#so that i can post it for the christmas inklings challenge

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

WE MADE IT

[greater-than-the-sword]

Inspired by a post about aliens within a Christian worldview, I wrote this short story for the @inklings-challenge Christmas challenge. Well, 10 pages, that's as short as it gets from me. Genre: Sci-fi Takes place at Christmastime? Well, it's set in space, where Earth dates are unclear, but sure, why not.

The Blind Astronaut and the Sun

(title under revision...)

              They hung silently in the orbit of the pulsar. Below them, the star made a noise like a hundred million atomic bombs exploding all at once, but none of them could hear it.

              Soft beeps and hushed radio static were the only noise on board the ship. It was as much night-time as it ever was in space.

              Judd and Roberts floated by the window. It wasn’t a very large window, only a couple of feet in diameter, and slightly bowed out. Roberts stared pensively.

              “So tell me,” he asked. “How does a blind man get interested in space?”

              Judd chuckled softly.

              “I mean, you’ve never even seen the stars. Let alone this star. And yet here you are.”

              “Well…”

“A sight that plenty of people would kill to see, right in front of you. And you can’t even see it.” Roberts paused. “I don’t mean to be rude, I’m sorry…”

              There was a tinted screen on the window that made it possible to see the pulsar. It was a roiling sea of fire, too vast to comprehend. Dots of swimming red wave-tips speckled an ocean of gold light. The patterns shifted continuously, never quite the same.

              “I’ve been awake twenty hours,” said Judd, in his deep, swelling voice, the one that Roberts always found so calming, like that of a documentary narrator. “Nothing seems rude to me at the moment. I suppose you might as well ask. I can hear them.”

              “You mean you heard about them?”

              “That’s what I told everyone at university. But no. Just between you and me. They make a sound.”

              “Ah, you’re talking about the wavelengths…?” Roberts sounded uncertain.

              “That’s why I became a radio technician. Yes, there’s the radio waves. The shortwave frequencies and the microwaves and every wave you can think of. But that’s not what they really sound like.” Judd smiled faintly.

              Roberts did not inquire further, he was almost creeped out. Judd did unnerve him at times, with his strange romanticism. He changed the subject back a little. “But don’t you wish you could see it?”

“Oh, every day. Unimaginably. So bad it hurts. I want to get closer.”

“You are closer now than most people will ever be to a star, Judd.”

“Closer. I need to be swallowed. Consumed. I want to take that light into my body and let it burn my eyes out, until I can feel the sound that they make in every cell of my body and I want to be closer than a human can be and see more than seeing.” He paused, and Roberts frowned. “Besides,” he said, “I can’t see it now, but I can feel its heat.”

Roberts put his hand on the window. The shielding was functional, of course. It was cold. “Well. Perhaps it’s time to go to bed.”

Hendricks came around the corner, interrupting them. “Hi Hendricks,” said Roberts. “You’re finally awake.”

“Anything from the pulsar?”

“Other than the usual… no.”

Hendricks was what they called a “true believer”. Roberts was not.

“I keep telling you,” said Roberts, “We’re not going to get anything to prove your theory. At best, some more novel particles or wavelengths or something –”

“Is that how you describe our communications with Alpha 1? A novel wavelength?”

“Well, no, but it doesn’t really resemble anything we recognize as—"

“If alien life evolved elsewhere in the universe, it would have been under such a vastly different set of conditions than earth that humans may not even be able to comprehend it as life.” Hendricks did a slow cartwheel in the air, his arms lively.

“Evolved? This is a star. How could it evolve? What were its parents? What kind of natural selection- predators – death- genetics-” Roberts protested.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? It’s so alien we can’t imagine. Perhaps it’s an ascended form of some other life-form that evolved elsewhere… passed on to a kind of immortality…” Hendricks spread out his hands.

Roberts, and now Judd too, looked skeptical.

“Can you imagine what kind of intelligence such a race must have had to evolve like that? I wonder if it knows we’re here. It must. And what sort of powers might it have? I wish we could communicate with it.”

“I have sent the transmissions you asked for,” said Judd.

“Oh yes, I know. But either it can’t interpret them – or more likely in my opinion – we’re simply beneath the notice of such a vastly higher being. An entity of pure light—it really makes you think. Judd, if there was alien life, would it affect your belief in God?”

“Hmm… I’m not sure,” said Judd. “I don’t think so.”

“It would go to show that humans aren’t the center of the universe, wouldn’t it? Shatter all of our little delusions about our significance.”

“Maybe.”

“And those aliens, what do you think they believe in, hm?” Hendricks raised an eyebrow like this was the most groundbreaking question ever asked. “If they’re more advanced than us, perhaps they’ve reached enlightenment and don’t have a need for such belief systems anymore.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” said Judd, but his tone indicated that he wasn’t really looking at it.

Hendricks’ theory wasn’t completely groundless. The pulsar was something of an impossibility to begin with, it should have been pulled apart by two neighboring black holes, but the scientists at Alpha 1 had noticed that it exerted something of a stabilizing force, self-correcting pulses of energy that kept the star together when mere entropy should have dissolved it a billion years ago. The seemingly intelligent behavior had led some scientists to believe life-forms might be repairing their star. But when expeditions had ruled out life on any neighboring planets, a new theory formed. Some believed the star itself housed some sort of alien intelligence. And so, the expedition that had gotten all three of them on a research mission to analyze radio waves coming out of a pulsar had been launched from Alpha 1.

***

It was some hours later that Judd awakened. He was being lightly shaken by Hendricks.

“Wake up. Wake up, bro. There’s a new signal.” Hendrick’s voice was a whisper, but it was full of excitement.

Judd’s body, dull from sleep, came to life. He pushed himself from the bunk room and through the portal to the comms. He donned the headset, bidding Hendricks be silent, and listened.

Roberts was still sleeping. He could hear the faint snores from the far bunk. There was also radio static; the massive barrage of junk signals that a star generates by virtue of its existence. These had to be damped and modified until they were faint. And of course, as usual, there was the steady drum of the pulsar, like a heartbeat, pounding again and again like waves against a shore.

But underneath all of that, there was something new. It was soft, almost musical. A complex, weaving sound, up and down, back and forth. But as Judd listened, he realized this too was repetitive, despite its complexity. It kept perfect time with the pulsar’s heart. But it was faster – no mere byproduct or resonance of the electromagnetic fields. There was something asymmetric about this— with internal congruencies—

“We couldn’t hear it before,” started Hendricks tentatively. “We weren’t close enough. I think it must be coming from a deeper place inside the star, maybe towards the core.”

“This is a language,” said Judd.

“What?!” Hendricks hit his head on the ceiling. “How could you know that?”

“Trust me, I know. It’s complex, repetitive—it’s—well, just a feeling, maybe—but it’s a message. I know it is.”

“But it’s repeating. A repeating message. A broadcast?”

“Maybe.”

“A distress signal?”

“…….not sure.”

“But if it’s being intentionally broadcast, why can we only pick it up from within close range?”

“Mmmmm.” Judd puckered his lips. “I don’t know.”

Roberts was finally coming awake. He saw them both huddled over the comms panel. “What is it?” he mumbled, rolling midair.

“Judd thinks it’s a broadcast.”

“Your words,” said Judd.

“A language. A message.”

“From who?” Roberts asked.

“The star.”

Roberts looked askance, ever the skeptic. “Saying what?”

“I don’t know,” said Judd.

“How can you say it’s a language if you don’t know? Tell me what it says, if you’re so sure. Decode it.”

“Hand me my tablet, then.”

Roberts handed Judd the tablet. It was not, in fact, a device, but the wax tablet that Judd used to write on with a small stylus.

Judd sat there for some time, scratching away.

Hendricks and Roberts didn’t have too much time to waste, they eventually had to get busy on the daily maintenance tasks of inspected the EVA suits, for damage, checking the food stores for spoilage, composing briefings and reports, and cleaning particulate matter off of practically everything.

Later in the day they eventually got back together. It was around lunch, or what the ship time said was 2pm. The time was neither Earth Time, Alpha 1 time, nor related in any way to their orbit of the pulsar, but it was necessary for human sanity to maintain a consistent day/night cycle.

“I’m not really a linguist,” said Judd finally, crunching his freeze-dried strawberries. “There’s not much to go on, anyway, since the message is so short. I’m not really sure what you’re expecting me to turn up.”

“Fair enough,” said Roberts.

“We could try to communicate,” said Hendricks. “Send something back, you know.”

“We already tried that.”

“I mean, maybe we’re in range now.”

“Maybe.” Judd looked unconvinced.

Suddenly he got a funny look on his face, and sailed back toward the headset.

“What?”

He didn’t say anything, just slipped the headset on. A moment later he took it down. “Closer… we are closer, that explains it.”

“What?” asked Hendricks again, patiently.

“It seems to have gotten… clearer. There’s more in between. More…” he waved his hands. “Some parts of it are still too faint to make out. Maybe if I had more… we need to get closer.”

“We can’t,” said Roberts.

They both turned toward Roberts.

“We’re as close as we can get now,” said Roberts. “If you bring the ship any closer, our shields will be overwhelmed and we could burn up.”

              That was the end of the discussion, at least for the time being.

              They went back to their work, and even Judd left the transmissions alone for a while, choosing to clean the air filters instead.

              It was later in the day that Roberts saw a bright flash outside the window. Immediately a number of small beeping noises commenced from all quarters of the ship.

              Hendricks kicked off and started moving from panel to panel, checking the light indicators.

              Judd swore. “What’s going on?”

              “Solar flare,” said Roberts. “Came pretty close to the ship. All our antennae have got misaligned. That’s the beeping. Checking for possible damage now.”

              A minute later, Roberts had gotten the readout. “It looks like we lost part of a solar panel. It hit the siding and knocked off a panel cover.”

              “That’s all?” said Hendricks. “Could have been worse.”

              “Could have,” said Roberts, “but if we don’t cover the panel, the wires could corrode within a day and we’ll have damage to the cooling systems. It’s caustic out there.”

              There was silence for a moment.

              “All right,” said Judd. “Fine.”

              They both looked at him, though he didn’t perceive it.

              “Fine what?” said Hendricks, finally.

