn’t the case. You’d both always hated each other, nothing more.

You were always competing, and because of that ended up in the same place a lot.

He was in all your honors classes, in NHS, played boys soccer, and did quiz bowl. The only thing you had to yourself was volleyball except, oh wait, his younger brother’s girlfriend was on the team and Tom was his ride home every day.

All these thoughts raced through your head as you walked in on the first day, sitting down in AP calculus as soon as you finished up at your locker.

Everyone did the “how was your summer?” and “long time no see!” as students filed in. Eventually walked in Tom, and you shot each other a glare as he sat down right next to you.

“Holland.”

“Y/l/n.”

Everyone around you groaned. They all knew you two were forces to be reckoned with and probably dreaded spending another year listening to the two of you bicker everyday.

Though you were often in close proximity, you never really talked much, except to argue. Rarely did you agree unless it was on basic facts, and even then was it hard to admit sometimes.

Because of this, you typically resigned yourselves to only speaking when it came to grades so you could keep a mental tally of who was in the lead. You were both in the running for valedictorian at the end of the year, and you were not about to let Tom win.

The week was almost over and things had gone smoothly for the most part.

Sure, you and Tom had had a couple of spats, but nothing that wasn’t handled quickly.

He’d been to all of your volleyball games so far, even the summer ones, which meant he was forced to watch you dominate the court as both a setter and right side hitter.

It was a nice little satisfaction.

Especially because you’d watched him throw some horrendous passes in the preseason football game last week that led to a loss by one touchdown. (Okay, he’d had some good passes too, but they were lucky shots).

You settled into your seat in senior home economics Friday before lunch. The class was your school’s attempt at teaching some life skills for rising adults. For the most part however, it was a glorified cooking and sewing class. You didn’t mind per say, since you could cook up a pre-snack lunch sometimes.

Most of your friends were in there, including your best friend Alexis, whom you hadn’t seen all morning.

You, Alexis, and two other girls stood around a mixing bowl with the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies since it was a Friday, which Mrs. Flynn called “dessert day.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” your teacher, Mrs. Flynn, started getting everyone’s attention. “This year we’re doing something new for this class! Next week I’ll have you all split into pairs for a semester long marriage project! I will be drawing names out of a hat, so don’t get too comfortable yet. Anyways, be thinking on what kinds of careers you might want and things of that nature! Okay, now get back to your desserts!”

The whole room broke out into chatter the last part of the hour-and-a-half class, people speculating who might end up with who and what jobs they’ll get.

“Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if y/n got Tom?” Alexis stated as you stirred chocolate chips into the dough. The other girls laughed as you just snorted.

“Yeah, I’d rather lick the inside of the microwave than be paired up with him for a semester,” you replied, earning more laughter from your friends.

You assumed Tom’s friends were saying the same however, because when you looked over to see how bad their dough looked, he was rolling his eyes as his group pointed in your direction.

The next week came and went, and it was once again Friday. Or, as Mrs. Flynn was calling it, Wedding Day.

Every time she’d pull a couple’s name, she was going to make you both come to the front of the class and exchange plastic wedding rings and sign a fake marriage license.

Yay.

Everyone chattered excitedly as she tore up the strips with your names and mixed them around. Finally the time came for her to start the drawing.

“Okay, friends. First up we have...” she drew the first name. “Katherine and... drumroll please?”

The class drummed their hands over their thighs.

“Chris! Come on down folks, let’s get this marriage on!”

She “married” the first couple, and then continued to draw. You had to admit that you were a little nervous, but still eager to see who you’d get.

Two couples later, she pulled Tom’s name.

You shot him an eyebrow raise to which he returned a discreet middle finger. You rolled your eyes as you prepared a drumroll for Mrs. Flynn.

“And his lucky partner is... y/n!”

“What!” you both exclaimed simultaneously.

Almost the entire class burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Flynn, this has to be a mistake,” you said.

“Yeah, can’t we have a redraw?” Tom asked.

You hated that he was agreeing with you.

“Nope! You get who you get and you don’t throw a fit! And if it doesn’t work out in a few weeks we can discuss divorce plans.”

“How about annulments,” you stated dryly, earning a chuckle from her.

“That… kinda depends on if you have kids,” she trailed awkwardly before perking back up. “Now come on down! They always say your first marriage is the most memorable!”

“Who has ever said that?” Tom asked.

“You know. They. Now just get up here and do the ring thing!” she commanded.

You both sulked up to the front of the room.

“Okay, now stand here facing each other and hold hands.”

“Do we have to?” Tom whined.

“Yes, now do it and it’ll be over with faster.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed your hands, holding them loosely.

“May I have the rings please!” Mrs. Flynn asked Caroline, the girl whose desk was closest that she’d asked to be designated ring bearer. She handed over the basket to let you both choose from the mix.

You took a silver colored ring with a faux white diamond in the shape of a star. Tom chose one with an oval “ruby.” You couldn’t help but notice how every single person was on edge watching the two of you.

“Okay now Tom, repeat after me. I, Tom Holland, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

He mumbled through the vow, avoiding eye contact, and slipped your star ring onto your finger. You were surprised at how gentle he was, carefully caressing your hand and making sure the ring faced straight up once it was on your finger.

You, too, said the lines and placed the ring onto his left hand.

“Alright. It is with the power vested in me by this very school that I am proud to now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now air kiss!”

You took a deep sigh and pretended to kiss each other's cheeks.

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Mr. and Mrs. Holland!”

They began to cheer and clap and laugh when you interjected.

“Uh, no. It’s Mr. and Mrs. y/l/n.”

Tom began to argue with you when Mrs. Flynn stopped you both.

“Alright fine, we’ll do a combined name. How’s the y/l/n-Holland family sound?” she asked, writing your names on the fake marriage certificate.

With reluctance, Tom agreed to having your name first and you both signed the paper.

Finally you were able to sit back down where your friends were waiting.

“So what was that about licking the microwave?” Alexis asked.

“Oh shut up.”

After your volleyball game (another win!), you and Alexis conversed over cheese fries at your favorite diner.

“Still not ready to talk about today?” she asked. You shook your head.

Alexis had been paired up with Caroline. They were both straight, but you had both been friends with her since freshman year and they got along well.

Today had just been the marriages, and next week you’d be learning more about your family dynamics.

“I’m just so pissed at him. This afternoon in senior art he told all the guys in there that he was going to make it as hard as possible for me. I mean jokes on him, he’s going to want to get an A too, but he was just so smug about it. He also strung his stupid ring on that necklace he’s always wearing. What’s that all about?”

“I mean you’re still wearing your ring. But yeah, that is a little weird.”

“I’m wearing mine because compared to some of the others, the star is actually cute.”

“True. I got unlucky with the selection,” Alexis admitted, digging hers out of her purse to show you a big square blue gem.

“I just wish there was a way to get back at him after all these years. I mean, we’ve been at each other’s throats for almost six years but nothing has ever seemed to really hit hard. This is the last year I’ve got to really make it count.”

Alexis gave you a look, one you knew to be quite mischievous.

“You know what’s the best way to get revenge on a guy?” Alexis asked.

“Uh, no, but by the look you’re giving me it seems to fall under Carrie Underwood ’before he cheats’ directive.”

“No, dumbass. You make his family fall in love with you.”

It took a second to process what she said before you could give a decent reply.

“You’re kidding right? His family already knows who I am because of all the stuff we’re in together. They probably also know about our rivalry. I mean, he’s told his brothers to never become friends with me.”

“And you know that, how?”

“The libero is Sam’s girlfriend. She’s been spilling tea for me for the past year.”

There was a break in the conversation as the waiter brought your meals out. Once he was gone, you spoke up again.

“Look, do you really think that would work? I mean sure I’d get under his skin, but it doesn’t really constitute revenge, does it?”

“Look at it this way,” Alexis put down her burger so she could splay her hands out in front of her. “If you can get on everyone else's good side, they’ll all talk about how much they love you and he’ll be forced to listen. If he really hates you, it’ll drive him crazy.”

You thought on it for a minute as you chomped on a chicken tender.

“Alright, I’m in. If it doesn’t end up working, I still have all of next semester to mess with him anyways. Now if I can just figure out how to really get to know his family…”

By the time Monday rolled around, you and Alexis had done some more scheming, but your plan wouldn’t even begin to be put in action until your volleyball games Wednesday and Friday, when you’d try to talk to Sam.

You sat down in home ec, where today you’d be picking careers. The catch, however, was that your family unit would have a set income, so each couple had to decide how it would be split up.

“Y/l/n-Holland family, you’ll be making $200k a year,” Mrs. Flynn announced, handing you the slip of paper. “Get together and decide who’s getting what jobs.”

“At least we’ll be rich,” you thought as Tom plopped into the seat next to you unhappily.

“So I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the trophy wife, right?” he asked immediately.

“Hah, good one. I think we all know that I’m the smarter one here and wayyyy more likely to get into med school than you. And don’t call me trophy wife. I mean, what, you think I’m hot now? Can’t wait to tell everyone that little number.”

His ears turned beet red and he balled a fist.

“I don’t think you’re hot, except maybe hot shit. It’s a figure of speech.” he spat.

“Oh get over yourself. I know I’m hot anyways. Let’s just both pick jobs that earn $100k so we can be equal. How’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

He played with the plastic ring on his necklace as you looked up jobs on the computer. After a half hour of searching, Tom and you decided that to be fully equal, you’d both take the same job as physician’s assistants.

“Just so you know, I’ll never actually be anyone’s assistant,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Ten years time if you’re lucky I’ll hire you as mine.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Hey everyone, since class is almost over, we’re gonna wait to draw how many kids you’ll have and other financial things Wednesday. See you then!” Mrs. Flynn called out as students packed their things.

“We have to have kids, too?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Good thing it’s fake. I’d hate to see you as a parent,” you shot smugly, earning another middle finger from him that left you laughing.

Wednesday came kids, and thankfully all you got were twin girls, age 9. The project didn’t make you carry around flour babies or anything like that, you just had to account for them in your weekly budgets.

There goes the annulment plan, though.

Each week, Mrs. Flynn would be drawing something new for you all that would either be good or bad for your budgets, and it was up to you to figure out what to with the funding, or lack thereof. You also had to come up with a story each week that explained why money was put somewhere or what your “family” did that week.

She would also be doing progress checks, so you couldn’t wait until the end of the semester to do all the work. By the end, each couple would have to give a presentation over what they did and learned.

“Okay, so we each get to name one. That’s pretty equal,” you stated, thinking up baby names.

“Well I like Elizabeth,” he almost immediately replied, writing it down on one of the “birth certificates” you’d been handed by Mrs. Flynn.

“That’s… surprisingly good. I’ll go with Francesca. What about middle names? I like Rose.”

“Hm. How about Opal? Then they’ll have the same number of letters in their names.”

You were surprised at how much though he put into this, but let it go as you wrote your child’s name down.

“By the way, we need to plan time to get together and write a budget and find a house this weekend. I have a volleyball game Friday so how about Saturday?”

“I have football practice Saturday.”

“Well yeah but only until like 10 right? We could just meet at like 1. We’re doing construction at my house right now so could we do it at yours?”

You spoke sweetly in an attempt to receive a yes and put your plan into motion. Tom sighed and thought about it.

“I mean I guess. But you’re only going to be there to work on the project and then leave right?”

“Uh, duh. The less time with you the better.”

“Likewise.”

Tom and Sam weren’t at the volleyball game Wednesday, so you had to wait until Friday’s.

Friday was muffin day in home ec, so you thankfully didn’t have to talk to Tom. Instead, you and Alexis discussed the plan of getting Tom’s family on your side as you mixed up batter.

Later that afternoon, you watched from afar as Sam and his girlfriend, Julia, sat on the bleachers speaking. It was still an hour until game time and coach had asked you to round up the girls for stretching.

“Hey, Jules!” you called, jogging over to where she was. “Oh, hey Sam!” He looked at you like you were crazy before responding.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He gave a slight head nod.

“Anyways, coach wants us to start warming up. Wanna be my partner today?”

“Um yeah. Sure. See ya later babe,” she said, giving Sam a quick peck on the cheek before standing up to follow you.

After another win, you were helping take down the net and noticed Julia once again talking to Sam while Tom stood a few feet away looking bored.

“Hey, could you wrap up the net? I need to do something real quick,” you said to another teammate as you headed over.

“Hey, Jules! Solid digs today! You were making my job way too easy,” you joked.

You could see from the corner of your eye Tom look up at you in annoyance.

“Ahaha thanks girl. But I can’t take all the credit. You were on fire tonight. What was that like 15 aces? And your hits? Incredible,” she replied.

“Yeah, you were amazing tonight,” Sam added.

“Ohhhkay we can stop the compliment parade on y/n now. We need to go anyways, Sam, mom wants us home,” Tom interjected, putting an arm out in front of his brother, who was rolling his eyes.

“Alright fine. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Sam asked his girlfriend. She nodded and they exchanged a quick hug and kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow too, Tom,” you said. “I’ll bring my laptop.”

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah whatever,” was all Tom could say to you as you strutted off to the locker room.

You stood nervously on the front porch of Tom’s suburban home. You had texted him when you parked but now dreaded actually going inside.

After shifting back and forth for a minute, you finally rang the doorbell.

It was only a few seconds later that the door opened, revealing Sam’s twin Harry. He looked confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Harry. Tom and I are supposed to be working on a school project today and he said to come over at this time so...” You awkwardly shifted your backpack straps and looked down.

“Tom! Someone’s here to see you!” he yelled out, making you snort.

He appeared shirtless in the doorway and looked at you blankly.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me? What did you just forget that we have to work on our project today,” you replied, holding up your left hand to point to the plastic ring on it.

“You’re still wearing that? Why?”

“Firstly, the little star is cute. And secondly, you don’t have a lot of room to speak, Tom. Yours is still on your necklace,” you pointed to the chain around his neck, to which he instinctively reached up and grabbed the ring, twisting it between his fingers.

“Touche. Now come on, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door wider and let you in, locking it behind you.

As he led you down a hall covered in photos towards the stairs, his mom stepped out, almost running into her son.

“Oh, sorry.” she looked at you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Holland. Tom and I have to work on our home ec project and we couldn’t do it at my house.”

“Oh dear just call me Nikki. And I do remember him mentioning something about a project. Are you the one he’s married to? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom tensed up and clenched his jaw while you gave a light chuckle, holding up your left hand again.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me throughout the semester.”

“Well you kids have fun. And Tom, honey, would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

He went red again and you had to stifle your laughter.

“I was just on my way to do that, mom. Come on y/n,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs.

You turned and waved at Nikki one last time as she called up behind him,

“And make sure to keep the door open!”

He was totally embarrassed by that, and made it a point to shut the door behind him once you made it to his room. Finally you could let out a hearty laugh at his expense as he dug through his drawers and pulled out a simple black t-shirt.

“Finally. I was getting tired of looking at your man boobs,” you quipped, looking around the room.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he shot back dryly.

You were surprised at what his room looked like, though you didn’t know what you’d expected. It was very neat with sleek grey walls. His blue and grey bedding was made up with decorative pillows laid out. On his desk were a few random school papers and a computer, and one shelf held some Spider-Man paraphernalia while another contained medals and ribbons and trophies.

You dropped your backpack to the ground and pointed up at one figurine.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” you said sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Uh, no. I’m serious. It’s actually really dope.”

He looked taken aback at your compliment, and even to you it felt weird to be saying that out loud about Tom of all people.

“Oh. Well uh. Thanks. Spider-Man was my favorite growing up. But let’s just get to work.”

After an hour of sitting on his carpet searching for a house and arguing over general money allocations,

“Yes Tom, tampons actually cost like $7 for 30 of them and most girls need at least one box a month. And that’s just one factor of personal hygiene. Do you even condition your hair?”

“I’ll have you know my hair is well moisturized. I just don’t ever have to pay for it.”

You finally came to an agreement on the week’s budget.

Packing up your things, you looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the side of his bed scrolling through social media.

“So next week. Your first game of the season, yeah?” you said, remembering that September was already almost here.

“Oh yeah. You coming? I’d hate for you to see just how incredible I am.”

“Psh whatever. I saw your throws at preseason. But yeah, I’ll probably just rinse off after my volleyball game and head to the field. Gotta see what cuties they’ve got on the other team.”

“Ugh gross. You know you’ll regret saying that when half the school is swooning over me in the stands.”

“The only thing you’d ever see me swoon from is dehydration. And that’s a pretty weak excuse already.”

You stood and Tom got up to lead you back out.

“Oh, I think I know the way. You don’t have to take me.”

“Yeah I do. Gotta keep my eyes on those grubby little fingers of yours. Who knows what you’d do unsupervised.”

Before you reached the door, Nikki spotted you from the living room.

“Done so soon? Wow, good job guys. Come back any time y/n!”

“Thanks, Nikki,” you called back to her, then turned to Tom. “So same time next week? We can do it at my place if you want.”

“Nah let’s just do it here. I’m always exhausted the day after a game and I don’t really want to get up.”

Okay then

“Well, see ya Monday then. Bye.”

You were halfway down the sidewalk when Tom called out, “Be safe,” before shutting the door. You stopped in your tracks in shock, but eventually got into your car.

What really mattered, though, was that you were already on Nikki’s good side.

1 down, 4 to go.

Yay! It’s finished! I really hope you guys enjoy this new series because I’m so excited to share it with you all! Once again, future chapters will have some mature content (s*xual harassment and mentions of assault; underaged alcohol consumption) but those chapters will be explicitly labeled with warnings.

Anyways, thanks for reading and please send an ask or message if you’d like to join my story or permanent tag list!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl,

#The Marriage Project #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #enemies to lovers #slow burn #Harry Holland #sam holland #tom holland au #high school!au #high school!tom holland

110 notes · View notes

dingletragedy · 5 years ago

Note

Can you write something where Ben and Callum are getting it on (lol) and Ben starts to cry because he gets overwhelmed and can't hear Callum? Just thought it would be something that you would write really well :) x

i’m not sure if this is at all what you wanted anon but here’s a bot of hurt/comfort of you!!! thanks anon <33

The thing about being so close, so intimate, knowing each other so deeply, is that Ben is so easy to read, now.

And sometimes, he falls into these sporadic moods. They roll in quietly, like a brooding storm throughout the day, and by the afternoon, his eyes are distant and his shoulders are hunched in, and he plays with Callum’s hair idly and stares up at the ceiling with heavy breaths.

Ben is cheeky, sarcastic; he’s flirty and charming when he wants to be, eyes full and big. He sings loud and unashamed, watches the mouth of whoever is talking intently and speaks low. He’s responsive to the smallest of touches, pliant under Callum’s hands. He’s a wind-up, but to can charm the pants of anyone he wants.

And yet often, he’s the opposite. He’s closed in and quiet, distant and unaware, insecure and frightened. He’s an open book to Callum, and still, he remains the most private person he’s ever known.

So when his eyes cloud over, when Callum looks up from finishing another online police training course, and Ben is staring resolutely out the window, after lying awake for the majority of the previous night, shifting and breathing heavily and unknowingly keeping Callum up too, Callum doesn’t know why.

Callum settles his laptop on his bedside table, turns to cup a gentle a hand to Ben’s jaw and presses kisses there, plays with his hair and tries to get him to relax.

Ben has a book held above him, a title that Callum doesn’t recognise against an offensively bright cover. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and his glasses are pressed close to his nose. He looks soft, sleepy, vulnerable.

He’s been subdued all day, showing up to the cafe at lunch with soft bags under his eyes, claiming a fitful sleep. By dinner, he’d managed to convince Callum that he was absolutely fine, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and when Jay and Lola had dragged them along for a few evening drink in the Queen Vic, he sat silently in the corner and picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

As Callum pulls away from where his lips had found Ben’s neck, Ben moves the book away from his face slowly, so just his eyes are peeking over the top, silent and watching behind his glasses. Callum threads his hands into his hair slowly, scratching at his scalp, and Ben’s eyes flutter closed slowly as he breathes out. He lowers his book onto his stomach, tilting his head back a fraction.

Callum leans down and presses a delicate kiss to Ben’s forehead, hand still stroking his hair. He trails his lips down the bridge of his nose, so soft, then meets Ben’s mouth, warmth curling in his belly. Ben’s breath is hot and stuttered, Callum leans over him some more, tilting his head.

As their lips move together, Ben slowly rearranges his body, feet stretching down the bed and his whole torso shifting so they’re both facing upwards, so he can reach out and cup Callum’s jaw. He curls forward, curls towards Callum, and pulls him closer bit by bit.

They find a comfortable position eventually. Callum settled in Ben’s lap, still twirling Ben’s hair absently in his fingers, pushing down to lick into his mouth with a tease of his tongue, trying to get him to relax, to stop him tensing his shoulders. Ben’s hands smooth down Callum’s shoulder blades like honey, settling on his hips.

It’s then, with a slow release of breath, a shift of his hips, and a tight tug at the curls in his fingers, that Callum tips them over gently and gets his hands on Ben properly.

“You good?” Callum asks.

“Huh?”

Good? He signs to Ben in response.

“Oh,” Ben mumbles, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. I’m good. You?”

“I will be soon,” Callum responds, but it’s obvious from the puzzled look on ben’s fave that words fall flat between them. “You’re all tense, Ben.”

“Do something about it then,” Ben says, shifting his hips up impatiently.

“Hm,” Callum raises an eyebrow, teasing. Maybe I will.

They’re both so quiet then, and it feels slightly strange. The radio ebbs around them, but it’s lost on Callum’s ears as he cups Ben’s neck, his fingers meeting at his nape, and feels his pulse against his palms. It’s skyrocketing, thumping, and Callum can feel the tiny tremors of his shoulders, the pressure of his slick mouth and his hands squeezing Callum’s thighs.

He wants to relax him, Callum thinks. Wants to touch him soft and gentle and leave kisses on every inch of skin. Despite the extensive amount of time they’ve spent tangled together, each time feels new, his nerves pulsing with love and desire. Callum wants to strip him bare, wants to push him onto his back and suck mark after mark on his soft chest, between his thighs. He wants him sated and calm, far away from whatever’s troubling him.

“Want you,” Callum says between kisses. “So much.”

He grabs for the edge of Ben’s shirt and moves to tug it upward.

Ben flinches so suddenly, tears away abruptly, circles Callum’s wrists with an iron grip so hard that Callum lets out a sudden, surprised noise, heart slamming into his ribs. It hurts.

Ben’s head is bowed, his chest heaving suddenly.

“Ben,” Callum rasps in shock, blinking wide. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

He doesn’t reply, just continues breathing with a shaking chest, his shoulders quivering. His fingers tight around Callum’s wrists.

Ben,” he tries again. “What’s wrong? You’re scaring me, please?”

He shuffles away, releasing the grip on Callum’s wrist. His face crumples, and he tucks his knees into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around his stomach, his fingers gripping the material of his shirt as he shakes. He looks so small, so broken, and Callum sits up slowly, unsure of what to do, unsure of what’s happened.

“I hate this,” Ben says, voice quiet and small. “I hate it so much.”

“We don’t have to do—God, Ben, I wouldn’t ever want to do anything that made you uncomfortable,” Callum tries to apologise desperately, feeling his throat thicken. “I’m so sorry.”

Ben lets out a quiet sound, sliding his glasses off to wipe at his eyes. He throws them onto the floor and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “It’s not that.”

His voice is choked and thick, muffled behind his knees. When he wraps his arms around his middle again, eyes devastatingly hollow and mouth scrunched up, he looks fragile and afraid. Callum doesn’t know how to fix it this time. He doesn’t know what to do.

“What is it then?” He asks softly, keeping his distance as Ben wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. He heaves in a shuddery breath, twin droplets sliding down his cheeks.

“I cant—,” He cuts himself off and clenches his eyes closed. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Ben, look at me,” he says, reaching a hand out. What’s wrong? He signs, hands slow and steady.

When Ben doesn’t respond straight away, Callum continues. “Ben, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, or say anything you don’t want to. We can just lay down for a while, go to sleep, if you’d prefer?”

“No, I—,” Ben blurts, scratchy and strangled, his chest still heaving. “I can’t hear you, and that’s the problem. It all just gets so much sometimes. No matter how hard I try, how much I concentre on your lips, and hands, there are moments, like these, now, when I can’t catch what you’re saying.”

As he speaks, he curls further and further into himself.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Callum shuffles forward quickly and pulls Ben’s hands away from where they’re digging into his knees, leaving marks, he rubs his thumbs over the knuckles. “Shh, you’re alright.”

He kisses over Ben’s fingers, hushing him and trying to calm him down. Hesitantly, he places a gentle hand on his back and rubs it in slow circles, worried he’ll scare him away.

“I’m sorry,” Callum says then, because maybe it’s irrational, but the guilt clawing at his stomach is unbearable. “I’ll talk slower, clearer, and I’ll sign, if it helps?”

“No,” Ben cries. “That’s the point, Callum. It wouldn’t work. And it ain’t how it should be, is it? You having to say everything twice, pulling away from me every five seconds just to talk. It ain’t practical, not when we’re, y’know?”

“It doesn’t matter, Ben,” Callum says, unsure of where he’s going with his. “Whether it’s practical or not, the main thing is that you feel comfortable, and safe.”

They sit there for what feels like forever, Ben’s back shifting under Callum’s palm, tears dripping along his jaw and from the tip of his nose when he bows his head. When Callum starts to runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face, Ben’s breathing starts to slow.

“But do you?” Ben asks then.

“Do I what?”

“Feel safe?” Ben questions, eyes worried, lip bitten redraw between his teeth. “With me? Here?”

“Of course I do,” Callum says, shocked. “You know I do, Ben.”

“But you could be saying anything,” Ben explains at the furrow in Callum’s brows. “In the moment, when it’s all heated and—you could be—could be telling me to stop, telling me you love me, anything at all, and I wouldn’t even know.”

“You know me though, don’t you? Callum says, waits for Ben’s nod of confirmation before continuing. “You know my body, my little ticks, what I like and what I don’t. You know my heart, Ben. And I know yours. That’ll always be enough.”

“You think?”

I know.

“When you put it like that.”

“It’s just you and me, yeah?” Callum goes again, because he wants to make this as comfortable, as normal, as possible for Ben. He closes his eyes, and continues, “it’s just you and me, in this room that’s become ours. There’s Bitter Sweet Symphony playing on the radio, it’s just started, still on that first stupidly long verse. There are a few stray cars travelling by, the engines rumbling through the open window, and there’s distant chatter pulling through too, but the voices are too far away to make out the words. The washing machine is on in the kitchen, spinning like crazy, the sounds vibrating up through the floor. And then there’s me, telling you that I want you, and that I love you. My voice all low and hoarse, that way it always gets when you’ve got your hands on me.”

When Callum opens his eyes again, he notices Ben’s are closed. Shut so tightly there are wrinkles around the edges. He’s got this new expression on his face, his mouth now morphing into a slow smile, crease fading in his brow.

