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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 3 years ago

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♫ Surfing on a soundwave, Swinging through the stars, Take a left at your intestine, Take your second right past mars!

On the Magic School smelly space bus! ♫

SPOILERS for Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow #2!

This is a comic where, the longer I sit with a particular issue, the more I’m like, ‘yeah. Yeah. YEAH.’

It’s dense in a way that invites the reader to go through it multiple times, and rewards additional readthroughs.

Also, it helps that the art is FREAKING AMAZING.

Seriously. Evely and Lopes should draw and color everything, forever, always.

(I will honestly be shocked if they don’t get an Eisner nom for this book.)

Anyways, all of this to say: Another issue that I enjoyed. It has one of the most genuinely sweet Supergirl moments I’ve seen in the comics in a good long while.

So, if you’re looking for a quick thumbs up/thumbs down rating, thumbs up!

If you’d like some SPECIFICS, though...

THE STORY

King is an evil genius because we don’t pick up where we left off--rather, we start in the midst of the Space Bus journey.

There is technically a Big Action Scene, but I was honestly surprised by how...casually? the story progressed.

Essentially: Kara and Ruthye are forced to travel by bus because 1.) Krem stole Kara’s rocket and 2.) this corner of the universe doesn’t have the right stars, so Kara’s still recovering from being under a red sun for an extended period of time.

The bus makes occasional stops; they encounter a space dragon; Kara takes some Red Kryptonite and saves the day; they eventually arrive on a planet with a yellow sun.

And again, all of this occurs with a kind of...breezy ease that I was not expecting at all.

I assumed that the space dragon fight would make up the final moments of the issue, after having built up the problem to a point where Kara needed to intervene.

But, noooope. The space dragon happens somewhere in the middle, which helps sell the central idea that this is simply Kara’s life. She’s been there, done that. She’s a badass who takes it all in stride.

But! Important to note! Ruthye still marvels at the sight of Kara taking out the space dragon, as well she should, because:

OH MY GOD. THE aRT.

There’s only so many times I can say, ‘it’s phenomenal, it’s gorgeous, it’s stunning’ before sounding like a broken record.

But it is. It truly is. This is the prettiest monthly book on the stands right now.

(Realizing I’ve been spelling Ruthye wrong this entire time, maybe? IDK. Apologies if I have.)

It’s in the final moments of the book that we learn what transpired after Krem shot Kara and Krypto and fled: Kara managed to get Krypto and Ruthye to a healer, and then passed out for a week.

Ruthye and Kara recovered, buuuuut...

Krypto is still very near death because the arrow was poisoned.

The healer can’t treat him until he has a sample of the poison.

Which Krem has.

(See where this is going?)

So! Kara regains her powers! Ruthye has a super on her side! KRYPTO’S LIFE HANGS IN THE BALANCE!

Gimme. Issue. 3. STAT.

THE CHARACTERS

Very much enjoyed Ruthye in this issue!

There’s a really tricky balancing act you gotta pull off when writing child characters; you don’t want to just write them as tiny adults, but you also don’t want to be obnoxious or cloying in trying to write ‘true-to-age.’

King gives himself a bit of a cheat, by setting her up as a rock farmer from a...what would you call it. An old-fashioned planet? And thus the kind of character who had to ‘grow up fast’ and behaves more maturely than your typical pre-teen might.

BUT! IMPORTANTLY! This is tempered by placing Ruthye in situations where her (understandable) ignorance is challenged/put to the test. Like, yes, she is mature, and well-spoken, and utterly tenacious, but she’s also out of her depth, and still in need of help and guidance.

(Which is how we get to The Best Scene which I’ll get to in just a sec.)

TL;DR - this issue has really sold me on Ruthye as our POV character and I am officially Invested in the relationship between her and Kara.

Speaking of...

It’s KARA-CTERIZATION TIME!

So, okay. There’s some ‘eh’ stuff in this one, but, BUT!

We got the goods again.

And by ‘goods’ I mean this:

Whatever other nitpicks I have (and I do! Have one! Which I’ll get to!) THIS. This right here! This is Supergirl. This is Kara.

And what a beautiful line to introduce this moment:

“And it began--as most things begin when you’re dealing with Supergirl--with a moment of kindness.”

It’s the same gentle concern we saw in the previous issue, where Kara knelt down to address Ruthye eye-to-eye.

Here, Kara’s facial expression, and the way she takes Ruthye’s hands and shows her what to do...

It’s just. SO SWEET.

Ahhhhh it’s so good. :D

So good! In fact! That the above scene offsets my one complaint, which is that Kara came off as harsh, IMO, when addressing the bus passengers, looking for Red K.

Other good stuff from this particular portion of the book: we get Kryptonese (maybe? I think?) And a mention of Kara’s mother being strict about certain things, which is in keeping with the 2000s series version of Alura.

Ruthye also asks if Kara ever tried to avenge the death of her family/culture and she says no; Ruthye says that she heard a lifetime of regret in Kara’s response, which I suppose could be read one of two ways:

1.) That she regrets her choice not to avenge them, or 2.) that she regrets not having the option to avenge them, as there was no one person to punch, no single action that could rectify the destruction of the entire planet.

I personally prefer the second reading.

Which I suppose contradicts the recent-ish “Killers of Krypton” arc, but who knows what is and isn’t canon anymore, honestly. XD

As for the rest of the issue! I found myself thinking of a Grant Morrison interview, actually.

Morrison apparently met a Superman cosplayer at a con and that’s when the character clicked for them: “[The superman cosplayer] was so in the character, but what really got me was the way he was sitting. It was this absolutely relaxed pose with one knee up and the arm bent over, and that’s what broke Superman for me. Suddenly I realized that Superman wouldn’t be a poser, he wouldn’t be a Muscle Beach steroid guy; he’d actually be completely relaxed because nothing could hurt him. He could be so open and friendly to everyone because no one can punch him or hurt him. He can’t get a cold, or be damaged by anything you’re carrying or wearing. For me that was the power of that, whether you want to frame it as magical or not, it actually informed the stories I wanted to write. I felt I understood him in a way I hadn’t until that moment.”

That’s always stuck with me, the idea that Clark would be the most at-ease, chill guy you'd ever talk to.

And THAT, I think, is what we’re seeing here with Kara. That at-ease-ness.

But in a way that is distinct from Clark! In the above quote, it’s clear that Morrison thinks it’s Clark’s powers that are the reason he can be so relaxed and at ease.

But Kara is de-powered here. So why is she so chill?

Because Kara is an alien.

Kara’s in her element, here. She’s used to space travel, she knows the ins-and-outs, she’s not shocked by any of the weird stuff they encounter on their journey.

Love it. LOVE. IT.

I am SO GLAD that King decided to go with Kara being the wizened mentor, as opposed to the naïve kid learning to be tough. It’s a much more interesting angle, IMO.

Also NO MENTION OF RIVALRY BETWEEN KARA AND CLARK. WOO. LET’S KEEP THIS ROLLIN’.

Alright, last, but certainly not least:

THE GOOD BOY! KRYPTO!

When I tell you I stress-read this entire comic first thing in the morning...XD

And I am STILL stressed. And a little sad that Krypto doesn’t get to go on another space adventure but! This is MIGHTY PREFERABLE to what I *thought* was going to happen, which is that Krypto would die from his injuries, and Kara would likewise be out for revenge.

Fortunately, that is not the case!

So like, the stakes?!?! Suddenly sky high. Find that dirtbag Krem and GET THAT POISON BACK TO THE HEALER!!

ART and MISC. STUFF THAT I LOVE

I generally don’t like to post entire pages of a comic, or panels without context, but the...reach? of this blog is extremely limited so. I think we’ll be okay. XD

So, alright! Some moments that I particularly enjoyed!

One of the panels that Mat Lopes shared early on!

I want this lettered version on a mug.

(Also she looks very ’Grace Kelly-ish’ here.)

Love Kara’s facial expression and her line about space travel being more fun when you can fly.

From the same portion of the book--such a neat detail that Kara keeps her cash in her sleeve!

Another set of panels that I think Tom King shared a few months back.

Love Kara’s little smirk, and the, “I’m wearing a big yellow S on my chest, and a very fashionable red skirt.”