              “I’ll do it,” said Judd.

              “Are you s—”

              “You know damn well that I’m the only one who can. That’s the reason they sent me. It wasn’t just for my transmissions expertise. I’m the only one who doesn’t risk going blind.”

              ***

              Judd donned at last the helmet of his EVA suit. Roberts and Hendricks had finished the inspection, and now stood ready to operate the airlock. He clutched the tool kit. It was time to go.

              Through the airlock into the decompression chamber. The door shut with a sucking thud. The sound of the vacuum came on. It took about 2 minutes for the chamber to empty of air, as much as it could be emptied, and Judd felt his suit puff up.

              When the outer door opened, he pushed off, one hand on the toolbox and one on the tether, as he lightly brushed the wall. He swung around the corner and caught the grip rung. Bingo, right on target. He began to climb.

              He could feel the sun at his back instantly. It was warm, even with the shielding fields about 5 feet away from the hull, almost too warm for comfort. If he could see—no he couldn’t. It would have been a blaze of white, enough to burn anyone’s eyes out. Roberts or Hendricks could have come out here with eye protection, but they’d have had to do the job blind anyways, and they were hardly as practiced in it as he was.

              Judd moved from antennae to antennae, straightening them where they’d been pushed aside, bent or even flattened against the hull.

              As he adjusted the last one, the radio crackled on in his helmet.

              “Radio’s fixed,” he said. “Testing. Over.”

              “Receiving,” said Hendricks. “You good out there? Over.”

              “All good so far. Over.”

              The sun seemed to flush hotter against his back. He thought of it again. This was as close as he could ever come… wasn’t it? He was frightened of it. Terrified, even. But he wanted more. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to see it, even though he knew that even seeing it would be a futile endeavor because it would be the only thing he’d ever see in his entire life. But it would be worth it. Probably.

              He had made it all the way up to the panel. Sure enough, the cover was torn off. The sharp edge of mangled metal scraped against his gloves. He opened the tool kit and found the roll of aluminum tape.

The sun seemed to pulse in its intensity. It was as though he could hear that same musical pulse through the radio… But not quite. Surely not.

“Found the panel. Covering it now. Over.”

He stretched out the tape and cut it, stretching it piece by piece across the space in the hull.

The sun was calling to him. Hot at his back. With a feeling of brightness that he could not see, but still almost sense. The siren song seemed to pulse through his body, through his ears, he felt that the radio static was echoing it, it was there, surely he was not imagining it.

“Do you hear that? Over.”

“Hear what? Over.”

              It was not, strictly speaking, that Judd was certain in any way the voice was calling to him directly. And yet it was. It was the voice that he had heard all his life. It was the voice of the stars that he’d heard when he was a child on Earth. Now he felt them begin to align for the first time in his mind: the age-old voice; the transmission from the star. They were one, they were the same, but he hadn’t recognized it before.

              He put the last strip of tape over the panel. A strange excitement, a strange and fierce joy seized him. Oh, I can’t be doing this.

              “Judd,” Hendricks was saying. “Judd, do you copy. Over.”

              “I’m… I was just…” He hesitated.

              “Judd.”

              “I can hear it.”

              “Come back to the airlock.”

              This is what I was born for. This is what I was created for.

              “Judd! Judd!!!”

              He let go.

              ***

              Hendricks’ last cry trailed off.

The two of them sat frozen in dismay inside the ship. The empty radio buzzed in their ears. There was no sign of whatever Judd had heard. They had heard no signs of distress from him; but he was suddenly either out of range or—

              Destroyed, Roberts thought. His comms had been destroyed, his vital signs tracker had been destroyed as well.

              There was a heavy silence, laden with grief and a strange horror.

              “He’s gone… We lost him…” he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

Closer to the surface, Roberts began to foment a more selfish sort of fear. Judd was gone for good—and how would they get home without a 3-man crew? It was technically possible— maybe.

“He let go,” said Hendricks.

“He must have,” said Roberts dully.

“On purpose,” said Hendricks, like a child stating the obvious. “He let go on purpose.”

Roberts wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t argue. The sun beneath them suddenly felt alive, and its presence ominous. It had swallowed Judd, and its open maw was waiting for the rest of them as well.

              ***

              Judd was falling through the sun. Faster and faster he went, until he was streaking like a meteor past dust and particles and ever stronger solar winds.

              He hit the surface with a gaseous splash, and a sensation that he felt, but not in the way that he might have expected. It was cold, or so-hot-it-was-cold, like the shock of falling through ice, but with an afterglow like alcohol and mint that spread through his entire body.

              His EVA suit was destroyed. It had been melted or burned away. But he seemed to be breathing—though he wasn’t entirely confident that what he was breathing was air. Not only was he not in pain, he seemed to be more alive every moment.

              The world was hotter, cooler, and hotter again. He wondered how long he would have to fall before getting to the core. He wondered if he was close now. He had lost track of time, but it seemed as though he had been falling for an age. Somehow he knew that he was close. There was something here. A presence. A being.

              He saw light.

              It wasn’t an image of any sort. It was just like the light had finally become so strong it had pierced to his very soul. He was conscious of being in a very bright space. He knew that he was intruding. As best he could explain it, he had the sense of being in somebody’s house.

              But he was still falling.

              Judd understood something now about the nature of the Star, for the star it was. It was not lonely. Neither was it bored. It was happy, although happiness felt too trite a word. This Being, whatever it was, had lived in continuous and incomprehensible bliss since the beginning of time.

              And the Star noticed him. It felt like a spotlight turned directly on him in an instant, which was something that he could only now describe.

              WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE.

              Judd was dumbstruck, he could not answer.

I HAVE EXISTED FOR 4 BILLION YEARS. NEVER HAVE I BEEN REQUIRED TO DO ANYTHING EXCEPT SING MY SONG. UNTIL NOW.

Judd stared at the light.

WHY HAVE YOU COME.

He spoke, barely able to form the words, but knowing with a sudden certainty what he wanted to say. “Your song. What does it mean?”

ARE YOU NOT ABLE TO UNDERSTAND? AH. I WILL TRANSLATE IT INTO YOUR LANGUAGE.

***

Roberts and Hendricks had picked up where Judd left off, testing the connections on the control panel and recalibrating for the new positions of the antennae. They worked as silently as they could. Neither of them wanted to talk about what had just happened, but they couldn’t bring themselves to talk about anything else.

The mood was depressive. Judd was dead, and they were alone. Alone with the sun.

Coolant systems were online, everything was working. Hendricks wanted to have some sort of ceremony or something, but he wasn’t sure how. There wasn’t even anything to bury.

It was dinner time, a scant 30 minutes allotted for a square meal. They sat, as it were, reluctantly near the minifridge, but neither of them wanted to eat.

There was a flash of light.

When the flash subsided, Judd was standing there in a t-shirt and shorts.

Roberts screamed and kicked the mini-fridge, throwing his mandarin through the air, almost hitting Judd in the face, though he didn’t notice. Hendricks made a similarly undignified noise and awkward flail.

Judd was rubbing his face, and breathing heavily. He was trembling; he looked as though he might have stumbled; but given the lack of gravity he simply rotated haphazardly until his head was down.

“We thought you were dead,” Hendricks managed.

“Don’t freak out,” said Judd. “It sent me back.”

“You… spoke to it?”

“Yes, it said—” Judd opened his eyes.

The two men screamed again, and recoiled in horror.

“Your eyes!” Roberts yelled.

“What?!” Judd demanded. “What about them? I’ve always been—stop freaking out, I know I startled you, but I’m not a ghost, it’s just me—”

Judd’s eyes were like the high beams on a Ford F-50.

“Don’t you want to know what the transmission said?” he asked, confused.

It was Hendricks who pulled himself together first. “What did it say?”

“Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, and goodwill toward men.”

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Scorecard:

Inklings Christmas Story: No, because the motivation died after January 6. I did finish an Inklings Christmas Challenge story for 2022, so I feel I should get half points.

"The Dust That Falls from Passing Stars": Also no, but I did write a piece showing "Anya's" POV of what I've already written.

Something set on Arateph: I posted a piece of Marastel and Jemrauth's story, which sort of counts, except I didn't write it this year. I tried writing stories, mostly a Red Riding Hood retelling and a Princess and the Pea retelling, and brainstormed several others, but they never came together.

A fairy tale retelling: Success! I wrote six! (Or five, depending on if you count the two Beatrice stories as one or two retellings).

In one sense, this is an abysmal failure, but in another sense, it's not half bad considering I forgot about the list after January. And one thing I've learned this year is that plans never work for me. I can be excited about an idea, certain it'll be my next story, but then lose all enthusiasm for it before I get a chance to write a word. It's much better for me to have a mindset where I can let those plans (and guilt over abandoning them) go and follow the inspiration where it leads. It's good to have a well of potential ideas, but tying myself down to a commitment does more to harm than help. And I think that's a pretty decent takeaway from a year of writing.

My New Year's Writing Resolutions:

Finish my Inklings Christmas story

Finish "The Dust That Falls From Passing Stars"

Write something set on Arateph

Finish one fairy tale retelling

[inklings-challenge]

An Inklings Christmas Challenge: Official Announcement

The Event

The Inklings Christmas Challenge invites writers to create a science fiction or fantasy story within the Christian worldview set at Christmastime. It can be Christmas of the past, present, or future, Christmas on Earth, on another planet, or in another universe altogether. It could be the same Christmas that we know, or a secondary world’s version of the holiday. Let’s bring Christmas joy to all the fantastical and futuristic worlds!

The Guidelines

This is a casual challenge meant to provide a little extra fun during an otherwise busy holiday season, so the requirements are meant to make this as simple and low-stress as possible.

Writers can create a story in any science fiction or fantasy genre of their choice. You may use the original Inklings Challenge categories as inspiration, or choose a completely different subgenre. You may also, if you wish, write a piece set within the world of one of your other works.

Because of the many commitments related to the real-world holiday, this challenge is focused on short stories. Writers are challenged to create a story in 3,000 words or less. However, writers can post their stories even if the word count exceeds the suggested length.