He lets Ben breathe, lets him gather his thoughts.

He lets him paint a picture of unheard sounds.

Eventually, Ben takes in a wet, shuddering breath, and when he releases it, Callum’s heart fills with hope. “Thank you, Callum.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Callum protests. “I wish I could take your pain away, Ben, more than anything. But I need you to know this, you being deaf, it doesn’t change anything, not for us. You’re still you, and we’re still us.

Ben kisses him then, wet and shaky, but it’s the best kind of kiss, where Callum can feel every current of energy flying through him, flowing through Ben and back to him again, over and over. They grasp at each other gently in the dark, chests heaving.

Ben is almost panting into his mouth, breathless, lips mixed with salty tears.

“Lie back,” Callum says hoarsely, guiding him gently to the pillows. The air around them is static, their gazes magnetic, made to be drawn to each other. Ben follows Callum’s words hesitantly, eyes big and soft, reaching for him.

Callum lowers himself down his body slow, keeping their eyes connected always. He wants Ben to be comfortable with this.

You’re beautiful, Callum signs.

Cal,” Ben whispers. His hands find Callum’s shoulders.

You’re so strong, Callum kisses him again, moving down incrementally. He continues, murmuring praises into Ben’s skin as he moves, brave, inspiring, brilliant, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Ben pulls him back up then, kisses Callum with purpose, with love, with everything. “I love you.”

I love you too, Callum draws on the skin of Ben’s stomach, with one single, strong finger. He parts their mouths once more, attaches his mouth to the spot he’d just drawn a heart, and presses one, gentle kiss to the sliver of skin there. He hooks his fingers under the band of Ben’s boxers, before looking up in question.

Ben is watching him intently. He gives Callum a tiny nod, and drops his head back to stare resolutely at the ceiling, swallowing thickly.

#this is very different for me and i'm feeling nervous about it #ben x callum #ballum #eastenders #asks #anon

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lettersnorth · 4 years ago

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FFXIVWrite 2020 Prompt #22: Argy-Bargy

“This is getting ridiculous. We need a new separator.”

“You say that every time this breaks down.”

“It’s the third time this fortnight. It’s beyond time.”

“Look, you know that. I know that. But what’re we going to do about it? We’re here to fix the machines. If anything, look at it as job security.”

“U’Rahna’s gone. Maybe Cooper would be more amenable to, I don’t know, keeping the operation actually running?”

“U’Rahna, Cooper, it doesn’t matter. People at the top don’t care about the details. They just want the results.”

Aislinn had had enough. She wiggled out from the filthy, rusted separator chute and set her wrench on the toolbench with the exacting carefulness of someone who had realized they’d just run out of fucks to give.

Seeing her footsteps moving for the door, Kikirifi slid out from the underbelly of the decrepit machine. “Where’re you going?!” he demanded.

“To talk to Cooper.”

In his rush to scramble off the floor and hurry after her he dropped his tools so fast they may as well have been burning coals. “Don’t do that. Why would you do that? There’s no point.”

“It’s going to need to be replaced eventually, Kiki. Despite what everyone around here seems to think, nothing lasts forever.” she said over her shoulder as she strode down the hall and up the stone staircase.

He puffed after her, having to work twice as hard to keep up. “And when it finally kicks the bucket, Stark Oak’ll handle Cooper. Not you. I shouldn’t have to remind you about the chain of command, you’ve been here long enough.”

“Years, Kiki.” she snapped. “Not just ‘long enough’. I’ve been tied up in this for years.”

“All the more reason not to fly off the handle! You should know better. Are you listening to yourself?!”

“You’re being ridiculous. I am not ‘flying off the handle.’ I just think enough’s enough.”

He opened his mouth to say more but it came out as a squeak as he looked up and realized they stood before the door to the back office. Before he could stop her, not that he had figured out how he would do so, she had pushed open the door and walked inside. She hadn’t even bothered to knock.

Stark Oak was going to kill him. He was supposed to be in charge when the Hellsguard was away. The next one in line who had worked with the machines the longest. However, managing machines and managing people were two very different things. Especially this one, this girl who just wouldn’t settle down and accept her lot in life. He should have known from the start. In his experience red heads were nothing but trouble. He peered around the door frame and into the office, trying to blend in with the wood.

Cooper looked up from U’Rahna’s desk or rather, his desk, now that U’Rahna was gone. Dead. Shot in the back. Possibly by one of her own men. Kiki narrowed his eyes as he studied her one-time lieutenant and right-hand man. He couldn’t be sure it was Cooper. That was the problem, no one could be sure. But, he wouldn’t put it past the man.

For his part, Cooper in turn studied the frazzled little thing that had just planted herself in front of his desk, his amber gaze taking in her stained coveralls, grease smudged face and that look in her eye that clearly said she had bone to pick.

“Well, what’s got you comin’ in here spitting and hissing, North?”

“Separator’s broke again. That’s the third time in near a moon. We need a new one.” she said, blunt and matter-of-fact. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit.

“Stark Oak say that?” he asked, looking down at the papers on his desk.

“No. But I am.” she returned.

“Well now, duly noted.” the flat note in his voice making it clear no note whatsoever had been taken, duly or otherwise.

A violent, frustrated push of air through her nose. “Every time it goes down, production halts. When it goes down, it’s down for, on average, eight bells at a time given that we need to take it all apart. That’s if we don’t have to find a replacement part for the thing. That’s an 8% reduction in production. This moon alone. And the machine isn’t going to get any younger. It’s only going to continue breaking down, no matter what we do.”

She had his attention now. He looked up from his papers and stared at her like she was a beastkin who had suddenly learned the power of speech.

“Which means production is in a downward trend until the machine is replaced. Every moon it’s costing the cartel money. A new one would pay for itself within two moons, three tops.”

There was a beat of silence in which she could feel him retaking her measure, redrawing the lines and reformulating what he knew. Aislinn only hoped it was in the direction she wanted and she hadn’t misjudged what she herself knew of Cooper. He had always struck her as more reasonable than U’Rahna. Not that something like that was saying much. A drunken bobcat could be more reasonable than U’Rahna.

“You’ve been thinking about this awhile or did those figures just come to you?”

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. Several suns worth this month alone, as I said.” she replied.

He nodded, rolling his jaw this way and that as if he had just taken a bite of something and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.

“I’ll talk to Stark Oak.” he finally said.

She hesitated, clearly having been ready to argue more. If it was U’Rahna there would have been a shouting match, to be sure. Of course, if U’Rahna had still been in this office Aislinn likely wouldn’t have even bothered to waste her breath. The head of steam she had worked up dissipated.

“Right.” she glanced over her shoulder to where Kikirifi still stood, inconspicuously trying to spy around the corner of the door. He motioned frantically for her. “Guess I’ll get back to it.”

“That’d be best.” Cooper said, dryly amused now that he had taken the wind out of her sails. “Wouldn’t want Kiki to go havin’ himself a heart attack.”

The lalafell paled and vanished from sight.

#ffxiv writing #FFxivWrite2020 #Prompt 22

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kuro-von-shitsuji · 6 years ago

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My Process

Not too long ago someone requested a colouring tutorial from me. Honestly I have no actual knowledge of colour theory and the techniques I use are far from being the only correct way to colour. In fact actual artists will probably cringe at this post. BUT I like doing it and have found a way that works with my limited skills so this is the process I use. This isn’t meant as a complete tutorial but rather just some of the steps I keep in mind while colouring.

To start with, I use an old ass graphics tablet with practically no pen pressure and the desktop version of Medibang Paint Pro, which as far as free art tools go is pretty damn good. You’ll also need access to good quality scans of the panels you’re colouring. I recommend getting the newer chapters on Kobo because you can zoom in on each panel without losing too much clarity, unlike iBooks. I’m not sure about the other sites, but Kobo I can vouch for.

Now first and most importantly you need to separate your line art from the background. There are two approaches to this. Some artists redraw the line art from scratch, which (if you can do it) gives their work a crisp, professional touch. I can’t do this and don’t have the time nor patience to learn how so I use this method:

menu --> select --> create selection from layer/brightness

This will automatically separate the line art. All you need to do is choose whichever colour you want your line art in (I start with black) and paste it in a new layer.

Add a white layer in between the two and you’re good to go! Afterwards you should be able to draw under the line art layer like this:

This might be obvious to some of you but it literally took me years to figure out. The downside here is that you have to play with Toboso’s screen tones and her occasional mistake. You also have to contend with whatever she left out to make it look good in black and white, like Mey-Rin’s eye in the example colouring. Whichever method you pick is totally up to you.

Next we have to apply base colour. There’s no trick to this, just pick colours as they look right. Generally I like using desaturated colours but experiment and find what works best for you. Don’t use straight black or white because you won’t be able to shade/highlight over them. Also, make sure to put all the colours on different layers, it will make shading easier.

I also recommend naming your layers, but I never actually do it. I just wing it and curse myself later. This particular colouring had close to two hundred layers and I realised upon uploading that I hadn’t shaded Ran-Mao’s eye so I had to sift through those two hundred unnamed layers to find the base colour. Don’t be me. Learn from my mistakes.

At some point you’re either going to find yourself squinting at the lighter tones trying to differentiate them from the white background or you’re going to find lots of gaps in your colours later on. Or at least, I always do. To avoid this switch up the background colour as you apply your bases. I usually use a mixture of red, blue and white depending on what contrasts clearer with the colour I’m using. For example: below on a white background I thought I’d finished Sebastian’s skin. This is how it looked when I switched to blue. If you do this sooner rather than later it will save you time in the long run.

After base colours are applied it should look something like this. For some edits this might be the look you’re going for, especially if the panel is more comical than this one. Personally, I prefer to add my details in the shading, which is in the next step.

Shading is the part of the process that makes the least sense for me on paper because I just follow my heart and bam it’s done, but I tried to think through my process this time. I tend add shadow close to the line art and apply highlighter liberally to open areas. I also find I’ll add multiple shadow layers to a base colour for more depth. Say if I had three shadow layers on a skin tone it would start with block shadow, then finer detail, then the tiny details. All of these have different opacities. Again there might be a more efficient method but on the layer front I say go hard or go home.

I do all shading and highlighting on layers clipped to the base colour. For shading I set the layer to ‘Multiply’ and for highlights I set it to ‘Add’ and play with the opacity for both. This is a method I like to call cheating, but it gets results. Remember: highlights are just as important as shadow. It makes the whole image that bit more dynamic.

I do most of this step with the wet watercolour brush. In this colouring the brush was set to 9% opacity the whole time, but I often mix it up. I’ll sometimes switch to texture brushes for hair and very occasionally for fabric, but often the watercolour brush is enough.

I pick my colours for this step purely based on what my base colours are doing. Because this particular colouring had a lot of people in it (and therefore a lot of details) I stuck to shading with pink and highlighting with yellow, but if a colouring has less detail I’ll often vary the colours to match closer to the base colour. Try to avoid shading with black-- it’s not wrong but it does create a washed out look. Also try to avoid overuse of gradients. I use very faint gradients in each character’s hair and often in backgrounds, but they don’t give you much control over a light source, nor the freedom to shade wherever you like as freehand allows. But again, that’s personal preference.

Once shading and highlighting is done mine looks like this:

As with the base colour, at this stage you could call it finished. However, I am a perfectionist and like to colour the line art. Well, like is a strong word. This is my least favourite part of the process. Colouring the line art feels like someone has forced you to draw while wearing thumbscrews because it exposes every error imaginable, but for that same reason it’s worthy doing. I try to use very dark colours when colouring over regions with heavy screen tone because it’s amazing how much it’s going to lighten your colours. I pick the colours for this step by eye dropping the darkest shadows and then darkening it further. In the end it’ll look like this:

Finally we just need a background. To do this properly you need to strip down and dance naked under the full moon in a shallow spring made from the tears of nymphs. Make an offering to the spirit of the waters, and eat some of the nourishing moss she presents you. You will know you the colour to use. Alternatively just pick a pastel and slap some stars on it like I usually do. In this colouring I spent like half an hour flicking though shades of orange before settling on a gradient. You can skip this process by knowing which colour you want to use in advance. Or if you’re really flexing you can actually draw a background. If you can do this you are already far more powerful than I. You can also just skip the background altogether, but again I’m a perfectionist.

This is my final result!

Ultimately though, there is no right or wrong way to go about any of these steps. There are some amazing artists out there who I’m sure have processes completely unlike mine. Don’t take every word of this to heart: these are just the things I’m mindful of when I’m colouring.

Most importantly: do what looks best to you, and create something you’re proud of!

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #tutorial #manga coloring #request

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comicteaparty · 5 years ago

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May 23rd-May 29th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from May 23rd, 2020 to May 29th, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

If someone came to you for advice about starting their first comic, what would you tell them?

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

The biggest hurdle I see beginner comic creators (including myself) struggling with is the fear to begin because they "aren't good enough yet." I would tell them to just start. The best way to learn how to make comics is to make comics. You can always go back and fix old pages. Or you don't even have to. The improvement throughout your work can be encouraging. So I say, just begin.(edited)

carcarchu

know your ending before you begin! so many webcomics start and then have no idea how to continue. at least have some kind of idea of the direction you want to go to and at least a basic outline before you begin. you can always change things but going in without a roadmap is a recipe for disaster

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I would tell them to consider a few things: your desired scope, your current skill levels, and how likely you are to still love the project months or years later. I didn’t start with a small scope, so I can’t tell people to keep it simple no matter what, but it absolutely helps. Doing a short 6-10 page comic as your first thing will totally tell you if this is something you like, or totally hate. Assessing your own skill level is hard, but I try and encourage people to practice anatomy and perspective and other skills before diving right into creating a massive world. I’d encourage them to practice some writing as well. But even the act of creating a comic can help with all that. So, YMMV! And you gotta love what you’re drawing! I didn’t feel comfortable creating a story until my late 20s because I felt I hadn’t settled on something I’d be indefinitely passionate about. My likes and dislikes were still changing so much. If you can look at your idea and pretty confidently say you want to draw this stuff over and over again for years... that’s a very good sign

eliushi [a winged tale]

I find my advice will vary depending on what their vision is for their comic! For instance, if it’s a short form, I would recommend looking at different styles and experimental storytelling to find ways to best explore their work. For a long form I would advise as y’all have done so as well: start and keep going to improve. Have an ending in mind. Know the basics of character/plot and storytelling; essentially if you know the rules then you are more easily able to break them in an informed way. Most importantly is to have fun drawing, have fun with friends, have fun sharing your work

I guess sort of as a follow up... did you all receive any advice before starting your comic?

carcarchu

i didn't ask anyone in particular but the advice i read before starting mirrored what has been said so far

the advice about just starting and not being afraid is probably what helped the most

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I was told to make my first comic shorter... but with the caveat that if I absolutely could not, it was okay to try a long-form one from the get-go

carcarchu

another thing that i often tell people looking to start is that comic making is actually a gigantic time sink and requires a LOT of discipline. a lot of people i talk to really don't realize how much of a time investment it is. i don't want to dissuade anyone by telling them this but it's important to realize

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I agree with lazuli! Right now I'm actually feeling more motivation for my long comic than my short story.( I will absolutely finish both though)(edited)

carcarchu

x2 agree with claire, i've realized i'm not good at short stories

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I've been asked this question before, about first comics. I always say the most important thing is to draw what you like, for yourself.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

Short stories are hard! I’m often jealous of all the marvelous one-shot comics on twitter, telling an affecting story in such little time. I often wonder if my own stuff will ever be half as successful in the emotions department. Short stuff is easier to digest but requires a ton of skill to craft well.(edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Absolutely. Two of my favorite comics are 3 pages and 5 pages long and years later I am still thinking about them.

I think it takes even more skill to craft a compelling story, world, and characters in only a few pages

It is witchcraft, I swear

carcarchu

there was a beautiful short story i read about a cat before, i'll see if i can find it and share it in recs

eliushi [a winged tale]

I think a lot about the unfinished comics! even though they aren’t finished, they still stay with me. Ultimately if you draw comics, it will touch people and people will remember

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I've always wanted to do a short story like that but am not a good enough writer yet unfortunately

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

Also agree with @Eightfish (Puppeteer) - you must make something for yourself. You can try and tailor it to certain audiences, but don’t stray too much from your own sensibilities. Make a comic that speaks to your soul, and people will feel it.

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

Pick something you love, you‘ll spent a lot of time on it.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

If you don't love it, who will?

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

And short stories are their own medium with their own rules, needs and patterns; they‘re not interchangable with longform and the otherway round.

That‘s what annoys me about the „start with 8-page shorts!“ advice. It‘ll teach you how to do shorts, not how to do long form. And I‘ve seen so many treating shorts as a stepping stone to „proper“ long-form comics, and that format deserves better.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I do see the merit in that though. There are a lot of unfinished long comics. If you have a good short story, might as well make it first. For me though, they are way harder than long stories.

I did give myself the option to end puppeteer after about 80 pages though

Luckily I fell in love with making it and won't be doing that now

But it was an option

Capitania do Azar

Yeah I'm gonna have to repeat the points already stated. Everytime I get the chance to give advice to a starter, I do focus on the discipline aspect. Webcomics (any comic actually) does take a lot of work and if you wanna make it in the long run you gotta know your pace and you gotta know where you wanna go so you can make the best use of your time

You don't need to have super solid plans but it's good if you know how much time it takes you to make one, five or twenty pages, so you can get organised

And at least in my experience being organised is one of the most important aspects

That, and liking what you do but also allowing it to change because things take time and you will change too

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

^^^I can't reiterate this last point enough

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

For sure cap! I spent a lot of time experimenting with art style before starting and I think choosing a simpler but still nice looking (to me) style has been vital for me being as consistent with my comic as I have

Having a schedule was really important to me starting out

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

I think I would have said..... MAKE SURE YOU DRAW IN ADVANCE BEFORE POSTING.

I've made this mistake, and I know many people have made this mistake, but it's really easy to get stressed and demotivated when you realize that you might not be drawing as fast as you want...particularly if you're starting out.

So make sure you have buffers so that you can post those updates as consistently as you can.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

I'd say for my past self that make sure you have.... at least almost everything ironed out for your story first if you want to make a long form comic as your first try because trust me if you don't, you'll end up redrawing the first chapter twice lmao. knowing how it begins and ends, knowing your drawing speed and also recognizing if you're just either motivated to work on it or you're doing it despite motivation. Because those are like the main factors that affect burn out and if you don't watch out, you'll get fucked over from it. have a good sense of your self in terms of your work ethic, and your writing. Art will be supplement for that writing but you're pretty good at least understanding the basics you should be aight Also if you don't feel doing your long story first, you can always make a short story to test waters. but if ya like me and rather just jump making a long ass comic first, go for it lmao

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

I think the biggest advice I'd give would be is to accept what you've already done, kinda related to the "you're good enough to start" advice. A lot of webcomics stall out in the "gotta redraw this to be Good Enough" phase, and it's easy to get caught up in the cycle of redrawing early pages (especially once you get a few years into a comic), but learning to sit back and appreciate early pages for the stage you were when you drew them is important!

also something I don't hear creators talk a lot about, is having a support group. Getting positive responses from strangers from the internet is a rush, but it's not always going to happen, and relying on it isn't a great idea mental health wise. Having a group of friends you can bounce ideas off of and that can support you in your story helps make the lonely art of making comics a little less lonely. I wish I had known about this group sooner because it seems like a really great resource of creators coming together and being supportive!

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

oh yeah that last point especially

like honestly if I didn't met other webcomic creators I probably wouldn't be working in webcomics tbh

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

It's so nice to have outside perspective both for art advice/critique stuff, but also just the general "hey guys drawing pages amiright"

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

yeah lmao

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

plus if/when you ever meet up with people at conventions, it's always so nice!

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Yeah, I would second that. Starting out I had a really hard time knowing how to take praise from my real world friends who are into my comic. It felt like maybe it wasn't real praise and they only like it because they liked me. But honestly the longer I make comics the more I just want my friends to like them and the less I care about what an internet stranger might think X'D Also, I watched the video on new creator tips that Joichi post in #writing_n_misc_resources last night before bed and those tips are super solid. I think folks have already hit on all of them but writing something you really like and is for you first and foremost and being being prepared for a lot of work are super important. Also, get that buffer!

kayotics

I think this was touched on already but having an idea you’re really passionate about, especially for a long form comic, is kind of essential to keep you going. You gotta keep up momentum for years, not just a few weeks. The thing that helped me, personally, was building my comic in a way that let me end it after the first story, but also let me continue if I liked it. My first chapter was definitely like a pilot for a tv show. If I didn’t want to continue, I’d just stop. But I ended up writing the second chapter before I knew it so I guess it worked out

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I don't have too much new things to add but I agree that webcomics, is a lonesome job on your own. But once I started hanging around this discord, sharing frustrations, comic compliments. The support made a big difference, no longer having to shout in the abyss of Twitter to be heard. I know when you first start out, it's overwhelming. There's so many platforms, do I do color or grayscale? (as it felt that way for me.) The best is to begin small baby steps, write scripts. Draw thumbnails, talk about it with people you trust. Generate ideas and put them on paper. Something I learn, is finding a good group community who raise you up, than put your works down(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Seconding/thirding/etcing about support. Other than that, I really don't have a single advice that I could give to someone starting out. Because it would need to be tailored to their situation. Someone who's in my exact same situation back when I started my first webcomic? They don't need ANY advice honestly. They just need to do it (which they will anyway) and learn from the experience.

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

https://tenor.com/view/doit-gif-5247874

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

(Again, I'm talking about a hypothetical person who's exactly like Younger Me. Not every beginner will "do it anyway.")

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I corrected my definition, as I found out what the topic was about! I thought from everyone's comment, they felt like talking about internal feelings about community spirit.(edited)

Deo101 [Millennium]

I think that "just do it!!" Attitude is probably what I'll echo, it's what I'd have needed to hear and what I think there's probably the biggest hangup on. I think everyone tries to wait til they're ready, and it's like "you are gonna learn so much so fast and never stop learning once you start making your comic" so just, start learning now! Make changes later. You can't fix something that doesn't exist yet!

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

One thing I often think about is when artists completely relaunch their comics once they become a bit more intermediate in skill level. They've improved so much during the creation process that they feel a need to go back and totally start over. I've even run into some comics where they... almost seem in a constant state of relaunch I often wonder about how to encourage new artists to move forward instead of reiterating existing stuff. Or is the reiteration not necessarily a bad thing?

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I mean I guess it's not a bad thing if they're still having fun? Sometimes they're still having a blast; other times it's a form of torturous perfectionism.

Sometimes it's a bit of both, even

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah, I always frame it as "unless you are rewriting, don't redraw."

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I have seen a redrawn comic go well only once

Deo101 [Millennium]

Cause if it's just to fix your art but nothing is really fundamentally changing, then you'll get stuck in a loop I think

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

and that comic kept updating latest pages while redrawing the first ones

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah I've seen people do that. Where it's not a rebooot that basically stays the same, just a revamp of old stuff.

I could see myself doing that eventually tbh.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

The guy had very messy art in the beginning. Not bad art, he just didn't put much effort into it. The comic just evolved into something way bigger and more professional than he'd expected so he went and made the first pages professional looking as well

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yup Cause conics make your art improve so fast, every 50 pages you'll feel like your first one has sooo much wrong with it! So you can't get stuck just remaking pages

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Deo I don't think your first pages are any impediment to new readers. I have noticed a ton of art evolution though :0

Deo101 [Millennium]

Unless, yeah, you are rewriting and need the content on the pages to be different.

Yeah they might not be impeding but they're uglyyyyy

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I didn't notice your art changing much while reading your comic but then i went back to the first page and, woah.

big difference

Deo101 [Millennium]

It would be smth like way off in the future though if I did do it. It's not currently in my plans

I'd rather make new pages and new comics

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

has anyone ever commented on your art evolution?

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah my art has changed uhhh a lot LOL I think maybe a couple times? I don't have a good memory

mariah (rainy day dreams)

I think it's probably different for everyone. Personally, I don't think really believe in going back and redoing stuff, but I also say that as someone who just spent the last year redrawing most of my first five chapters. For me, Ive always wanted to print my comic, and I felt a lot of self-created pressure to have my first book look really good. Because it's going to be new readers first introduction to the series and if I don't feel 100% proud of it, sell it to other people was going to be impossible. I kind of just felt embarrassed by my old art and writing(some of it was like 8 years old and hadn't aged well). And also if I was going to use up resources to print something, then it should be the best version of that thing. But on the other hand, redoing the old stuff has also made me really sad that I haven't been able to move forward with new chapters. I definitely second Deo. And I also think you have to know where to draw the line. Like "ok, I'm going to redraw this once and then not again" or "I'm going to redraw up to X point and call it good. I think can be a really easy perfectionist trap and time sink if you aren't careful.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

it is also hard to get your existing audience to follow the same story twice

OH, webtoons features are rebooted comics oftentimes

I guess that counts as going well!

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeah, since getting featured by Webtoons is kinda like going print; it's a form of getting Published

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah. For this other comic I've not launched yet, I've redrawn the intro 4 times. The intro onky takes like, 20 hours absolute max (latest) but I still find myself looking at it and thinking.. I could have been making new stuff :/ BUT! I did rewrite it every time so it did need to change. I should have just waited to start it til I could commit more so there wasn't a year between each intro

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

But since webtoons features update so fast I don't really mind following the same story again. Lone is already almost to where the canvas version was

Deo101 [Millennium]

And yeah wt features need to reboot for a lotta reasons, there's also probably a lot of times like. At least lengthening updates to fit the requirements

They're not necessarily redrawing it, too. They just have to post from the beginning which totally makes sense

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I'm giving myself a mantra, don't redraw, don't look back. Just move on with what you got. There's chapters I want to cover. It's just years ago, I had constant panic that the story's theme was going to change as it went, so I 'must' change the first chapter to suit the general overview of the story. But it resulted in me burning out and being self destructive to my work. I'm going to take better care of myself(edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

i think most redraw significantly though

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah I mean, wouldn't u?

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I'd have to! My whole story is only like. 20 webtoons updates?

Deo101 [Millennium]

Truuu

If that, 40 panels.. a page is like usually around 5

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

agreed on redraw hell. tried it and I didn't like it at all lmaO

I'm kinda glad I have a good footing on my current comic and I don't want to redraw it at all unless it's adapted for something else. still like

work what you have, if you can orz

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

"Don't look back" is hard when you feel like the first X pages are dragging all the future pages down with them. I agree that you need to draw a line (no pun intended), set some criteria

The thing Eightfish mentioned -- not so bad that it'd deter new readers -- is a very useful criterion IMO

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

if you must, i wonder if redrawing the first scene would be okay?

Just as a taste of what's to come for new readers

Deo101 [Millennium]

Do you think they would notice the difference in quality and question that?