It IS fashionable. WE SUPPORT THE SKIRT, IN THIS HOUSE.

Also the slrrrrrrp. XD

It’s good.

Okay, 1.) VERY COOL SCI-FI DESIGN and 2.) that line is great. “Can you feel it, Ruthye? We’re getting closer. The stars are changing.”

Mmmm, them good cosmic Kara vibes.

Kara’s attitude about the Red K here is fun, like, ‘WELP, sometimes you turn into a monster, sometimes you don’t!’ but again, the line is what gets me.

“Did my hair move?”

“I do not believe so.”

Honestly? I could post the whole comic here. Evely’s vision of ‘public transit, but space’ is just so immediately...not ‘real’, necessarily, because there’s such a fantastical element to it all, but it is fully realized. I think I used the phrase ‘lived-in’ and that’s it--this world feels like it has always existed; every grimy nook and cranny, every rando space bus traveler.

And Mat Lopes’ colors!

There are like, five distinct color palettes at work in this issue, and Lopes handles them all masterfully.

I think my favorite is the...I’ll call it ‘ethereal space aquarium’ lighting in the bus as they view the space dragon.

The glow and the shadows and the blues and pinks...

GGGGGGGGAAAHHHHHHHHHH so goooooooood

So, yeah. :D

I am very much enjoying this weird, wild ride with small, precocious Ruthye and wizened, crusty Kara. XD There’s some stuff that I don’t *love* but my goodness, it could be a lot worse!

Let us end on the beautiful title page:

#long post #supergirl: woman of tomorrow #supergirl: woman of tomorrow spoilers #dc comics #kara zor el #comic thoughts #comic opinions

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destinyesque · 3 years ago

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Might Not Make it Home

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32632597/chapters/80949649

North Imaria has been under the merciless rule of the crown for over two decades and it seems the people have finally had enough. Unrest stirs among even the tiniest towns in the frozen mountains. Main streets grow silent as the noble guard rallies. There's enough fuel for the revolutionary fire; someone just needs to light the fuse.

Vizara is a bard, and a damn good one at that. She's played at taverns all across the north, seen the fight grow in her people. Her whole life has been for this. All the sleeping around, the ale and food and coin-all of it is secondary (not that she doesn't enjoy it). She's going to rouse her people into glorious rebellion against the unjust monarchy, and she's going to win. She just doesn't know how difficult it is going to be.

___________________

A young woman in vibrant violet clothes strummed on her lute, tapping her toe in time to the beat of the lively tavern tune. She directed a wink at a bargoer close to her before leaping up onto his table. Carefully avoiding the empty plates, her purple slippers stomped down on the wood with a soft, but audible thump. She sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. The song, “The Pickpocket's Lover”, was well known here, and soon the tavern patrons were singing and clapping along with the music. The woman weaved gracefully between the tables, spinning and dancing as the tune picked up speed. The whip-quick braid in her hair followed her eagerly, drawing curves in the air behind her head when she whirled around to play for the crowd behind her. Cheeks flushed dark with exertion and sweat dripping down her brow, she drew the song to its end. At the far side of the room, she struck the final chord, took a beer from one of the waitresses, and downed half of it in one gulp. The crowd at the tavern, now some forty or fifty people, cheered. The woman raised her mug in the air triumphantly.

"Here's to th' North!" she cried, to even more applause, and then made as if to throw the mug to the ground. The waitress she'd taken the beer from quickly stilled her hand, as if she was expecting it. If she said anything to the bard, nobody could hear it for all the noise. The bard shrugged and took another swig. "'right y'all, I just gotta wet my throat a moment, then I'll be right back with ya." She fired another wink into the crowd as she made towards the kitchen, and if she kicked her lute case (already harboring quite a bit of coin) a little further towards the crowd, none of them seemed to care.

The woman slipped through the door to the kitchen, soon followed by the waitress. At the last glimpse of her violet tunic and teal beads, the crowd turned back to their food and drink. The kitchen door swung shut, and that was the last any of them saw of the bard that night.

~~~~~

Past that kitchen door, the bard nabbed a piece of fresh bread from the cook's hands, to an indignant "hey!" with no real malice behind it. She turned to the waitress with the smile of one who knows she has done something quite wrong, but who does not care. Appropriately, the waitress had a rather unimpressed expression across her face.

"Good show, eh?" The bard said through a mouthful of warm bread. The waitress huffed.

"Quite." The bard went on eating, as if oblivious to the other woman's annoyance.

"I'm thinking about addin’ a few more new songs to my repertoire." she said, "I've been writin’ some pretty songs as of late. 'Specially the ones about the coming revolution." She eyed the waitress at the last sentence with a hint of humor in her voice.

"Give me that!" The waitress ripped the hunk of bread from the bard's hands to another surprised "hey!" from the offended party. "You need to keep quiet about that revolution of yours. The only reason anyone here tolerates your ridiculous ideas is that you bring in good business. Step too far out of line, and we'll all get in more trouble than any of us can deal with."

"The crowd seemed to like me," the bard supplied. "It's strange, how the northerners seem to like the North. Can I please have my bread back?"

"Take this seriously! I know you couldn't care less about the rest of us, but if you get arrested, you won't get any work either!"

"I ain't planning on gettin' arrested, my friend. I'm only planning on gettin' the damn army outta here. And you can plan on gettin' business so long as there's any folk left here. Nobody's gonna care that I think the guard should get fucked. Hell, that's what they all think too."

"I hate you," the waitress growled, wild-eyed.

"Should'a said that 'fore you slept with me," the bard retorted, plucking her bread back from the waitress and promptly turning to walk further into the kitchen.

"Also, stop trying to smash my damned mugs!" the waitress yelled before slamming open the kitchen door open and walking back out into the tavern.

"I think you sang real well t'night, Vizara." the cook put in after a moment.

"Thank you!" Vizara, the bard, answered. "I can always count on you t' give a girl the credit she deserves."

The cook sighed deeply. "I do think you should cut back on the whole--well--the things that Melya was talkin’ about." She leaned over to inspect a simmering pot of stew in lieu of meeting the gaze of the bard.

It was a while before Vizara answered her. "I know. I don't want t' hurt y'all's business, really. I'm just damn tired of the damn monarchy and their damned games. So is everybody else. All they need is a push, and then we can get rid of the guard. Don't you wanna be free of kings? I sure as hell do.

Plus, I'm only here a handful'a times a year. I surely can't bring any real suspicion down here. Hell, Melya was just about the only waitress I recognized when I got here. Not that y'all have many other waitresses."

"Sometimes I think you talk just to hear your own voice," the cook commented. She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and handed it to Vizara. "Take one of the cloaks on the wall by the door and head outside for a bit, ‘kay? I'll talk to Melya,"

"Don't want me 'round anymore, huh?" she joked, pulling a cloak over her thin tunic and bare shoulders. "Really, you're the best, Eviah. The only one around here with any manners,"

Eviah made no reply, simply shooing the bard out the door with a roll of her eyes.

The wind outside was biting cold. It was easy to forget near the fires and warm food of the tavern, but it worked its way through the fabric of the cloak in a matter of moments. Vizara huddled on one of the stairs leading down from the back door, watching for a few moments as her breath turned to mist.

"'bit like a dragon, ain't it?" she murmured to herself. "If only I had a horde of gold to go along with it."

She drew the cloak in closer. "Warm fire'd be good too." She absently cast her gaze around the small, dark alley. There was a bit of snow on the ground, but not enough to cause any trouble to pedestrians and carts, not that the carts could fit into the alley in any case. The overhanging roofs of the tavern and another nearby shop blocked most of the light from the moon, which was probably good, since nobody would've wanted to see the sundry food waste tossed back there. Vizara could hear the quiet rustling of what she presumed was a few rats digging about in the garbage, but far be it from her to take a look. She wrapped her hands around the hot bowl to bring some feeling back into her fingers, a bit numb from both the lute and the cold.

So she sat, eating her stew as the night went on and the comforting bustle of the tavern carried on behind her. After a short while, she set the empty bowl down beside her and took the lute off her back. Soft music began to drift up amongst the scuttling of the rats as she strummed the first few notes to a love song.

“Maybe I’ll play this one next,” she whispered. She leaned back against the door and hummed along to the quiet tune.

Her fingers stilled only a moment later as she heard some odd noise out in the street, past the entrance to the alleyway. The shriek of an animal (or perhaps a child? she couldn't say) echoed off the close walls.

“The hell was that?” She got to her feet, turning her head toward the noise. Again, the same shriek. Certainly the sound of a person now.

Vizara fumbled in the waistband of her pants for a small knife, not much more than a toothpick. She dropped the cloak from her shoulders and slung her lute across her back once more.

With a deep breath, she crept out onto the street, tiny blade in hand. It was dark; few lanterns were ever out at night. The town was small, its people poor. Still, with a cursory glance, she saw the silhouettes of three or four people cast in the light of the brothel across the street. The screams hadn't stopped—they'd just gotten quieter. They'd become yelps, and then wordless protests, and now, just pained whimpering.

She could see now—as she snuck ever closer—the small body of a child held down by the much bigger guards. The blade in her hand felt insufficient, useless. She faltered, slowed almost to a stop. The guards hadn't noticed her. She was quiet and they were occupied with the protesting figure in the dirt beneath them. She could back away into the alley just as easily as she had left it, and nobody would be the wiser. The crowd awaited her back in the tavern. She was much better suited to that kind of work—the rustling up, the inspiring, not the fighting itself. But, hell, who was she if she didn’t practice what she preached? And who was getting hurt in her place if she did nothing?

The glint of silver mail in the low light caught her eye once more. The crest of the royal family glowed gold on the guards' tunics, splashed with mud and blood and violence. Another strangled cry slipped from the child's lips as he was jabbed with the butt end of a spear. She was only a few lengths away from the closest guard. A full body shiver struck Vizara's body, shaking the little knife in her hand.

She started into a run, the movement catching the attention of one of the guards. They shouted to their companions, but the warning came too late. Vizara, much shorter than the guard nearest her, jabbed her knife into his armpit, where she knew was an opening in his armor. He stumbled back with a heavy huff, and the knife was yanked from Vizara's hands. She reached for it again, her left hand up to defend herself from the other two guards. Her fingers brushed the handle, but she couldn't get a good grip on it—she'd sunk the whole blade into his arm. Plus, he and his two companions were getting his wits about him once more. He was going for his spear amongst a slew of curses. It didn't come to that. Vizara heard a monstrous Crack! and then a moment later, her left arm flared up in pain. She fully lost hold of the knife. It didn't matter anymore. Her arm—what happened to her arm? She looked up to the flash of silver as she was struck in the chest with the blunt end of a spear.

She went down with a heavy huff. Her arm throbbed and maybe she couldn’t use her fingers? And her face was in the dirt and her chest ached and she couldn’t see anything for the dark and the terror.

She looked out over her injured arm, bleary and gasping. The child—a young elf, no older than fifteen—still lay prone on the ground, one of the three guards standing above him. Vizara's vision swam as dread descended.

One of the guards kicked her over onto her back and she rolled painfully over her lute. She winced, tried to sit up, but was immediately pushed right back down, slamming her head into the dirt.

"Fuck." she sucked in a breath. "Can—can I at least move the lute? Don't want to break the lute."

The guard who'd kicked her—a woman who Vizara would find attractive in any other situation—grabbed her collar and none-too-gently yanked her into a sitting position. Another guard maneuvered the lute from her back, jostling her hurt arm and eliciting a rather embarrassing whimper from her. She gathered up her wits and forced the stars out of her eyes.

"Ah, thank you." Vizara babbled, forcing a smile. "As a good bard once said 'you can break my bones but not my banjo'."

"You fucking stabbed me!" bellowed the guard she'd stabbed, and swung the body of the lute into her head.