Completed stories can be posted on a tumblr blog any time before the deadline of January 6th, 2022. If you don’t finish by the deadline, you are welcome to share whatever you’ve completed by January 6th. You can also post the completed story after the deadline has passed. However, because of the seasonal nature of the challenge, any stories posted after February 2nd, 2022 will not be shared on the main challenge blog.

Stories should use the hashtag #inklingschristmaschallenge. Writers should also mention @inklings-challenge within the text of the post containing the story. All stories will then be shared to the main Inklings Challenge blog.

If writers wish for a little extra inspiration, optional prompts will be posted to the main challenge blog over the course of the challenge, but the only required guidelines are the ones listed above. Any questions, comments, or concerns can be directed to the @inklings-challenge​ blog, and I will do my best to address them.

That’s the Inklings Christmas Challenge! Now go forth and create!

[fictionadventurer]

If we were to do a Christmas-themed Inklings mini-challenge, I'd want to announce something soon. I'm thinking the guidelines would be something like this:

Sign up for the challenge by contacting the Inklings Challenge blog (not splitting into teams this time, but it can be motivating to make an official commitment)

Write a Christmas-themed sci fi or fantasy story. Can be set at Christmastime or a similar holiday from an alternate world (ideally a festival that includes more than the secular ideas of the Christmas season).

Post it any time between, say, December 1st and January 31st. (Perhaps unofficial deadline of either December 25th or January 6th for people who want a firmer date to shoot for?)

Maybe set a word limit. 2000 words or less to take off any pressure that might push people to write longer stories at a busy time of year. But it wouldn't have to be a firm limit.

Potential names for this challenge include:

Christmas Rush (If we decide to focus on very short stories)

Joy to the Worlds

Heavenly Peace (prob best for sci fi themed challenge/category)

Something less focused on carol puns?

So, I have questions for y'all:

Are people interested?

Thoughts on challenge name?

Thoughts on deadline? Set a specific date or have a general window of entry?

Should we set a word limit (even if unofficial)?

Would people prefer slightly more structure? Perhaps different genre categories for people to choose from? (Like Inklings except you could choose for yourself?) Or Christmas-related prompt themes (like the themes list last time)? Or is it better to leave it completely open-ended?

I appreciate any input and ideas people can provide.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Alright, since it’s almost Christmas I supposed I’d better post my @inklings-challenge Christmas story!

It should be noted that I originally wrote half this story back in late 2019-early 2020 and then I just... never finished it. Then I saw the Inklings Christmas story challenge and thought, what the heck, I’ll finish the thing! And I did? Somehow? So that’s exciting. also it exceeds the recommended word count by almost 4000 words but that’s not important I did write about 3000 words to finish it! So I basically did what the challenge said, I just happened to already have 3000ish words written. But! I shall be posting it in three parts so it won’t be overwhelming.

This story takes place in my book world after my second (unpublished) book “The Fire Kitten”. It is a self contained story though and you don’t need to know anything about my books to understand it- except maybe that my series, “The Restoration Saga” takes place in a world of talking animals and the city this story takes place in, Ventargo, has just been freed from a long reign of tyranny.

So now, without further ado, I give you,

“A Merry Midwinter in Ventargo”

Part One: Opportunities and Trees

           Sanga sat at his writing desk in a wooden hut amid the charred rubble of Ventargo’s old castle. With such humble lodgings one would never have guessed that he was Ventargo’s king. He was a small, lithe cat, with a beautiful brown coat and black spots, and curious amber eyes.            And he had a problem.

           ‘It’s not the rebuilding that’s the trouble,’ he mused. ‘But all the creatures of Ventargo have been downtrodden for so long that they can’t seem to find any joy, even now that they’re liberated. It’s been barely a month and already they’re falling back into despair! If only this blasted winter would end, then perhaps spring would bring us some happiness…’            “There must be something I can do to help,” he said aloud. “I am the king after all, it is my duty to help my people. Come on, Sanga, think, what did all those wonderful places you used to visit do to help break up a long winter?”            He tapped his pencil against his chin for a moment before suddenly jerking bolt upright.            “I have it!” he said. “A Solstice celebration! Oh, Snow Country’s was wonderful, and the tales I heard of Rendalawo’s makes me wish I had come to visit it earlier! What a brilliant idea! Twig! Twig, come hither! I need you!”            All at once the door of his little study flew open and a tiny squirrel sprang inside, staring up at him with wide eyes.            “What is it, my lord?” he asked.            “Twig I need you to fetch Bee- the old dog, remember?- I need his help with planning a magnificent celebration!” said Sanga, grinning widely.            “A celebration?” Twig echoed, ears pricking up.            “Yes! A magnificent one! You’ll hear more after Bee arrives, you may as well be in on the fun too. Now run along, hurry, this is very important!”            “Yes my lord!” said Twig, a little grin forming on his face as he dashed out of the little hut.

****

             “Alright, Sanga, what’s this about?”            Sanga looked up from the paper he was scribbling on. He had been so engrossed that he hadn’t hear the big mottled brown and tan dog and the little squirrel enter his home.            “Bee! Excellent!” Sanga sprang up. “I have had a wonderful idea! To lift the downtrodden spirits of those in this fine city, we shall have a Winter Solstice celebration!”            Bee tilted his head to one side. “That may be difficult, as the Solstice has already passed and won’t come ‘round till next year, as it is wont to do.”            “Well, yes, I mean, we won’t call it a Solstice celebration, but what about a Midwinter Celebration?” Sanga grinned.            “It’s nearer to spring now than anything, kit, but with a big snowstorm likely to hit any day now…” Bee shrugged. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. I suppose you want to enlist my help then, eh?”            “Oh yes!” said Sanga. “And I also hoped that you could tell me if there had ever been any sort of Solstice celebration in Ventargo’s history.”            “Of course there was, kit!” said Bee, sitting down and shaking his head. “In fact, it was only outlawed a few years before you were born.”            “Outlawed?” squeaked Twig.            “A few years before I was born?” gaped Sanga. “Why did I never hear about it then?!”            “Because it was outlawed!” said Bee, rolling his eyes. “It was back right after Kit had left Ventargo. Stories started to roll around about him, that he was Kristoren, and that he would one day return to Ventargo and free us all. And, you know, he was born right on the Solstice, and everybody started having such hope. Well, it scared the fur off old Ironclaw, and he had the celebration outlawed. And it was fiercely enforced. Even Minna and I couldn’t get away with celebrating it without risking death, or a life in the mines. Creatures were dragged out of their homes, decorations and Solstice trees were burned, it was an awful time. And now, well, we’re all used to it. Kits like you never even learned about it because if you were heard speaking about it you’d be taken away and never seen again.”            Sanga and Twig sat openmouthed as they listened. When Bee finished, Sanga paused for only a moment before shaking his head and springing to his paws.            “Well it is outlawed no longer! You must tell me everything, Bee, everything we need for a proper Solstice celebration in Ventargo!” he cried.            Bee grinned. “I thought you’d say that. Well, the Solstice celebration always had three essential parts; a tree, a feast, and gifts.”            “Then that is what we shall have!” exclaimed Sanga, rubbing his paws together. “We will have the greatest Solstice- I mean, Midwinter- celebration that Ventargo has ever seen!”

 ****

           “That’s a big tree, lord Sanga.”            “It is indeed, Twig!”            “How’re we gonna get it back to the city?”            Sanga frowned, considering this. “Well, first we must cut it down. Then we must drag it into the city and up the hill where the castle used to stand.”            “But… how?”            “I… don’t know yet. But we will find a way, never fear!”

           Sanga and Twig stood staring up at a massive evergreen tree near the foot of the mountains outside the city. They had spent most of the morning inspecting trees, with Sanga examining them from the bottom, and Twig dashing up them to see if their branches were green and sturdy all the way through. Finally, Sanga had settled on one of the biggest trees in the scraggly forest. It was majestic, he thought, a king of the forest, fit for a Midwinter Celebration.            Unfortunately, Twig was right. There was no easy way for them to get it back to the city. This was further complicated by the fact that Sanga wanted to bring the tree back and set it up secretly, so as to surprise the creatures of Ventargo the next morning.            “We must consult Bee as to the manner in which Solstice trees are normally harvested,” said Sanga, decisively.            Twig blinked. “What?”            “We need to ask Bee how to cut the tree down,” rephrased Sanga.            “Ohhh,” Twig nodded. “Should I go find him?”            “No, I will need to hear his answer myself,” said Sanga. “Come along, young Twig! We have much to do before nightfall!”

 ****

             “There’s nothing for it, Sanga, we have to tell someone about this. Two dogs, a cat and a baby squirrel cannot pull an entire tree from the forest and up the hill into the city by themselves.”            “But Bee-”            “It can’t be done, kit.”            Sanga’s ears twitched back dejectedly. “Alright, alright. How few creatures would it take?”            “You said the tree’s big?”            “Enormous!” grinned Sanga, perking up once more.            “Ten creatures at least,” said Bee.            “Hmph! He’s lying,” broke in Minna, Bee’s friend, a fluffy red and white collie. “You’ll need at least fifteen.”            “Fifteen?” Sanga’s ears drooped again.            “Don’t look so glum, kit!” called a new voice.            “Hope’s not lost yet!” said a second.            Sanga dashed over and peeked out the window. Standing there, looking in with wide brown eyes, were two jet black horses no larger than Bee. They were twins except for a striking white star on the first’s forehead.            “P’J! Starchaser! You aren’t supposed to be listening in!” said Bee, walking over.            “Well then don’t leave the window open you old carpet!” said P’J. “Besides, we already heard you and Minna and the little king talking about it days ago.”            Bee rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”            “Anyway, we have the solution to the kit’s problem,” continued P’J.            “You have a way to transport a Solstice tree into the city without employing additional aid?” asked Sanga.            The horses blinked. “Ah, no,” said Starchaser. “But we do know ten or twelve able-bodied horses who would be happy to help you and know how to keep a secret!”            Sanga’s eyes widened. “Really?”            “Really, kit!” said P’J, neighing his laughter at Sanga’s amazed face. “Just give the order, oh great king.”            “Of course, of course! Do what you must in order to secure the success of this venture,” said Sanga seriously.            P’J snorted and Starchaser shook his head. “As you wish, my king,” they chorused, before turning and charging off down the cobblestone streets.