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

rip maybe

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I've read a long webcomic where only the first chapter was redrawn, and when I got to the second chapter and saw an immediate drop in quality, I knew what exactly happened XD

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah, but you're a creator! Readers don't have the same background to necessarily be able to assume that

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Just put in a note saying that it's art evolution

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

As someone who redrew their first scene for a lot a reasons, I will say that I personally think it's worth it.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Also same, I've seen it and knew exactly what happened

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeah, it was mentioned in the notes, but I didn't read the notes at first because I knew the archive was huge, and I wanted to Get Through It

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

if i were to do that, i'd put a note in the page itself

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

That sounds like a good idea

Deo101 [Millennium]

What were your reasons for redrawing crona?

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I'm not Crona but I redid a big chunk of my chapter 1 for writing reasons. (This was in addition to a whole reboot done prior.) The writing was... not 'this screams terrible writing' kind of bad. But it was extremely misleading/ unclear on what the overall story was going to be

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

dang tbh I did kinda redraw some panels to make the dialogue flow better. But I also tried my best to match up the quality of the pages drawn the time so it doesn't look jarring.

kinda what keii said but just minimizing the effects of shockkkk

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think this is one of the reasons why i don't want to do a comic that goes on for more than a couple years (well, for now that is. Maybe that'll change as i improve)

Deo101 [Millennium]

I redrew one intro 4 times, cause I kept rewriting the whole story.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

after that I was like "don't touch Ch. 1 again" lmao(edited)

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

1. Several panels didn't properly show what was happening in the scene. 2. Rewrote some of the dialogue 3. My art had improved so much that even if I hadn't redrawn it, the next scene would look very different. 4. I wasn't super far along, so I thought it would be good to give this another go, knowing much more about paneling, page-layout, and pacing.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

do you think there's a chance you'd eventually redraw wotp as it is now?

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Hell no(edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

lol then i think it's fine that you redrew!

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Even if I go back and clean some things up later for print, I'm not completely redrawing anything about WotP anymore

I finally got it to a point where I'm happyish with the way it looks

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I've never totally started over, but I did a ton of drawing edits (and a few writing edits!) on my first chapter before releasing it to the public. The previous version of the chapter does look far less polished. But even then, I really only completely redrew 1 or 2 panels. The rest was just liquifying wonky faces and whatnot. Still, once it got printed, I basically locked the artwork. With how long new pages take, I really don't have time to look back much anymore which is its own kind of blessing!

In that way, I'm very glad I kept it private for a while. I wasn't confident with my skills yet - and I wanted some wiggle room. It's part of the reason I encourage people to at least have some sort of foundation, so that the jump in improvement isn't so... startling

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

I actually kind of love to be startled by art evolution

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah I could see myself editing wonky faces and things like that more than I can see myself redrawing! My pages only take me like 2 hours and I still wouldn't redraw, can't imagine what your timeframe would look like...

But not in your own work, crona?

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

It happened with a lovely comic called Wind Rose, and it is so inspiring

I wouldn't say I don't like it in my work

More that I was completely changing art styles too

Deo101 [Millennium]

I see

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think starting a comic is a good way to get those foundational skills though, lazuli

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Even if you didn't post it online, you did start

Which I think is enough

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

one of the biggest examples of art style shift I've seen

Comic is still doing really well though!

I don't think anyone minded the art evolution at all

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

@Eightfish (Puppeteer) Yeah, that's my dilemma! I've seen a couple very new comic artists burn out quickly, or say that they're relaunching because of their own unhappiness. And part of me wants to tell them to slow down - they don't need to post anything, just use it as a training ground.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Of course, if you yourself hate your old art you're probably more important(edited)

It's still nice to have your story read though

even if just by a few friends

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I haven't read through it, but I know this is another good example...

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

another one!

This was intentional though, to convey a change in setting

It's kind of fun to look at these comparisons(edited)

I think most readers would feel the same

carcarchu

my most inspiring art evolution is from zero point idol chapter 1

chapter 90

the artist also got better at panelling too. also not only did the art change but the genre completely did too. it started out as a comedy romance then slowly became a drama romance

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Looks like you switched the images around?

carcarchu

oh it's in the right order on my side

the more bishounen looking one should be the newer one

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh! I think the more colorful one looks much better actually?

But perhaps the author chose a different style to draw more quickly?

carcarchu

uh i think the opposite

the newer art looks objectively better

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

okay i'm gonna look it up maybe I will think differently if i see a bunch of panels in context

looking it up it is definitely clear that the author is putting much more effort into later updates.

Though skimming it I still sort of prefer the style of the earlier pages?

carcarchu

i have never heard someone say that before

people usually complain they got gipped in the first chapter lol

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Can't say anything about the paneling or anything like that because I just skimmed it

Well, I like the style of the things in the first pages that they tried harder on

There are a lot of like, chibi or messy panels there

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I'm looking up the titles for these screencaps you guys presented!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

The first one I shared is A Matter of Life and Death!

The second is YU+ME Dream (highly recommend)(edited)

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Seconded, YUME is very good and it's complete!

kayotics

I think there’s a lot of good reasons to restart or redraw past pages, but there’s a lot of people who DO get trapped in the constant iterative state of restarting/redrawing their comic, and then they don’t get anywhere with it

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

It's hard to come up with any consistent advice because people have different goals starting their comic. Like, some people just wanna do a comic to get better at art, or because they have a bunch of OCs that they want to do something with. And to those people... like, just have fun with it. Now, if you have a full story in mind, and your goal is to complete it in a timely manner that isn't overwhelming (without sacrificing on quality), this is the advice I give: 1) Plan out your story. You don't need to do a full script or whatever, but do try to have at least an outline, with an estimate of how many pages each part will be. 2) Spend a typical month (like, a month that you also have other work to do) drawing the first few pages of your comic. Don't post them yet. Count the number of pages you drew. The number you post per month should be less than that. e.g. if you drew 6 pages in that month, you should post 1 page each week. That way, you can have a bit of leeway to build a buffer without burning out. 3) Look back at that outline. How many pages did you plan it out to be? And how often are you planning on posting each page? Let's see... carry the two... this comic's gonna take HOW many years to complete?! 4) If you're comfortable with the task ahead of you, continue on to step 5. Otherwise, cut some stuff from your outline and repeat step 3. 5) Have fun with it! You might change your mind on future plot points, and that's ok! Just... try to do so in a way that doesn't create more work for yourself.

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

My advice is to just get started. I see so many people caught up in the idea that you need to perfect your art skills before starting a comic and then they just never start working on it

Your art is never going to be "perfect" and its better to have a tangible comic than a perfect one

I don't mean that in a discouraging way I just mean like no one can really achieve perfection and it's better to just create things

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I like snuffysam's advice because I have noticed there are different kinds of approach to webcomics. Some do it for fun and practice like I do nowadays. While others have a big long form series they are deeply passionate about but to start it seem overwhelming. Everyone's advice is pretty great! (edited)

DanitheCarutor

Fff I don't feel like I'm really qualified to give advice to people. I don't take art and comics seriously enough to follow most rules, so I would just be a bad influence if anything. Lol (Also everyone else has already said what I would.) I guess the one thing I would tell someone on the fence about starting their comic is to do it when you're ready. Like, I wanted to start doing comics when I was 15 but I wasn't quite mentally ready yet? I was used to doing illustrations so I couldn't stick with doing anything longer than 1 page, throughout the years I experimented with doing 1-2 pages of random scenes in stories I wanted to do, it wasn't until I hit my 20s when I was like "Okay, I want to do this!" In a way I didn't totally get into comic mode until my current project, since I was still feeling things out with the previous ones. Kinda went on a tangent there. Lol But yeah, comics are a huge commitment, I don't think it's super good to push yourself into starting if you're not mentally ready yet. Give yourself some time, do some casual stuff to prepare for the comic you really want to do in the meantime (brainstorming, concept art, character studies, etc.), or don't think about it at all if that's how you do things, then when you really get that itch go for it.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

My advice won't be anything that hasn't been touched on in this chat (so many good vibes ;_;) but I do wanna say that if I had any advice for someone to get into comics, it's to do it for yourself as the main priority. Webcomic popularity has been on the rise very quickly in this past decade, with copious amounts of creators trying their hand at their One Story, competition, exposure, and pressure are sure to set in with this wild ride that is comic making. So what do you do to combat that? How do you stay above water, make sure you have fun, or avoid turning this into what seems like never ending homework? You make your goal you. Whether You want to improve, whether You want to explore characters, or whether You just want to experiment- such a large project (let's be real, there's no easy way to do comics!) should be handled with that initial fire you had when you wanted to start the project, when you felt inspired to lay those panels down and tell that story. Don't compare your journey to others, don't feel that pressure to always Be Something.(edited)

Comics are a medium, just like film, canvas, or Video games for that matter, they have their own process and steps. Find what works for you and enjoy the ride, because it could easily turn into a long one!

eliushi [a winged tale]

I love it Krispy! You gotta do what you love

I’m just curious. What are your personal goals that keeps you going for the comic if you don’t mind sharing?

(And for anyone to answer too!)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I get what you mean and 100% agree with you. But I wanna bring up a caviat -- some people use the whole "do it for yourself" thing to shut down creators who are doing it for themselves, but also want some recognition. It's not their main priority, but it is a thing they want and it's okay to want it. I guess that goes back to the other advice about getting support. Find support, find people who won't make you feel guilty for simply wanting some recognition. People who will understand and support your goals.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

told myself that I won't let my self to lay my soul to rest till I'm done with the projects I have

so lmao that's somethin that drives me contracted to keep living till everything I do is finished lmao(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

One of my friends got told she wasn't a Real Writer simply because she wanted a readership. That kinda disrespect is not okay

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

oh dang

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

oh that is a whole different level from what i'm saying for sure

first off those people can go away lol

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeeeah

Again, not what you were saying, just... how SOME people twist the advice

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

and secondly, if you're not doing your work for yourself, you can easily fall into pleasing others and drown in Trying to Stay relevant, burning your creative drive too (i mean, if you can make ur comic and do that , good on you woah) but i've seen multiple comic artists crash and burn for the sole purpose of doing the comic in competition with others, convincing themselves that 'other styles' are crap bc their own work doesnt match up (gosh that was a rough one) and all in all, them just becoming so bitter with their work! THOUGH! this essentially applies to all creative fields and not just comics! And those entitled ppl who do that suffer from jealousy and nothing else. I cannot stand for those types who tear others down when faced with their own insecurity

and creators have every right to ask for help too. y'all deserve that recognition for the hard work you do, sometimes however, that isn't always available to them

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

yea

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

(which is why we gotta lift eachother up!)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

You bring up a good topic that's very relevant to my struggles. It can be very difficult to know: is it okay to disregard this criticism. Am I allowed to do that? Am I allowed to like this thing about my work that people are pointing out as the bad part? Or does that make me a.... bad creator. Unprofessional, bratty, whatever. I'm not even talking about picking a fight/ getting verbally defensive. Just, silently disagreeing. I WANT to say the answer is yes, we are free to have our own opinion about our work. But dang if it isn't hard to feel guilty for doing it.

eliushi [a winged tale]

I think any trailblazers and pioneers feel this sort of sentiment.

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

That sounds about right

I don't really think of myself as a pioneer, but it is still something I feel in my bones

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I guess that’s the beauty of a self-run webcomic. You are the boss. Your viewership can give you critique, but you can choose what to listen to. You’re not beholden to a higher power (producer, director, patron, etc) to change things no matter what. It’s your project to run, and oftentimes only YOU know where it’s going, and you know how that criticism would change things.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

ya lmao. idk like I don't see a lot of stories that run in conflict of towards what I'm doing so it's kinda nervewracking when you're like "oh god am I setting a good example or what? Should I be worried when I just want to create and share a story?"

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

If you can be proud of the story as-is, I think there’s power in that, and it comes through in the work. A confident comic is a lovely thing.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

That makes me really sad that you have these struggles Kei. Your work is a project of love. Love for the things that inspire you, love for the way to tell your story, and love for that process. You are allowed to proud and tell the world about it, you are allowed to embrace the success that you gain from your work. We as comic makers do SO MUCH WORK and wear SO MANY HATS to make this mainly free to read story available, and that should be celebrated. SO YES, you CAN and you MUST choose what you want to take from others comments, their feedback, reactions, etc- but in the end, it's still about what YOU wanted to make of this work, bc in the end, you are the wheel that keeps this whole thing spinning

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I dunno about confident, but I can say my comic is an honest one. Even if I don't feel confident, I still don't let outside criticisms change what I do.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

webcomic creators aren't given the space they need to grow a lot of times too-- we're essentially producing work that easily requires a small studio to create- there's gonna be ups and downs to the process. But you have to keep in mind for your own sanity that this is still your work and your vision. If you want to explore options of improving then you should be in control of that. (we all know how i feel about crits from randos too XD!)

eliushi [a winged tale]

Agree so much Krispy. I think everyone’s goals and visions for their project are valid and if they sustain your project, then that’s a success in itself

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

agreed!

eliushi [a winged tale]

Often I see this tip and pass on to other writers that when they write their story it’s important to think of a logline or something central that is the heart of the story. I put that as my first page so every time I open my document I see it. I think it’s the same for webcomics. Find the heart of your story — why you want to write it and remind yourself of that. I find it’s helpful to keep me going

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

omg eli....i love that!!!

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

wow that is really great advice eliushi!! I'd love to steal that if you don't mind?

eliushi [a winged tale]

Please do!! It’s a gift!!

take ittt

Miranda

these are all such great suggestions. You people are a fountain of wisdom.

Deo101 [Millennium]

I wrote in the header of my documents, "everything bad that happens in the story is because of me, and everything good happens because of them." Basically to remind myself not to do any sort of ex machina or whatever. And also put my tagline. It definitely helps!

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I think it's a good guideline -- the "pure luck can only be the bad kind" thing. But my bro brought up the Walking Dead (I think? either that or some other really well known zombie thing?) as an example of going too far in that direction. He said the characters take a turn, open a door, etc. and the zombies just come pouring out like an unholy explosive diarrhea all of sudden, to a point where he was like "lol?" He said it was like the universe was setting it up against the characters, and he couldn't take it seriously. He's played/watched lots of zombie stuff so he's no stranger to jump scares or zombies appearing in hordes, but that one was still too much for him.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

wh lmao about that spoiler part like

Deo101 [Millennium]

Oh yeah no, too much of anything is bad.

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeah like, I can see that kind of extreme bad luck being used in farce comedy

Deo101 [Millennium]

Ahaha yeah

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I wonder what a story would be like in the opposite direction where everything bad that happens to them is because of them and everything good that happens to them is because of the writer

Deo101 [Millennium]

Everything Goes Bad Man A horrible superhero trying to do his best

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

A comedy! Could also make it a Shakespearean tragedy

Deo101 [Millennium]

Horror could make it work too

I was meaning my thing more like uhh, make them earn their good things and success kinda thing

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Depressing drama about a person who tries to succeed in life but fails at every turn

Nah I got it deo

Just throwing out hypotheticals

Deo101 [Millennium]

I would hate to watch or read any of these horrible things btw

But it's fun to hypothesize

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think for like, most stories, your direction is much more engaging

I don't want to watch someone fail over and over

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

There's also that trope where everything goes bad despite their effort, and then Luck just drops success on the character's lap, leaving them feeling empty

Deo101 [Millennium]

Me either LOL coming out of stories like that is always like 0_0 well nkw I'm just depressed

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

But I think something like watamote, a comedy about a socially inept girl, might be an example of what I said that a lot of people like. I haven't watched it though so I'm not sure

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeah, I don't know that specific one, but there are cases where people feel comforted by reading about tough luck in that "I'm not the only one" way. Certainly not everyone's cup of tea, though.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Grave of the Fireflies

That movie seemed more like a message about war though. It seemed like it was trying to say something

I think I could enjoy a depressing story like that if it was nonfiction or historical fiction

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

It was sorta semi-autobiographical (not 100% but inspired by his own experience)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Something that feels real

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

yeah, grave of the fireflies WAS based off of the author's experiences

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I personally am okay with depressing fiction if it feels real

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Same

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Doesn't have to be based on true events

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

his sister and him were taken in by the aunt and they were actually left that way the sister died of starvation (edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Hey, spoiler tag that!

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

whoops mbad

Deo101 [Millennium]

I'm one of those who is 100% not... I can be okay with and love depressing stories after having seen it and then getting time away from it, but watching or reading them is a horrible experience for me

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

My Sweet Orange Tree is thought to be at least sort of based on the author's own experience, and I think that adds something to the book. (Can't confirm because the author's dead.) But even if it were pure fiction, it would remain a lovely, compelling book.

@Deo101 [Millennium] Nothing is for everyone!

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

I remember feeling really depressed for the rest of the day after watching grave of the fireflies

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Not everything bad that happens to them was their own fault, but Grave of the Fireflies was sort of a story about pride though. A boy who refused to suck it up and apologize to his aunt, resulting in his and his sister's deaths. I think that did make the story more powerful

hubris and all that

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

so I can definitely relate to only watching short bursts of depressing stuff

Deo101 [Millennium]

I honestly try to avoid them entirely, not even short bursts tbh

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

correct! however, a lot of viewers also blamed the aunt for not keeping them. Apparently the real life aunt felt a lot of remorse for being indirectly responsible for their deaths, and her daughter was angry at her. However, the aunt was also feeling depression from her husband who recently died

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I read them rarely, but I feel like they make me more? Grounded? I liked the way Man's Search for Meaning (Holocaust survivor's book) changed the way I thought of the world

Deo101 [Millennium]

I'm just hyperempathetic and they really hurt me

Not like I'm like "I wanna be ignorant" or anything

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think that one scene with the farmer telling him to suck up his pride was highlighting that he could have been taken back in but refused to even try

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

@Deo101 [Millennium] 100% Valid!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Yeah. Entertainment is supposed to be fun or meaningful and if it's not then don't read it

Although, I do really believe we should learn about these topics in school at least

You have to be exposed to them somewhat

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah I just don't like the kind of idea that gritty depressing stuff is more realistic, I understand learning about history and hardships but it's not something I like to think of as like "the truth jusy is that the world is terrible" it makes me feel very alone because I work very hard to see the world nit like that.

Miranda

Re: the extreme bad luck/I cause all the bad stuff for my characters I saw a tip that said coincidences can happen to get your characters into trouble, but not to get them out of trouble, and I thought that was an excellent way of putting that. (sorry to plop that in the midst of the most recent discussion)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

TBH as someone who has lived in Eccentric Relatives' House under not so great circumstances, I didn't even get any hint of "the boy should've sucked up" from Grave of Fireflies. My experience may have been worse than the boy's in his aunt's house though, and maybe my bias led me to see his experience as being just as unfair as mine. In any case it's been years since I watched it, so maybe I'm forgetting some key details.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think "realistic" means a mix of good and bad

My favorite nonfiction books contain a lot of cruelty, but also very good people

Reading about people's good work and outlooks despite tragedies really got to me

Or like, perseverance

Perseverance as a theme really, really hits me

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah I like perseverance but I hate stories that are hopeless or treat hope as naiive

It makes me angry tbh

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

oof same yeah

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

the aunt was still feeding them though, and allowing them to stay. If he had left his sister at home and tried to get a job like his cousins did, I think it is implied that they would have survived.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

I do like my dark themes but lmao i dont want to go to wreckless cruelty. there's an art with that(edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Endless pessimism is as unrealistic as endless optimism(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I feel like there's hopeless stories and there's stories that treat hope as naive. The former is like, yeah sure, not everyone's cup of tea, but the latter is like "if this isn't your cup of tea, then you're dumb" which is

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah I don't mind dark themes it's just that sort of grittiness, humanity is inherently evil, hope gets you nothing kind of stories that I hate

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Btw. My favorite nonfiction books: Man's Search for Meaning The Gift of Fear The Gift of Pain (no relation to the gift of fear) All showcase a lot of cruelty and suffering but all are still very hopeful

I know it's unlikely you guys will read them but

They're good and I still reccoemend them highly

They are books that changed the way i think

They are also all written by people who have gone through and seen terrible things and yet made it their life's work to help others

I just can't reccomend them enough

But I will stop talking about it now

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

for me, uhhh it's from famial experiences mostly

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Do you think your stories err on the side of optimism or pessimism?

@ everyone

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

since most of my family suffered from the vietnam war, a lot of stuff they told me were fist hand accounts of war and cruetlty

like from my mom, my dad, my aunties and uncles

even like the older members of my communties so that stuff is still fresh lmao

Deo101 [Millennium]

Optimism. I want to say neither but I know nearly no one would read it and say it's realistic

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh, I've had similar stories. My great grandmother had her whole family except her killed by a Japanese bomb and my family, despite traveling a lot, has still never visited Japan out of respect to her

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

but since they already living better lives I see that the darkness in those times have at least kick started them out to their kind of propserity or still striving towards

so I see myself as a realist lmao

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

I think my stories usually go a bit more on the pessimistic side I’m afraid. People have remarked that my more emotional scenes can be surprisingly dark, so I’m trying to introduce some more heartwarming scenes

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I don't wanna say "err on the side of".... I do bittersweet and slightly LEAN towards the bitter more often than not! But I think this particular aspect may be partly up to the readers to gauge.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think my story is realistic to me. The worst my characters experience is similar to mine, and the best is also similar to mine. But I have no idea if my own life has had more good or more bad than the "average person"

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

"Sometimes life super sucks in ways you have little to no control over, but you can still be there for each other, and that really, really counts" <--- is this too bitter or just right? That's up to each reader to answer, I think.

Deo101 [Millennium]

Hey you said optimism or pessimism you gotta pick

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

like there is hope and optimism but that is meaningless without the critical side of things. and I want to depict those sides in life.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Optimism

But I'm optimistic

Deo101 [Millennium]

Keiiii that's the way I write too and I think it's optimistic

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

My life has shown me that I can escape bad things so I don't think optimism is unrealistic though

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

You can't fix life but you can give love

Deo101 [Millennium]

Exactly

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

i guess for my stories they kinda like what keii said like there's good side of things but lmao I somehow add some painful elements that they have to endure in order to have those good times(edited)

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

personallly I think stories work if you give people hope

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Eh, not every story is meant to give hope

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Yeah

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

but it's a good goal

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

like as long as you give people a semblance of hope, even if you throw some depressing stuff.....it can work. Oh, I meant as a bittersweet story

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

But I think not giving hope is unrealistic

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

lmao I guess I'm a target since the last story i write

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Though perhaps I only think that because I haven't experienced true tragedy(edited)

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

it was just bleak in a hopeful light

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

It depends, like I can imagine a short story that hyperfocuses on something extremely depressing.

Deo101 [Millennium]

Y'know what I have actually hopeless things in my life and I have 0 interest in reading a story that's hopeless

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

ye and that's fair

Deo101 [Millennium]

And even though I have hopeless experiences I don't think my life overall is hopeless

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

i wonder if people actively look for stories that focus on not having hope because i know many people read these stories as a way to escape their lives

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

I agree on that. idk. for me writing stories that lead to an end that really don't work with both parties... could be just my morbid curosity in just seeing how things won't work out as planned for both persons.

could be like a philosophical thing maybe? or giving a different perspective of some sorts?

like "things are the same but given with the option you gave me, I can't go through with that"

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I can relate to curiosity being a motivation for exploring dark stories. It's why I check out horror stories -- horror stories (games especially) show the MC in an extremely "wrong" situation at the beginning, and I check them out to find out the presumably equally extreme "why" for that wrongness. I don't think I could write stories like that myself, though.

Psychological horror specifically

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

yeah, horror has been uh ingraned in my life to this point. and I like writing stories with that kind of edge in mind, more of the psycholgial aspects than horror.

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Do you guys think some people search for morbid stories like these to not only satisfy their curiousity....but also to make themselves feel better about their own lives?

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I don't particularly care to find out why Mr. Chainsaw is going around killing everyone in a splatter/slasher horror, for instance X'D

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

it's a possibility tbh.

sometimes I do that but I also had experienced simalar kinds of sorts that seeing those works i'm like "dang not alone in these wack feels"

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I guess it depends on each person?

"Gee, at least I don't have any literal demons coming after my eyeballs" is not very comforting to me, personally

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

i mean lmao

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Sometimes sad stories do make me feel more thankful for my own peaceful life but I don't seek them out for that reason

Deo101 [Millennium]

Imagine if ur disabled and that's the narrative used to make other people feel better about their lives

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Deo101 [Millennium]

Off topic but that's why disabled people hate "inspiration porn"

It's something that's really hard to explain cause "do you not want to inspire people" is really hard to answer

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

yeah, those kinds of stories I really don't like at all.

Deo101 [Millennium]

So I wanted to jump on the opportunity to explain even though it's really off topic sorry

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

No, don't be sorry. "Life sucks but hey, at least you're not me!" is not something anyone should have to put up with

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

it's understandable tho!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

To be honest I do seek out stories about disability because I find it fascinating how people adapt to mental and physical changes. I find ingenuity very interesting?

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

I guess I look at it more towards like how some relationships with people don't work, and also the diaconomy between individuals interest me. Not for those kinds of stories but I've seen elements of that appear in some works i read in the past

Deo101 [Millennium]

I also seek out stories about disabilities, but only hopeful ones not like "my life is ruined and this is my driving motivation, to not be like this"

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

One of the books I recommended was by a doctor who spent his life working with people with leprosy and the workarounds for missing limbs and sensation he and his patients would come up with was just so fascinating to me to read

It's something that's really hard to explain cause "do you not want to inspire people" is really hard to answer

@Deo101 [Millennium] I think I understand you but just curious- how do you respond to that?(edited)

Deo101 [Millennium]

It's usually like "I want to inspire people to be like me because they're proud of what I can do" but they're always like "I'm proud of what you can do in spite of-" and it's like. Idk just a deep sigh

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

oh yeah rip

i had that happened to me before like "Dang you do did this and you're from some a family that suffered so much--"

"uh huh please focus on the work not my life thanks lmao"

Deo101 [Millennium]

Like don't hold me to a different, lower standard. Don't pity me

Yeah exactly

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Hm it's sort of true but also if someone said "I'm proud of what you can do despite not having a dad" I'd be like fuck yoooouuuu

Deo101 [Millennium]

Like there's other things please

It's like, pity. It's not actually inspiration I think

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I'm proud of what you can do in spite of not having a brain

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

pity has left the building

like sure, yeah let's go with that but there's other experiences other than my background and my identity the brought out this work too. that's how we can get some unique voices into the field.