~~~~~~

Vizara awoke with what she at first thought was a bad hangover. She felt groggy, confused, and her head pounded—a situation she'd found herself in many a time before. She moaned in pain and closed her eyes once more, but she found no comfort in sleep, for she had neither pillow nor bed to sleep on. Instead, the surface beneath her was hard, rough, and cold.

Her eyelids were heavy, and as her conscious awareness grew, she forced them open. Bewilderment abounded for a few moments. Where the hell was she?

The room was dark and small. A barred window above her head cast a square of light on the stone floor and glinted off the edge of a tarnished metal bucket. She recognized the trappings of the room—a prison cell for sure, she’d been in more than enough to know—but it took her a few moments to recall the circumstances that had landed her here. She had been all set to perform at the bar the night before; she'd make a bit of coin, flirt with some strangers, and sleep with even more of them. Clearly, something had gone wrong. Such a waste of a good night!

She racked her brain, piecing together all that had happened after her performance: the conversation with Melya and Eviah, the cold alley, and then the sight of the guards kicking a child that had spurred her to action. A grim satisfaction came over her as she remembered stabbing one of the guards in the armpit. At least she'd done some good damage before she'd gone down. Nothing after that came back to her. She must have gotten her ass kicked pretty quick after the stabbing; the pain in her head and her arm could attest to that.

She touched her injured arm, and it didn’t hurt terribly. The ambient light described an ugly bruise. Nothing that wouldn’t heal. And her head ached, but she could deal with that. After all, it wasn’t much worse than her usual hangover. Vizara felt across her chest for any more injuries. There was a pain in her left side when she pressed down on it, but it didn't seem to be too serious. She huffed a sigh of relief and immediately winced when her chest took issue with it. All things considered, she’d gotten off pretty easy.

With a grunt, she stood up. She could make out the shape of a wooden door in the dim. There was a slit under it through which a bit of light trickled. Probably how food was delivered to the prisoners. The thought of other prisoners stuck in Vizara's mind for a second—what had happened to the child? She prayed to any god that would pay her mind that he had gotten away. Although… if there were other prisoners, maybe she could orchestrate an escape. She'd been learning to rouse the masses for years now; surely, she could incite some kind of prison riot or revolution if she had to. But where was her lute? She didn't need that to inspire crowds, but it sure helped.

"If you bastards stole my lute," she murmured to no one. "I'm gonna fuckin' lose it."

She looked around the room, but there were only stone walls and one window and a dingy chamber pot. Nothing practical to help her, and no lute in sight.

Without anything to do and no chance of getting back to sleep, Vizara spent what seemed to be an interminable amount of time pacing about the cell. She found herself shivering in the cold air, but the movement helped. If she didn't find a way to get out of here soon, she could very well be stuck in this hellhole forever. The law of the kingdom wasn't known for its charity.

The light from the small window had significantly brightened and then dimmed again by the time Vizara saw any company. She reckoned it was around sunset when there came the clamor of heavy footsteps outside her cell door. She moved to the back corner of the cell to give herself a bit of space once the guards came in; for they were coming in—the rustle of keys and the sound of voices reached her, dampened by the thick door but still clear enough. There was a soft click, and the door swung open, light from the hallway beyond cascading in. Vizara squinted at the loss of comfortable darkness.

There were three guards, dark in the doorway, just like the night before. She couldn't tell if they were all the same ones, but she vaguely recognized one of the female guards. They were dressed in the customary mail, with the sign of the monarchy across their chests. The longswords at their hip drew Vizara's eyes—she couldn't brute force her way past them, even if she had a weapon of her own.

She allowed two of the guards to approach her and none-too-gently shackle her right arm, hooking the other end of a long chain to a bar in the window. They backed away, now out of her reach, as if she posed any kind of danger to them.

"Vizara Whitecrest," the female guard started.

"Hello, yes, that's me," Vizara said, a fake smile on her lips. "It seems my reputation precedes me."

"I don't care much for pleasantries." she glowered. "I am only here to assess your account and determine an appropriate punishment."

"That's just great." Vizara sat down and put her hands in her lap. "I'm sure you know, I was rather very drunk last night, and quite out of my right mind. Now, I had no intention of attackin' anyone yesterday, but you must understand, certain things are bound to happen when one is that inebriated."

"I didn’t come here for idle chat and excuses." she said. "No proper bard drinks during her performance.”

“Now there’s your problem, sweetheart. I ain’t any kind’a proper bard.”

“You sure as hell didn’t seem drunk when you stabbed Oliver.” The woman harrumphed. “I’ve never seen a drunkard harm a trained guard, let alone one your size.”

Vizara shrugged. “’Spose I got lucky.”