 ****

             That night it was a strange company who made their way out to the edge of the forest. Twelve horses pulling a long, plain wooden sleigh were accompanied by two dogs (one of which had a small squirrel on his head) and a young tomcat who was as giddy as a kitten seeing snow for the first time.

           “Alright, kit, which one?” asked Bee, looking up at the evergreens.            “This one!” said Sanga, dashing over to the great tree. The young cat was completely dwarfed by it, and the tree’s size was matched only by the grin on the king’s face.            Bee shook his head. “Should’a never let a bard be a king, dramatic little…” he grumbled as he marched up to the tree. “Minna…”            “I already got it you old coot,” said the collie, coming up behind him with a massive saw dragging behind her. She untied it from the harness she was wearing and shoved one handle at Bee. “Let’s get to it, this’ll take ages to cut down.”            Bee nodded. “I’ll need you off my head now, Twig.”            The little squirrel scampered down to stand beside Sanga. The two young creatures watched in awe as Bee and Minna stood on their hindpaws and raised the great saw to the tree’s trunk. With practiced eased they began to work it back and forth, and the first shavings of bark slipped into the snow. As they began, the horses pulled the sled up behind the tree and unhitched themselves with help from Sanga.

           Hours later, in the deep dark of the winter night, Sanga and Twig kept the torches burning as the others worked. Once Bee and Minna had tired, the horses had come up to take turns. By the time all twelve had cycled through, the dogs were ready to keep going. And on it went. Sanga even insisted that he have a turn helping, and he and Twig tugged one side of the saw while P’J tried to pull the other without laughing.            Halfway through, they had switched to the opposite side of the trunk and started the whole process over. Meanwhile, Sanga paced, casting anxious glances up at the dark, star-spotted sky. Not far from him, Twig had curled up into a little fluffy ball, sound asleep.            “How much longer do you think it’ll take?” asked Sanga, hurrying up to Bee.            “Maybe another hour,” said the dog. “Don’t worry, kit, we’ll be done well before morning.”            Sanga did worry, but he didn’t say anything more.

           Finally, while the night was still dark and deep, a great CRAAAAAAAAAACK echoed from the edge of the forest.

           Sanga froze, head jerking towards the sound. At the same time, Bee sprang away from the tree, shouting, “TIMBEEERRRR!” as the massive evergreen tumbled backwards.            THUD the ground shook when it fell. Twig, who had been awakened by the yelling and noises, had dove under Sanga’s legs with a startled squeak. Sanga, however, was finally dumbstruck. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were alight as he stood frozen like a statue in the snow.            Then all at once he gave a great WHOOP of excitement and leapt straight into the air, then shot forward towards the tree.            “You did it, you did it!” he laughed, running around his crew. “Brilliant! Magnificent! I’ve never seen such a wonderful tree felling in all my life! There shall be a song made about it!”            Bee chuckled, and all the horses snorted and whinnied. Minna rolled her eyes, but she was grinning.            “That’s only half the battle, little king,” said P’J, cheerily.            “Yes, now’s where us horses really earn our keep,” agreed Starchaser.            It didn’t take long to hitch the horses up to the sled, or to tie the tree down (thanks to Twig), and now Sanga understood why the sled had been set behind the tree.            “Absolutely brilliant!” he said, beaming. “The tree fell right onto it! Fantastic!”            “Just wait till we start pulling the thing,” said P’J, which got the horses to snorting with laughter again.            “Yes, yes, by all means start!” said Sanga, now with Twig clinging tightly to his back. “To the castle- er, the castle hill!”

           And with that the young cat charged towards his city, with the horses and their burden following, and Bee and Minna chuckling from the end of the line.

 ****

             The horses wove the sled through the sleeping streets of Ventargo. Ahead of them, Sanga hurried along, casting anxious glances back every few seconds. Twig, tired of being jolted every time Sanga turned around (and tired in general) was currently nestled in the soft fur of Minna’s back. The two dogs had joined Sanga at the front of the line and were helping to guide the horses along so that the sled didn’t bump into anything.            Up, up they went, slowly and steadily. The sled scraped along the ice of the street, bumping and sliding over the broken cobblestones. Every once and a while the runners would screech against the stones below, and Sanga would freeze, forcing the company to pause as he waited to see if anyone had heard.            But no one did, and after a few tense moments for Sanga (and entertaining moments for the rest of the company) they could go on again.            At last they reached the top of the hill and dragged the sled into the ruins of the castle. Sanga let out an excited whoop, then, remembering his own intense desire to be quiet and secret, covered his mouth and ducked his head shamefully while the others chuckled and snorted quietly.            The young cat perked back up quickly. “Alright, now we must set it up. How do we do that, Bee?”            “Well,” said the dog, slowly. “Normally we’d have the birds help lift it up and the creatures on the ground push it from below. Not sure how we’re going to anchor it till we get a stand made either.”            “A stand,” muttered Minna. “That’s what I was forgetting. Blasted old brain,” she looked at Bee. “Lend me Starchaser and we’ll be back with the tools for it faster than you can say Sanga’s Silly Solstice Tree.”            Bee nodded at her, grinning. “Starchaser! Go with Minna and fetch some things for the stand, will you?”            Starchaser, having already been unhitched by his brother, trotted over and rolled his eyes. “Can’t you send P’J? Or young Mercury over there, he’d be happy to help you.”            “You’re the only one who knows where the tools are, except this idiot,” Minna glanced at Bee. “And he’s needed here.”            “P’J knows,” grumbled Starchaser.            “P’J is the one who hides them so I can’t find them!” scoffed Minna. “Now come on, we’ll take longer to finish this argument than we will to fetch the supplies we need.”

           Starchaser sighed, but relented. With that taken care of, Bee turned back to Sanga, who was helping P’J unhitch the rest of the horses from the sled.            “Well, kit, got any ideas?” the dog asked.            Sanga frowned. “I… well, if you don’t even know then I’m not sure how I’m meant to figure it out.”            “You’re young, you can see this from a different perspective,” said Bee. “I’m old and set in my ways. Come up with something.”            Sanga sat down for a few moments, rubbing a paw over his ears, before suddenly hopping up and hurrying over to some of the great old stone pieces that were still strewn around the clearing.            “Bee,” he said, excitedly. “What if we attached the tree to these to hold it steady?”            “I knew you’d figure something out, kit,” said Bee, grinning as he walked over. “Alright, P’J, get half your friends tied to the tree. Ah, Sanga my boy, you’ll need to tie the ropes to the trunk, seeing as Minna took our squirrel with her, tie the ropes at various points, getting higher on the trunk as you go.”

           Slowly, steadily, the tree rose over Ventargo. Half the horses pulled and the other half pushed. Meanwhile, Sanga and Bee hurried around securing the tree’s extra ropes to the larger stones in the old castle courtyard.            If anyone had been watching at that hour of the morning, they would have seen a strange sight; a tree that appeared to be rapidly growing over the housetops, until it stood straight in all its glory, towering as high as any castle.

           As dawn broke over the horizon, and the sun set the snow to shining, Sanga scrambled back to admire the massive evergreen.            “It’s perfect!” he laughed. “Absolutely perfect!”            “Glad it has your seal of approval, kit,” grinned P’J.            Minna and Bee quickly got to work on making the base, and in no time the tree was secure, though the ropes remained tied to it as a precaution.

           The sun was turning the sky pinks and golds as Ventargo’s creatures awakened and slowly noticed the tip of the evergreen peeking over the hill. Cautiously, they made their way up muttering as they went.            “What in sun’s name is that?”            “It looks like a Solstice Tree.”            “A what?”            “A Solstice Tree, youngster! But it’s not the right time of year for the Solstice.”            “What is that idiot king doing now?” some grumbled. “Shouldn’t he be hard at work rebuilding like the rest of us if he’s such a great and humble leader like he says?”            But all of them were awestruck when they crested the hill and saw Sanga’s tree. And there stood the king himself, wearing his lopsided crown and beaming as bright as the sun.

           “Creatures of Ventargo, welcome!” said Sanga, as the crowds drew close, with wide eyes and open mouths. “It is time for you to finally hear of my plans! The winter runs long, and spring is nowhere to be found, so to keep our spirits up I have decided that we shall have a festival patterned after the Solstice Day celebrations! But instead of a Solstice celebration, we shall call it a Midwinter celebration!” he laughed, loud and clear. “It shall have all the hallmarks of the Solstice; a feast, gifts, and of course, the tree!” he spun around and gazed up at the great evergreen. When he turned back around he was slightly more sober. “I hope you will all join me in decorating it with whatever shining and sparkling things you can find! I am certain that we will have an excellent celebration, and I hope that it will help you all find light in these dark, cold times,” he smiled. “Now go! Prepare yourselves, spread the word, and when you return, we shall begin!”

[allisonreader]

I’ve been thinking about this since about Wednesday, when the thought struck me about a series of books that I just finished reading.

I highly enjoyed them and they hit just the spot for needing to read and refill my creative well a bit. Especially beneficial because of the time period that they’re set in.

This is my very roundabout way of saying that I read the first two Whitney and Davies books, the collection of four short stories and the most recent Christmas story by E.L. Bates. Which I probably wouldn’t have been aware of at all if @e-louise-bates hadn’t started following me or The Inklings Challenge in general. (So you could say your self promotion has worked as much as you might not like to do so.) Anyways none of that is really the point.

What struck me on Wednesday after having read the books, was how they actually reminded me of another book series that I have read in the general feel. Just in the fact that they are also mystery books which have a main female and male character who end up creating their own detective agency as they progress.

The time period is different, as they’re Victorian in era, but they also take place in England, mostly in London in this case. No magic or anything, but still have a familiar feel. There being almost a hidden society, but it’s a hidden agency. Which is why the that series is called The Agency, by Y.S. Lee.

So it made a lot of sense why I would enjoy both series. Also with Whitney and Davies taking place in the 1920's after WW1, it was a good time to read it as that’s a time period I’ve been having to think about Tales Of A Frozen Sailor. (With pulling O'Donald from 1919 Ireland forward.) It might not be the same places, but there’s still that recovering from war atmosphere that I was needing to think about at least a little bit.