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

so yeah, I can understand rip people saying fustrating things like that. maybe they don't have a better way of phrasing it. orz

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

At the very least it's better than the opposite side

"your experiences were not that bad" angle

Deo101 [Millennium]

I get that a lot also

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

and sadly I too experienced that angle LMAO

Deo101 [Millennium]

LMAO tuyetnhi same hat

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

no one wins

hurrah

most of it came about because of my mixed idenity like I don't get hit by the usual racism my viet friends experienced

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

This is overall a very small thing but I casually mentioned I was attracted to women to a long time friend yesterday and she went full on "thank you so much for coming out to me this doesn't change my opinion of you I love you you're a great friend" And then the conversation got hella stilted and awkward after that and AG I Hate that

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

but er.... I have seen people look at me and was like "mixed baby? that's hot"

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Wtfff

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

"please no."

it's wack like u put me in a scale where that scale is already wack to begin with

it don't make sense lmao

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

wait what the fuck

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

People are like why TF are u using a cane you're young and I tell them I have a condition and they're like, what does it do and I say the symptoms and they're like :/ I get those too :/

Freak out and tell them to get tested right away

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

also i really get annoyed when I see people just.......treat people with personality disorders like we're all psychos and tell others

hey at least you're not like these psychos

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh the telling others bit(edited)

Nooooo

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

like my experience isn't that universal but it's already terible enough knowing that if you have mixed ethncities then you're treated as an "exotic creature" and i'm like "I'll shoot you down"

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Mann luckily I grew up in a place where that doesn't really happen

I hope

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Oh my god i'm glad i live in a really diverse city and yeah deo....they do

we get labelled "troubled people" particularly if we're female in the mental health sector

a LOT of psychiatrists push us around and they use it as code for "difficult"

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

rip I live where 80% the folks here are mostly er homogenous white folk

and they ask me these questions that I know boil me blood

I'm too poor for cali man

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

oooooof I feel that tuyetnhi i went to a really white uni town for my alma mater

i got called a tall chink by a frat boy there

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

yeah I experienced that shit durring uni

it sucks

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

yoooo you can also come to toronto if you can't go to cali ;3

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

I can travel to toronto but lmao maybe next year

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

maybe ;A;;

also @Eightfish (Puppeteer) wait what do you mean by your question? is it pertaining to personality disorders or to the race questions?

......yeah people tend to treat you better if they don't know you have a personality disorder

LMAO I MEAN TRUE, that's pretty obvious XD

because people think that personality disorders are untreatable. And I would like people to be more informed about them

Heck, a lot of people don't even know about BPD. So I'd rather that people stay informed about it, even if it means that I might suffer for it.

What if there's another person with BPD who needed help but the people around them didn't know? And I don't think it's fair to keep it hidden when it can easily damage relationships.

Deo101 [Millennium]

And also, "why don't you just hide that part of yourself if people treat you badly for how you are?" Is hardly ever a healthy way of dealing with things

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

better be informed than being ignorant

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Yeah...I've actually considered just...putting a joke warning label on myself lmao

(but thank you guys for understanding <3)

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

negatively changed? rip

ohhh nooo

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

yeah.....it's kinda like.....just because you have these negative experiences, you try not to let it stop you

because there's ALWAYS a chance that you'll meet people who understand

........I actually told a good friend that I had bpd and she started ghosting me. She was scared of me and thought i was...."weird"

and scary.

She was scared that i was gonna go psycho.

but I think it's important to know that not everyone is going to be an asshole.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

it really is

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

i had a psychiatrist tell me that i probably lost friends....because i was a bitch ;A;

after formally diagnosing me with bpd

yeah and i had one psychiatrist just....diagnost me with anxiety disorder and he wouldn't listen to me just gave me a survey to fill out

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

makes them feel like they're 2d?

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

yeah and they are usually very complex and have very VERY varied pasts doesn't help that the media paints us as monsters in horror movies a lot

you see sociopathy and antisocial disorder in the news a lot and then they see people with bpd and they're like

LOOK! YANDERES!

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

ooooffff

that's not even part of the DSM lmaO

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

screams every time i see an article about how to "save yourself from someone with BPD"

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

speaking from my experiences as a former psyche major

like that can't be determined solely just by those factors alone

cormidbity is a factor too

oh my godddd

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I get that a lot

also yeah psychiatrists..........they need to keep themselves updated man

they put a lot of blanket terms for people with pds because it's easier or maybe because psychiatrists are simply not equipped to deal with people with pds?

i mean look how many psychiatrists i've met or heard fuck it up with bpd

and that's one of THE EASIEST pds to rehabilitate

imagine rehabilitating someone with narcissism or sociopathy

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

APD

is the proper term lmao

or ASPD

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

also eightfish....nope. it's a really long LONG road to rehabilitation. Some take years.

but it's kinda...a relief to be diagnosed OH WHOOPS

mbad

OH MY GOD THE TRANSGENDER THING

coughs in victorian times exCUSE me

hugs

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

rip this is from my understanding but if the condition of the disorder is either: a combination of bringing harm to yourself, restricting yourself from your routines, harm to others, or sense of losing control of your daily life then they will mostly likely dianoise. though that's what I

I've known years ago rip. idk if they hold up those standards today

or changed things from it

it really bites when you're seeking help and the folks that supposed to help you say like "but you're normally functioning so I see no problem ya u free to go"

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

"if we can't see it you're not injured so get the fuck back to work"

psychiatrists who just brush you off because it doesn't fit THEIR narrative piss you off

like you're going to them for help....and they categorize you as they see fit

and when you try to go against them they label you as "difficult"

eliushi [a winged tale]

Hey friends, good discussions here but just wondering if it’s best in #general as this will be archived? Just want you all to be safe

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

ah okay! Thank you Eli

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

Oof wait archived?

In what way?

eliushi [a winged tale]

Check pins(edited)

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

OH GOD

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

Ahh

I'm deleting every message lol

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

(And this convo is off topic)

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

will do man

Deo101 [Millennium]

already on it

I just deleted everything to about 1 cause I think thats where we went off topic

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh shit yeah this is creator babble

I will delete messages as well

#ctparchive #comic #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

1 note · View note

littlemisssquiggles · 6 years ago

Note

Hey squiggle meister. What're your thoughts on the flood of people on YouTube who are constantly ranting about the series. And how it's dead after Monty died, and how it's so much worst than before. Etc etc

Tobe honest with you Key, I really don't want to answer this question.I mean it's alright that you asked and I'm going to answer you however I'mgetting a strange sense of deja vu here. Wasn't it not too long ago that youasked me to give my opinion on a similar condition that was happening pre-V6?

Thiswas the issue back then and yet here we are again. You may wanna grab yourselfa snack and settle in because this is going to be one long response post. Let’s just say,this squiggle meister had a lot to let off her chest regarding this particulartopic in the FNDM:

Ihave actually had a small listen to some of these critiques on YouTube and toput it bluntly, I couldn't bring myself to finish most of them. I am a RWBY fan whoalways advocates respecting each other’s opinions regardless of whether or notwe share the same sentiments about the series. I am also a RWBY fan whounderstands that the series is not a flawless show and has suffered more than its fairshare of shortcomings throughout its last arc trilogy.

Nevertheless, in spiteof this, I’ve also acknowledged some noteworthy improvements in the quality of the show that honestly deserves more praise.As someone who has been with this series since its humble beginnings, I have beenthere for each transformation the show has undergone and in doing so, I haveseen RWBY evolve.

Whilesome of the show’s changes haven’t entirely been welcomed by its fandom (withits main change being something completely out of the showrunners’ control) I’dbe lying if I said these changes didn’t contribute to the show’s success insome shape or form.

Speakingfor myself, initially RWBY earned my attention because, like most RWBY stans, Iwas a fan of Monty Oum before and when I discovered that he had his own seriesproduced by RoosterTeeth, I was interested. I didn’t care what the story wasabout or what it looked like. All that mattered to be me back then was that itwas something from the creative mind of Monty Oum so I expected somethingepically action-packed.

At the start, I joinedthe RWBY fandom becauseof Monty however as the seriesprogressed, my reasoning for sticking with it and staying loyal to the showtranscended my past loyalty to the franchise as a by-product of anartist/animator I admired so much.

Thisbrings me to my main point. You want my honest thoughts onthe YouTube RWBY Rants, Key? To be frank, I’m tired of it. It is exhausting listeningto the tirades of these proclaimed RWBY YouTube reviewers who do nothing butgripe and express their disdain for everything the show does wrong according totheir standards. I am so fed up of seeing this happen time and time again.

Andwhat’s sad is that I don’t think part of this is even due to the show or theCRWBY’s fault. Do you know you are more likely to find a video shitting on RWBYas opposed to one that genuinely outlines its positive elements or at leastpresents a fair and just constructive argument of the good and bad of the show?Do you know how many RWBY hate videos the YouTube algorithm has recommended to mesince V6 concluded? It’s ridiculous.

ButI also know I can’t do anything to stop it. So long as RWBY exists, there willalways be these so-called ---I guess we can call them the ‘hate parade’ type of fans who wait like vultures to a carcass to pick apartthe show whenever a new season comes out.

Anddo you know what the sadder part about watching these videos is?

Thesevideos try to give the allusion thatthey are coming from a practical standpoint---as if the things they’repointing out in their reviews are genuine problems with theshow and that their personal advice to the showrunners are valid enough torectify these problems they indicated about RWBY.

Herein, lies my personal peeve with these types of reviews. The best kind of criticto me is one who can point out a flaw in something, justify why they believesaid thing is a clear flaw and then use their own understanding to outlinetheir concept for a possible solution to that flaw that they respectfully leaveopen to the creators of said property to take their advice or not.

However,this is not the case with these YouTube RWBY Rants; at least from the few I’veviewed. I’ll admit, there are some genuinely good RWBY Reviewers on YouTube. Ofthe top of my head, Thatkaitodan, MurderofBirds are two and believeit or not, I actually like some of EruptionFang’s reviews from time to time. Imay not always agree 100% with everything he says in his breakdowns but in myopinion, I can’t get too mad at the things he says in his reviews/video essaysbecause he’s able to justify it in a manner that I’m able to see where he’scoming from. Even if that justification comes from a place of unbridled rage.Referring to EF, I know he’s been receiving flak from FNDM members regardinghis recent views on Adam’s conclusion and Bumblebee; however if I’m beingcompletely honest here, I feel some of that bashing is unwarranted.

Inall fairness to EF, at least I’m able stomach his opinions a lot better than thatof other RWBY Youtubers. As I said, EF is able to properly defend his pointswell enough for me to grasp the validity of his statements which is the least Ican say for some of the others I’ve listened to.

Oftenat times, on the adverse side of RWBY YouTube, I find myself listening toYoutubers who spend more time outright bashing everypersonal gripe they have with the show as opposed to presenting a good argumentthan gives hindsight to why these problems are such an issue to them.

Theworst kind are the ones where this Youtubers point out flaws in the show andtry to give solutions to what the showrunners can do to fix these problems. Butmost of the time it’s done so rudely that it comes off more obnoxious thanhelpful. As if these Youtubers are proclaiming to know and understand moreabout the animation production process than the actual people running the showwho have the qualifications and past industry experience

I’llgive you two examples. Not naming names but I recently watched two videos fromtwo RWBY Youtubers---one critiquing the shows character designs while anotherwas a Youtuber’s final video explaining why they were quitting the RWBY FNDMfor good.

Inthe characterdesign critique, the individualexpressed their disappointment in the recent designs for the RWBY girls and thevillains as of the Mistral Arc. They then proceeded to offer their own tips for how the show could have helped to spruce up someof these designs. However rather than attempting to make their own alternatedesigns to the character outfits, this Youtuber just slapped some rather poorlylaid out flat base colours on top of screenshots of the characters in question.Which from a digital art perspective is…admittedly…lazy.

Iunderstand that not everyone in the world is a designer, much less is a characterdesigner or at least knows how to draw. However…if that is the case then whyare you, as the individual who clearly doesn’t appear to have the design skills,commenting on the work of a studio with a full production team of artists whodo have those required skills and experience and can probably rationalize theirreasons for going with the final designs presented in the show. You get whatI’m saying?

Ifone is going to critique the show’s overall character design then the least youcan do is make the effort to back up your claims. Illustrate your own designsfor RWBY character outfits. Create a mock-up 2D/3D screenshot illustration withproper lighting and atmosphere to see how your design ideas holds up againstthose elements of a scene and then compare that to the actual show’s productionwork. This reviewer didn’t even bother to attempt to maketheir own original designs or even redraw the current designs in their ownstyle and test out their suggested colourpalettes to see if it would fit with the overall design aesthetic of thecharacter.

Youmight be asking now: But Squiggles are you saying I need to know how to draw tocomment about RWBY?

To which I say: No.Being an artist is not a requirement that you as a fan need to really have inorder to comment about something you love. HOWEVER, if you are the type of individualwho has the massive chops to try and dictate a production studio with a team ofeducated and/or industry seasoned artists on how they should handle designingtheir characters without you yourself having the design knowledge to supportyour critiques then… you wonder why the CRWBY often get upset with these typesof fans and don’t take their comments seriously?

Contraryto what others might say, I am not a believer that RWBY is dictated by thedesires of its fandom community. That’s a comment I’ve been hearing buzzingabout since V6 ironically in the face of the recent hate crowd to gather fromwhat transpired with the Bumblebee pairing in the recent season.

Iunderstand that there are fans making the argument that the showrunners onlymade this pairing canon because its popular with its shipping community. Thesame can be said about Neo’s return to become Cinder’s protégé.

Admittedlywhile I might find the CRWBY’s decisions to be questionable at times, this still doesn’t prove that they are run by theirFNDM. If something happens in the show, it’s because it’s something theshowrunners and has wanted to do for some time and picked that current volumeto do so. The mere fact that that thing just so happened to correlate withsomething the fans wanted to see is just a matter of coincidence.

Thatbeing said, I will admit that I’ve noticed one or two members of the CRWBY castwho are guilty of encouraging certain ideas without the show itself officially confirming it in its narrative as yet.

In light of that, Iwill admit this. Regardless of whether or not you as a member of the CRWBY teamsupport a particular ship with all your heart, if other fandoms have taught meanything is that as a cast member you should NEVER encourage anything within yourown fan community. It never ends well and I’m seeing this repeated in RWBY. Butthis is not what I’m here to talk about right now. Moving on.

Inrespect to the video from the individual who was leaving the FNDM, I actually didn’tfinish watching their video because the instant they mentioned Monty Oum and their disdain for the CRWBY not living up to hislegacy and all that stuff, I couldn’t.

Ahyes, the classic ‘RWBY Animation hasn’t been the best since Monty passed away and the RWBYAnimation team are terrible because they can’t replicate Monty’s animation’ debate.How many times is this dead horse going to be beaten? According to this RWBY Youtuber, ‘replicatingMonty’s style of animation is easy andit is appalling the RWBY Animation Team can’t replicate Monty’s style afterfour seasons’.

Thiscomment not only annoyed me as a fan but also as someone who has studiedanimation before. Again, how many times will this poor dead horse be dug up tobe bludgeoned? Will these fans everallow Monty’s name to rest peacefully without bringing it up to tarnish theefforts made by the CRWBY to finish the story he started with them?

Iget it. MontyOum was a good animator.He wasn’t the best animator. He wasn’t some genius animation prodigy. He was a creative mind who had his own way of thinking and doing things andfrom that, he established a style about hisanimation that shined through his work. If you were to show me an animatedpiece done by Monty and the same piece animated by another person, I caninstantly tell you which one is Monty’s because Monty had his own style.

That’sthe appeal of Monty’s work, on my opinion. That’s what he became known for by hisfans. However, even though Monty was great at animating fight scenes, his way---hisstyle is NOT the only wayto animate a fight.

Recently,I took the time to go back and count the number of fights that happened overthe volumes. I did this because as of V6, I couldn’t help but feel as if theCRWBY might be shying away including moments where the characters areactually engaged in combat. I omitted the character shorts because onemandatory element of the Character Shorts is a fight scene. I just wanted tohighlight the individual seasons alone.

Someof this numbers might be a little iffy depending on what I counted as a fight,but here’s what I gathered.

THE VALE TRILOGY

RWBY V1C1:2C2:0C3:0C4:0C5:0C6:3C7:0C8:2C9:0C10:1C11:1C12:0C13:0C14:1C15:0C16:2

Totalfights = 12 Fights

RWBY V2:C1:1C2:0C3:0C4:1C5:3C6:0C7:1C8:0C9:4C10:0C11:4C12:4

TotalFights= 18 Fights

RWBY V3:C1:1C2:2C3:1C4:1C5:2C6:1C7:1C8:0C9:1C10:2C11:2C12:2

TotalFights = 16 Fights

THE MISTRALTRILOGY

RWBY V4:C1:1C2:0C3:1C4:0C5:0C6:1C7:1C8:0C9:2C10:0C11:0C12:1

TotalFights = 7 Fights

RWBY V5C1:0C2:1C3:0C4:2C5:0C6:0C7:0C8:0C9:1C10:3C11:5C12:1C13:1C14:0

TotalFights = 14 Fights

RWBY V6:C1:3C2:0C3:0C4:0C5:1C6:0C7:1C8:0C9:0C10:1C11:3C12:1C13:0

TotalFights = 10 Fights

Why I bring this upis throughout V4 and V6’s runtime I’ve seen one or two all-stars inthe new CRWBY animation team. While not all the fight scenes from the MistralArc were the best, there were definitely some good ones that I stood out to me.

OneV4 fight that keeps being overly praised is the Tyrian vs. Qrow dual. Many fanstend to vouch that fight as the best fight of V4. The only reason that fight isso popular is because it was one of the more important fights of thatrespective season.

However,I’m being completely honest, the Qrow vs. Tyrian one on one was good but itwasn’t the only good fight of V4.

PersonallyI took enjoyment in the small sparring match between Yang and Tai Yang.Believe it or not, I felt like that moment, though small, was well animated andI’d actually give props to the animator behind that small scene. There was a nicesense of rhythm to that small fight that I quite liked.

Notmany folks will agree with little ole me regarding that scene but this just goesto show, we all have our own personal preferences with what we consider to be agood fight sequence vs a not so good one.

Often at times, Ifeel really sorry for the series animators cherry picked to handle the combatmoments for the current seasons because I feel like those animators suffer the most pressure and scrutiny in the eyes of the FNDM. I feel like some FNDM members are sofocused on nagging atthe current CRWBY to capture Monty’s old style of animating fights that they aren’t really giving these new animatorswith their own styles a fair chance toshine outside of Monty’s shadow.

Again.I get it. RWBY was Monty’s brainchild. He’s the creator andno matter how far the current CRWBY takes the series, he will always becredited as its creator.

HoweverRWBY has come a long way since Monty’s days. The show haschanged.The overall look and visual style of the series has changed.Even the production pipeline and the software used to animate the series has changed.The CRWBY hasgrown allowing a greater mix of artistslending their talents to breathe life into the series.

Butwhat seems to kind of still be stuck in the past are some members of the FNDMcommunity. The ones who only watch the show because they are waiting to see thecurrent RWBY recapture that essence of Monty thatthey claimed the show lost after he died.

RWBY is dead after Monty passed away? In some ways, this isboth true and false. The truth is that RWBY did die. The old style that the show was being produced on was laid to restafter its creator unfortunately passed. The false is that RWBY didn’t end withMonty because it’s being continued in its current new style by the people whohelped bring it to life in the first place alongside Monty. The same people whoare diligently carrying on Monty’s project in his place. RWBY isn’t dead. It’sstill breathing. Still going. Because a story still needs to be told.

Ratherthan being judged for how well they can interpret a good fight sequence, theseanimators are judged for how well they can replicate Monty’s style. And when theseanimators don’t live up to that expectation, that’s when the shit storm begins.I myself have been found guilty of comparing the past animation to the present.However now I realized that I was wrong in doing that.

Ithink it’s high time some of these fans let go of the past and accept that theaction fight scenes of RWBY are never going to reflect Monty’s style anymore.

Montyis unfortunately not around to guide the current team with this. And they are doingtheir best to find their own style. To some extent, they found it in V6 becausethe fights in this last season were a tremendous improvement from V4 and V5.

Ifeel like there are some genuinely talented animators workingnow on RWBY who know how to create and sell a great fight and if left to theirown devices, they could really dazzle the audience with their own way of doingthings. I feel like since V4, the CRWBY have been experimenting with how they craftout their fights especially in the new Maya pipeline but it wasn’t until V6where I feel they finally found their footing again.

I think most fanscould agree that the fights in V6 were much better compared to theirpredecessors. One of the best one on one fights was the Neo vs Cinder clash. Whoever was the animator responsible for thatscene should honestly be given more opportunities like thatwhere their work can shine through because that fight was well done. Thesame can be said for the Maria vs. Tok oneon one fight despite how short it was. But the thing is, none of those fightsfelt like Monty’s style to me. It didn’t feel like someone was trying to copyMonty but rather it was someone who probably took a little inspiration Monty’soriginal work and the rest was them bringing their own unique spin to it.

Ifthe CRWBY have been trying to replicatethat Monty style in their fights for the past arc then I’m starting to thinkthat that is what’s been holding them back ratherthan aiding them to move forward.

Thisis why I find the whole point about replicating Monty’s style being easy to be ludicrous. Replicating someone else’s style,depending on the medium is not something you can just do on a fly. It’s noteven something you can perfect in a matter of years. It’s something that takes adeep understanding of the art form you’re using (in this case being animation),time, strict discipline and most importantly of all, guidance and critique from theperson who’s style your copying or someone else who is a master of said style and/orhas a great understanding of it themselves.

That’swhy sometimes you might hear behind the scenes tales about animation studiostaking sometime during their production pipeline to train theiranimators on the style or quality of animation they are trying to emulate in acurrent project. DidMonty do that with the CRWBY? Did Montyget the chance to pass his knowledge and technique onto otheranimators? Did Monty even get to see his story grow to what it is now?

Sadly,no. Monty was a creator who didn’t evenlive long enough to see his own idea flourish for the six seasons it’s beenrunning; now moving onto its seventh season. As far as I know, Monty passedaway as early as V2. Most people don’t even get the chance to see their ideascome to life but Monty was among those fortunate few who was given the shot tomake his idea a reality.

RoosterTeethgave Monty that chance after he worked with them on some of their otherprojects like RvB. He had made himself a household name within their companyand among that, he had made friends and had formed an in-house family with thecolleagues he worked with both on RvB and RWBY.

Saywhat you will about RoosterTeeth and the CRWBY. The original CRWBY who workedwith Monty between V1 and V2 were the people who knew Montythe most. They were his friends. His family. This is all the more reason why itdoesn’t give us, as fans looking in from the outside, the right to use Monty’sname to disrespect the people who knew him better.

Imay not always like what the CRWBY Writers do with the story but I respect themboth as writers. I respect Miles and Kerry because they are the showrunners. RWBY’s plotstarted with Monty, Miles and Kerry.

TheRWBY hate parade need to stop acting as if RWBY was made by Monty alone.Monty did not make RWBY by himself. Shit, he didn’t even create the plot byhimself.

Montyis credited as its creator because RWBY was his brain child and he will foreverbe remembered as the man who conceptualized this idea. But Monty did not writethe story of RWBY himself. He wrote this story with Miles and Kerry.

Whatfolks seems to be misunderstanding or downrightneglecting is that Miles and Kerryhave been with RWBY since its start. They are the two people who worked withMonty in developing the story of RWBY

Itis depressing that Monty only got to live long enough to see two seasons of hisbrainchild come to life.

Insteadof honouring Monty’s legacy by showing support to the people who worked with himto make RWBY happen, folks instead use Monty’s name to slander the CRWBY.

Tothe people who are guilty of this, how can you call yourself a fan? Howcan you call yourself decent human beings witha legit conscience by using a dead man’s name to disrespect the people who werehis colleagues and friends just because you were displeased with something theychose for the show? How is mouthing off the CRWBY and claiming that Montywouldn’t have consented to the direction they’re taking RWBY in a definition ofyour loyalty to Monty?

Howwould you know what Monty would have consented to? How would you know whatMonty would have wanted in general?

Didyou know him personally? I doubt any of you did. So why claim that in yourhateful comments?

RWBYis not the Monty Oum show. I've mentioned this before and I will say it again. RWBY is acollaborative effort. Monty may have conceived RWBY on his own buthe birthed this series through cooperation with RoosterTeeth and the talentedpeople who formed the creative team that made this show with him.

Andit’s those same people who are busting their asses volume after volume to keepthe show going. The CRWBY could have easily cancelled RWBYafter V2. It’s not the first time RoosterTeeth has cancelled a series undertheir name. They could have hung up the towel after V2 and called it quits. Butthey didn’t because they wanted tocontinue the show. They wanted to keep moving forward and finish the story theymade together with their friend Monty.

RWBY’sproduction takes time,thought, passion and effort. If the RWBY YouTube Critics community wishto be the type of people who want to tell the showrunners how to properlyhandle their IP, then at least back up your points with the same level of time,thought, passion and effort that is put into the show.

Andbefore anyone jumps at me and is all like, Squiggles, do you know how long it takes to makea YouTube video essay on my own time? To which I answer with, do you know howlong it takes to produce a full season of an animated production on a studiobudget and a strict deadline within a studio that is juggling multiple IPs?

Anyone can point out a flaw insomething or rather what they perceive to be a flaw in something. But it takes morework to point out that flaw, justify why it’s a flaw by your standards and thentake the time to suggest how it could be improved while throwing in your own workto help boast your claims. But no RWBY Youtuber Critics, at least from the onesI’ve seen, wants to do that. They just want to run their mouths and what’sunfortunate is that they will gather an audience of individuals who do the samewhen it comes to the series.

It’salright if you give your opinion but where it crosses a line is when a fantries to tell the showrunners how they should run their show. It’s even worsewhen they try to do it WITHOUT backing up their claims. You want to downplaythe effort and thought that someone else made without producing your own toargue against theirs?

You want totell the CRWBY how they should write the show? Where are your own retellingsof the show? Where are your own plot breakdowns? Your own scripts possibly accompaniedby storyboards and/or animatics to give others a taste of how your ideas wouldplay out?

You want totell the CRWBY that their character designs are terrible and need rework? Where your own conceptsheets containing dozens about dozens of drafts of redesigns that could betaken?

You want totell the CRWBY that their animation is terrible, that animating like Monty iseasy and the animation of CRWBY would look 100x better if they did x, y, z and123?

WellSkippy, why don’t you prove it? Where is your rendered animation that youpersonally modelled, rigged, textured and animated in your own spare time to backup your proclaimed assessments.

Youmight be telling yourselves, Squiggles why do all of that? That sounds like a whole lotof extra work just to prove points for a critique where I’m trying to tell theCRWBY what to do?

Towhich my response will be, EXACTLY.

Ifthe RWBY Hate Parade wish to make a mockery of the extra efforts the CRWBYmembers put into RWBY, then where is their extra effort? If they at least dothat then maybe I can respect them a little more as people who know whatthey’re talking about because they have the skills and knowledge to back uptheir arguments.