“See, I don’t think you did. You knew just where to aim, and I’m damned if your aim wasn’t perfect.” She considered. “You’ve done this before.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ of the sort.” Vizara insisted, and she could only blame her pounding head when she added “Only time I’ve laid a hand on a guardsman is in bed, and he damn near begged me to hit him.”

The guard’s face screwed up in something halfway between annoyance and fury. Vizara winced, her smile falling. “I don’t mean any offense or nothin’, course! I’m just—"

Patience run out, the guard strode into her space and slammed her into the wall, cutting her off with a sharp gasp. Her left arm pinned Vizara's shoulders to the wall, her right pressing into Vizara’s wounded chest. The bard wheezed in pain, and her mask of nonchalance faded into visible distress.

“We both know you weren’t drunk, you stupid fucking half-elf.” She ground Vizara’s shoulders into the wall. “I’m not here to play games, and I don’t tolerate lies. If you’d like to keep your head, you’ll tell me everything. I want to know if you’ve attacked guardsmen before, and what I can do to make you never attack us again. I want to know about every Northerner who so much as fucking thought about going after the guard. Lie to me once more, and I will make sure you never sing again.”

"I—" Vizara pushed against the guard's adamant armor before she could think better of it. "Fucking—get off me!"

The woman moved in an instant, grasping Vizara's left hand in her armored gauntlet and pinning it against the wall. Vizara couldn’t even tell what was happening until the guard’s dagger was flashing against her throat and she was screaming into it. Her head slammed against the stone wall and she almost didn't feel it when the guard let her drop to the floor.

She took in gasping breaths as her vision returned. She clapped her hand to her neck, now pulsing with blood. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling. Her throat worked painfully, as if trying to swallow back down the lost blood.

“It’s not hard,” the woman said, "all you need to do is sit there and tell the truth.” Then, to someone else, she ordered, “go make sure the windows are boarded for the storm. I can handle her.”

She knelt in front of Vizara and grasped her chin in one metal hand. The bard moaned and tried to turn away, but to no avail. She was weak and reeling from the pain.

The guard turned Vizara's face toward her own. Vizara saw the other two guards had left them, and the door to the cell was closed. She and the guard were alone now and there was no one there to save her from her suffering.

“I’m not afraid to carve out your vocal cords and let you choke on blood until I’m kind enough to let our healer seal you shut. And right now, I’m really considering it for the insolence alone.” Her voice was quiet now. Soft. Almost saccharine sweet with the way she breathed into Vizara’s ear. “You’re lucky I’m nice. This doesn’t have to get any more difficult than you've already made it."

Even bleeding her brain dizzy, Vizara wasn't fooled. She would suffer more tortures before any of these people had finished with her. Not much of anything could save her now from that. But she was hurt. And she was alone. And she was afraid. And she wanted it to be over.

"I'm don't know anyone else," Vizara rasped, tasting copper on her tongue. "I'm on my own. The tavern—they don't pay me or anythin' like that. I'm just there to make some coin and they want more business. 's that simple. 'm not from here, either. Don't know anyone here, 'cept a few folks I'm a bit familiar to. Nobody from my hometown's seen me in months. They're innocent in all this."

All of the sudden, it was very hard to breathe. There was a roaring in her ears.

"Please, I'm beggin' you. Don't hurt them," Vizara felt pinprick tears in the corners of her eyes. "Don't hurt me, neither, please. 'm just a fool of a bard. Wanted t' fight against the kingdom, someway, somehow. And I was stupid. I can’t do anythin’ all on my own. I can hardly defend myself. I ain’t a threat to anyone, ‘specially not the guard. I promise, I didn't want nobody to get hurt, 'least, nobody I cared much about. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’a done that. I’m so sorry."

The cell and the woman before her became watery, submerged in her own tears. The guard straightened up and Vizara waited for a blow to fall upon her. She waited for a reply. Waited for something. Waiting for anything better than waiting.

Damn near an eternity passed between them in silence, and Vizara finally peeked out of the shelter of her arms. The guard was looking at her, but not. She had cocked her head to one side to listen to something outside of the room. Vizara listened as best she could between the heaving of her chest and the tiny gasps hiccupping from her throat. There was a roar, she thought, like a great waterfall or a stampede of animals. She heard it faint, but even as she listened it came closer as if to suffocate her in the noise. She futilely clapped her free hand to a sensitive half-elf ear. A sense of dread came over her, but also a desperate hope. If this loud, horrible noise was as powerful as it seemed, maybe it could tear her away from here. Maybe it could drag the guard away. Hell, she’d be glad if this thing killed her if it meant escaping the grasp of this merciless woman. A woman who was now standing in the middle of the cell, paying no more attention to Vizara.

Vizara removed her hand from her ear, wincing at the booming, cacophonous sound. She pushed herself to her feet, but as the ground trembled, she fell back upon the floor. She pressed her left ear to the ground and her hand to her right, and she tried to keep the blood from slipping through her fingers. She pulled her legs to her chest and huddled close into herself. The noise was now right on top of her. This is the end of the world, rang clear in Vizara's tangled thoughts.

There was a tremendous crash, and everything shook, and small stones fell on Vizara's prone form.

And after a time, the noise receded into the distance.

And it was deafeningly quiet.

Vizara's ears rang and everything that she was hurt. She curled ever closer as wracking cries filled her chest.

But at the very least, she was alive.

#my writing #ayy first time posting my writing here i think #maybe give it a try owo #its original fiction but i promise the main character doesn't suck #like i will maintain that this isnt my best work by a long shot but i still think its pretty good

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

Text

Insomnium

Title: Imsomnium

Word Count: 2228

Summary: Callum and Soren have a discussion late one night that neither of them expect. Spoilers for up through the end of Season 3. Follows the final episode of Season 3, taking place a few weeks after. Romantic Rayllum elements. Gen.

Warnings: nightmares involving falling and implied death, vague discussions of trauma from the last episode of Season 3, angst but some comfort/hopeful elements, some exploration of Viren and Soren’s relationship but doesn’t go into much depth on that.

A/N: A fic that has been in my head since finishing season 3 of the Dragon Prince but only now got around to finishing it. First time writing this particular fandom, which is always daunting, so I’d love to hear thoughts! Barely edited, and only by yours truly. All mistakes and typos are mine.

…

Callum wakes up in a cold sweat, with the taste of his screams still in on his tongue. His hands are trembling against the sheets of his bed. Bed? It takes him a second to realize where he is—back in his room in the castle. Home. Moonlight streams in through his windows and casts the space around him in a soft blue glow. It reminds him, perhaps oddly, of Zym. The reminder is brief, and leaves an odd ache in his chest.

He loosely curls his hands into fists. He remembers the dream this time. He doesn’t always. Rayla’s face getting further and further away from him as he repeats manus, pluma, volantus over and over with increasing desperation but the wings never come. He’s falling. Rayla is falling faster, getting farther and he can’t—

Callum’s eyes sting.

He scrubs a hand down his face and swings his legs over the edge of his bed. He takes in a deep breath that trembles a bit in his lungs before he sets his feet on the hardwood floors and stands up.

It isn’t always Rayla. Sometimes it’s Zym. Or Ezran. Or their mother. Their father. Or the countless faces that were below him on the battlefield. The war cries and screams of pain still reverberate in his skull and Callum is too exhausted to contain the wince that follows. He thinks again of his little brother and reminds himself that Ezran saw much of the same things he did. He is glad that Ezran, at the very least, doesn’t have nightmares.

Callum pads his way to the door and peeks it open into the dark corridor. He’s unsurprised by the three guards that stand outside. After all, Aunt Amaya had insisted, especially with Viren’s body still unrecovered. Callum had tried to explain to her that there was no way he could’ve survived that fall; a statement that Amaya had, in no uncertain terms, told him wasn’t good enough. We don’t want to take any chances, she’d told them.

Callum sighs, opens the door further, and steps out.

The three guards snap to attention. “Prince Callum,” the one in the middle says in greeting.

Callum waves a tired hand in his direction. “Hey,” he replies. “I’m… hungry. I’m going to get a bite to eat from the kitchen.”

“We will accompany you.”