Anyways I’m pretty much just starting to ramble on now. As my point I wanted to share about how I enjoyed both series and how they reminded me a bit of each other. (Also I’ve been wanting to include "dashed" in writing now, even though most of the time it doesn’t fit. I very much love both Whitney and Davies, particularly fond of Len and how he knows his feelings for a certain someone. There are many lovable characters. Had I the energy tonight I could probably continue on and on. Especially how I enjoyed the Russian story and how that played out, because that hits on one of my fascination points and have read/watched so my on Anastasia. Anyways I really need to stop now. I honestly don’t know how clear or not this is going to be. But I have been wanting to write it since the thought first crossed my mind about the two series having such a similar feel while each being their own thing. Someone stop me. I really am just rambling and possibly repeating myself at this point.

I hope this isn’t too hard to read, it’s certainly not being reviewed/ revised EDITED! That’s the word I’m looking for. One of my biggest hold ups was I wasn’t sure if I should tag or not. What is the etiquette for this kind of post? I really should go to bed instead of continuing to write. I should probably also save this as a draft and edit a bunch of this out instead of posting it like this as I continue to write. But at the same time I’m afraid that if I don’t post this as is, I might not post it at all. I really should stop. Why aren’t I stopping? Probably because I’m in that mood to just continuing to ramble on and on without stopping. Because I’m too tired to be properly using my brain, and not wanting to stop at the same time. I’m really not sure what I’m writing at this point. Other than I know it’s a rambling mess better left off. I can always edit later.

Anyways sorry for the long rambling mess that this has turned out to be and no longer related to what I started out to write. That’s what I get for writing in this tired of a state where my eyes are starting to feel heavy but I’m into a writing groove and can’t seem to stop, even though I’m yawning something terrible. Anyways peace, I’m out, I promise now.

[ask-ultimate-personas]

I posted 627 times in 2021

127 posts created (20%)

500 posts reblogged (80%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.9 posts.

I added 1,232 tags in 2021

#makoto yuki (wild card) - 292 posts

#roleplay idea / ask - 192 posts

#roleplay starter - 149 posts

#roleplay crossover - 149 posts

#casual roleplay - 120 posts

#promo rp - 81 posts

#{advent: wild maid sleepover (roleplay)} - 71 posts

#promo help - 63 posts

#crossover roleplay - 61 posts

#futaba sakura (ultimate programmer) - 54 posts

Longest Tag: 128 characters

#(ooc) i managed to get the notifications for your reblog so i think tumblr is having some troubles but ok then - mod makoto yuki

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

*One day, Joker, Yu, Maya, and Minato were just enjoying their day until Joker got a strange noticification on the metaverse app. The app itself looked like a red demon eye on a black and white background.* @human-monokuma

minato (Makoto yuki):"Woah that was interesting working together at that strange Labyrinth" minato walked around with Ren and yu and Maya.

Yu narukami:"Yeah honestly minato I never really expect the challenges we have to face during the hotel lobby." yu smiled at minato while walking with him.

See the full post

23 notes • Posted 2021-06-10 03:02:42 GMT

#4

Advent :What Shadowing Xmas Fusion ?

Plotline

The phantom thieves (Ren / Akira aka Joker’s team ) was having a great time celebrating Christmas with S.E.E.S //Specialised excurrlur execution squad // (Makoto yuki’s team ) and The truth seekers (Yu narukami’s team) and ?????? (Staria’s team ) and Future foundation and many more .

Yusuke and Sumire and futaba was setting the decorations up until Ryuji came running in looking bit afraid 😟.

Joker (Either Ren or Akira ) Unfused into two parts one is his confident Self and the other is his weak self. Who is not great at expressing his feelings.

His confident self doesn't want to be fused with weak self and wants to ruin the others reputation.

Would you help Phantom thieves and others get Joker back to his original self?

—————————————————————————-

Sumire:” Ah that's the last of the decoration to put up here what do you think Yusuke?” Sumire asked nicely while looking at Yusuke.

See the full post

24 notes • Posted 2021-12-06 00:29:23 GMT

#3

RP - starter

A Roleplay starter for - @laylayeh

Futaba was minding her own business around the area in till she accidently bumped into you and shocked to see what's going on in front of her eyes.

Futaba sakura :"I am so sorry I didn't see where I was going ..." futaba had a quick look at you and said " Um I don't mind me asking but are you one of those inklings that I was compared a lot to ?"

27 notes • Posted 2021-06-09 21:52:27 GMT

#2

Shadow of the Night (Remake ) Halloween 🎃 Advent

Mod Makoto Yuki is speaking

Before We start this is a Remake of a story called the shadow of the night which is a Danganronpa x persona crossover Roleplay Where some Students were trapped in a haunted mansion filled with Despair and shadows. Makoto yuki and Aigis and ( Your muse) is investigating the advents that are happening in there.

Some characters have roles in this one which I will explain so here they are.

Shuichi, Kaede, Nagito, Chiaki, Yosuke, or Your oc (if you want to) are trapped in the mansion.

Some of them got experimented on.

Shuichi is one of them that got experimented on and you can have your oc experimented on as well.

( These are characters that are relevant to the story and that doesn't mean they are my muses all tho I do have some of them but we can discuss more in messages before you reblog this.)

The shadows / Despair

Nyx

Kokichi

Togami

Junko

Jataro ( the one that injured Aigis )

Kotoko

Masaru

Nagisa

Monaca

Dead ☠️

Junpei

Mitsuru

Naoto

Aoi

See the full post

79 notes • Posted 2021-10-06 02:34:48 GMT

#1

Advent wild Maid card sleepover (Rp)

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

Futaba invited everyone to a sleepover party at Ultimate persona household and It was Truth and dare time. It was Jokers turn to ask Makoto yuki truth or dare and Makoto yuki said Dare Joker smirked and dare him to act like a maid for four weeks.

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

{Conmand Option starter}

Makoto yuki was walking around the academy and said "Argh I Regret Doing that dare when this is over I am gonna get my revenge on Joker for this" Makoto didn't realise he bumbled into you and said, "Oh my I am very sorry are you ok?"

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

{Revenge option starter}

See the full post

194 notes • Posted 2021-07-01 22:15:03 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

Mod makoto yuki: "I can't believe this, to be honest here just roleplaying with a lot of muses is much better.

2019 = Amv's and first name change to Joker persona 5

2020= Name change @ask-ultimate-personas and added the rest of the muses and created all the other blogs and mod name change to @mod-makoto-yuki and reactions which you can still do.

2021= full-time roleplay blogs and trying to set up muses bio on google docs and mod challenges and tag challenges.

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

I will start this analysis by pushing the pause button right here before we actually get to the part everyone knows comes next. This was such a big moment in He Tian and Mo Guan Shan’s relationship that it needs to be taken a closer look at. To truly grasp the significance of it, we need to rewind quite a bit chapter-wise.

For the first time, the earrings appear in ch. 200 and begin their story with this line:

That panel has always interested me, for some reason. It’s a weird way to give someone a gift but fits HT’s character perfectly. It’s domineering and yet almost challenging. The fact the HT is in the more submissive position - looking up at MGS standing in front of him - doesn’t seem to lessen his dominance one bit. Actually, he looks even more threatening and sinister like that. But what’s even more interesting about this opening is that it essentially requires trust from MGS’s part. Something I believe HT hadn’t gained yet at that point.

When MGS refuses and resists, as expected, HT in his typical unceremonious way manhandles him and forces the earrings on MGS. He then proceeds to instruct MGS to come find him next Saturday wearing them.

I have always wondered what was so special about MGS wearing the earrings to work. They didn’t seem to serve any particular purpose when MGS was working but yet HT insisted on it. My first thought was that they somehow made MGS fit in better at the photography studio that had some kind of fashion shooting going on but that explanation didn’t feel very likely. I’m sure it wouldn’t have mattered that much what MGS was wearing.

I still don’t fully understand why HT was being so persistent but I think I have some inkling of an idea. When I was writing my post about Tianshan, it got me thinking about why HT got interested in MGS in the first place. He wanted to distance himself from the ideals he had been raised by but despised and kind of reinvent himself. MGS became a project of sorts to him; someone he could make into “an upstanding person”.

Offering MGS chances to work and earn money without making him owe HT anything was one way to ensure MGS didn’t ruin his future because he was desperate and didn’t have the same opportunities as others. Working would also help “hone down his personality”. He would actually become “somebody” - a respectable member of society. 

It’s difficult to explain where the earrings come to play in all that but when HT looked at MGS working...

...it kind of made me feel like he was proud of his “creation”. In a way, the earrings made MGS his but not in a possessive way.

How to put this... 🤔 Okay, let’s imagine you and your significant other are attending some kind of work-related formal event. They’re talking with their peers and totally kicking ass professionally, and you’re watching them from the sidelines, being so proud of them. Then you notice they’re wearing something you had given them and your heart gives a little flutter. It’s a connection between you and that amazing person over there. Am I the only one who would have that feeling?

I’m not saying HT felt quite like that but perhaps something similar. Maybe HT’s heart fluttered a little. I imagine it hadn’t been often he had a connection like with someone he thought was respectable and admired.

After that, we don’t see MGS wearing earrings apart from the Christmas and Valentine’s specials and that commercial chapter. He didn’t seem to wear any even out of school, and to be honest, I didn’t think much of it. His piercings didn’t come up again until ch. 282.

I’m sure most of us assumed MGS had gotten his ears pierced because he was a big bad delinquent and appearances matter in that line of work. I certainly didn’t expect HT’s innocent question to reveal such a violent and traumatic backstory.

Obviously, HT didn’t know how exactly MGS had gotten his ears pierced but could probably guess by MGS’s reaction and knowing SL it wasn’t a pleasant memory. Someone had hurt MGS - given him a more or less permanent mark - and there was nothing HT could do about it anymore. But even more pressingly, that someone was still lurking around and had access to MGS. And SL seemed to be on the move again (the Coke incident).

Would make anyone of us uneasy, right?