But how am I as the outsider listening in on some of theseYouTube rants supposed to take any of these people seriously when all they’redoing is making lengthy diatribes slandering the work of others and trying topass off as someone who knows more about animation and how it’s done thansomeone who does.

Dothese fans believe that makes them seem witty?It doesn’t. It makes them seem very disrespectful.

Idon’t understand the fans that are like this and I’m not sure if I want tounderstand. I don’t even wish to discuss them furthermore because at the end ofthe day, I can’t speak for these fans. I can only speak for myself and I knowwhere I stand as a fan of RWBY. If there is one advice I can give to my fellow FNDMfam is that weneed to stop drawing attention to the hate parade. Too often do Ihear more about the negative side of the RWBY community and their opinions ofthe series than the actual good that show and its FNDM has spawned.

Weas the people who still love RWBY and are willing to accept and stand by it andits showrunners, flaws and all, need to become more vocal aboutshedding light on the positives of RWBY

Eitherthat or just ignorethe haters. Seriously, we need to stop giving these guys anaudience. Similar to how the RWBY Hate Parade spend their time mostly pointingout the negative in the show, we the FNDM often at times draw too much attentionto these folks.

Ina sad way, we’re kind of sending traffic over to them. Giving them moreattention that they don’t deserve.

Thesetypes of fans can talk but we don’t need to listen to them. Because for all theflak they give the series and its showrunners, the RWBY train is still moving;strong and unaffected.

Why?Because I’d like to believe the CRWBY don’t pay attention to the hate paradebut more focus on what they wish to do with the series while looking out to thesmiling fans who help spread good word about their show. And really, isn’t thegood still that’s very much there all that really matters?

Soto conclude finally, this answer took me way too long to write. Sorry to haveyou wait so long Key. This answer took me some time to put together. Apologiesif it’s a very long-winded answer. I really don’t like discussing any negativestuff in the FNDM.

I acknowledge that it exists and it’s pretty much alwaysgoing to be there but that doesn’t mean I should give it any attention. But forwhat it’s worth, I hope I said enough to make my full peace with this topic.Cheerios!

~LittleMissSquiggles(2019)

#squiggles answers: rwby #rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #monty oum #crwby #roosterteeth #keyenuta

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feynites · 7 years ago

Note

could you do a story where a whole bunch of people get trapped inside an mmorpg, rescue never comes so that they eventually forget their trapped there as generations of people are born, and when you die, it is unknown if that is the final ending or if you reincarnate into a new player, also in this one you can flip between gender anytime you want, the economy in the world is steady, the government is ok, id also like this story to take place from the perspective of a kid born into the world

Well it… didn’t really come out entirely as requested, I must admit. And it’s more of a ‘part one’, but…. I hope you like it anyway!

I am an Enpisci.

So were my progenitors, and so is everyone else in my village.

Willowbranch. It’s a tiny settlement at the edge of the Black Forest. Bartlie says that in ancient times, Pleers would come to Willowbranch from all over the world to fight monsters. In droves and droves they would fight beasts of all measure, leaving legends of their deeds in the tavern. I suppose that was back before everyone realized the hard truth.

Monsters cannot be beaten.

They can be fought. But never beaten. Because of the respawn. Wait long enough, and every monster comes back. They are, in that way, the only true immortals of the realm. Legend says a Pleer cannot die unless killed. And a monster cannot die even when killed.

The day the gates to the heavens closed, and the gods forsook their children in Ethenria, the Pleers stopped coming. The tavern records became static, stale. An Enpsici cannot leave their home unless commanded by the gods, and in Willowbranch, we stopped hearing the voices of the gods long ago. Though most of the town still prays at the temple. It has been a long time since the altars lit up - even my progenitors could not recall such a thing ever happening in their Service Span.

Willowbranch’s temple isn’t far from its tavern, which sees a lot more traffic these days.

I let out a sigh, and nod my thanks to Bartlie as I take my evening drink over to one of the tavern tables. Pleers and monsters might have their pact with the gods, but we Enpisci are mere mortals, in the end. There are some of us who have made it into the legends of old, of course. But most of us just live quiet lives, in Service, until the life wheel resets. And then the next generation takes over. Some of the village has been getting on me to settle down. Find a partner, raise two children. But, I’m not in any hurry. There’s a lot of time yet before my Span is up, and I still don’t know if I have anything worthy to teach the next generation.

Besides, my brother’s heirs are just small, and deserve to be doted on exclusively for a while. There are a lot of little ones in the village right now for them to play with, too.

No rush.

I think about it, though. Bartlie’s been making noises about it, as well, and bartending is good Service. A food provider always has a lot of sway. A lot of recipes, a central location. Why he’d consider me for a partner is more of a mystery. My progenitors were both Guides, and Willowbranch hasn’t really needed a Guide since the days when Pleers still came to town. Oh, I still work to help the community, of course. Do my part. Mostly maintaining the barricades near to where monsters spawn. The temple basement and the abandoned house nearest to the wood. And I help redraw the maps. No one has left Willowbranch in an age, because of the monsters on the road, but Guides still have knowledge of the surrounding region. Keeping track of it all at least offers us warning if any new monsters might appear too close to the village, or wander near the borders.

Guides can tell where they spawn.

But still, it’s not prestigious work. Not anymore. Sometimes my brother waxes poetic about the ‘olden days’, when our Service was needed. I don’t see much point to it, though. We never even saw those times. We don’t really know if it was better or not.

I’m musing over things, one eye still on Bartlie, when it happens. The tavern door opens with a bang, and Young Farmer runs in. I blink up from my drink, while Bartlie calls out to them.

“Here, now, the drinks’ll keep, Farmer. What are you runnin’ for?” he asks.

“There’s a－” Farmer begins, before stopping for a minute to catch their breath. They point out behind themselves, through the open door. Evening is settling into night. The distant wolf call heralds it, as the sun sets over the mountains. “There’s a figure. A figure coming down the road.”

A murmur starts up from the other tavern patrons. I still in surprise, but Bartlie just scowls.

“What do you mean, a Shambler?” he asks. The current of disbelief eases some. Shamblers look like people, especially at a distance. But they’re monsters. They don’t usually come close enough to town to be seen, but Farmer sometimes wanders out a bit. Despite the cautionary tales and worry. The fields haven’t been safe for three generations, but Farmer’s the curious kind, the same way my brother is.

“Not a Shambler,” Farmer refutes. “It wasn’t even barely dusk when I saw it, and it was walking straight down the road. I came running as soon as I realized. Someone’s coming. From out of town!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bartlie snaps. “Who would be coming here? Risking Dire Bears and Shamblers and… and, what else?”

He turns to me. I shrug.

“Vampires. Ghost Wolves.” I point to the map hanging up behind the tavern wall, next to the old Pleer legends. The spawn points are marked for as far as my knowledge has them. “Hag Ravens. Would depend on the time of day, too, of course. This hour would be the busiest for all of them.”

“But I definitely saw-” Farmer starts.

They’re interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek.

Everyone in the tavern freezes. And then, by some mutual, unspoken urge, we all get up, and hurry outside. Farmer in the lead, Bartlie pausing just long enough to fetch his nail bat from underneath the counter. A few other doors open in the village. People looking out, wide-eyed and worried. My brother’s husband pulls the children inside, and I suddenly realize just how close their house is to the main road. He sees me. I nod at him.

If something happens, I’ll help them.

The air feels dangerous, in a way that makes all the hairs on the back on my neck, and makes those kinds of thoughts seem necessary.

The main road is long, with the forest like a dark wall of trees beside it. A hill blocks off some of the view, but even though I have never heard it before in my life, I recognize the sounds of the distant shrieking.

“Those are Hag Raven cries,” I say.

Bartlie tightens his grip on his nail bat, and some of the villagers shy back towards the tavern. The Mayor heads over at a brisk jog. Coming straight for me.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “A Hag Raven? Are they inside the borders?”

I frown, and concentrate for a minute. On my Service, and the knowledge it gives me.

“The boundaries for the village haven’t been breached…” I say, before my brother, in turn, comes running up.

“They haven’t,” he agrees. “Have you seen Sam and the kids?”

“They’re inside,” I assure him, nodding towards his house. He hesitates, just a moment. Frowning. Seeing what I had seen, and suddenly taking issue with it.

“It’s too close to the main gate,” he murmurs.

“Take them to the village hall,” I suggest.

He hesitates just a little, but at a nod of permission from The Mayor, goes and runs off to do just that. His family and all the others too close to the road, too. The Mayor gives me a worried look. I remember the old mayor - it’s a Service that brings a lot of worries with it. Always fretting, always trying to keep things in order. The Hag Raven shrieks again, and I wonder if we’re all feeling the same fear.

And then there’s a dying wail.

Silence.

I don’t think the village has ever been so quiet before.

The sound of distant footsteps feels almost like a crack of thunder, for all that it’s too quiet to be anything like it. We watch, half of the village standing outside of the tavern, and just beyond the main gate, as a figure slowly rounds the hill. Not a Hag Raven, although in one hand, they clutch a set of large wings. As they walk, they make an odd gesture, and the wings vanish.

My heart leaps into my throat at the casual display of magic.

“Can’t be,” Bartlie murmurs.

We’re all thinking it, though. The closer the figure gets, the louder the thought becomes.

A Pleer.

Tall and broad, dressed in a long leather coat. Blood is beginning to fade from the wide-cuffed sleeves, with each slow, steady step. A sword hangs from an embroidered belt. The only swords I’ve seen before are collecting dust on the walls of the old Weapons Shop. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person so tall before, either. Their ears are rounded, and their jaw is square, and a jagged scar stretches from their eyebrow to their chin.

The stranger walks and walks, and makes their way straight past us. We move aside for them, without even thinking about it. They barely look at us as they make their way into the tavern. The chair scrapes along the floor before they slouch down into it behind a central table.

“I need a drink, and information,” they say, in a low, unhappy voice.

We all look at one another. Hesitating. Shocked by this sudden turn of events.

The Pleer bangs a fist down on the tabletop hard enough to make us all jump.

“What the fucking hell are you fucks just standing around for?!” they demand. “I just walked up here from Bayerwood, and this is the third fucking time I’ve had to deal with you Enpissies gawking at me like you’re glitched. I want a damn drink, and I want some fucking information, and then I want a bed. And not a single one of you is going to ask me a stupid question until all that’s been seen to, unless you want a sword through your guts.”

A cold fear runs down my spine at the threat. I suddenly know, with breathtaking certainty, that this stranger could kill us. That the sword in their hand could slice through any of us. If I were to take my knife and, for some reason, try and stab Bartlie, it would just bounce off. Enpisci cannot take one another’s lives, the gods forbade it. But Pleers… I never knew before that it was different for them.

But I know now.

“They could do it,” I say, to The Mayor and Bartlie.

Bartlie’s hands shake a little. The Mayor swallows, but despite her anxious nature, recovers first.

“Well, get our guest a drink, would you, Bartender?” she says, and makes her way over. Clasping her hands behind her back to hide her own shaking. “Wel… uh, wel-welcome to Willowbranch, traveller. It has been many years since-”

“Yeah, yeah, many years since you saw the likes of me. Does this village have a prostitute?” the Pleer asks.

“N…no,” The Mayor informs them, nervously. “We have food, though, and there is a room above the tavern…”

Bartlie heads for the bar, and I keep a few of the more curious villagers from coming back into the tavern. Motioning that it’s unsafe, as the Pleer scoffs, and Bartlie brings them their drink. Other patrons’ drinks are still abandoned at their tables. The whole thing feels utterly surreal, as the Pleer chugs their ale, and leans so heavily on their chair that it creaks, and then closes their eyes for a moment.

A very tense moment. The Mayor looks like she’s about to ask a question, but she stops herself. Probably rolling the Pleer’s threat over in her mind.

And then the stranger speaks again.

“So you haven’t seen anyone like me in years,” they say. “No one else has passed through? An elven woman, maybe?”

“No, no one else,” The Mayor confirms, easily.

The Pleer curses some more, before kicking the chair next to theirs. It skids across the tavern floor.

“Well, fuck,” they say. “That just leaves Bainbridge. Where’s your map?”

I go and get it, to spare Bartlie having to deal with the stranger going over to the bar. There are a lot of breakable things on it, and it usually takes a long while for glasses to replace themselves. I pull down my latest map, and bring it over to the Pleer’s table.

They snatch it from my hands. Take a knife from their coat, and, before I can protest, stab it through the parchment. Pinning it to the table, before hunching over it.

“This the best you have?” they ask.

“Yes,” I confirm, because it easily is. And if it gets any more damaged, I’ll have to redraw the whole thing by hand again. The Pleer’s gaze turns towards me, then. There’s something… off about it. Something unsettling. Like some part of them hates me, or hates everything about me, even though this is the first time we’ve met.

I’m relieved when they look back at the map.

Bainbridge is on it. So is Bayerwood. I’ve never seen either, but I know where they are. Bayerwood is further down the road the Pleer came up by, which fits with their story. Willowbranch is the village nearest to the forest, while Bainbridge is the last village I have any knowledge of. It’s near to a desert. I don’t know anything about the desert, except that it exists. It’s a void - a wall. The road to Bainbridge is even more perilous than the one up from Bayerwood. A Lich King spawns along it, and the closer one gets to the bridge which leads to Bainbridge village, the denser the spawn points for Skeleton Knights and Wyverns and Harpies become.

The Pleer looks at the map for a long while. And then they demand that we all leave the tavern, in so many words. ‘Fuck off out of here and don’t come back until morning’, mainly. I go and find my brother and his family, still waiting in the village hall. The Mayor holds an emergency meeting. But no one really knows what to do or say. No one alive remembers the last time a Pleer came to Willowbranch. Some Enpisci know that their Services should be performed differently for that, though, and so as the night unfolds, and the village children sleep in a campout in the main hall, the Weapon Shop is dusted and the Market Stalls are rearranged, goods put out onto displays, and signs hung up and the temple doors flung wide open.

Some of the villagers even start to get excited about it. Elisno has some shop records, passed down from her progenitors, of the last sale that the Weapons Shop ever made. A Greatsword of Frost, sold to a Pleer named Javie.

“It would be something if some of the records got updated,” she enthuses. “Maybe something’s changed. Maybe more Pleers will start coming again.”

High Priestess is also hopeful. A Pleer coming, she says, is a promising sign. The gods have changed the world many times over, after all. Maybe the days of condemnation are done. Maybe one of them has come to find their lost children, to open the gates to heaven and gather the Pleers to end the eternity of monsters. Maybe this is the start of a new beginning.

I doubt it, myself.

If anything, seeing this Pleer makes me understand why the gods might forsake them all.

That’s a harsh thought, though. My brother cautions against it. He’s tentatively hopeful, although he and Sam still keep their children in the main hall, rather than taking them home.

“It must be hard, fighting monsters to get up along the roads,” he says. “Maybe the Pleer was injured.”

“They didn’t ask for healing,” I point out. “The temple doors are open. And you didn’t hear them talk.”

He shrugs.

“I’m not saying they were pleasant,” he insists. “I’m just saying, no one’s at their best after nearly getting killed by a Hag Raven. If that happened to me, I’d need a drink, too. Maybe we just shouldn’t assume that how they were last night is how they always are.”

I leave the matter be, even though something in me doubts that the light of day will bring a more pleasant Pleer along with it.

I don’t want to be right.

But I am.

It’s closer to noon when the Pleer emerges from the tavern. Wearing their long leather coat, armed with glinting weapons. I wonder if they slept in all that. If they slept at all. Do Pleers sleep? I have no idea. The stranger walks out into the town square, and glances towards the market stalls and the shops, before heading to the temple. Ignoring High Priestess’ greeting, they head for the Altar to Umara, and dip their hands into the waters.

A chime rings out. The windows of the temple seem to shine, and to my astonishment, the water glows. High Priestess freezes, and gets an indescribable look on her face. I remember when we were children, playing together in the temple yard, and how we would try and explain the growing feelings our Service brought to us. She had always been so sure that the temple was missing light. Not like torchlight, but something harder to describe. Something that would have happened all the time, before the gates of heaven closed.

If nothing else, I’m glad she gets to witness this. Because I’m sure this is what she meant. The Pleers might be forsaken, but it seems that the gods still answer a few of their prayers anyway. As they leave the temple, the light seems to stick to the Pleer a little. Not bright enough to glow, exactly, but enough to make it seem like a sunbeam has fixed itself to them.

They head for the Potions Shop next. Coming out just a few minutes later with an armful of parcels, that vanish with a gesture. Just like the Hag Raven wings. Where the parcels go, or why someone should buy everything only to banish it an instant later, I can’t say.

The Pleer doesn’t bother with the Weapons Shop.

They head towards the hall next. Or that’s what I think, and I want them to stay away from the children - even as curious as the children are to see them. But before they get to the gate, they detour. And come to stop in front of me, instead.

“I need a guide,” they say. “I’ll be taking the map, but the spawn points could change while I’m out there. Some of that shit’s high level. I’m not risking a Lich King ambush because I set up camp too close to his spawn point. You’re coming with me.”

I freeze in shock. So does everyone else nearby. The words seem incomprehensible - coming with them? Out of the village? They wave a hand, and I feel… something. Like a request, pushing at the back of my mind. A divine compulsion, maybe. The Pleers come from heaven, after all. They are cut from the cloth of the gods. It’s the obligation of Enpisci to serve, but…

No.

I don’t want to go anywhere with this stranger. They are not a friendly person, and it wouldn’t be safe. Even if another opportunity like this never presents itself.

The Pleer grits his teeth, and reaches for his sword.

“I’ll take you.”

We both turn. My heart sinks into my stomach at the sight of my brother, standing behind the Pleer. His expression is determined, but I know that body language. His shoulders are tensed and he’s holding his hands in fists so that they don’t tremble. Jaw slightly clenched for the same reason - he’s frightened.

“I’m a guide, too. I’ll take you where you want to go.”

I shake my head.

The Pleer’s eyes narrow.

“You’re ineligible,” they say. “You have children?”

My brother swallows.

“I… yes, I do,” he says. “That means I can’t go?”

“Well, not with living children around,” the Pleer tells him. Then they glance back to me, and very slowly, draw the sword from their belt. The metal is dark. It gleams, and seems to project an unpleasant aura. There’s something almost red to it, even though I can’t actually see the colour. It makes me vaguely nauseous - nothing like the weapons on the shop racks. “Though I could solve that.”

It takes me a moment to even comprehend their meaning. My brother pales, and when I do I lift up my hands. Horrified. The Pleer doesn’t even step towards the hall, but I feel suddenly, powerfully afraid that they will.

“I’ll go!” I say, at once. “Just don’t… don’t… I’ll go with you!”

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my skull. My brother looks like he’s going to be sick, and I feel like I am, too. My eyes fix onto the weapon in the Pleer’s hands. At least until they put it away again. They laugh when they do, amused by something. Or maybe just pleased with my acquiescence. Maybe Pleers don’t laugh for the same reasons Enpisci do.

“Oh, good. No more wasting time,” they say.

I feel it again, then. Pressing at the back of my mind, the… request.

My stomach is full of rocks. I look at my brother, though.

Yes.

Suddenly, then, I know a whole host of things about the Pleer. Things that I didn’t before, and that he definitely hasn’t told me out loud. I know he has a name. Brandon. I know he has titles. Slayer of the Poisoned Queen and Conqueror of the Wailing Swamplands. I know he’s powerful.

He gestures, and a beige satchel appears in his hand. He thrusts it at me, hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Something inside clinks.

“Take those,” he says. “if you get injured and manage not to die right away, down one. I have plenty, but don’t waste them. Now let’s go.”

He starts walking towards the village gates.

I hesitate. That’s it? Just ‘let’s go’? I’ve never left the village before in my life. I haven’t said goodbye to anyone, haven’t hugged my brother, or Sam, or kissed the children goodbye, or told Bartlie…

But, even as my mind reels, my feet move. Once the Pleer gets a certain distance away, my feet follow of their own accord. It’s a strange and unsettling feeling. I hold the satchel and awkwardly chase after him, looking back as my brother calls out, as High Priestess and a few others join in and give a brief chase.

“Wait!” The Mayor calls. “Wait, please, Pleer!”

“You don’t have to do this!” my brother says. “We have other maps you can take, if you just - you can stay until the spawn points reset again, and then leave straight after! There wouldn’t be time for them to change once more, you could make it to Bainbridge before that happened!”

The Pleer ignores them.

And I just… follow. Numbly. Stupidly. Not even managing to get the satchel on, stunned as we clear the village gates. As we head off down the west road, which no one ever uses even a little, for fear of the monsters that spawn out in this direction. My brother chases after us the longest, with increasing distress.

“Please, mercy, stranger!” he begs.

“Oh, shut up, you whiny little bitch,” the Pleer finally snaps back.

I shake my head. Thinking of that grim, nauseating sword. My brother and I lock eyes, until he hits the boundaries of the village. And then his legs root in spot. And eventually, I have to tear my gaze away, in order to keep following the Pleer in front of me. In order to keep walking past a point I have never before crossed, and never before expected to.

The road is dusty.

It smells different, somehow. Even though it doesn’t really look different from anything I’ve seen before. I walk along. Staring alternately at the backs of Brandon’s shoulders, and the trees, and the sight of the forest I have always seen eventually turning into mountainous rock. It seems to happen all too quickly, though, that the path becomes unfamiliar. Large stone boulders crop up around it. Things I have glimpsed at a distance, but never closely enough to realize that there are carvings on them. I want to stop and look at them all. But the Pleer keeps going, at a pace just fast enough that sometimes I have to jog to keep up.

Eventually, I regain enough wit to sling the satchel strap over my shoulder. Then I look inside, and find half a dozen blue potions in it.

Those are Wendru’s best.

I’ve never even tasted one before. Once, though, a werewolf managed to break out of the temple basement, when I was very young. Everyone who helped fight it off ended up needing a blue potion. That was back when Wendru’s progenitor was the Potion Seller. I remember watching both of mine sip theirs, resting in the big bedroom. How the bleeding wounds on their arms and legs had closed; how they’d needed to take silver potions after, to make certain they didn’t become werewolves themselves.

I can’t help but wonder what they would both make of this.

The boulders turn to sheer rock, framing the path. And I remember enough of what they taught me to start mentally tracking the spawning points. Pebbles bounce away from the Pleer’s boots, and bite into my own soft shoes.

Eventually, I muster up the nerve to ask a question.

“Why do you need to go to Bainbridge?” I ask.

He ignores me.

I swallow, and lick my lips.

“Brandon?” I try.

That makes his steps falter, just a little. He looks at me, eyes wide, before he seems to realize something. And then he just snorts.

“I forgot about that,” he mutters. “Don’t call me that. Call me ‘my lord’.”

He turns away, then, and starts walking faster. I fall silent. Part of me - the part that’s not terribly sensible - wants to call him anything but ‘my lord’. Something more along the lines of ‘asshole’, maybe. Bastard. Jackass. Intolerable fuckweasel. But I know that if I address him, now, the only thing that will actually come out of my mouth will be ‘my lord’.

The powers of the divine - even the forsaken divine - are terrifying. I never really imagined it this way before, but they are brutal in their reality.

A few birds fly over head. There are spawn points up on the rocks, and paths that lead that way. My shoulders tense at the thought of what could be lurking up above. Watching us traverse the narrow road, deeper and deeper into the mountains. Bainbridge is on the other side of a gorge, which then becomes the desert. At my walking pace, it would take three days to get there on foot. Accounting for necessary breaks, and assuming no time-consuming disturbances are to happen.

Like fighting monsters.

We walk, and walk. A few times I hear unfamiliar bird cries. After a while, I do my best to pay more attention to the carvings on the rocks. I can read Common, Dwarvish, and Elvish, as part of my Service, but I don’t know this language. Maybe it’s not a language, though. Maybe it’s art? My Service tells me nothing about it. Eventually the symbols disappear as the surface of the rock changes textures, and we come to points where water runs down striking mountain walls. A Dwarvish sign tells us that Bainbreach Gorge is ahead, and warns of necromancy in the region.

My legs are straining with exhaustion by then. My chest heaving with my breaths, and my skin heated from the sun. Sweat beads on my brow.

The Pleer stops for a moment to stare at the sign.

And then he lets out an irritated sound, and marches over, and takes a seat at the rocks next to it. He waves a hand, and throws and parcel at me. I don’t catch it. It bounces off my chest and to the ground, and I start at it dumbly for a moment, before stooping to pick it up.

“You’re Level One,” he tells me.

I swallow, and am horribly relieved to find the parcel he threw at me contains a water skin and some bread. I move closer to the sign - not really wanting to be near to the Pleer, but not wanting to stay on the open road alone, either. Sitting next to the Dwarvish writing at least helps me feel like other people might be around, as I drink eagerly.

When I’m no longer completely parched, I hazard a reply.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say.

The Pleer snorts.

“Everyone starts at Level One,” he tells me. “The more experience you get, the higher your level becomes. Your whole life, living your shitty little Enpee-see existence in that town, you’ve never leveled up. You’re a random villager with no experience. But for reference - I’m Level Two-Hundred and Ninety.”

I swallow, and take a bite of bread to keep from having to admit that I still don’t understand. There are ‘levels’ on the old legend lists in the tavern, but they seemed to refer to parts of the forest. The numbers didn’t go up very high anyway, only to twelve. And while I might not have left the village before, I definitely have ‘experience’ with some things.

Just not these things. Not things that haven’t happened to anyone in Willowbranch for generations.

The Pleer stares at me.

“That means that everything out here can kill you, really easily,” he says.

“I know that,” I say. Because I do.

“Good. Then you know to hide if something comes at us,” he tells me. “If you die, I’m going to go back to your stupid little village, and get the other guy. And you know what that means.”

I swallow the bread. It tastes like ash.

“They’re just children,” I say. Willot and Esme. They like playing hide-and-seek and throwing seeds to the birds and making mud pies. Esme’s going to be a Guide, like me and my brother. Willot’s going to be a Mason, like Sam. My brother never smiled so big or cried so hard as on the days he went up into the nursery and found their cribs there.

The Pleer snorts.

“They’re fake,” he tells me. “Just like you’re fake. Every fucking thing in this godforsaken world is fake, except for me. And except for the woman I’m looking for. Don’t pull that sob story shit on me. You’re lucky I let off steam in Bayerwood before I got here.”

He leans forward. I look at his eyes again. I’ve seen monsters without those kinds of eyes, without that kind of hatred in them. It freezes me in place. Nauseating, terrifying - like the sickly aura off of his sword.

“I killed every Enpee-see in Bayerwood,” he tells me. “Because they pissed me off. And if you piss me off, I’ll do the same to your shitty little village, too. Just keep that in mind.”

Every…?