Callum holds up his hands. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” He can see the conflicted look in the guards’ eyes and Callum draws a glowing sigil in the air in an effort to remind them that he is not without the ability to protect himself. He waves a hand to dispel the sigil without saying the trigger word, and releases a breath of relief at the guards’ reluctant but affirming nod.

Callum pinches the bridge of his nose as he makes his way through the network of corridors to the kitchen. It feels… weird, to be home right now. Last time Callum had been home had been a lifetime ago, in a rush and under attack. Still believing that his father was alive. Being back in this space without his dad is a constant reminder of his absence. Callum remembers, not for the first time, that Ezran had been here somewhere around a week ago by himself. He wonders if it was hard for Ezran too.

The surrounding silence that seems to cling to the stone walls like moss doesn’t help either. Lots of people had survived the battle at the Storm Spire, but not everybody, and much of the army and soldiers that had occupied the castle had fallen under the direction of Viren. The walls echo with the weight of everyone that was lost, and it leaves Callum feeling a little bit lost too.

The kitchen, mercifully, isn’t a far walk. Callum finds himself turning the corner and pressing through the door to find a platter of jelly tarts awaiting him on the counter. Despite himself, he smiles, and reminds himself that he really ought to thank Barius. Callum quietly makes his way over and snatches one, readying himself to turn back to head towards his room when the sound of footsteps making their way towards him perks his ears.

On instinct more than actual fear, Callum ducks behind the counter.

He realizes as soon as he does it that it’s probably silly to be hiding. But he’d gotten so used to running and hiding that a part of him isn’t sure he knows what to do differently now. So he crouches down and even though he knows it can’t possibly be Viren, the thought flickers through his mind anyway. It’s immediately followed by Rayla’s distant face getting further and further away from him. Callum holds his breath at the footsteps get closer.

But then he hears soft humming, and he realizes that he knows that voice. Callum shakes the nightmares clinging to the edges of his thoughts and stands up. “Soren?”

Soren freezes, his hand still out-stretched towards the platter of jelly tarts beside him. “Uh,” he says, “Hey.” He glances at his hand as if it is somehow apart from the rest of himself before he drops it to his side.

Callum steps from around the corner he’d been hiding behind. “You’re up late.”

Soren arches an eyebrow. “So are you.” He’s in plain tunic and trousers—startlingly casual and comfortable, and Callum realizes in the back of his mind that he’s almost never seen Soren in anything but full armor.

Callum ducks his head sheepishly at the comment. “Uh, yeah. Hungry, I guess,.” He brandishes the jelly tart that is still in his hand.

“Right,” Soren says with a quick shake of his head. “No, yeah. Me too.” He quickly snatches one of the pastries off the platter. He makes no move to eat it.

Between them is an awkward silence. The kitchen is cold without a fire in the stove, and the moonlight is barely enough to make out the edges of the counter and the silhouetted shape of Soren in the dark. Callum’s eyes are beginning to adjust to the lighting but he still can’t really see Soren’s expression. It’s just something about the way he’s standing—one hand covering another, face turned away, shoulders curling in—that makes the question tumble past Callum’s lips before he’s even really thought about it.

“You okay?”

Soren’s startled gaze flashes up to meet Callum’s in the dark. “Why are you asking?”

Callum lifts a shoulder. “It just seems like something is bothering you.”

Soren huffs a humorless laugh. “It’s… nothing, your Highness.” He turned towards the door.

“Ezran told me, you know,” Callum says suddenly. Soren freezes again. “About what you did. To protect him.”

Soren doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he does, the words sound stilted and clumsy. “I—I’m a member of the Captain’s Guard. I’m sworn to protect the king.”

“That didn’t make it easy.”

Callum doesn’t miss the way Soren won’t look him in the eyes.

“I was just fulfilling my duy.”

“He was your father—”

“It was an illusion—”

“But you didn’t know that,” Callum insists. “Did you?”

Soren shakes his head quickly. Dismissively. “Callum—”

“Soren, I—” Callum stops, then sighs.

He doesn’t understand why he’s so adamant that it was nothing. Callum had never known Soren that well—he’d describe their relationship was strained even when it was at its best—but he knew enough to know that Soren basically had worshipped the ground Viren walked on. He still remembers vividly the earnestness with which Soren had described his father when they were making a plan in the Storm Spire. He makes you think that as long as you do what he says, you must be doing the right thing.

Ezran had told him what had happened between Soren and Viren with eyes aged more than Callum was prepared to see in his little brother. And Callum hadn’t quite believed it at first.

“Thank you,” Callum says, despite all the other things he wants to say. “I don’t… have much family left. And if I’d lost Ezran too…” Callum swallows hard against the idea. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Soren glances up and meets Callum’s solemn gaze for a fleeting moment. “Gotta protect the family that we have left, huh?”

Callum realizes with a sudden clarity that Soren has none left. “Friends, too.”

Soren stares at him but Callum can’t read his expression in the dark. He gives a singular nod. Callum looks at the jelly tart in his hand, then holds it out towards Soren across from him. “Here,” he says. “Take it. I’m… not actually hungry.”

Soren seems to consider it for a moment before he accepts it. “Thanks.” He makes no move to eat that one either, and after a pause, drops both of them back on the platter. “I’m not that hungry either.”

Callum glances at the abandoned jelly tarts. “Something wrong?” he asks again.

There’s a flicker of something—rare and honest—through his eyes even in the dark. He shrugs. “You know,” he says, as if it’s a real answer.

Callum sighs—again—and nods. “Yeah.”

There’s another beat of silence. Heavy, measured footsteps echo down the corridor outside the kitchen door. Callum tenses—more out of habit than concern—and wonders idly when (or if) he was ever going to unlearn some of the behaviors he’d adopted in taking Zym aback to Xadia. The footsteps pass without pause.

“So,” Soren says, startling Callum out of his thoughts. “You and the elf girl?”

Callum blinks, the mention of Rayla causing his face to warm. He is suddenly grateful for the dark. “Er, yeah?”

Soren holds up a hand as if to signal he means no harm. “What’s that like?”

Callum isn’t sure why Soren is asking, but he sees no reason to not be honest with him. “She’s… great. She’s brave, and smart, and strong—“Callum cuts off as his nightmare crashes into the forefront of his mind again. Her tear-stained face, his name tearing from her throat, Rayla getting further and further away, his wings never forming, him never being able to catch her…

“You okay?” Soren asks, echoing Callum’s question from a moment ago. His brows are scrunched together in something like concern.

Callum scrubs a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Soren looks taken aback, and Callum wonders if emotional honesty was a completely foreign concept to him. “What’s wrong?” Soren asks.

“I—” Callum suddenly falters. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Soren rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze. “Yeah,” he says, in a more subdued voice. “I’ve been having nightmares too.”

Callum looks up. Perhaps Soren was more intuitive than he’d given him credit for. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The question is met with a conflicted silence before Soren rakes his fingers back through his blonde hair and sighs. “It’s… They’re… usually about dad,” he says, the words coming slowly and carefully as if he’s testing them as the leave his lips.

Callum nods. “That’s gotta be hard,” he says, as gently as he can.

He sees the brief clench of Soren’s fist. “Yeah,” Soren says, his gaze distancing for a moment as if lost in thought—or memories—before he shakes himself. “But they’ll go away eventually, right?” he says, and the dismissive tone is suddenly back as if it’s a shield he can throw up in the middle of some kind of battle he’s fighting on his own.

“I don’t know,” Callum says honestly. “I hope so.”

Soren seems to sag. He looks suddenly so much smaller than Callum can ever remember seeing him. “Me too.”

Callum opens his mouth to say something—anything to reassure him, to let him know that he’s not alone, and that he doesn’t have to make himself small like that—but the footsteps are back and this time the door cracks open. A soldier that Callum recognizes but cannot name pokes his head in. “Soren,” he says. “It’s your turn for rotation on the watch.”

Soren stands up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. “Thank you, Peter. I’m coming.” The other soldier nods, sees Callum and murmurs apologies for intruding before he backs out the door.

Soren moves to follow him, but Callum reaches a hand out. “Soren?”

Soren stops and looks over. “Hm?”

“If they don’t stop, you can talk about it, you know. With me or with someone else. It’s okay to talk about stuff like that. Good, even. It can help it seem less… scary.”