This panel somewhat stirred the fandom since fans seemed to interpret it differently. Some read it as HT being jealous and possessive while others saw it as him protecting MGS. Interestingly, the differences seemed to stem from the same kind of disagreement as to whether or not SL is so hung up on MGS because he’s jealous in a romantic sense. People who read it as jealousy and possessiveness kind of jumped straight to the strongest emotion.

And even though I disagree with the interpretation of SL being in love with MGS, my honest initial reading of that panel leaned towards HT being possessive (not jealous, though). I don’t think it’d be that unheard of in HT’s case and I was somewhat surprised some readers seemed to reject that interpretation so strongly.

I think HT’s objective with the earrings was to protect MGS and then he went about it in his usual overbearing way. @casually-inlove mentioned in her ask that the earrings were a sign to SL that MGS was under HT’s protection. I wholeheartedly agree with that notion but don’t think we can completely exclude the possessive undertones of that reading, especially when it comes to HT. To me, HT’s “back off” also implies “he belongs to me”. I don’t think HT needs to worry about SL as a romantic rival, but the earrings would certainly show MGS’s connection to HT quite publicly but also paradoxically in an intimate way.

In short, I see both interpretations.

I also agree with @casually-inlove ‘s idea about HT wanting to empower MGS by showing SL that MGS was over the incident by wearing something new and what he actually wanted over the old scars. I don’t know if HT was thinking it quite that deeply in the heat of the moment, but why not. It would definitely show SL’s reign had ended mentally, too, and MGS was his own person. But by doing so HT is essentially tightening MGS’s connection to himself. He wants MGS to be independent of people like SL but surely also wishes to become the one MGS feels like he can rely on.

I think it’s also evident in MGS’s actions that "control” has something to do with the piercings even in HT’s case which ultimately makes this moment so groundbreaking. SL had once invaded his bodily integrity in a quite violent and traumatic way. He had been made to submit and the holes in his flesh were a permanent reminder of it. Being under SL’s “protection” had most certainly driven his dislike of being in debt to or depending on anyone.

It had taken a good while for MGS to even begin to trust that HT wouldn’t take advantage of him like that. He had learned not to trust anyone, and it went double for people like HT, but after learning HT is not the same, he’s willing to have this sort of connection with him. He’s willing to receive something - in fact, asking for something - without demanding that he repays HT somehow. It’s a gift, and nothing is expected out of him in return. (Except that he can’t apparently take them off...Which admittedly can be taken figuratively but I think also carries that undertone of control and possessiveness, if in a vastly more positive sense than with SL.)

And finally, we return to where we left off. Let’s press that play button again.

What I love most about this moment is how confident MGS is which we haven’t really seen until now. He’s not freaking out or overreacting but actually calmly faces HT head-on. The way the chapter was constructed with the backstory in the middle while MGS touches his earlobe suggests he contemplated carefully before asking HT for the studs. And came to the conclusion that he wants that part of his body to belong to someone again. And we’ve seen in the special chapters that take place in the future, this kind of symbol wasn’t trivial to MGS or something he asked on impulse.

Now, do I think MGS asking for the studs was his way of answering and returning HT's feelings? No. I think it's way too early to throw words like "love" and "confessing" around, especially for MGS. We’ve recently just graduated from “punching and cursing HT” to “punching and cursing HT while furiously blushing”. I’m sure MGS has become conscious of HT in a new way but let’s not call it “love” just yet. But he's accepted him as someone who he'd normally hate but has actually learned to be on his side.

30 day 19 Days challenge

[chalantness]

happy holidays, darlings! i’m back! 

Sort of. Kind of. Partially?

I didn’t plan on taking a break, that’s just how it worked out at the end of each day, and I think that will be what it’s like from now on. I’m finally learning to have a little more balance in my life, which means I may not always be online as much as I used to. But I���ll be better about popping in to check on you darlings when I’m away longer than usual!

Anyway.

Okay, the biggest (and shortest) announcement I wanted to make is that I’m finally working on my series! I mean this in the most preliminary way -- as in it’s barely in its early stages -- but. I’ve finally settled on what challenges me and excites me most, and I’m so ready to start! If you love modern takes on Greek mythology (which I actually have a whole separate blog for) and if you love high society dramas a la Gossip Girl and The Royals, then you might love what I’m plotting up. More to come on that at a later time, though!

So yes, I’m (mostly) back and I’m back in time for the holidays so there will be holiday drabbles in the future! I’m not attempting a big giveaway yet again because I finally accepted that I suck at those. But I will be doing a 12 days of Christmas-type thing by counting down with a fluffy drabble each day. Don’t worry, my non-Christmas-celebrating darlings: I’ve made sure to include some winter-themed prompts that don’t strictly have to do with any holiday.

I’ve already decided what I want to write for those drabbles, but I want do a holiday-type drabble meme where you’ll get to give me prompts, like always! I’ll need to be strict on myself on making them short fills so I don’t drive myself crazy, but that’s something I definitely want to do and hope to start after my trip this weekend, or, you know, maybe later tonight. Possibly.

And last but certainly not least: I did delete my fanfiction account. The act itself had been impulsive last night, but I’d been contemplating it for a while. I don’t want to go into detail, but more often than not, there had been a few aggressive users who have been pushy with wanting me to write for a number of fandoms I haven’t written for in years. I know that may seem like a silly reason to get rid of an entire account with almost 200 published stories -- something I do feel regretful about -- but this has been happening for years.

I understand still loving a ship from a series that has been canceled or finished even years later, and I understand wanting to see if an author still has the inklings of writing for their old fandoms and ships. I get it. But “reviewing” with the sole purpose of requesting a story, especially if that request has nothing to do with the actual ship or fandom of the fanfic you’re commenting on -- or reviewing something with a short compliment and immediately launching into a prompt request -- is not the way to go about it. It wasn’t distressing, exactly, but it did get to the point where I didn’t want to open emails regarding “reviews” and DM’s. I even stopped cross-posting stories to both FFN and AO3 to minimize the amount of activity on the account.

But I will say that of all the fandoms I lost with deleting FFN account, I regret not saving my Chalant stories from Young Justice the most, for obvious reasons. They are still an OTP I love with all my heart, but the fact is that I do not want to watch the continuing seasons of Young Justice. That show lost my interest almost immediately into Season 2, and all the things I loved about that show and those characters and their writing was solely in Season 1. I really, really do still want to write for Dick and Zatanna, but no longer being active in the fandom and no longer following the canon makes it hard. If any Chalant shippers are reading this: if you can forgive me for completely deleting all of my Chalant stories, and if you still want to see me write Chalant even if it has nothing to do with what’s current in the Young Justice universe... let me know. Please let me know.

Okay.

TL;DR

I want to write a book series, and if “modern Greek mythology-inspired high society YA drama meets the Italian mafia” is a phrase that piques your interest, you might want to (eventually) read it.

I’m writing holiday drabbles!

I’m also doing a mini holiday drabble meme!

I deleted my FFN account for exasperated reasons, but anyone who loves Chalant and doesn’t hate me for deleting my Chalant stories can still ask me to write about them, because I think I’m finally ready to write them again.

Anyway.

It’s the season of shipping once more and I’m ready for the fluff!

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

friendly reminder that I'm four chapters into a response to the Christmas inklings challenge, that is to say, I've posted four chapters so far, and they total 3,608 words all together.

so if you like Vaniah and Anneka it's a novella about their first Christmas with Corrie. leans much more on the fluff side of things, much lighter than the novel itself.

it's on my website, if you know that, and you can ask me for the link, but it will be linked by the time we get to the end of it, to the inklings challenge via my author sideblog.

also i love feedback

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Here, have some post-canon domestic CS while I try to remember how to write. Rated T for swearing and implied sexytimes. ~1200 words

“Ouch! Dammit! Shit!”

Emma rinsed the blood off her hand and glared at the shattered remains of Killian’s favorite coffee mug, knowing full well she only had about 5 seconds before-

“Are you alright, love?” Killian bustled into the kitchen, blue eyes wide with worry. For a fearsome pirate captain, he could sure be a fussy mother hen sometimes.

Emma sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. But I think your ‘Captain Studmuffin’ mug is a goner.” Slippery little fucker had slid right out of her soapy hands and without thinking, she’d reached for it and stabbed the hell out of her finger.

“Emma, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s just a little cut. It’ll stop in a sec.”

“Swan.”

“Hook.”

Emma crossed her arms, holding her wounded finger up a bit so it wouldn’t touch the sleeve of her sweater, and studied her husband. These days it was usually ‘Emma’ and ‘Killian’. ‘Hook’ and ‘Swan’ only came out during the two F’s: fighting and foreplay. She hadn’t decided which F this was yet.

Killian cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer into her space and she was getting an inkling now. Yep, that feeling below her belt was definitely an inkling.

He smiled that smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and gently took her injured hand. His thumb caressed the lifeline on her palm.

“I feel we’re treading in familiar territory, love.”

“Mmhm,” Emma answered grinning despite herself. “And you’re just as stubborn as ever, but this time you don’t have a giant as an excuse to play doctor with me.”

Killian kissed the tip of her finger, which had, in fact, stopped bleeding by now, and released her hand. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight. His stubble tickled her cheek as he murmured in her ear, “Aye, but I’ve still got that scarf upstairs in the bureau drawer. Perhaps we can find some other use for it?”

Emma responded with a low, throaty laugh and pushed away from him. “Make sure the deadbolt is locked and meet me upstairs, Captain.”

Killian grinned knowingly and made to secure the front door. She only called him ‘Captain’ for the third F - their very favorite F of all.

-/-

The next morning, Killian came downstairs to find his coffee and newspaper waiting for him on the kitchen table. The scene was familiar enough, but the blue ceramic vessel holding his morning dose of caffeine was clearly new. Emblazoned on the mug was a little pale blue anchor and white letters proclaiming: “I have the vocabulary of a well educated sailor.”

Killian smiled to himself at Emma’s thoughtfulness. He knew she had always enjoyed his way with words, but it surprised him that she had managed to find a gift so specifically suited to him. He was, in fact, a well educated sailor after all, both from his time in the Royal Navy and his years of personal study thereafter. He planned to thank her very thoroughly whenever she returned home from her early shift at the station.