I can’t fathom it. But somehow I know that what he’s saying is true. Everyone in Bayerwood is dead. The village is a ghost town, then. Empty buildings, empty houses. I look away, as my hands shake and the bread in crumples into crusty crumbs. My eyes sting, and blur, but more than anything I just feel afraid. Afraid of dying out here. And not just for myself, now, but for what it would mean if the Pleer has to go back to Willowbranch to get my brother.

It takes me a minute.

But I manage to fight off the tears, and drink the rest of the my water. You’ll need it, I think. The water and the energy. I choke down the rest of the bread, too. I’ll have to keep my wits about me. Have to be able to run and hide, to get out of the way, and have a sharp eye out for danger.

I can’t let the Pleer go back to Willowbranch.

My mind shies away from the thought, as I lean against the dwarvish sign.

We don’t talk again until the Pleer finishes his own rations, and then gets up, and starts our trek once more. Stomping his boots, and letting out a frustrated sound when a light rain kicks in. He puts a hood up on his coat. I don’t have a coat. But I don’t mind the rain too much, either. It makes the rocks around us look glossy and oddly beautiful. Deepens the mist coming up from the places where water tumbles down the sides of the road.

The first attack comes, as I’d feared, from above.

There’s a shriek. Like that of the Hag Raven, but different, too. Harpy. All the birds flying overhead before, casting their shadows, almost had me complacent to the sound of flapping wings and things moving above the road. But this is big, and as the cry comes, my heart stills. I reel backwards. Slipping on the rain-slick rocks, as a monster with four wings and clawed legs, and the face and breasts of a human, drops from the sky.

The Pleer, though, seems read for it.

The air around him bursts, like a lightning strike. He lifts one hand up, as the harpy extends its claws towards him, and grabs it around the leg. And then he dashes the creature against the nearest outcropping of rocks. Like a child swinging a toy club. Black feathers explode everywhere. The Harpy’s shriek takes on a different tone. I rush further back, plastering myself up against the opposite stone wall, watching in wide-eyed shocked as the Pleer yanks the creature back. Heedless of the way its talons tear at his coat, as he smashes it against the rocks again.

That seems to daze it. It crumples, still shrieking but also obviously reeling, as the big warrior draws his sword and plunges it into the monster’s chest. Blood sprays onto him. My breaths are loud in my ears, the rocks hard at my back. The rain soaks through me.

The Pleer shifts his grip on his sword, and then in another, smooth gesture, cuts the head from the Harpy.

Its blood steams as it pours onto the road.

Its body twitches.

I watch as every part of it slowly dissolves. It turns to bones, and then motes, except for the wings. The Pleer looks up at the sky for a moment, before picking up the wings, and doing his strange gesture. They vanish. And nothing is left of the monster - just some fading bloodstains.

“Where’s the Harpy spawn point?” he asks me.

I can’t answer.

I want to. My mouth moves, but nothing comes out. I don’t even know the answer, at the moment. I feel strange. Tingling, a little - from the shock? But I can’t keep a thought straight. Everything in my head just buzzes, horrified by the sight of the Harpy’s death.

The Pleer rounds on me, sword still in hand. The panic does nothing to help my focus, but it forces words from me anyway. Gods, he really wasn’t lying. He could kill a whole village. He’d killed that monster so easily. Without any barricades or ranged attacks or anything at all, even. It’d taken half my village to bring down one werewolf from the other side of a row of topple and fortified temple pews, and people had still been badly injured.

The Pleer’s coat doesn’t even stay damaged. The rips on it close, as the bloodstains fade.

“I, I, there - they’re up, on the - in the -”

“Fucking useless,” he growls, and turns. And I am struck by the blind fear that he is turning back towards Willowbranch.

I point. Regaining my wits, through sheer force of desperation.

“It’s that way,” I say, and as I do, I see the large nest situated near to the road. Just at the top of the rocky mountainside.

The Pleer looks, and narrows his eyes.

After a moment, he lets out a breath.

“How many?” he asks.

I swallow.

“Just one, at that point,” I say. “There’s another nest further along, though, and that has three.”

He tilts his head, and keeps his sword at hand.

“Okay,” he says. “Three is going to be a problem for you. Don’t run away, they’ll just pick you off. Stay right behind me.”

I nod, more automatically than anything. His words don’t actually sink in until he starts walking again, and then I scramble to follow. How close is ‘right behind’, I wonder? He seems to swing around a lot when he fights. I keep one eye on the sky, and one eye on him, and shiver as the rain falls harder.

There are shapes, up on the sides of the mountain pass.

Not rocks.

It’s a strange experience, seeing the Harpies at their perches. I wonder if they just… stay there, all the time. Watching the road. It must have been ages since anyone has come down it. Sometimes, when I check the barricades in the village, I think about the monsters behind them. Wondering if they missed the days of the Pleers, too, in some way. The old stories say that monsters are the work of the Dark Gods. Made to sow chaos, to bring violence and discord.

In a way, it’s almost their Service to fight.

But unlike Enpisci, they don’t seem to have much beyond it.

We walk down the path. The Pleer keeps his sword ready. But the Harpies don’t move, not even when we’ve gone past them.

“Huh,” says the Pleer.

“They’re not attacking?” I ask, when I can stop holding my breath. “Why?”

I realize my error a moment later. But to my relief, the Pleer doesn’t seem annoyed by the question. When the Harpies are out of sight, he sheaths his weapon.

“Must be glitched,” he says. “I’ve seen it before. Once walked through an entire pack of Shamblers for ten minutes straight, and they weren’t low-level ones either.”

“…Low-level?” I venture, tentatively.

He shrugs.

“If a monster is too much weaker than you, there’s a chance it won’t attack,” he explains.

“That Harpy seemed a lot weaker than you…”

“Level Two Hundred,” the Pleer replies. “Not weak enough that they should be ignoring me, but that might be the glitch.”

I decide I’ve pressed my luck enough with the questions, as his mood seems to sour then. His expression twists, and his eyes darken. I keep quiet, and focus on the spawn points instead. There are a few more Harpies. I mention them, but they all just silently watch as we make our way along. There would be more if we followed the diverging pathways, but we don’t. And after a while, the rain stops. The mountain walls get lower, and break away into boulders again. We take our second break beside them.

My feet are killing me, and my head is pounding as I drink more water, and eat more bread. The Pleer doesn’t seem tired. Just lost in thought, as he stares up at the sky.

“This is a godforsaken place,” he mutters.

I glance towards him uncertainly.

“…Yes?” I say. The sky is blue, the rocks are grey, and the gods shut the gates of heaven and abandoned us all here. ‘Forsaken’ is just an apt description of it all.

Though I suppose, for a Pleer, the blow might be harder to take.

I wonder…

Well.

I don’t want to piss him off, but I’m probably never going to get another chance to ask. And we’re some distance away from the village, now. It’d be inconvenient, if nothing else, for him to turn all the way back to go get my brother. Maybe I can risk a little annoyance - just a little.

“What were the heavens like?” I wonder. “Before the gates shut?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

The Pleer’s expression shuts down, closing off, and he gives me that look again.

“Fuck off,” he says.

I don’t ask twice.

My feet are still aching when we start walking again. Trapped in stony silence. The boulders give way, and the path turns from the mountains to the gorge. I don’t mean to stop, but when we clear the rocks enough to see the view beyond them, I do anyway.

Beyond the mountain pass, there is an open field, shrouded in waist-high mists. But in the distance, I can see the gorge, and the statues that mark the bridge that leads to the village. The statues are two ancient figures, with arms raised towards the sun. One of them is missing an arm, by the looks of it. Past them, there is the horizon. Distant mountains, coloured differently from the ones I know, and structures, and the sun settling against clouds that swirl like cream in tea.

I have never seen the likes of it before.

I gawk, until the Pleer gets far enough away that my legs start moving on their own again.

There’s so much space. I knew the world beyond the village was big, that it was bigger than my Service could let me know, that there were things beyond the boundaries of my maps. But I had never imagined what it was really like. How much of it there really could be. The gorge is massive, and the mountains and structures in the distance look tiny, and there is… there is so much of it. It defies me to explain the vastness of it all compared to the village I know. The familiar horizons of my life.

A new, different sort of fear comes over me. Or maybe ‘fear’ is the wrong word. I don’t know how to rightly describe it. Awe? Is this what awe feels like?

Even the details of this region are strange. The dirt beneath my feet is pale, and seems to sparkle in some places. Little green and grey plants grow in spirals from the dirt, and tiny black spiders scuttle between them. The stones that mark the road are pale blue. There are no trees, but there are some tall boulders.

The Pleer stops at the first blue stone road marker, and pulls out the map. Its corner is still torn from where he stuck his knife in it.

“Has anything reset yet?” he wonders.

“No,” I assure him. It can be hard to predict when the spawn points will change, but I always know it.

After a few minutes more of examining the map, he puts it away, and starts down the road. And I follow. Because I don’t have any choice.

Distant shapes move in the mist. Nothing should be spawning right where we are, but sometimes monsters wander. Especially when given the time to, with nothing to kill them or no reset to force them back to their original points. I keep as close to the Pleer as I dare. There are no birds out here. Something does fly overhead. Something big, that makes the Pleer stop and draw his weapon again. I look up, but all I can see is a dark shape against the glare of the sun. Either very large and far away, or smaller but closer by.

A harpy?

No, the shape isn’t right.

A wyvern, maybe. The roar seems to match, as it echoes down towards the gorge. But the beast doesn’t swoop in on us. And again, we keep going after several minutes of tension.

Eventually, we come to a gate at the road. It doesn’t seem to serve much purpose, and is really more of an archway. But dwarvish writing announces Bainbreach Gorge’s location. And there are fountains affixed to the sides of it, and twisting vines growing across it. As we draw near the vines seem to glow, a little.

My feet stop aching.

I hurry over to the fountains to refill my water skin, and to drink from them. The water is clear and refreshing, like the water from the temple back home. I love the gate, I decide. It feels safe. The Pleer drinks, too, though he seems less enamored with the place. He settles down next to it for our break, though. The mist parts around most of the gate, and I feel secure enough to put some distance between us, as I find a bench on the opposite side. Looking out towards that distant view.

Finally, I take a moment to just look at it all, without distractions.

What my brother wouldn’t give to see this.

You know what he wouldn’t give, I think. Sobered by the reminder.

I sit on the bench, and am overcome by the feeling that I am never going to see Willowbranch again. Another sobering thought, as I look out at the unfamiliar terrain set before me. The vastness of the world. The thought of the Pleer heading back to my village is horrifying. And I doubt he will stay in Bainbridge. But maybe if he finds this elven woman he’s looking for, his mood will improve enough for pity to settle in. For him to… to find some way to get me back home. I try and console myself.

Maybe if we make it to Bainbridge… well.

At least we’ll have made it. I have no idea what the other village is like. But I know that Enpisci used to make trips often, in the days when Pleers travelled the lands and fought monsters. Pleers could escort us from one place to the next. Families could be spread out among multiple villages, could offer compensation to Pleers for taking them to see friends or relatives elsewhere. It always sounded so amazing to me.

Now I wonder how many were just dragged around against their will. How many interactions were not what they might seem. In the village records, if you go back far enough in my line of progenitors, you will find the name of a Pleer. Marriage records, for a Guide Enpisci and a ‘Paladin’ Pleer. One child, who grew up and became a Guide themselves, after their progenitor died. No records on what became of the Pleer. Their name was in the legends on the tavern wall, though. Kessardian. They killed a lot of ghouls.

They probably came out this way, at least at some point, I realize. They probably saw much more of the world than any Enpisci.

Did they ever kill a whole village full of people?

I can’t imagine it. They had a child with an Enpisci. Surely they must have loved them, right? To have married and settled down and raised a child. But then… their spouse would have died, eventually. When their Span was done. And their child, too. And all the monsters they had slain would have returned, all their efforts to clear their forest or even just the temple basement for naught. When their gods forsook them…

Maybe the Pleers used to be good, once. Used to care about Enpisci. Maybe even Brandon was, before the weight of immortality became too much to bear.

I look over at him.

Would he know the name Kessardian?

But I can’t find much pity for a man who killed an entire village. Nor much hope in his better nature. I remember the hatred in his eyes, and I look away again. And keep my thoughts to myself.

After a while, the Pleer calls me over.

“Enpee-see,” he says, with a wave.

“My Lord?” I reply, and walk towards him.

He points down the long road towards the statues that mark the bridge.

“I’m not camping in the middle of that,” he says. “So we’re setting up here for the night. Pitch a tent, make us some food, and don’t bother me.” He summons up another bag of things, and thrusts it at me - hard enough to knock away my breath again - before he goes back to glowering at the clouds.

Luckily, part of my Service is knowing how to pitch a tent, even though I’ve never done it before. I set it up, along with a cooking fire. The ingredients in the bag don’t match any of the recipes I know, though. So I simply roast them. Trying not to think about Bartlie, and his many, many recipes, and blaming the water in my eyes on the smoke.

As the sun sets, the mist starts to glow.

The shapes in it become harder to ignore, too. The nightly wolf’s howl sends a chill down my spine, like it never has before.

Night changes the look of the whole place.

The gorge turns pitch black. The blue road markers seem to suck up the moonlight, and glow. The distant spawn points for Skeleton Knights will call them into being, now. And Lich Kings, too, though those are still far off. I set the tent up as near to the gate as I can, right in the middle of the archway, even though some part of me balks at ‘blocking the road’.

No other travelers will be coming, unless High Priestess was right, and things really are changing.

The Pleer eats, and produces a bottle of alcohol from thin air. It makes me wonder why he was so set on getting ale from the tavern the other day. He drinks, and tosses me a bedroll. And it’s then that I realize, of course, that the tent is just for him.

I look out towards the moving mist, and doubt I’ll get much sleep.

But the Pleer doesn’t seem to be in a great hurry to make use of his accommodations either. He polishes off a second bottle, and glares into the fire pit I made. And then dashes the glass against it, sending jagged pieces everywhere, and provoking a spray of flames.

“Wants to know what heaven’s like,” he mutters. Though he isn’t looking at me, and barely seems to be speaking to me, except perhaps by default. His tone is mocking. His mouth twists into a sneer. “Fucking bullshit. Stuck in a fucking desert hole with liches and a virgin Enpisci, chasing that fucking-!”

He gets up. I watch, heart in my throat, as he conjures up something else in his hand, and hurdles it down the darkened road.

“FUCK YOU, BITCH!” he shouts. “UNGRATEFUL CUNT! SLUT! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME?!”

The shouting turns to screaming, in short order. Just, incoherent wailing, out into the dark. I stare, eyes wide, utterly petrified at what the noise and chaos might summon. The gate might feel safe but it’s only a tiny outpost. How safe is it, really? And how good is the Pleer at fighting while he’s drunk and screaming, too?

“Hey,” I say, gently as I can manage.

The Pleer wheels around, and throws something at me. A rock, I think. It hits the ground, and I freeze. Overcome by the impression that I was just bare inches from death. The fire sputters, and the hatred is back in the Pleer eyes.

He levels a finger at me.

“You,” he says.

I start looking for a possible avenue of escape. Even though I know there isn’t really one. I’d never make it back through the Harpies, even if I ran. After a few seconds, I give up, and raise my hands in what I hope is a placating gesture.

“Please,” I say. “I just don’t want any monsters attacking the camp.”

The Pleer sneers. But he stops shouting, too. And after a moment, he comes back and slumps down beside the fire again. His breath reeks of strong wine.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “They can’t cross the boundary here. Most they could do would be to line up along it. And then ‘poof’ - gone by daybreak.”

I swallow. The prospect of sleeping out in the open with a bunch of Skeleton Knights leering down at me, halted only by an invisible barrier, still seems like… not an experience I would want to have. At all. Particularly not for the sake of some incoherent raging.

“But those Harpies didn’t attack,” I point out. “That was a ‘glitch’. What if the boundary makes a glitch, too?”

The Pleer pauses.

Then he lets out a gusty breath.

“Fine,” he says. “Fucking shit cowards. That’s all your type is, you know?”

I clench a fist in the ground. Fear keeps me from arguing - so maybe he does have a point.

“I certainly don’t want to die, my lord,” I say, instead.

The Pleer glares into the fire.

“You sound like that one,” he says, after a long minute. The smoke is getting in my eyes again. I move back a little, and wonder if I should keep responding. If that would lower or increase the odds of him screaming into the dark again.

“Who, may I ask?” I venture, at length.

“I’m not saying its name,” the Pleer replies, with another sneer. “The fucking dwarf. That’ll do. It’s the Fucking Dwarf. Fucking queer ass piece of shit en-pee-see. Not like you, though. Level Three-Fucking Hundred. We let it into our party. Desperation, that’s what if fucking was. We never should have left Itreloth.”

“Itreloth… that’s in the legends,” I realize. “It’s a city.”

“The Grey City,” the Pleer mutters. “Even after The Cut-Off, it was full of players. The trains connected it to the eight other cities. Until our station went down.”

He lets out a long sigh.

“Fucking glitches. The first party went out, didn’t come back. Second party went out - didn’t come back. Third party, no prizes for guessing that one. We figured they were either dying or finding somewhere better and just holing up there. Shit. I never even wanted to play this game. Damn fucking ‘pee see’ piece of crap, shoving its bullshit down everyone’s throats all the time. Oh look, it’s a fucking… fucking gay nanogender vegan orc. And now I’m trapped here. For eternity. The only fucking reason I came here is because of that friendzoning bitch, and what does she do? She drags me out of the city, out into the goddamn mines, trying to follow the train tracks with the Fucking Dwarf, and then she leaves me. She leaves me. When it’s her fucking fault I’m even here to begin with!”

I can’t imagine why, I think.

I’m smart enough not to say it, though. My mind is reeling a little, trying to make sense of everything the Pleer is saying. He has so much knowledge. If only he wasn’t… well. A crazed murderer, really.

“What… ‘game’?” I ask. Maybe he means like in the legends, where the gods sometimes refer to life as The Game? But in that case, does that mean the Pleers all chose to live among mortals?

“Fucking bitch,” the Pleer ignores me, just muttering to himself.

I shift in place a little, and persist. I might not get another chance, and it seems to at least be keeping the screaming to a minimum.

“Okay, I know of some mines,” I say, thinking. Because I do - they’re at the other edge of the boundaries of my knowledge, past Bayerwood. “So you came out of them, and now you’re trying to find this other Pleer? And an Enpisci dwarf?”

“The Fucking Dwarf,” he corrects, in a low mutter. “She left me for the Fucking Dwarf. She’s an idiot. It’s not real. You’re not real, it’s not real, fucking nothing here is real except for us.”

“My lord, I am real,” I feel compelled to say, before I can think the better of it. He glares at me, and I close my mouth with an audible ‘click’. The fire burns between us, and seems to reflect in his eyes. And for a moment, I am horribly, terribly afraid that he is just going to kill me. One of his hands moves to his belts. The sneer on his face is ugly. It makes his scar ripple, and in the dark beyond the firelight, he seems to get even bigger, somehow. Meaner. An old and frightful creature, as dangerous as any monster.

Except that if he died, he wouldn’t come back.

Which would be comforting - if there was any chance of me killing him.

I know I’m desperate enough that I would try. There’s a sharp stick in the fire, close enough that I might be able to reach it before he cut my head off. Maybe I could blind him. Maybe I could run, and run, and just keep running. Maybe my chances would be better with the monsters.

But then he just spits on the ground, and looks away.

“Your fucking kind,” he swears. “You don’t even know what ‘real’ is. You don’t matter. Fucking algorithms and shit. Ay-eye. It’s your fault, your kind’s fault. I’d kill every last one of you if I could, for what you’ve done to us. You fucking trapped us here.”

What?

What is that even supposed to mean? How could Enpisci ‘trap’ the Pleers here? They’re the ones with divine power.

“How?” I ask. Pointing out the obvious fallacy just seems liable to make the man angry.

The Pleer gets up. Wavering in place for a moment, before he just turns, and staggers towards his ten.

“That’s the fucking question,” he mutters, as he goes. “That’s the fucking question. How you did it. Fucking Ay-eye.”

The tent flap closes.

I am left alone in the dark, with a flickering campfire, and a lot of broken glass. And a bedroll, and glowing mist. And distant sounds of something creaking. And drawing closer, and closer, along with something like the sound of wind wheezing through an old bag. I douse the fire, and move nearer to the tent. Watching with the moonlight, as three bone-white figures in aged armour begin to move along the boundaries of the gate.

The hollows of their eye sockets stare back at me.

I don’t sleep.

#filled prompt #mmo story #Anonymous #long post #original writing

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feroluce · 7 years ago

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TatST - Ch 1: Secrets

For Day 1: Secrets of Ritshou Summer Week by @shouritshou! Please enjoy the first chapter of Together at the Same Time!

Warnings: Major character death, violence, injuries, blood, concussions

Shou is acting weird. Like, weird even for Shou.

Ritsu wakes up to the smell of meat cooking in his nose.

He fumbles for his phone, something that's become the first part of his daily routine since he convinced his parents to get it for him last year. A quiet chime plays as it unlocks, Ritsu sleepily rubbing at his eyes until his ceiling looks less blurred. He can already see out his glass door that it's going to storm later...maybe he'll just stay in bed for a while longer. He can still smell breakfast cooking and it's making his stomach growl, but he doesn't want to leave his warm bed yet. Ritsu pulls the blankets up to his ears as he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore the little pang in his heart when there are no new messages from Shou. Because really, it shouldn't be that much of a let down. He's probably not even awake yet. Shou tends to stay up late and sleep in late, doubly so on weekends. So it's completely normal to not have a new message and he shouldn't be so disappointed. Ritsu's phone signals a new text message and he snatches it up to check his notifications in record time. Dammit. Damn Shou and his handsome face and his cute freckles and the new pang in Ritsu's heart that is the exact opposite of disappointment but just as unwelcome and painful. Shou: We're going somewhere today! I'll come pick you up! Shou: And don't skip bfast it's bad for you The first one isn't unusual. Shou is restless and he is always finding something to do. The second text, though, is...oddly specific. Ritsu widens out his psychic senses just to make sure Shou isn't hiding somewhere with his invisibility (which also isn't unusual). He can't Feel Shou sneaking around anywhere, although that doesn't always mean anything. His ability to hide his presence rivals Shigeo's and supposedly Reigen's.

Reinvigorated with the promise of an adventure, Ritsu rolls himself out of bed and drags his feet across the carpet. He wonders if he should bother to bring an umbrella or not. It might just be in the way.

Shou: Don't bring your umbrella btw you'll just lose it

Shou: And wear shoes without laces

Ritsu sticks his head into Shigeo's room on his way by, just to make sure Momozou hadn't come by to visit without him knowing. There's only one futon on the floor, though, with one head of black hair poking out. Telepathy and invisibility make for a horrifying stealth combo.

Me: Why are you being so specific.

Shou: Just a feeling

Shou: Don't worry about it

Ritsu is torn between not worrying about it and knowing better until he walks in on Shou in the middle of picking his outside door’s lock.

“Ricchan! Lemme in, we're going somewhere today and we need to get going!” Shou looks up at him from where he's kneeling and his stupid grin is so bright that Ritsu wonders for a moment if the storm clouds cleared up. And he considers it, he really does…

“Why should I?” But sometimes Ritsu feels like being difficult.

“C'mon, I came all the way out here! Don't be a dick.”

“Impossible. I'm always a dick.”

Shou snorts at him. The sound doesn't carry through the glass, but Ritsu knows the face he makes when he does it. “Yeah, well, y’are whatcha eat, I guess.”

Ritsu pulls the curtain shut.

The indignant “Awww, c’mon, it was funny,” is muffled by the thick fabric. Ritsu had just recently reset that lock, he reasons he has at least a couple minutes before Shou gets it figured out. He's just barely finished stepping into his shoes, though, when the door slides open and Shou breezes in, bringing in the smell of rain. He's getting too good at that.

"So where exactly are we going?" Ritsu always asks when Shou just shows up to whisk him away like this, but he had stopped caring about an actual answer over a year ago. Shou can make even mundane, boring things exciting. He could say they were just going to the corner store and it would still be fun. So it doesn't matter what the answer is, because Ritsu will follow along regardless.

"Places." Ritsu side steps to make room for the eventual circuit that Shou will make through his room. Even though they see each other almost every day now, Shou always walks by his bookshelf to look at the framed pictures sitting there. Or maybe he just scans the book spines, trying to figure out which one might be Ritsu's journal. "I found some pretty cool abandoned stuff past Mud Boat Mountain. Like they just half bulldozed some tourist places and then left them!" Shou stops in front of Ritsu's desk, leaning back against it with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. He doesn't pace, doesn’t play with any of the pens on Ritsu's desk, doesn’t even look at the shelves.

The sudden break in routine is more than enough to remind Ritsu of the strange text messages from that morning.

Shou is acting weird. Like, weird even for Shou.

And he only realizes it more and more as Shou babbles about whatever he's found out in the mountain ranges. There's something off about his rhythm, about the way the words roll off his tongue. And Ritsu isn't sure of exactly what it is, but he can pick out that it's wrong. It maybe wouldn't be wrong coming from anyone else, but it's wrong for Shou and at least to Ritsu, Shou isn't just anyone else, he's Shou.

And Shou does eventually move, but it's only to steal a jacket out of the closet. The one that's changed hands so many times between the two of them that Ritsu can't even remember who it belonged to first.

Something like unease settles into Ritsu's gut, twisting up his insides.

It only gets worse from there. When they both leave the house, Shou keeps finishing Ritsu's sentences or answering questions before he's even done asking them. And this isn't unheard of, Shou can read Ritsu like an open book after so much time, but it's never been to this extent. Part of it makes Ritsu nervous simply because it's something new with no obvious explanation, but the other part worries that this means Ritsu is just that obvious. How much as Shou figured out about him recently? Does he know about Ritsu's Secret and that's why he's acting strange? Does Shou know that he likes him? "Yo, Earth to Ritsu!" Right. The convenience store. Snacks for on the way. It's not until they're back on the route to Mud Boat that Ritsu realizes he hadn't grabbed the salt water taffy he always brings home with him. He really is preoccupied. "Hey...Shou, hold on, I forgot Nii-san's candy." "Eh? Isn't he gone for the weekend, anyway?" Ritsu has just opened his mouth to answer that no, where did Shou even get that idea, when his phone trills in his pocket. Shige: I'll be gone when you get home. Shishou needed help and Serizawa is still out of town. Be back Monday. Ritsu's blood chills, bits of it clogging up his brain and trapping his thoughts in a clotted-off loop. Something is wrong. Something is really, really, wrong.