Soren hesitates, then gives Callum a quick nod before he pushes through the door and Callum listens to his hastened footsteps down the hall. Silence returns to the chill in the kitchen around him but Callum figures this is at least a step in the right direction. Soren had started taking steps to getting better, to talking about things he used to be told he shouldn’t, and that was a good thing.

Rayla’s face—terrified and falling—presses against his mind again and Callum groans, scrubbing at his eyes as if it will erase the image from his mind. Echoing the image is Soren’s voice.

They’ll go away eventually, right?

Callum repeats his answer to the dark, cold kitchen.

“I hope so.”

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bewareofchris · 5 years ago

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Writing advice on How to write an interesting antagonist, please?

sorry about the day-late reply. I’d like to say that I was thinking up a really good answer but also my sinuses are trying to kill me.

OK, so there are a few key points that you should remember when it comes an interesting antagonist. (These will be listed in no particular order.)

Purpose: what sort of antagonist do you need? If you’re writing a rom-com you don’t need a supervillain.

C o n v i c t i o n. This means that whatever your antagonist is doing to hinder your story/protag it needs to come from the POV of a person who is trying to accomplish something. Any antagonist who only exists to say mean things to your character without any sort of personal goal will fall flat in the long run. Yes, it might really hurt if you get stabbed in the back by Laughing McMeanpants but if McMeanpants is just doing it to be a bother and gains nothing it just seems pointless.

A fully developed Character. I know this one seems almost obvious but here me out. We spend a lot of time with our protagonists. We love them. We sometimes throw them into pits full of salt-covered razor blades but that comes from a place of love. I’m not saying that you have to love your antagonist to successfully have one, but you should try it. The most interesting antagonists are the ones that are only wrong by virtue of being on the losing side? Like, they have SUCH A GOOD POINT and SUCH VALID reasons for doing what they are doing that you almost, a little bit, kind of want them to win. (There are also the sort of antagonists that just want to watch the world burn and those you don’t want to win but you still sort of root for when nobody’s looking because they are a force of nature.) Let your Antagonist has a life. A history. Loved ones. Interests. Hobbies. Favorite foods. A day job? Petty rivalries. Accomplishments. Weaknesses that aren’t just used for destroying them. Random skills like whistling and that weird tongue-folding thing people do.

A REASONABLE LEVEL OF POWER FOR YOUR STORY’S SETTING. Look, as much as I love a good ol’team up for the win story, if you’ve given your antagonist the literal power of the gods, you’re not really making him work for it are you? Maybe what’s interesting about your antagonist is that they did work their ass off to be where they are? Maybe whatever power they had didn’t come naturally. People are a lot more likely to defend something they had to scratch, claw, bite and kill to get then they are something that was just given to them? And who doesn’t secretly want the guy who had to spend 20 years collecting gemstones while being laughed at by the village virgins and sleeping in shit to win when he’s up against The Golden Child who Happened To Find A Dragon Egg?

Self Worth and Ego. Nobody considers themselves the villain of their own story. They probably don’t sit around drinking their wine being like, whose such an evil boy? I’m such an evil boy. They’re out there being like: what the hell is wrong with Johnny Goodguy? WHY IS HE SO ANNOYING. And or they’re super stressed, forgetting to wash their hair in the shower, trying to figure out how to out think Johnny Goodguy. If both your protag and antagonist aren’t literally furious about the other one always doing something wrong, you’re not being fair to one of them.

Consistency. Don’t fall into that trap where the antagonist twirls their mustache while talking about sawing James Bond in half but leaves him unattended because he’s squeamish I guess? If your antagonist is the sort of person whose going to saw someone in half, he’s probably he sort of person whose going to stick around and make sure it gets done right. If you do not want your antagonist to win, do not set up a practically inescapable trap and then have your protag escape because of negligence. RESPECT YOUR ANTAGONIST. They have a giant saw machine for a reason. It’s because they use it. They probably also have an incinerator in the basement! If Jimmy wants to escape he better be the most clever person alive or JUST NOT GET CAUGHT.

Let’s repeat that last bit: Respect your antagonist. Even if your protagonist hates him. Even if antagonist is REVOLTING. Even if he is a murderous baby killer out here eating newborn and puppy soup for breakfast while cheating on his taxes and cutting to the front of the Starbucks line, he is USELESS as a villain/antagonist if you aren’t taking him seriously. If your antagonist is just there to make your protag feel bad with quippy insults, then your protag needs to feel bad when he sees them. If your antagonist is out here destroying planets, people need to be afraid of him. And not like, oh he’s so bad but I guess I’ll just kill him anyway because i”m the hero and I fear nothing. Bravery is not the absence of fear. Having your badass protagonist not care just undermines the worth of your antagonist.

Now, how to put these to use in the story very much depends on what sort of antagonist that you’re using, how important they are to the story and how much time you’re putting into it/how long it is. A 2k rom-com with a one-off a-hole doesn’t really need as much devotion as a 200k epic sci-fi fantasy thriller.

But some quick suggestions:

Gossip. A well placed bit of gossip about the antagonist of your choice is an excellent method of adding in a sprinkle of backstory without having to listen to a villain-ish monologue. And it doesn’t even have to be outright backstory? It can just be fun things like, “i bet he’s the kind of guy that eats baby turtles” “he eats oranges with he peels on.” “His ex-wife moved to Alaska to get away from him.” “Not even a blind dog would lick his hand.” You know, general impressions of his character that indicate he is universally disliked.

Begrudging Compliments/Unintentional Acts of Kindness Think of “i hate that guy but you gotta admit he draws Lisa Frank tigers better than Lisa Frank.” Or “everyone was going to get fired because nobody finished this work project but Asshole K Asshole showed up at the last minute and finished it so we’re all still here.” MAKE YOUR PROTAG HAVE TO THANK YOUR ANTAGONIST AND IT’S ALL THE MORE REASON TO HATE THEM.

An acceptable level of villain, progressing from smallest to largest Remember the way to build dread/suspense/fear is to always leave room to get worse. Do not, I BEG YOU, do NOT start off your antagonist by making them the most unreasonable/over the top/absolutely most violent thing you can imagine? Do not show up to a casual drink party with a fire-starting child killer edgelord drinking blood out of a can while shouting slurs at minorities and proclaiming himself king of the universe. Maybe he just shows up to the party looking arrogant, and belligerently dismisses your protag while effortlessly making everyone like him more? And then later he starts setting things on fire. Like at the end of the story. Set a starting place (minimally shocking but morally unacceptable action) and an ending place (shocking but not surprising and morally reprehensible/repugnant/just like the worst action(s)).

He’s enjoying himself/but also it’s a hassle. People like winning. Everyone likes winning. It doesn’t even matter what you’re winning. A popularity contest? Control over the universe? Soccer? You’re winning, it’s great, you like it. It’s a high, you want to keep it, and while you’re there why not rub it in a little that you’re like FANTASTIC. So Antagonist, whose on top because he’s a fucking winner? He’s going to enjoy it, and he’s going to want to hang onto that sweet sweet winner kool-aid as long as he can. But there’s a price to literally being driven to win/hang onto that and it’s exhaustion. Constantly having to stay in power requires constantly having to mutate to fit the needs of being powerful. It’s not one-and-done because as soon as you are winning someone’s offended by it and they are coming to take your throne. Even the people who are riding your coattails are expecting something from you. And if you’ve used fear to get where you are, you have to maintain that level of fear at all times which means constantly showing up being all threatening and unpleasant. These things are exhausting. A man’s got to sleep and he can’t sleep well when he’s having to cut off his lackey’s fingers every other day so people now he’s a Bad Dude. And now he’s got Protag to deal with? MY GOD WILL IT EVER END. Balance your antagonist’s joy at succeeding with his very real physical and emotional limitations. Don’t let him have effortless control over whatever power he has, let there be cracks all through the base of his empire. Let just a smidgen of doubt sneak in. (Maybe he’s on steroids. I bet he cheats at cards. Nobody’s that big of a dick all the time. His Mom cannot be happy about him.)