He settled into his morning routine, taking the occasional sip from his new mug between filling in the answers to the daily crossword. He found himself stuck on 12 down when he heard keys jangling at the back door. Killian looked up as his step-son strode into the kitchen, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Henry, m’lad! Everything alright? We weren’t expecting you back until after school.”

“I’m good, I just left a book upstairs that I need for class today.”

“Ah, I see. Can you spare a moment? You’re just the man I need for this accursed puzzle.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Another pop culture reference in the crossword?” Killian nodded and Henry sat down across from him, placing his backpack in another empty chair. “Let’s hear it.”

“Four letters. ‘Professor Henry Walton Jones, as called by his friends’.”

“It’s ‘Indy’. I-N-D-Y,” Henry answered. “As in Indiana Jones? Yeah, we’re definitely watching Raiders of the Lost Ark on our next movie night.”

Killian penciled in the letters as Henry had spelled them. “Perfect! These bloody modern references catch me every time. Thank you, lad. I like to think I otherwise have a rather impressive command of the English language.”

Henry laughed. “Yeah, we could probably call you Professor Jones.”

“Too right.” Killian took a sip of his coffee, making sure the print on the side of the cup faced Henry. “Your mother seems to be enamored of my vocabulary.”

Henry squinted at the writing. “Wait, mom gave you that? That’s a little ironic coming from her.”

“How do you mean?”

Henry stood, a wry smile tilting his lips. “Well, if anyone in this house swears like a sailor, it’s mom.”

Killian scowls, completely taken aback. “Swears like a-”

“Anyway, I better grab my book before I miss the bus.” Henry snatched up his book bag and headed toward the stairs before Killian could finish his thought.

He was still stewing a couple minutes later when he heard a muffled “See you guys tonight!” followed by an unceremonious slam of the door.

‘Swear like a sailor’, eh? In his day, the Royal Navy highly disapproved of swearing. Terrible form for a man in uniform. Pirates were a different matter, he supposed, but even as the dreaded Captain Hook he only ever uttered the occasional ‘damn’ or ‘bloody.’ Foul language had never been his vice of choice.

So, this must be a modern expression lost on him. Usually, he knew when Emma was quoting something - as much as he knew she loved that he didn’t know what it was - but this? This felt more like an opening salvo. Shots fired across his bow. Far be it from him to ignore a challenge from his Swan.

-/-

When Emma came back to her office after a quick trip to the ladies’ room, she hadn’t expected to find her pirate sitting on her desk. Manspreading should be annoying, not attractive, but dammit if he didn’t look tempting perched up there wearing that stupid smirk that still did things to her even after a year of marriage.

She bit her lower lip to stifle a smile and moved to stand between his thighs, fully planning to kiss the smirk off his face. Before she reached him, however, he hopped down and held out his left arm, a small gift bag dangling from his hook.

Emma tentatively accepted the bag. “What’s this?”

“Can’t a man give his wife a present for no reason at all?”

“He can…” Emma narrowed her eyes. Yes, Killian was prone to spontaneous romantic gestures, but he was giving off a weird vibe here. No, not weird exactly. What’s the word?

“Don’t open it until I leave, darling, but I saw this in an after-Christmas sale and it struck me as the perfect thank you to you for the lovely mug you gave me yesterday morning.” He leaned in and gave her a quick-and-dirty kiss that left her toes tingling, then slipped past her out of her office.

“See you at home, love,” he called back over his shoulder.

Frisky, Emma decided. The word she was looking for was frisky.

Emma rushed to her desk chair and sat down to open her present. Inside the bag she found a white porcelain coffee mug emblazoned with a smiling gingerbread man holding a candy cane. Well that explained the ‘after-Christmas’ part, but-

“Sonnuvabitch.” Emma grinned, shaking her head slightly. Just above the gingerbread man’s shoulder in cheerful red and green letters were the words “Bite Me!”

“Oh, Captain,” she thought aloud, “just wait ‘til I get home.”

[bookshelf-in-progress]

The Christmas Card Caper: Part 1

Well, this is embarrassing.

After arranging the Inklings Christmas Challenge and fiddling with at least four different story ideas for the past two months, it looks like I’m not going to have anything ready in time for the deadline. I guess I was right in saying that Christmastime was a difficult time to get writing done--between holiday stuff and work, by the time I had time to sit down for writing, the Christmassy atmosphere I so desperately wanted to have in the story was hard to capture.

Even though I couldn’t pull a story together, I have managed to do some Christmas reading. I love Christmas mysteries, and I’m always on the hunt for more stories within the very specific subgenre of “mysteries where Christmas traditions are used to hide stolen jewels”. I’m pleased to report that I found another one! And it’s in the public domain! Since I can’t post anything of my own, I figured I may as well provide something Christmas-y for people to read. And, you know, I make up the rules, so I can do what I want.

“The Christmas Card Caper” by Glorya M. Hayers is a short story from her long-running Alfred Quicke series. While her work has nowhere near the acclaim of L.D. Melbray’s Morrick Hopeley stories, she still stands as a key writer of Coregean “Golden Age” mysteries, and while this is far from her best work, I think this story is a pretty decent example of her style. It mixes mystery and comedy in one twisty, madcap conundrum that needs to be unraveled by the idle-rich amateur detective, Mr. Quicke. Since it’s a longish story, I’ll be posting it in several parts, but I wanted to get at least one section transcribed and posted before the deadline.

Many thanks to the incomparable @isfjmel-phleg, who arranged the interlibrary loan that finally brought this story into my hands after a long and fruitless search. (And thanks to you guys for not mocking me for my failure to complete my own writing challenge).

The Christmas Card Caper

Lady Norina Quicke’s Loriston townhome was always the picture of a respectable Coregean Christmas. The tree dripped with ornaments, the banisters and doorways groaned under greenery, and her children came home on Christmas Eve to enjoy the festivities with her. Alfred Quicke had obeyed the yearly summons, but instead of enjoying the season’s comforts, he was crouched beside the Christmas tree, engaged in one of the most difficult battles of his life.

The battleground made for a fascinating, if not a purely traditional, Christmastime tableau. Young Alfred Quicke, lean and knobby, with ears protruding outward beneath a pile of carefully-groomed brown hair, and eyes that seemed just a touch too sharp for a rather vacant-looking face, wrestled with a white box from Tremble’s department store and a selection of now-rather-crumpled red paper and white ribbon that both seemed opposed on a spiritual level to serving as coverings for the box.

Lesser men would have abandoned the fight hours ago, but Alfred Quicke was never one to accept defeat. This confounded package would be wrapped by Christmas Day. Paper and string were beastly difficult to maneuver, but at last Quicke wrestled a good measure of both into submission. The paper was mostly around the box, held in place by a length of ribbon secured, for the moment, by his finger resting upon a crucial junction. He needed only the final knot to hold everything in place.

As Quicke prepared for his final maneuver, a pale-haired young man strode into the parlor.

“Still at it, Quicke?”

Quicke’s iron concentration faltered. His finger slipped, the ribbon went slack, and the package fell into slovenly deshabille.

Mr. Quicke’s hands made a similar mess of his hair while his eyes stared daggers at the intruder. “You’ve ruined me, Brem! A morning’s worth of work, gone, because you have no sense of decency. I’ll bet you run past golf games and shout mid-swing. Invade medical theatres and startle scalpel-holding surgeons. Head to Rhosemore and--”

Mr. Quicke did not explain what manner of mischief Mr. Sloe could cause at the royal palace, because the offender, immune to Mr. Quicke’s long speeches, stretched himself across a sofa and asked, “Why didn’t you get it wrapped at the store? They have entire counters of girls there who’ll wrap it up for a handful of narries.”

Mr. Quicke’s eyes brightened and his color rose. “It’s about the experience, Brem! May as well ask why I don’t pay someone to eat Christmas dinner for me, or to travel ‘round the world in my place. You don’t experience life by paying other people to do things for you.”

“No, but you do miss out on a lot of life when you spend half of Christmas Eve wrapping paper around a parcel.”

Quicke hefted himself to his feet and looked upon his friend with feigned exasperation. “What else am I supposed to do, I ask? I invite you for Christmas because I can’t bear to think of you vegetating in the club ‘til Twelfth Night, only for you to spend all your time following my sister ‘round like a puppy.”

Mr. Bremmigan Sloe grinned. “She’s a wonderful woman, Quicke.”

“Glad you think so,” Quicke said. “I can’t see the appeal myself, but judging by the number of times you’ve taken her to dinner in the past six months, you must take some pleasure in her company.”

Sloe’s smile softened like candy left in the sun. “She’s one-of-a-kind. The only woman for me.”

Mr. Quicke examined Mr. Sloe. “I could do worse for a brother-in-law,” he conceded, “but I suggest you wait until after the holiday before making any definite plans.”

Brem went white. “What do you mean? Does Dot expect...?”

“Dot expects nothing. Like the butterfly, she floats aimlessly through the day, taking each moment as it comes. I’m merely issuing a friendly warning for caution. You may change your mind about Dot when you see the creature she becomes when consumed by the frenzy of charades.”

“Charades?” cried a female voice from the hall without. The woman who came after it was the one-of-a-kind girl herself—Dotsella Quicke, in all her five feet and two inches of golden-haired glory. Brem was far from the first man to fall for the youngest Quicke’s delicate elfin features, but he was the only one Dot had permitted to remain in attendance on her so long—and the only one who’d lasted long enough to see Dot at Christmastime.

“Charades,” Dot said, “is a cracking game, and you’d better not try to cry off like last year…”

Miss Quicke’s tirade trailed off as her gaze slid from her brother and toward the mess of paper he had left near the base of the Christmas tree.

“What’s this?” She knelt next to the uncooperative package. “Alfie, is this yours?”

“It’ll be mater’s, soon as it’s wrapped.”

“If we leave that up to you, it’ll be an Easter present.”

Such disdain, coming from a younger sister, would have been too much for any older brother to endure. But before he could object, Dot began gathering the loose ends of paper and ribbon.

“Don’t bother. I’ll finish,” Quicke said.

“I’ll have it done in a flash,” Dot replied. “I’ve spent veritable weeks wrapping gifts for the Duchess’ orphans.”