"Shou... Shou, how did you-?" "Peach ring?" When he looks up from his phone, Shou is suddenly a lot closer, holding a piece of candy up to his face. His eyes have gone from warm to overbearing, something that burns so hot and bright the flame has gone blue. Ritsu knows when he's being told not to ask. He opens his mouth again only to bite the peach ring out of Shou's fingers. ○●●○●●○ Now that he knows Shou is keeping Secrets, too, Ritsu goes on high alert, his feeling of everything being off-kilter only multiplied from before. "And so then- Then I told this guy that if he didn't speak- If he didn't start talking, I was really gonna light a fire under him-" "Shou, oh my god." It's a little hard to concentrate on that, though, when Shou is holding his hand because touching makes it easier to keep them both invisible. This didn't used to rile him up nearly as much as it does now. His only comfort is the fact that Shou can't see him, either. When the bus finally pulls up to the last stop at the base of the mountain, they both drop down to the ground without breaking hold, Shou kicking against the window and cackling when the people inside startle. Ritsu wonders if Reigen is going to get a call on Monday about evil spirits riding on top of public transport and messing with the passengers. The bus pulls away and Shou drops the invisibility and Ritsu drops their hands and turns before Shou can notice if his face is as unbearably red as it feels.

"...C'mon, it's not too much farther now." Ritsu is pretty sure he's just imagining the disappointed tone in his voice. Shou guides him up the mountain side, occasionally grabbing his sleeve to stop him from taking specific paths because trust me, Ritsu, you'll just give yourself a concussion like a dumbass. Ritsu bites his tongue and doesn't argue against it. When they float up the last bit of cliffside, they're greeted by a few run down old buildings, sides caved in and toppled by time and creeping vines. Their walls spill out like entrails, littering the ground with wood and glittering broken glass. "Pretty cool, eh?" Ritsu has to admit, it is pretty cool. They both walk forwards and it takes Ritsu a moment to place why the act itself is so weird. He's grown familiar with the sight of Shou's back, he could redraw the freckles on the nape of his neck almost as well as he could the ones on his face. Because Shou is always leading and Ritsu is always content to follow wherever Shou might lead him. But now Shou is all but glued to his side, shorter legs working to keep pace. He's keeping him close, keeping an eye on him, and Ritsu doesn't know what to think about that. And the longer they go on exploring their new discovery, the more antsy Shou seems to get. He's always energetic, always doing something, but it's never with this uncharacteristically nervous or paranoid feel to it. Shou keeps checking the time on his phone, he turns towards any sound that he can't immediately see the source of. His nerves are fraying like old rope. "Ritsu." He startles, because Shou hadn't said anything in a while and his jumpiness is starting to rub off on him. "Be quiet a sec. Don't move." They both go perfectly still until Shou's head whips towards the ceiling. Ritsu's eyes follow and then he can hear it, too, creaking along the old rubble. Footsteps. "Ok..." Shou's voice drops to a whisper. "Ritsu, put up a barrier. Thick as you can. On my mark. Three..." Ritsu tenses up, aura manifesting around them both in refractile bluepurplepink. "Two..." Shou drops his stance, reaching out and grabbing Ritsu to pull him closer until his concentration nearly stutters. "One!!" Ritsu's barrier balloons around them and too many things happen all at once for him to keep track of them all. Something drops in from the ceiling and something else swings in from the window and- Shou suddenly has Ritsu behind him backed in a corner and the desk near them flies open and stuff comes pouring out the drawers- And the entire desk goes hurtling across the room and someone screams and glass shatters and wood splinters- Something collides with his barrier and it pops like a bubble and then- And then Shou is being ripped screaming out of his hands- And suddenly there's a fist in his face and it isn't Shou’s because Ritsu knows what Shou’s fists look like, especially when they're right in his face, and this one isn't Shou's- Ritsu is dragged out and away through a hole in the wall and halfway through the woods all at once before he can get his bearings, but he lashes out as soon as he does. Practiced weak spots, eyes, nose, throat, solar plexus, hands wreathed with aura and one fist shoved up under the ribs before both hammer down onto the back of the person's bowed head. Ritsu sends them flying, maybe into a tree, maybe over a fucking cliff, he doesn't care, it doesn't matter as long as they're not in the way because he needs to get back to Shou. He races back to the old building and Shou is standing close to where they'd been before, visible through a massive hole blown in the wall of the second floor, Ritsu isn't even sure it was there before, but oh thank god he's still standing and he's alright. Shou pulls the hood of their jacket up one-handed right before he sways backwards and plummets. It's such a short fall that Ritsu only barely manages to grab him with telekinesis right before he crashes into all the debris below and that in itself scares him even more, because Shou doesn't even try to catch himself, he just falls and he's completely limp as he dangles in the air. Ritsu eases him down as gently as he can, but he can feel his heartbeat in his ears and it's making his control shaky. It isn't until he has him laying flat on the ground that Shou's eyes peer open again. "Shou! What happened, did you get hit? Are you bleeding? Where does it hurt? Is your head alright?" And Shou just blinks up at him like he's trying to recalibrate, turquoise irises rolling like compass needles until they realign with their true north and settle on Ritsu's face. "Ritsu...you did it. I knew you'd pull through on your end." When he smiles, his teeth are stained pink. "They have a bad habit of...of underestimating you." Shou's arm comes up and pats his cheek, but it's only the left one. His right stays crooked on the ground. Ritsu's eyes catch on the red starting to pool under his back, under his head, and the sight tangles in the spokes of his brain until the wheels grind. "Don't." Shou's hand, the only good one left, grabs Ritsu's wrist before he can reach the zipper to get a look at where the jacket is soaked to his skin. "Ritsu, just...just trust me. Don't." He doesn't stop Ritsu from calling an ambulance at least, even though he's starting to fear there's no point in it. Shou's teeth are starting to chatter and Ritsu's heart and lungs are starting to spasm and he's bleeding out all over the ground and- "Listen to me. L-Listen. Ritsu." Shou stops to grit his teeth and spit blood. "Ricchan. It's all...everything's gonna be ok. I can do this. I'll do...I'll get i-it right next time. I was so close this time. Ricchan, it's gonna be ok." "...You knew." Shou had been acting weird all day long. Like he already knew everything that would happen. "Shou, you asshole, you were keeping Secrets, you knew, and you still- You still...!" "Which is why...I know that everything's gonna...gonna be ok." Ritsu finally makes himself look Shou in the eye. He still looks dazed, his pupils mismatched in size. Concussion. "C'mere. My head is...it hurts. I...pillow." Ritsu manages to get Shou's head on his lap, desperately trying to ignore the sticky wetness seeping into his jeans. He figures it's the least he can do. "Ricchan. Tell me-e-e...tell me a, uh, a story." "You seriously want...?" "Mm. Tell me...haha, tell me about the time...about when Kamuro and, and Tokugawa tried to...catch Momozou ditching." "I...Shou, you already know that story. You were there for some of it." "I know... It's, uh...a good memory. I love...like the way you, you tell it." Shou settles in while Ritsu recites something from back in middle school, Kamuro and Tokugawa deciding tardiness was their new target and Momozou was the worst in Salt Mid. "So Shinji is still hanging halfway out the window and... Shou. Sh-Shou, stay awake." "Mm." He doesn't open his eyes again. "Keep...going. Still listening..." Ritsu closes his eyes, too, because that way he can almost pretend this is just another night where one of them had a nightmare and went crawling into the other's bed and he doesn't have to watch his vision swim. "And...and Hikaru is trying to, to pull them both back in, but Momozou is so d-damn big and heavy that...th-that..." Ritsu squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He's not sure he wants to see.

"Shou...?" Nothing answers him but his own hiccuping breaths. "Shou, c'mon, you shouldn't...you're not supposed to sleep with a concussion. You can't..." He can't do this to him is what he wants to say, but he already knows it's pointless because there's no one there to hear it, because Shou is a fucking liar and he had said that everything was gonna be ok and Ritsu didn't even get to tell him his own Secret and nothing about this is even remotely ok. One hand clenches in the sleeve of their shared jacket and the other clamps over his eyes until it makes kaleidoscope patterns on the inside of his eyelids. He and Shou weren't supposed to be separated, they did everything together, they were a pair, he doesn’t want to imagine having to look forward and not seeing Shou's back like always because Ritsu is the only one he trusts to watch his back. They weren't ever supposed to be apart. Something bright burns beyond his eyelids and it's the only reason Ritsu peeks out between his fingers. Orange, yellow, and pink, an aura he knows almost as well as his own, but now in the shape of a person. Two wide white eyes slowly open across its face, meeting his gaze head on. Shou's ghost is sitting in front of him, staring at him. Ritsu watches, partly mesmerized and partly horrified, as he cups his hands together and something builds there, crackling with energy. Shou's eyes crinkle up like they do when he smiles and suddenly everything starts to pull. Nothing looks like it's moving, but Ritsu can feel it, like he's being sucked in, like his very soul is being forced out of him through a straw. Everything is compressed, crushed, crumbled down to crumbs as it's drawn into the tiny black hole held carefully in Shou's cupped hands. He can feel the world condensing into a single point, the preparation for a new universe because the best thing about this one was dead and gone. And Ritsu swears, just at the last possible second before the big bang, that he feels Shou's heart jolt beneath his fingertips.

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gray-autumn-sky · 6 years ago

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Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 7

February 17, 1993- Seattle, Washington:

Robin rings his hands as he sits in the booth, staring at the door and waiting for his date.

He cancelled a few days before, and really, he thought that Emma would call off the whole thing.

He felt a degree of guilt over using Roland as an excuse—saying that his son was sick and needed him at home, and though the excuse had sounded fake and flimsy to him, Emma didn’t argue with it. Instead, she said that she understood and that his son should always come first—and then, she confessed that she was feeling a little uncomfortable about that date, anyway. Valentine’s Day brought a certain amount of unnecessary pressure, suggesting that maybe later in the week would be better for them both.

He was glad for the less formal setting and for the proximity to home. This was a place he and Roland went often, and several of the wait staff knew him well—and when he regretfully informed them that he was not dining with his son and confessed that he was actually meeting a woman for a date, they offered pats on the back and high fives and congratulatory wishes that momentarily set him at ease and made him that that maybe this wasn’t the worst idea.

But still, he was nervous and his stomach was in knots—and of course, the two conflicting voices in his head didn’t help the situation. One told him to get up and leave, that he wasn’t ready for this and it wasn’t fair to anyone involved to carry on with a date if there was no chance at something more developing, and the other voice told him it was just pizza and conversation, that if anything, it’d be good for him to be social.

The second voice was winning out when Emma came in to the pizza shop and a slight smile tugged on to his lips as he spotted her.

Ruby and Belle were right—Emma was pretty, though not typically his type. She had long blonde hair that was curled at the ends and the boots she wore made her seem taller than she really was. She wore tight, dark jeans and a red leather jacket over a tucked in what shirt, and as she came closer, she offered him an awkward little wave and a grin.

“Robin?”

“Yes,” he nods. “You’re Emma, then.”

Nodding, she slides into the booth across from him. “I am.”

“You, um… you obviously found the place alright.”

She nods. “Yes, your directions were… very clear.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything and then a little laugh bubbles out of him, and she laughs, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m a bit rusty.”

“I am, too.”

“My sister mentioned that you just got out a relationship? I’m sorry—“

“I’m not,” she cuts in. “I just wish I’d gotten out sooner.” He nods. “I’m new in town and staying with some friends from college—“

“David and Mary Margaret,” he supplies. “I am the architect designing the addition on their house.”

“Oh, now I feel the need to apologize. They are so indecisive about every last detail.”

“So the bay window fiasco wasn’t an act to try to put us in each other’s orbit?”

“Not entirely. I was running late, but after you left, they had tape up the walls, still debating where the window should go.”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “It’s really not that serious.”

“When you called to cancel, they were still debating and I didn’t have the heart to tell you you’d probably spend Valentine’s Day redrawing the blueprints for the addition.” His brow furrows and she laughs again, “There’s a new discussion about a skylight,” she tells him. “They didn’t tell you yet?”

“No,” he sighs. “They probably haven’t committed to it yet or they’re afraid I’ll quit.”

“You might as well just design a room for a teenager—put the window by the tree so he can sneak out in the middle of the night. That seems most considerate.”

“Or he’ll simply have to stay a baby forever.”

“I am sure Mary Margaret would have no arguments about that.”

Leaning back against the booth, Robin grins—talking to Emma is easier than he thought it’d be.

The waitress comes and they order a pizza—settling on pepperoni and jalapeño peppers—and by the time the waitress bring their beers to the table, they’ve fallen into a conversation that’s only mildly uncomfortable.

She asks about his son—a topic he could stay on forever—and so he takes the opportunity to brag. Emma listens and nods along, smiling when she should at cute little anecdotes about the antics of a six year old. She admits that she likes kids, but isn’t sure that she wants them for herself, and when he apologizes for going on and on, she brushes it off, telling him she enjoyed listening and Roland seems like a sweet boy—and that earners her a couple of points in his book.

He shifts the conversation as the pizza arrives, talking about movies and books and TV shows. Outside of a few random things, they don’t have many of the same interests, but in some ways, that’s refreshing and gives them more to talk about—and when Emma suggests a film they could maybe watch together, he takes it as a good sign, and again feels himself relax.

By the time they’ve finished their pizza and ordered slices of cheesecake for dessert, he’s feeling more at ease. And while he’s not entirely sure of its something about her that he likes or something about talking to someone who isn’t his sister or his child, he does like it and he finds himself mentally preparing a list of possible date ideas.

He likes serious films, like documentaries or comedies that he can laugh at, while she prefers mysteries or horror films; he likes leisurely hikes while she prefers rock climbing. He seems himself as a family man while she is more of a loner who occasionally likes company, and they both avoid cooking for themselves whenever they can.

She laughs at that part, telling him she now understands why Ruby is always over, and he smiles and nods and pretends that that’s the real reason.

Their dessert comes as Emma confesses that she’s never even seen a horse up close and the idea of riding one terrifies her—so, naturally he adds horseback riding to his list.

They part ways after they eat, agreeing that they’d like to do something like this again. Emma pulls out her pocketbook and suggests a movie date, and he finds himself nodding in agreement as he adds dinner—and just like that, he has a second date planned.

He spends his walk home weighing what this actually means, and by the time he arrives at his front door, he decides that it doesn’t really matter—the company is nice and he forgot how fun it could be just getting to know someone. Emma might not be someone he ended up with for a long time, but maybe that was the point—and maybe he’d spend the rest of his life with her.

That was the fun of it—the possibilities—and he’d completely forgotten how good it felt to have possibilities, to not have everything charted out and predetermined, to just see where life would take him.

In a lot of ways, Marian had been a wonderful surprise—they’d shared a cab ride on a particularly rainy day, and the only reason he’d been in that cab was because he’d lent his car to Belle so she could take a road trip to visit a friend from high school. By the end of that cab ride, he’d been convinced that he wanted to ask Marian out, and when he helped her out of the cab, he knew they’d have something special.

But that feeling hadn’t taken away from the spontaneity of it all—and maybe, he thought as he turned his key in the lock and braced himself for the onslaught of questions from Belle and Ruby that were sure to come as soon as the door opened—he really could get that lucky as second time… perhaps not with Emma, but someone.

Only time would tell, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was actually looking forward to uncertainty that lay ahead of him.

_____

February 17, 1993- Greenwich, Connecticut:

To her relief--and oddly, to her disappointment--Daniel did not propose to her on Valentine’s Day.

He’d taken her to a nice restaurant and they’d had a nice meal, and their dinner was filled with easy conversation. He seemed to sense her anxiety, so he kept things light. They’d gone into New York City for the evening, and he’d planned a walk in Central Part, but the rain foiled those plans, so instead, they rented a few movies and went back to the hotel, ordering ice cream and laying in bed, laughing until their sides hurt, thanks to Cary Grant and movies like Arsenic and Old Lace and Bringing Up Baby.

Daniel was out of town—some business meeting or something that came up a the last minute—so she invited Lily and Mal over to eat the meal she’d prepared.

As always, Lily and Henry went off to play video games—this time, giggling together as they played Duck Hunt in his bedroom while she and Mal settled in the living room with a bottle of wine.

“You should stay the night.”

Mal’s brows arch. “We're not sixteen. We don’t do sleepovers anymore.”

Regina shrugs. “The kids are having fun and it’s sleeting and I want to watch old movies, but I don’t want to alone.”

Mal grins. “Sounds like you’re subbing me in for your boyfriend.”

Regina shrugs. “Or maybe I was subbing my boyfriend in for you. I’m not really sure he’d be into the movie I picked. It’s… kind of a chick flick.”

“What is it?”

“An Affair to Remember. I’m… I’m kind of on a Cary Grant kick, so I got it and then I read the description.”

“That is absolutely a chick flick,” Mal says, nodding as she sighs. “I’ll stay if you give me ice cream.”

“Deal.”

“Do you have that snickerdoodle kind that—“

“That my kid is obsessed with? Of course.”

“Excellent. You get the ice cream and I’ll let Lily know we’re going to stay.” Getting up from the couch, she sighs. “I’m sure this will be an argument.”

“I've got some cookie dough, maybe that can sweeten the deal.”

“Maybe.”

“Henry is going to be thrilled, you know. He loves when Lily’s here… even if she doesn’t want to be.”

“Lily can move in, if you want. I swear, she’s no trouble at all… ever. She’s an absolute delight!”

Regina grins as she gets up. “I really do think she’s a delight.”

“That's because you’re not her mother so she likes you.”

“Things still rough after the smoking incident?”

Mal nods. “Rough is my new normal. This morning she and I got into a fight about eyeliner.”

“Was she wearing too much?”

“No,” Mal says, rolling her eyes. “I was, and apparently me dropping her off at school is embarrassing.”

At that, Regina giggles and shrugs, watching as Mal starts up the stairs.

She retreats into the kitchen and flicks on the radio before flicking on the oven—and all of the sudden the familiar voice of Doctor Archibald Hopper fills the room.

Grabbing the cookie dough from the refrigerator, she listens as he switches topics.

I’m sure you all remember our most famous caller from Christmas Eve, a little boy from Seattle who was worried about his dad not sleeping and being alone…

Looking up, she stares at the radio, listening more intently as she grabs a okie sheet from the drying Araceli and forms little balls of dough.

...I say most popular because since Christmas hundreds of women have called in for his address—hundreds of concerned women who want to help—

Regina’s eyes roll. “Yeah, help themselves into his bed,” she mutters.

Several of you have reached out to check in on him, calling into the station for an update, and while I would love to talk to Sleepless in Seattle again, he has not answered any of my calls…

“He has a name.”

“Who does?”

Regina looks up to see Mal standing in the kitchen. “Oh…”

“Is that that radio program again?”

Reigna nods. “They’re talking about Robin… about Sleepless in Seattle from…”

“Christmas.”

“Yeah? What are they saying?”

“Not much,” Regina says, lowering the volume dial so she can hear Mal, but not turning it down completely. “People are curious about him—“

“People like you.”

For a moment, she just glares. “I suppose.”

“Women have been writing to him.”

At that, Mal’s brow arches. “Soo, you’ve got some competition.”

“No—“

“Regina, come on. It’s not wrong to be curious about him. You heard his story and you felt something—“

“It was a sad story, Mal.”

“I’m not saying that it wasn’t. I’m just saying you felt a connection—“

“That’s a bit strong.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“It’s ridiculous, Mal. I don’t know this man. I heard one story from his life, this one little thing—“

“This one huge thing.”

She shrugs. “Still, it was one thing that has to do with the life of a complete stranger.”

“So?”

“So… I… I’m involved with someone. Someone who is great and—“

“And you spend all of Valentine’s Day hoping wouldn’t propose to you.”

Regina bristles as she lops some Cookie dough onto the sheet. “I’m… I’m just not… not there I don’t want to rush things or—“

“Or maybe, despite the fact that you’re dating a great guy, he’s not the guy for you.” Regina’s shoulders square as she focuses on the cookies, trying to formulate some sort of zinger to reply with that’ll shut the conversation down. But before she can, Mal leans against the counter and completely derails her train of thought. “You should write to him.”

Regina's eyes widen. “You mean...write to…”

Mal’s eyes roll as Regina’s voice trails off. “To Sleepless in Seattle.”

“Robin.”

A grin twists onto her lips “Oh, so you’re a on a first name basis now?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. You should write to him.”

“And sound like all the other crazy desperate women who want to bed him? No, thanks.”

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah,” Regina says, nodding as she spoons the last of the cookie dough onto the sheet. “I am different. I have a boyfriend. I shouldn't--”

“Regina--”

“Mal, this is insane. It’s unhealthy it’s--”

“You’re attracted to it. Admit it.”

“He’s a voice on the radio!”

“That you recorded so you could listen to him as a bedtime story.”

Regina’s eyes widen. “Oh god. Mal. I’m just as crazy and desperate as those other women. I’m--”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Mal sighs, taking the cookie sheet from her and sliding it into the over and spinning the timer. “Let’s change the subject. We’ll get some wine and watch a movie, and forget what a psycho you are for a little bit.”

Regina pouts as Mal grabs her hand and a bottle of wine, dragging her back into the living room. Regina curls her legs underneath herself as Mal puts on the movie, and aside from a very short break to take the cookies out of the oven, she doesn’t move--instead, she gets too invested in the movie and finishes off a bottle of wine before the its even over, and all the while, she pictures herself waiting for Sleepless in Seattle--for Robin--on top of the Empire State Building, and how terribly romantic that would be.

She sighs as the credits roll, and when she looks over to Mal, she finds her curled up in the armchair beside her, asleep. “So much for a movie marathon,” she says, setting down her glass and feeling a little wobbly as she stands, moving toward Mal and carefully pulling away the carton of ice cream from her--and when she does, Mal curls into a tighter ball.

She takes the empty wine glasses, bottles and Mal’s now-empty carton of ice cream into the kitchen and sets the on the counter to be dealt with in the morning, and she grins as the handful of cookies left--Lily and Henry obviously came down for seconds, and maybe even thirds. She transfers the rest of the cookies onto a plate and puts the cookie sheet into the sink, again leaving it for morning to clean.

Turning off the light in the kitchen, she goes back to the living room to toss a blanket over Mal, then dims the light and heads up the stairs. She finds Lily and Henry curled up on Henry’s bed, video game controllers still in their hand and the music to Mario Brothers playing as Game Over flashes repeatedly on the TV screen on Henry’s dresser. She turns off the TV and kisses them both on the forehead, pulling away the controllers as she dims Henry’s lamp--and then as she retreats down the hall toward her bedroom, she realizes she’s not tired.

Biting down on her lip, she turns toward her office. For a moment, she just stood there, feeling a bit dizzy as she stared at her Macintosh--and then, drawing in a breath, she pushed herself toward, pressing her fingers to the keyboard to boot it up. Chewing at her lip, she watched as the computer started, and she held her breath as she opened up the Word Processor, then once it was open, all she could do was stare at it.

It was… like magic, she thinks, remembering the soft yet hesitant way he described that very first moment he knew that he was in love with his wife--and it made her heart ache in the best possible way.

Pulling out her chair, she sat down at the computer and started to type…

Dear Sleepless in Seattle, she types, grimacing as she looked at the words. They sounded so.... Impersonal. And then she rolled her eyes. How else would it sound, writing to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

I’ve never done something like this before.

She blinks and rolls her eyes. “Of course, you haven’t--and neither has all the other psychos out there who are writing to him.” With a sigh, her head dips forward and her face falls into her hands, and she can’t do it--she can’t write this letter, much less send it. So, she powers down her computer and goes to sleep.

#oq ff #outlaw queen #advent 2018

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sachiro · 7 years ago

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The Many Faces of Victor Nikiforov - Episode 10

The round and golden episode 10 is finally upon us and with it comes a ton of lighting improvements and frame redraws. Out of all the episodes, this is probably the one in which the blu-ray updates are the most noticeable.

That said, there’s also so much content in this episode. There’s no way I could cover everything there is to talk about regarding Victor in just 10 gifs but I’m excited to delve in anyway so let’s go!

The first thing I’d like to talk about is Victor and his need for space to recharge. Unlike Yuuri who chooses to sleep off his jetlag, Victor decides to go up to the roof’s pool in the middle of winter, a time when there’s least likely to be other people there, to get some space to think. A lot of the time, Victor plays himself off as being a lot more social than he is, but in reality he’s an introvert. He needs his alone time to recharge his energy and taking it isn’t something new to him if his message of needing to get completely away from skating to think is anything to go by.

For this second choice, it may not be a moving image but I love it for its composition – the coaches (adults) in the background and the skaters + Victor (young adults/kids) in the foreground. I’ve always felt like this image looks like a family with the adults looking on from the back. That said, it really brings to light just how young all of the skaters (including Victor) are. Victor may be the oldest there but he’s still only 27. As I’ve heard it said by a friend, Victor is still choosing to sit at the kiddy table instead of standing back with the adults. This isn’t a negative thing at all though. He’s at an age where he can choose which direction to go; he can choose to stand back with the other coaches and observe or he can spend his time enjoying the fun with the others skaters, most of which are still within his generational age range.

This entire portion with Victor taking Yuuri shopping brings up an important point to this episode – that Victor is trying his best to be observant of Yuuri and help him without the need to say anything. This is a direct response to Yuuri’s message to Victor in episode 7 and ever since then you can see how he’s been working with those words in mind. He takes notice of the things that make Yuuri relax and does his best to do them with him. Victor has learned that the best way to comfort Yuuri is through action and not words.

But not everything is as simple as dragging Yuuri along on a shopping spree. That doesn’t mean that it all goes to shit, however. In this case, they have an argument which boils down to both of them trying to solve an issue in their own way and conflicting over how the two methods oppose each other (Yuuri wants to make up for a mistake and Victor wants to just forget it and move on). But the important part in all of this is that they resolve their differences like adults. They don’t attack each other with actions or words and don’t hold it against each other. They get the message across that they’re upset then both decide to move on. It’s said that no relationship is perfect but having good communication and conflict resolution skills is honestly the closest way to get there.

Aside from my love of this fifth gif as a shot in general, I’d like to bring us back to the idea of Victor being observant of Yuuri. Victor is very explicit about it here, he talks about how he’s noticed the small things – how Yuuri’s eyes shine when he’s looking for something, how that thing is like a dowsing rod, and how the best thing Victor can do is just stay silent and let Yuuri do as he will. We may get the chance to see Victor’s stumbles along the way to better understanding Yuuri but no one can deny that he’s a fast learner. As a general rule, he only has to be told anything once to remember it and apply it to his actions and thoughts as we can see here and earlier on through the episode.

I chose this sixth gif, out of all the possible ring scene choices, because of how purely happy Victor looks. A lot of the time Victor has a mask on, but in this moment, he is completely and utterly open and honest with his expression. As much as Yuuri is handing Victor his heart, Victor is absolutely doing the same. We may see a lot of the series through Yuuri’s point of view, and a lot of Victor’s emotional conversations with Yuuri might be covered in skating metaphors, but this scene is undoubtedly just as important to Victor as it is to Yuuri. We even get Victor’s internal monologue here. But at the end of the day, no matter what words anyone puts to this scene, Victor’s pure contentment is one of the few unarguable things that we can get out of it.