Always, always, always maintain that your Antagonist COULD FAIL A lot of time is spent in stories building up your hero so he’s big enough to defeat whatever’s standing in his way. One of the methods of doing that is by comparing him to the Bigger, Badder, usually Better/More Powerful Antagonist. This creates a lovely structure for super heroes that gets very old very quick. You don’t need to climb the oldest mountain in the world to retrieve the Pearl of Wisdom and Good Teeth to finally have enough Inner Peace to lose your braces after 11 years so you can defeat the high school bully. Create an antagonist that is Bad and In Your Way but also human-enough (or equivalent) to be defeated. You NEVER have to say this outright in the story. You just have to remember in writing him that he isn’t the Most Powerful Thing To Live. Even if people call him the Most Powerful Thing To Live, throw in the idea that he’s only the most powerful right now. That he had to defeat someone to be the most powerful, and that shows that eventually something will defeat him. If your antagonist isn’t having to work to stay where he’s at, he’s boring.

In summary:

Antagonist need character. A full character with strengths/weaknesses/backstory/goals. They need to fully want those goals and be willing to work as hard as your hero to get it. They need to truly believe they have the right to their goal and/or that their goal is the RIGHT ONE. You need to respect your antagonist as if he were your protagonist and not write him as a crazy-faced crazypants to make your Hero look good. Antagonists have physical and emotional limitations. They will react according to their developed Character. Do not make them lazy/negligent at the last moment to save your hero. And you should love them, just a little, not because they’re good people but because they’re your baby.

#antaganon #on writing #writing advice #a how to guide #advice is opinion my friends

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am-i-invisible777 · 6 years ago

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The Dragon Egg

Here’s just something I wrote for creative writing that I decided to share here. The story is about a middle-schooler named Drake who is convinced he��s found a dragon egg.

“I have a baby dragon,” Drake whispered to the boy next to him. The boy in return scrunched his face up, refusing to look away from the equation he was struggling to complete. Drake scooted in his seat, leaning toward the boy while keeping his eyes on the preoccupied teacher. “It’s technically still in its egg…but it’s bound to hatch any day now.”

“Leave me alone,” the boy mumbled under his breath, tapping the numbers of the old calculator provided by the school.

“You wanna know where I found it? Wanna know how I’ve been able to keep a dragon egg hidden away from my parents and the government?” Drake continued, his half-completed math assignment completely forgotten as he looked at the uninterested classmate.

“No. Shut up.” The boy said, glaring as he wrote down the wrong answer to the equation.

“My dad and I were finally going on this hike he promised me a while back by this trail that’s near Mr. Greenshire’s farms. When I stopped to tie my shoe, I looked over and there’s this big blue egg just chillin by this thorny bush. The second I saw it, I knew it must’ve belonged to a dragon. A real dragon, not those domestic ones.” Drake whispered excitedly, moving his hands along as he recounted the story.

“Dragons don’t exist.” He harshly whispered.

“And so I went over to it and put the egg in my bag before dad could even notice. It was lighter than it looked though. I thought it would be around five pounds max but that thing barely weighed a pound. And so when I got home—"

“Drake. This is an independent assignment. Please focus on your own work and stop talking to Alex.” The teacher called out, causing a few students to look at the two boys.

“Finally,” Alex sighed, writing down another wrong answer. Drake sunk back into his seat, a deep frown forming across his face. With a low sigh, he picked up his chewed pencil with no eraser and began drawing dragons in the margins.

The last bell of the day rung at exactly 2:18 p.m. and Drake never reached the school bus before 2:20 p.m., except for the two times his class was held in the downstairs library. The school bus was old, with torn seats with dull writing on the backside and gum stuck to the sides and underneath. It was always too hot, the only fan being right next to the bus driver. The yellow bus smelled of mothballs and twenty-eight sweaty students. Sometimes it’d smell like the food someone had snuck in, given the fact it wasn’t allowed on the bus, even though the driver never cared. It wasn’t uncommon for some to have to sit three to a seat, four if someone was bringing their friends over, but Drake never had to worry about that. This time, he sat alone near the front of the bus in the seat right underneath the part of the bus that leaked when it rained. He preferred to be alone anyways.

Despite living in the same neighborhood for nearly his entire life, Drake barely knew any of his neighbors or the kids who always rode the bus with him for the past nine years. He tried to make friends, tried to meet and talk to new people, but it never went well. More often than not nowadays he mostly avoided his classmates, wanting to be by himself or with his close friend and next-door neighbor, Kai.

The bus jerked and squeaked as it came to a stop, its doors whining as the driver forced them open. Drake quipped a quick ‘thank you’ in an octave higher than his normal voice, he jumped down the steps and ran to his house.

He had to check on the egg, the dragon egg. His dragon egg. Upon arriving in his driveway, he noticed the absence of two vehicles, meaning that neither parent was home at the moment. Also meaning that his father was either seeing his new girlfriend or buying something for said girlfriend with the money his mother made since she was the only one in the house who actually worked. It also meant he was stuck going to Kai’s house since he left his key inside as he rushed to make it to the bus on time this morning.

He rung the doorbell twice before stepping back, adjusting the straps on his backpack and taking a moment to glare at the large, ugly sign in the front of the yard, the red letters spelling ‘SOLD’ seeming to mock him. Exactly fifteen seconds later, Kai’s older sister answered the door, letting Drake in as they exchanged a small greeting. Maneuvering around the boxes scattered everywhere and running up the carpet steps, he reached Kai’s door, the first one on the right, and knocked on it twice.

“Come in” Kai’s muffled voice called from just beyond the closed door. Drake swung the door open, not bothering to close it again, and gave his friend a smile.

“Hey Kai. How was the dentist?”

“Meh. They always tell me the same stuff. Floss more, drink less soda, yadda yadda. My wisdom teeth are apparently coming in soon. Weird right? Hope I don’t have to get them removed,” they shrugged, laying on the bed with a history book and highlighter beside them.

“I think it’d be funny,” Drake commented, taking his bag off and sitting on the floor. “Like when Hannah got her teeth pulled and she—”

“Was crying by the slushie machine at the gas station while hugging a puppy keychain? Yeah, no thanks,” Kai chuckled, remembering how their sister had behaved after the anesthetics. “So what’d I miss in Howl’s class?”

“Oh, basically nothing. We just started a new unit. Everyone’s confused,” Drake said.

“Good.”

The two were silent for a few moments, Kai preoccupied with highlighting paragraphs and Drake with staring at his phone, waiting for one of his parents to answer his texts.

“…do you think my dragon misses me?”

Kai sighed loudly, rolling their eyes. “Here we go again…”

“No, seriously. At this point it already knows and recognizes my voice. Also! What if it hatches? And I’m not there? I’ve been thinking about taking a few days off of school to tend to it after it comes into our world. I’ll need to train it,” Drake started rambling, fidgeting with his phone and he shifted uncomfortably on the floor.

“Drake, we’ve had this conversation about a million times before,”

“No, you’ve never paid attention when I talk about it!”

“Well, can you blame me?!” Kai sighed and rolled over onto their back, staring at the ceiling. “For the past, like, five weeks, that damn egg has been the only thing you want to talk about. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of telling you something that a ten-year-old already knows!” Kai turned back over to stare at Drake. “Buddy. Listen to me,” they pointed to their mouth. “Dragons. Don’t. Exist.”

“But—”

“No, no buts. What middle schooler still believes in dragons? Fire-breathing, flying, mythical dragons?” Kai asked, frustrated.

Drake remained silent, looking down at the floor as his hands trembled slightly. Although Kai didn’t raise their voice, Drake still felt like he was being yelled at and wanted to crawl away. “…maybe if the dragon could fly…and grew to be the size of a tree…I could come visit you in California…” he mumbled, his voice weak as he tried to keep it from trembling. Everyone hated it when his voice trembled.

Kai breathed deeply, facial features softening as they watched Drake struggle to keep still. “…I’m sorry, but that’s just…impossible.” They whispered. “I’m tired of talking about dragons…I just wanna have a normal conversation with you before I leave…that’s it.”

“…I gotta go home now,” Drake softly said, standing up with his bag. “…I’ll see you tomorrow.” He dragged his feet to the door and exited before Kai could say, ‘yeah, see you tomorrow.’

After leaving, Drake sat at the front steps of his house, still staring at his phone and periodically texting his parents to see when they were going to be home. He reviewed his list of dragon names while he waited, the notes organized by categories such as gender, color, element, and the presence of wings or not. He decided to erase the name ‘Kai’ from the list.