Perhaps she had—the Christmas party for the orphanage had dominated Dot’s time since November—but it didn’t give her the right to wrap the present so easily. Where was the struggle? The hard-fought victory?

Mr. Quicke objected, “I was nearly finished.”

A roll of the eyes showed Miss Quicke’s opinion of his claim as she tied the final knot in place. She placed the package under the tree and said, “And now you are finished.”

“It’s the experience, Dot. You’ve deprived me of the satisfaction--”

“I’ve saved you from embarrassment--”

“--of gaining a worthwhile skill--”

“Mother would have disowned you for such a gift--”

“Now I’ll never know if I could have--”

 “Children!” scolded a female voice.

The siblings, who had forgotten they had even Mr. Sloe—watching in rather terrified awe—as a spectator, fell silent as they realized they’d gained a second. Lady Norina Quicke stood behind Brem’s sofa, stiff and stern.

“Such bickering! At Christmas! I thought you outgrew such things long ago.”

Mr. Quicke smoothed his hair and stepped forward. “A mild misunderstanding, Mother.”

“I hope that shall be the end of it. There are much better things to do at Christmastime.” Lady Norina lifted her hand which held a stack of letters. “The post just arrived. These are addressed to Dotsella.”

With a gasp of joy, Dot took the letters from Mother and settled on the sofa to open them. Brem, producing a letter-opener, slit the envelopes, and Mother watched while Dot squealed over the contents.

“From Aunt Embella! She’s still in Faysmond!”

“Taysie Noreck! I haven’t seen her since we were in school!”

Alfred Quicke, uninterested in the communications between old schoolfriends, occupied himself with the mystery of the wrapped present. How had Dot done it? So far as he could tell, his youngest sister possessed supernatural power over paper and string—the construct defied the laws of physics.

His investigation, which could have lasted until Christmas morning, ended when he heard Brem tell Dot, “Last one.”

Quicke looked up as Dot took the card. Even from the outside, he could tell it was no ordinary two-narry greeting card. The envelope was deep green, of thick and expensive paper; the direction, though water-stained, was written in white ink. Quicke, curious, joined his mother behind the sofa to observe the opening.

The card, when Dot removed it, showed a picture of a door, decorated with Christmas wreaths and garlands. The interior of the card showed a Christmastime parlor scene. Cutout images of three smiling children, dressed in the style of Queen Edella’s day, stood upright when Dot held the card open. Between them, a Christmas tree adorned with painted candles and ornaments, unfurled itself, and beneath the tree, instead of toys or presents, there sat a single golden ring.

The ring was no paper construct—it was real and whole and shining gold, and bore an enormous deep-green, oval-cut stone surrounded by brilliant diamonds. A thread tied it to the strip of paper that formed the trunk of the tree.

Dot gasped when she saw it. She gazed dreamily at the man sitting next to her. “Oh, Brem!” She snapped the thread, plucked the ring from beneath the tree, and slid it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly.

“Oh, Brem!” Dot cried again. The card fluttered to her lap as she threw her arms around Sloe’s neck. “Yes! Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

Brem seemed stunned by Dot’s exuberant reaction, but he returned the embrace, accepted Quicke’s congratulating handshake, and endured the admonitions of Lady Norina, who found these newfangled surprise engagements a lot of fluff and nonsense.

Drawn by Dot’s screams of joy, it wasn’t long before every member of the family—Father and the other siblings, a handful of aunts, nieces and nephews, and even a good portion of the servants—had gathered around to admire the ring and share in Dot’s good news.

“It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Dot kept saying. “A Christmas proposal! I couldn’t have asked for better!”

Brem—who had been the only child of a reclusive man—seemed overwhelmed by the chaotic convocation of the entire Quicke clan. He was white as a sheet, and could barely stammer replies to the congratulations thrown his way.

When the furor began to calm, Sloe slipped out from the crowd and gestured to Quicke. Quicke, bemused, followed him into a hallway that seemed a silent sanctuary after the noise of the parlor.

Brem was frantic as he faced his friend. “Quicke, you have to help me.”

“Gladly,” Quicke said. “I’d be honored to stand as best man.”

Sloe threw his face over his hands and groaned. “Don’t say that.”

Quicke was offended. He thought of Bremmigan Sloe as one of his closest friends, and as brother of the bride, he had double-right to the role. He hadn’t thought Brem so devoid of feeling. “Naturally, if you’d prefer someone else--”

Sloe seized Quicke’s hand in desperation. “Quicke, listen to me! I didn’t send her that ring!”

There were jokes, and then there was insanity. Quicke suspected the latter. “Don’t be coy. Who else could have sent it?”

“I don’t know! Not me!”

This required new calculations. “You didn’t propose to my sister?”

“Not on purpose!”

“Then who sent the ring?”

“I wish I knew. I’d wring his neck. Going after my girl and putting me through... this. It’s inhuman.”

“The card wasn’t signed?”

“Not a mark on it. And no return address.”

Brem handed card and envelope, both forgotten in the hubbub over the ring, to Mr. Quicke. The only marking on the card was the printed message, “Best wishes to a Christmas angel.” That seemed romantic, but then why was there no signature to take credit for the gift?

The envelope showed no direction indicating where the card had originated. The only writing showed the address of the Quicke home, and even that was smeared where it apparently had been showered with snow.

Who could benefit by sending a gift in such a manner? An ordinary gift-giver would have signed the card. A rival suitor—even one hoping to play the secret admirer—would have signed to prevent this confusion. Somehow, this ring had come into Dot’s hands, but the question was, why?

“What am I going to do, Quicke? I’m not ready for marriage. I’m still living in the rooms at the club. I’ll need a house, a staff, and I was hoping to wait for that money I have coming from Uncle Andras--”

Mr. Quicke found such worries a secondary concern. His attention was still on the card and envelope. Where had they come from? There must be some clue, some way to track...

With a cry of victory, Quicke pointed at the top right corner of the envelope. “There’s the answer!”

This startled Brem into silence. “What?” He peered anxiously at the envelope. “Where? Who sent it?”

“Someone in the nobility,” Quicke said. “Or with noble connections. There’s no stamp. This letter’s been franked.”

Brem examined the scribble of ink. “By whom? I can’t make head or tail of it.”

“Someone can,” Quicke said, “or the post office wouldn’t have sent it.” Quicke’s finger shifted slightly to indicate the postmark. “This post office, right here in Loriston. Someone there must be able to identify it. We track down the house this card came from, and we’re that much closer to finding the man who sent it.”

For the first time since the ring appeared, Sloe appeared as though he wasn’t in immediate danger of apoplexy. “Quicke, do you really think you could find it?”

“I shall brave the cold streets of Loriston for your sake. I can go to the post office this minute.”

“Oh, capital! Off we go! Where’s my coat?”

Quicke gave him a sharp glance. “The betrothed slipping away from his beloved on the day of joy? That won’t do. You stay here and keep Dot happy. Enjoy Christmas Eve.”

“Enjoy? Enjoy?”

“You have my word that the mystery will be solved by Christmas Day.” Quicke started toward his rooms, already planning his investigation. “In the meantime, try to convince Dot of the benefits of a long engagement.”

[inklings-challenge]

Inklings Christmas Challenge Participants List

This is an ongoing list of writers who have expressed interest in participating in The Inklings Christmas Challenge. I will be updating as more people decide to join in. (To be clear, this is not an official requirement. Stories can still be posted without officially signing up for the challenge, and having your name on the list doesn’t obligate you to create a story. This is for my benefit so I know roughly how many people are interested in participating).

I have erred on the side of including people, so if you’re on the list and you do not want to participate, let me know and I’ll remove you. If you’re not on the list and you do want to participate, let me know so I can add you.

@221bdragonslayer

@afairmaiden

@allisonreader

@ashknife

@called-kept

@e-b-reads

@ellakas

@enjoliquej

@fictionadventurer

@firefletch

@heniareth

@incomingalbatross

@ihaveonlymydreams

@imissthembutitwasntadisaster

@iseult-blanchemains

@isfjmel-phleg

@keendaanmaa

@lady-merian

@larissa-the-scribe

@laurelin-of-valinor

@madamescarlette

@magpie-trove

@maltheniel

@misscrazyfangirl321

@mozart-the-meerkitten

@olyia-stories

@ozthearistocrat

@praise-the-lord-im-dead

@rowenabean

@scarvenartist

@septembersung

@siriusfan13

@spookyscribe

@swinging-stars-from-satellites

@taleweaver-ramblings

@teabooksandsweets

@why-bless-your-heart

@writinginsunlitcorners

[fictionadventurer]

Rules: I will post all the names of all the files in my WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as I have WIPs to do the same. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. 

I was tagged a couple of weeks ago by @magpie-trove, and now that I’m through the Inklings Challenge, I can post something! I’m going to cheat a bit, since I’m not really actively drafting anything. I’m in an extreme brainstorming phase, coming up with tons of nascent short story possibilities and considering which old ideas to return to or rework. My motivation is very seasonal-based, which means that I’m considering stories for my Starfall universe and Christmas stories, as well as a few autumnal ideas, so I’ll separate out the ideas that way. (Most of these aren’t even files yet, so I’ll just decide what I would title a file if I created one).  Maybe writing about these will help me decide which one to work on.

Autumnal

letters from exile

shadowstruck

mouse mystery

fable sequel

Starfall

dust that falls from passing stars

cinderella

king thrushbeard

star lantern

christmas music school

prince and the pauper

church

Christmas

fable

spaceship christmas tree

starship sobieski

traveling prayer

polar bear gifts

charlotte mystery

christmas on mars

hallmark royalty worldbuilding

Not sure who’s all been tagged by now, but consider yourself tagged if you want to play!

[allisonreader]

My original thought was: sure I can write my Inklings Challenge story; Tales Of A Frozen Sailor, in about 10,000-15,000 words and get the point across. At the moment I have about 10,000 words posted with about 3,000 more that are currently being worked on and added to. At this point I don’t know that it will be novel length, but it still might be close because there’s probably still about twice as many words to be written yet, if not more. Not that I’m actually keeping track of word count. So we'll see how far I actually get and if I can get it done before Christmas or if I’ll have to take a break and work on something else for the time.