One of the things I love about Victor is how emotive he actually is. His mask isn’t actually as solid as it initially appears, and this seventh gif displays that perfectly. The clip is short and the eyes naturally gravitate to the clapping motions and Yuuri’s reaction but it’s Victor’s expression that I’d like to talk about. He appears proud a moment later, flashing the ring and citing it as an engagement ring, but his first reaction is to blush at the attention and topic being brought forth. Phichit brings up the idea of marriage, and unlike Yuuri’s response of “oh no, he’s got the wrong idea”, Victor’s face says something more along the lines of “well, that’s not quite it but I wouldn’t be against that”.

Honestly, this eighth gif has so much about it I love that I’m not sure where to start. The sunrise that implies the beginning of something new, the hand that comes up to shield Victor’s face but lets the beams of light through anyway, the ring that takes a center point in the shot even if it’s over shone by the sun, and the beach that has been given special meaning in regards to Victor’s personal relationship with Yuuri all come to mind instantly. Similar to the start of the episode, Victor is taking personal time to figure out his thoughts (and he has a lot to think over). He’s starting a new chapter of his life. But can he allow himself to? Can he allow himself to step away from being a competitive skater forever, put his career and medals aside, and chase a new happiness off the ice? There’s just so much that’s going on in short clip, and the silence that’s used as background feels just as fitting in its emptiness as it doesn’t when contrasted with the raging thoughts that are sure to be going on in Victor’s mind.

Unfortunately, Victor gets a very firm reminder that he and Yuuri aren’t the only two people that have a weigh-in on Victor’s career direction. Yurio here serves to represent not just himself but everyone else as well. Victor may be ready to let go of his skating career and move on with his life but the rest of the world isn’t yet (that actually includes Yuuri too, as we see at the end of the next episode). Something in particular I’d like to focus on in this scene, however, is the height difference between Victor and Yurio and how that’s used in their body language. When Victor first turns around to respond to Yurio’s taunts, he leans down to get on Yurio’s level – like an adult entertaining a child. But the moment that Yurio tells Victor to just retire already (in a way that makes it sound like nothing Victor has done has left a mark, a thing which Victor may not even realize he values yet), he stands up to his full height and forces Yurio to look up to him instead. The shaking hand may have been removed from the updated version of this episode but I honestly don’t feel like it’s needed with the body language that already screams hostility on both ends (actually, even more so Victor’s than Yurio’s here). As much as Victor might want to consider retiring from the ice and settling down, the world just isn’t ready for it yet and is intent on dragging him back under.

And for this last gif… there’s so much I could say but I’ll focus on Victor’s expression. Out of all the reactions he could have, he ends up with a look of blank shock. Something is happening in front of him that goes beyond anything he could have imagined. I do actually believe that this clip takes place post-pole dancing competition and pre-dancing with Victor. Cute boy jumping on him aside, I think the thing that really sparks Victor is the mention of coaching. Before now, Victor has never really had a path laid out regarding his career past competing until he physically can’t anymore. In the end, blank shock turning into a burst of inspiration might be the only realistic response to it after all!

I guarantee that I didn’t cover nearly as much as I could have (and wanted to) in this episode but for now this will have to do. I hope everyone enjoyed reading my thoughts and look forward to next week as we get into the final stretch!

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Duetto]

Bonus because Victor’s little twirl is too cute not to share:

#yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #meta #yoimeta #fyeahyoi #victuri #victor nikiforov #my meta #my gifs #my post #writing this has helped me develop a new love for this episode #and Victor's role in it #I really love his character development :')

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jacklackolantern · 7 years ago

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For #18 of the Artist asks, what's your process on comics :)? I'm trying to work on making them myself, but I'd like to know how other people go about making theirs :D And for #30... That's honestly what I said when I saw YOUR latest comic! I saw yours and I said "Dude, that's what *I* wanna do! INSPIRATION!"

Haha no problem, I also asked and looked around as to how other artists go about their own process till I somewhat settled on mine. And really thank you so much and for the support.

In general I try to maximize mine for bulk and speed mostly because my job keeps me busy so I looked for the best way to get the most out of my time in the fastest way I could.

It’s usually a good idea in my case to work in bulk, especially at the beginning stages. For me the first two or three parts of my process when I make my comics are critical because if I don’t hammer those down at the start it will slow down my work flow and thats pretty bad for someone who only has limited time to make this thanks to my other responsibilities.

1. No drawing yet. I always make the script first. Why? Because it saves me the trouble of thinking what the characters have to say, do and in what, when and/or where they’ll be, what they feel or are experiencing.

At this stage it’s much much easier to go back and edit scenes because you don’t have to redraw the entire goddamn thing. You just scratch it out or erase it etc. And just jot down a quick description or whatever it is you need to edit in words.

Here’s what my scripts usually look like:

As you can see its nothing fancy. I’m really not the best writer so at best all I do is type up the character dialogues, panel descriptions, and a couple of notes on how they look like or feel just to remind me or give me an idea what I wanted with the scene. They even have notes on what the backgrounds are suppose to be.

I either write in my journal or my mobile phone on google docs if I don’t have my tablet or laptop with me so no matter where I am if I have a bit of time to write like sitting on a bus or waiting for food at a restaurant I write.

1 script = 1 chapter. And as much as possible I try to crank out 3 or 4 at a time and at least 3 more outlines on the chapters after that. As for ideas usually just a few outlines hear and there so I don’t forget.

2. Thumbnails. Nope I still don’t draw any of the actual pages. I first make thumbnails of the page. For those who don’t know what those are they’re quick, abbreviated sketches. And are done rapidly with no corrections. By doing this first you can get rid of ideas you don’t like as well as well as stumble on new things you do like. Sorta like window shopping, you look around first, compare and what not before you buy the item or product you really want or need.

These are super great for deciding character poses, speach bubble placement, paneling, transition etc. The point of this is to do it fast, doing only enough so you know where everything is. Another thing that’s great about it is since what you’re putting down are just quick crappy sketches you don’t get to attached and invested in the drawings, this allows you to edit it faster.

Something like this:

Takes me round an hour or two to finish the thumbnails for an entire chapter [again point of thumbnails is to do them fast]. I try to finish all the thumbnails of the finished scripts I have in a day, then leave if for another day or two before I get back to it. This allows me to look at it with fresh eyes and come up with new things I may not have thought of. And again, since they’re just quick crappy sketches its easy to edit it.

3. “What do you mean you still haven’t started?!?!?”. Exactly that. Next step for me is to open photoshop and create the panels and the speech bubbles with the text already written in. Remember how I made the script and thumbs first? Thanks to that I can just simply create the panels, speach bubbles and type up the dialogue (or copy paste if I wrote it digitally) in less than 10 minutes a page, probably less than 5.

I don’t have to think anymore of what the heck the characters are suppose to say or what the panels look like because I’ve done that already. Now that I’ve gone back to predominantly creating my stuff traditionally, I’d print these out once done.

I’m also lazy as hell so I keep a psd file that’s already got the panels I commonly use so I just drag and drop.

Right now though since my laptop is busted, I just make all the pages needed with the panels by hand. Slower but still faster compared to if I drew it every time I start a page.

4. Yes drawing stage finally! At this point now that the panels are in and the dialogue and text there, I start drawing hahaha. If you remember, the thumbs I created don’t just tell me what the panels and dialogue is, it also tells me my character’s poses, movement, environment etc. I no longer have to worry about making creative decisions and I can just draw it all out without interuption. I unfortunately don’t have much shots of this stage owing to the fact that the old scans and pictures where in my old laptop that is still currently dead. Oh well…

Eventually I’ll probably be changing my process a bit but so far this is the one I’ve stuck with for the time being.

Hope this helped :)

#artist asks #comic process #my process #I will get my laptop repaired if its the last damn thing I do #would save so much time

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machihunnicutt · 7 years ago

Text

Fic-vember Day 7

Ugh, this is late. My bad. Here’s some more of Lost and Found:

Lost and Found (les mis fic)

Chapter 2: Hesitation

(Or read on ao3.)

Grantaire didn’t want to leave yet. He was sinking in his couch, blinking blearily at the sketchbook in front of him. It was cold with the fall breeze rustling fiery leaves that seemed in almost endless supply, but he didn’t want to get up and shut the window. He had a little time left to finish his sketch of Enjolras. It was messy, as usual. Everything about Enjolras was sharp and well defined and Grantaire could only grasp at straws with his lackluster style.

He was always doing this: drawing and redrawing Enjolras until his image burned into his vision even when his eyes were closed. It was probably a problem, but Grantaire was good at ignoring problems. This sketch wasn’t so bad when he stopped to look at it. He did, reaching shakily for his coffee mug. The coffee was cold now and his hands were beginning to twitch the way they did when he needed a drink or a cigarette. For the sake of this halfway decent sketch he ignored the shaking.

Three minutes later he had something halfway decent and a headache. He sunk further in the couch and held the sketch up. It needed the vibrancy of the colors outside his window. It needed the cold too, just enough so you could tell that Enjolras commanded any room he entered. Just enough to tell you that if you looked at him too long you might freeze.

He got up, changed, and splashed some water on his face in an attempt to make himself presentable. He knew the others worried if he looked too worse for wear. Even Enjolras had commented once, after a night where he’d drank more than slept.

“R.” His hand on the table had woken him up. “Are you alright?”

When he sat up he had drool on his face and it took a moment for Enjolras to become more than a blur of gold.

“The meeting’s over,” he’d continued. “Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked brusquely.

He laughed but it came out scratchy and sad. “I’m fine oh fearless leader. Don’t worry about it.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed and their gaze was icy. “Fine then. You just don’t look well. You should take care of yourself.” He readjusted his bag on his shoulder and turned to leave. R was still trying to process his words when Enjolras hesitated and turned back to face him.

“I don’t know why you call me that,” he said, voice rising . “I’m not...I mean it’s not as if I’m fearless anyway. You’re wrong about me.”

“I’m wrong?” He repeated dumbly.

“Yes.” Grantaire wasn’t sure he’d seen him this flustered before. The ice had melted as rapidly as it had appeared. His face was almost as red as his shirt. R tried to memorize his expression to draw later but he was too disoriented to capture the details properly.

“Why do you care whether or not I take care of myself?” He asked. It wasn’t the question his brain needed to ask but it was the only one his lips could find.

“Forget it R.” It was almost a whisper. His hands were twitching on the strap of his messenger bag. “Goodnight.”

Today, maybe he’d have the right words. He put on his shoes and grabbed his keys and jacket, carefully emptying the pockets as to leave behind his flask and pack of cigarettes. Impulsively, he tore out the sketch of Enjolras, folded it, and put it in his now empty pocket. It was time to meet the others.

***

Marius couldn’t help but stare at the sky. It had turned a dreamy pink during their drive and was even more brilliant now that he was out of the car. He was glad the fundraiser seemed to be going well. The line to enter the maze was long and he saw Eponine wave from her place at the ticket booth.

“Damn, good turnout huh?” Courfeyrac said beside him. Marius tried to school his body into normalcy but it wasn’t happening today. Instead he half flinched half smiled and blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“The sky reminds me of you.”

“The what now?”

“The sky,” he repeated, looking around to see if the others were paying attention. Combeferre and Enjolras were busy debating whether or not to get in line now or to check out the brochures the organizers were handing out with the hot apple they were selling. “I um…sorry, it’s dumb I was just looking at the sky and thinking about how it’s the color of cotton candy and it’s pretty and calming and reminds me of you. Sorry that’s weird.”

Courf laughed and Marius jumped. “That’s really cute. Why are you sorry?”

He called what you said cute not you, Marius’s brain helpfully reminded him. Calm down. Courf was taking his hand so he didn’t have to worry about responding.

“I don’t know what they’re gonna do, but you and I are going to buy some cider.”

“Okay.”

Courfeyrac didn’t let go of his hand until they were at the front of the line. He paid for the cider despite Marius’s deliberate reaching for his own wallet. “I owe you one anyway,” he said, though he said this often and Marius was never certain of what Courfeyrac was supposed to have owed him. If anything, Marius was the one who owed him. His first year of school, when he arrived on campus and found out his grandfather had pulled the plug on his housing contract out of spite, Courf welcomed him with open arms for the entire semester. He didn’t even ask for anything in return even when Marius insisted he repay him somehow. Back then he was working full time in addition to class, nearly sleepwalking back to their apartment on nights when he had late shifts. Still, Courf was there with coffee and flashcards when he needed to study, made sure Marius ate regular meals even when cash or time was tight, and knew precisely when to give him space and conversely, when they needed to huddle under blankets on the couch and watch shitty movies until the sun came up. After a semester of that, Marius didn’t think Courf owed him anything ever again.

The cider was warm and sweet and helped to settle the nerves that had found their way to Marius’s shaky fingers. They rejoined the others, some of whom had cider of their own already, and got in line for the maze. Cosette had an extra cider to give to Eponine when they got to the front.

“I told her to bring gloves but oh no , don’t listen to your smart and caring girlfriend ,” she said teasingly. “Her hands are going to be so cold. She’s gonna eat her words.”

Courf laughed. “Mari didn’t bring gloves either did he?”

Marius shook his head and slipped his free hand further up his sweater sleeve.

“Honestly, what am I going to do with you,” Cosette said, feigning indignance. She looked as if she was going to put her hands on her hips but her hands were still occupied with the cider. She had on the red earmuffs Ep had gotten her for Christmas and she had the matching scarf Marius had knitted for her wrapped around her neck and hair, keeping the hair pressed to her neck like an extra golden scarf.

“It’s alright, here,” Courf offered his hand again and Marius took it, still reeling from the hand holding moments before. “I’ll be your glove.”

Cosette laughed and he shot her a look, blushing furiously. “I’ll see you two at the end then?” She kissed Marius on the cheek. “Don’t get lost.”

They split naturally into several groups before entering the maze. Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet linked arms so Bossuet was in the middle (they didn’t trust him not to go in the wrong direction or knock something over.) Cosette, Combeferre, and Bahorel comprised the second group once Cosette had had her fill of distracting Eponine from her volunteer duties. Courfeyrac was with Marius. And finally, Enjolras was matched with Grantaire. Marius found this duo a bit odd but was happy that they were making an attempt to get along.

The hay was piled high and though Courf stood on his tiptoes to try to to see over it, he couldn’t. They worked at the puzzle easily for awhile. Marius liked figuring things out, even if he was a bit slow on the uptake at times. They took turns directing, switching when they hit dead ends. When Marius’s direction got them nowhere he apologized and Courf told him not to because the fun was in the challenge. So far they hadn’t managed to bump into the others.

“Do you remember that time I talked you into singing that song from Grease with me during karaoke?”

It had been Eponine’s birthday and they’d sung “Summer Nights” so of course he remembered. “Yeah, why?”

Courf was looking wistfully up at the cotton candy sky. “Nothing, it’s just the thing you said about the sky. Except for me it’s you and that song.” He turned his gaze back to Marius and smiled. “I’m really glad you’re here with me,” he said.

Oh god, he should do it now shouldn’t he? It was the perfect time. There wasn’t anyone or anything to interrupt him but his own seeping fear. There was nothing but the voice at the back of his head telling him he wasn’t worth the trouble he caused. There was the part of him that still felt like the little kid who was nothing but ignored. He was still the anxious, dorky, mess who didn’t even have his life together enough to articulate what he’d felt for years. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t…

“Hey, are you okay?’ He blinked and Courfeyrac’s shock of dark hair flickered back into clarity. The concern in his eyes nearly paralyzed him.

“I um...need a minute. Sorry.” His feet moved before his brain told them to and then he was taking off through the maze, leaving Courf speechless in his wake.

#les mis #les amis #courfius #e/r #enjolras #grantaire #marius pontmercy #courfeyrac #eposette #cosette fauchelevent #eponine tenardier #les mis fic #awi's fic #awi's fic-vember #ahhhh

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nightshade-victorian · 8 years ago

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A Total and Utter rethink for the Adepta Sororitas

The beautiful redrawings of Sororitas armour by @lorsted has finally put the last creativity piece of a larger jigsaw I’ve been pondering over for a little bit. As most of the people who follow me for my 40K output know, I model sisters of battle as my main army and I have for over 7 years. This has meant that I have immersed myself in every bit of lore that is available for them for that length of time and it has come to one single painful conclusion... I hate it. Its a lore and army that denigrates and demeans those it claims to be representing. Not only does it reduce half the population to a walking fetish joke but its an emotionally inaccessible army. You either have to have a nun fetish or a high tolerance for misogyny. I have neither. I’v accepted that truth recently and to be frank, it has very nearly killed my love for the hobby as a whole Yet its still a very unique army in the larger scheme of things which had so much creative potential that I wanted to create something better that could stand next to the rest of the other 40K armies and hold its head high. I’ve been rereading the ‘Female Space marine’ discourses over and looking at people’s creative solutions to the present lore inconsistencies; I realised that for all we were complaining about sisters, we weren’t going further than just armour redesigns. So I started thinking about a fully re-imagining of the Sororitas. Originally I had wanted an all female organisation but a variety of things changed that. I want this to be an accessible army to all genders. I fully understand the reasons why we dismiss the ‘what about male sororitas’ in those discussions but the more I thought about it... the more it seemed like a good thing think about. We wanted to move outside the misogynistic limits of the Astartes... lets do so also for the Sororitas.

So I did so. Please let me know what you think. @sisterofsilence @flunkyofmalcador @lontau @fuukonomiko @lorsted @tw6464sloreblog @ultramarineblues @possiblyhereticalultramarine

May I present the Adeptus Fidelium; the holy Orders of the Ministorum... (not the best name but I’ll come up with something better later)

To rethink the Sororitas, I went back to the original lore on which they are based, the Degree passive; “No men under arms.” Actually this is a shortened version of the longer piece that reads “the Ecclesiarchy must never maintain men under arms.” This longer piece changes the whole thinking... the Ecclesiarchy can not MAINTAIN, that is supply, train, house and officiate these Orders but it doesn’t mean that the Orders themselves can’t devote their lives to the Ecclesiarchy’s service. It is the Administratum, their interconnections and the high favour of the Inquisitors that keep their orders maintained. The Sororitas obeyed the word, the Fidelium obeys the spirit.

With this in mind I looked at other existing lore namely the Crusaders for more inspiration. Like before, I had thought about keeping the Fidelium all female but that was too limiting and replicated the issues in the Sororitas. So I abandoned the ‘women only’ approach and explored the different lores of the Ministorum. Essentially, I have blended the Crusaders, the fanatically religious cults and the Adepta Sororitas together to create what is essentially the largest backbone and yet flexible organisation of the Imperium after the Administratum. Adeptus Fidelium are not only the Militant arm of the Ecclesiarchy but also its tentacle reach into Imperial society on all stratas. Instead of being organised into Convents and Conclaves, these Orders are organised by regional Diocese and are usually attached to the churches in that region.

The size, population, purpose and the mission of that Church will affect the Orders of Fidelium that are attached to it. For example, a grand imperial Cathedral or Basilica will have multiple Orders attached to it with many purposes.Some will be purely militant to guard and protect the world’s faithful from attack; others have mixed purposes being both trained in ways of war and peace. Some will make their mark on the population as evangelists and subtle political movers steering a population away from potential disaster. Others will form the many charities needed to help with the inevitable overpopulation. These Orders are responsible for much of the essential services that are required by the Imperium but can’t be given by the Administrum such as healthcare, general education, political advocation etc. They form a foundation by which the Administrum can employ to provide these services in exchange for continued resources. On a world with a low population but with a shrine or special dedication, an Order might solely dedicate themselves to its study and protection without any thought to the civilians. There are however Fidelium Orders that refuse to settle on a single church and choose to be instruments of crusades and wars of faith. They will still be under the heraldry of a single Diocese but have the freedom to move to where they believe the Emperor calls them. These battle Orders frequently make up the majority of Inquisitorial wars rather than guard or Astartes. There will be some orders that are favoured by certain Inquisitors and will been always represented in their retinue.

These Orders are made up of the best humanity has to offer without augmentation and will almost certainly be from a Schola (which are usually run by a Fidelium Order). These children will be subject to intense indoctrination, battle drills, religious and academic education and physical conditioning to bring them to a peak. To make it clear these are almost always mixed orders, they do not discriminate with recruitment based on gender and the children are taught together. A planet’s culture will always inform a native Order’s visual appearance, rituals and level of orthodox compliance but ultimately they are holy warriors of the Emperor’s faith. One of the key beliefs that occurs in all Orders is the idea that they are the elect of the Emperor, spiritually chosen to be his banners of faith. To maliciously harm another recruit is to harm the Emperor himself. Tattoos and Electoos are another defining feature, each order will have itself own system of commemoration which will be an ever growing record of that person’s deeds. It symbolises the belief that nothing can ever be hidden from the emperor and all deeds in his name must be committed likewise in light. Penitent body modification and piercings ‘burdens’ are another common sight in Militant and Passive Fidelium Orders.

Much like the Sororitas, the Militant Fidelium Orders will go to war in Power Armour and wield Boltguns, flamers and heavy weapons. With their wide base of resources, they can bring a vast array of armoured vehicles to a battle including relic tanks, walkers, gunships, troop carriers. Unlike the astartes who must rely on the Mechanicus for their armoury, the Fidelium gather their armour from a variety of sources who act as patrons. Its considered a great honour to provide resources to an order if you are a noble and there have been many such gifts that have gone down in history, achieving the title of Relic.

Internal organisation of militant order is much the same as the Sororitas as this allows for a flexibility needed in such an order. The lowest rung of any order is the Novitiate: they are only just on the path of faith. They have completed the basic training and now must face the further tests required of them to be accepted as a fully member of the order.

The next level is the Battle Brother/Battle Sister: Often shortened to just Brother/Sister, they are the foot-soldiers of the order and the least experienced. They will spend years perfecting the art of war and faith in the hope of one day rising through the ranks. A squad is known as a Mission

Brother/Sister Crusader is the Sergeant rank: they command the missions of Battle brethren. They will be given missions with numbers up to 5 - 8 battle brethren but no larger. If a Crusader is given multiple missions to command they will be given the rank of Crusader Superior

Veterans are granted titles rather than a general rank and their honours mark them as individuals of great experience. They will often be granted the use of relic and more exotic equipment to aid in their fight. Their power armour will contain artifice that unique to them and will frequently have plates from older relic sets. It will be the veterans that are sent out to join Inquisitorial retinues, be ambassadors for that Order and be equerries to supporting patrons. They form their own Missions with the basic structure and will rarely command unless required too but are considered Superiors to the lower brethren. They are also capable of solo fights and holding back innumerable foes with their experience and skill. It will be the Veterans that will also be poached by the Inquisition to become Inquisitors themselves. Naturally this is done with the consent of the order and their superiors and many Inquisitors have fond memories of their time in an Order.

The leader of a single Order regiment is a Palatine Militant: Orders can have up to 5 regiments so its not uncommon for Palatines to work together as joint generals in a campaign. They act as overall captains and will be the ones to liaise with the other high-ranking officers on Crusades. The Palatines will act as advisors also to the leading person of that order.

The overall Leader of an Order is often called the General Cardinal however other titles are used depending on the order; Abbot/Abbess Commander, High Preceptor etc. They are the tested and elected leader of an Order with all its resources at their command. There is no further command level above this as the Passive Degree prevents multiple orders from being commanded by a single person. Inquisitors who gather multiple orders to a crusade do not violate this as the General Cardinals will make up a commandery to guide the military force as a joint effort.

The history of these Orders is similar to that of the Adepta Sororitas again as this is a re-imagining rather than a total replacement so I have tried to incorporate a much existing lore as possible. The name Adeptus Fidelium was given by Sebastian Thor when he reorganised them into the structure recognised today by the wider imperium. Before they were a single order controlled solely by Goge Vandire during the Age of Apostasy. Like the Sisters, the Orders began on San Leor where refugees from Terra were blown by the warpstorms of the Horus Heresy. San Leor was already populated by a medieval society and so the refugees were treated with suspicion. The refugees attempt to integrate into the medieval life but struggled without the technological conveniences of Terra. Eventually most gave up attempting to intergrate a built their own community with what they had left but a few kept on attempting to convince the population they were no threat. These people were the ones who brought the Lectitio Divinitatus with them, hoping they could convert their fellow humans to the worship of the God Emperor. It was these religious few that would start the San Leor Abbey that would become a central part of San Leor life and would finally unite the two people. Offically the abbey didn’t run the planet but they unofficially ran most of it. Their organisation was unparalleled and they offered a better life than the feudal system offered by the Fifes. This Cult was still female majority as San Leor culture dictated that women were more religiously inclined and were still referred to as the Daughters of the Emperor. Men were present but in a minority. Their influence had allowed the Medieval San Leor culture to progress into a Space faring one and that is how Goge Vandire came to learn of them. Goge Vandire, originally an Administrum official, saw immense value in the highly organised system of the Cult, something he believed the entire Imperium lacked. He secured the trust of the Cult and spent many years recruiting disillusioned and talented people into its rank training them in the Cult’s martial ways. Goge Vandire carefully manipulated chosen people into positions of power, influence and worming the Order into every aspect of Imperial life until it was thoroughly dependent on the Cult’s organisation. He wanted to be sure that if he fell, the Imperium fell with him. He hadn’t counted on the leader of the Cult Alicia Dominica to be slowly frustrating his actions and supporting Sebastian Thor while maintaining her cover as a loyal servant. She wasn’t blind to Goge’s madness nor his cruelty but she knew that she would be replaced if she showed signs of treachery. Alicia gradually made Vandire’s careful defenses weak enough to allow the Siege but even then it was barely a crack in the martial perfection that had been achieved by the Daughters of the Emperor. Alicia and her Sisters were still torn as to what action to take when the Custodians arrive with news that the Emperor himself had a message for them. Guiding them to the Throne, the Emperor delivered the message to the Sisters leaving no doubt in their minds as to their course of action. Alicia preformed the now famous execution of Goge Vandire that was mysteriously broadcast over every vox to be heard. Walking out with the head of Goge Vandire, Alicia and Sebastian greeted each other like old friends swiftly agreeing a ceasefire. Alicia and Sebastian constructed the Adeptus Fidelium out of the Confederation of Light and the Daughters of the Emperor. Alicia’s sisters were given command of the first Orders and either sent to Ophelia 7 or kept on Terra. That was the end of the All female cult but it was reborn into something greater that the Imperium could not be without.

I’ve left this deliberately vague as to the lifestyle in an Order because this allows for the creative freedom of others to express what they want in an Order of their own.

#Adeptus Fidelium #adepta sororitas #Crusaders #Ecclesiarchy #warhammer 40k #total and utter revamp of something very broken #No corsets here #Please don't eat me #for this #I'm only trying to help

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