Precisely nineteen minutes later, he received a text from his father saying he’ll be there in five minutes. Thirty-seven minutes after that, his red Subaru rolled up to the driveway. The first thing he did was yell at Drake for forgetting his key. Once his father let him in, he ran upstairs, ignoring the comments made behind him and threw open his bedroom door. Right on top of his bed, wrapped up in twenty-two different blankets, underneath two lamps, was his baby dragon egg. He walked up to it, slowly and tossing his bag to the floor.

“Hey there little guy, didja miss me?” he asked softly, as if he were speaking to a baby. The egg, of course, didn’t answer. He patted the egg gently. “Yeah, I missed you too, buddy. The day sucks until you’re there.” He carefully moved to sit on the bed. “You can hatch now, you know. I read that you guys stay in your eggs for two months, and I’ve had you for a little over six weeks now.” He started fiddling with his thumbs. “Of course, you can come out at any time you want little friend. I’d just really really like it if you did.”

Drake looked over to his desk, a large water tank sitting on top of it. “Is it because you don’t like the tank? I found it at a garage sale for real cheap. I kinda assumed you’d be some kind of water dragon since your egg is blue. Do you need a cage? Or a giant hot rock? My bed? I’ll give it to you!” He thought for a few seconds. “Are you not warm enough? Here, you can have my sweater.” He took off his large green hoodie and wrapped it around the already completely covered egg. “…please hatch soon.”

After talking with the egg for a couple of minutes, the front door opened and closed loudly, meaning that his mother was home. Not even three seconds later did both parents get into an argument about Drake not being able to get inside. He groaned and covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking them out.

“Why, why, why, why…” Drake grumbled. He stared apologetically at the egg. “I’m sorry about them…again.” He sighed. “Dad says Mom’s just “upset” cause of his new girlfriend and Mom says Dad’s upset cause she’s “winning the legal battle” but I don’t care.” He laid down next to the egg. “Here’s another life tip I forgot to mention lil friend. Never take sides when your parents are fighting…you just end up hurt by both of them, no matter what you do and there aren’t any right answers either.” He hugged one of his pillows to keep his hands preoccupied. “…least you’ll never have to know what that’s like.”

Squeak

“What?!” Drake bolted upright quickly, almost knocking one of the lamps down. A small tap taptap tap could be heard coming from the egg, along with tiny squeaks. “Oh, oh…oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, you’re hatching!” A mix of panic and excitement bubbled up from his gut as he moved the lamps away. Pulling out his phone and going into the open page he found about early dragon care, he reread the passage he had looked over dozens of times. “Okay, okay, okay, uhh…”

Drake bounced up, sprinting to the corner of his room where a box had been placed. He lifted it up, retrieving one of the hamburgers from underneath. “Okay, so “The Life of a Dragon” s-says you’re gonna be really hungry when you hatch, so I got your first meal right here,” he said, placing the wrapped burger next to the squeaking egg as he carefully unwrapped the blankets. “It’s okay friend, it’s okay. I’m here. I won’t’ abandon you…I won’t hurt you, I swear, I’m not gonna leave you.” He cooed softly. Large cracks were already forming on one spot of the large blue dragon egg. With every tap tap heard, Drake could see the cracks expand and rise. “You can do it!”

“Drake! Come down here, now!”

Drake froze. In all his excitement, he temporarily forgot the verbal abuse that was taking place in the background.

“Uh, j-just a sec Mom!” he called out, rubbing the egg with his thumbs. “C’mon, buddy, come on…”

“Now!” Her demanding voice called out, louder and angry. Drake was too afraid to move for a second, looking from his door to his egg. With a sad sigh, he gave the egg a quick kiss before running out of his door and down the stairs, just in time to see his father stomp away and slam the door, the house shaking slightly from the force. Ten seconds later, a car engine roared.

Drake looked over to his mother, his fingers trembling and foot tapping against the floor. She sat at the kitchen table, rubbing her temples.

“Drake, would you do mommy a favor and call your father. Tell him he’s not allowed back into this house until he starts paying bills and stops eating all our food.” She wearily said, shaking her head. Drake looked up the stairs.

“…Is…um, is that all, ma’am?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice normal.

“Not yet, where has your father hidden the aspirin this time?” she stood up and looked at him, bags under her red eyes.

“Uh…it’s the…s-second cabinet on the left,” he said, pointing in the correct direction. She nodded her head and turned to the cabinet. Drake took this as his opportunity to run back upstairs.

“Drake, sweetie, before you go upstairs,” she called out as Drake was only four steps away from the top. “Please remember to slow down when you speak and talk clearly, we don’t want to have to send you back to speech therapy. And stop shaking around so much.” He looked down at his twitching hands.

“…Yes Mom!” he tried to say as clearly as possible before leaping up and past the four steps.

Afraid that the egg has already hatched and he’s not there for his new baby dragon, Drake practically fell over himself as he tried to hurry into his room. His phone rang—a call from his father—but he ignored it as he threw his bedroom door open, stumbling inside and looking at his bed. There, right where it was supposed to be, were the remains of the hatched egg. A few inches beside the blue egg shells, sitting down and now staring directly at him, was a goddamn Emu.

#my writing #creative writing #dragon #short story #the dragon egg

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cassandraooc · 7 years ago

Photo

Quick sketch of my Changing Moon lunar Jaxith. He was the first exalted character I made and I’ve been wanting to draw him again, and still plan to have a more finished piece (and maybe some of the story from the campaign, which lasted over a decade overall.) But this one I did in preparation for an exalted secret santa, because it’s fun! :3

Anyway, he physically switches genders fairly frequently, between male, female and agender mostly. He rarely changes pronouns but also doesn’t have much preference for what pronouns are used for him.

For whomever is drawing him for the secret santa, feel free to draw Jaxith whatever gender you want. :3 Outfit design is also pretty unimportant so feel free to do whatever is easiest/most fun for you. :3 (I’m also pretty inconsistant about his Moonsilver Tattoos and was pretty lazy about them here.)

I am completely unsure of what else might be handy for this without just... spewing a bunch of information?

Which I might add later, but I gotta get drawing on some other projects too. :o So, if you need more info, maybe just ask @shiftingpath to ask me and I’ll edit the post. :3

Edit: #3 second character and expansion on Jaxith posted below. :3

The game Jaxith was from had gone on for several years before I entered, and continued several years after and through two editions. (First and Second) It was a campaign that borrowed from a lot of other games and settings and changed dramatically over the course in a way only possible when you have a large cast of exalted PCs. At some point I want to go into detail about the campaign itself.

Jaxith himself was a complete pacifist, never killing anyone, approaching every problem and potential enemy with empathy, and often used storytelling, song and metaphor to convert others to his points of view. (He could fight, too, but as a master of Crane Style and Dreaming Pearl Courtesan style, his focus again was on subduing not killing)

He’s passionate, idealistic and determined. His compassion burned him before, and he was betrayed and even tortured throughout the campaign in some pretty brutal ways, but luckily lunars are above all else, amazing survivors, and he ended up making friends of a lot of his would-be enemies. :3

Physically, he’s got silvery hair with a purple section of his bangs because... I liked the colors, honestly? Look this was a long time ago. ;P He’s also got golden catlike eyes, and pearlescent scaled tail and wings. (The wings are partially feathered at the upper parts) In the back, his hair is usually kept in silver beading, but he’ll loosen it sometimes too.

His usual outfits very between dancing outfits and a set of light Moonsilver armor.

Jaxith’s totem animal is basically a Western Dragon. (long story, but worked within the setting of that particular campaign. :P) Because of that and his personality, the other players nicknamed him “Jesus Dragon”.

After second edition came out, our Storyteller took a break from the main campaign to run an abyssal game in the same world, though taking place on what was basically a copy of Morrowind. (I won’t get too into it but he turned Dagoth into a fascinating, multifaceted character that was our Death Lord and made me want to play the game and I was so dissapointed by the “real” Dagoth when I finally played it. But I digress)

The character I played in that second game was Lotus.

(I should not costume design is my weakest thing, and I haven’t drawn him for literally years. It’s really late and I’m doing this right before bed so I decided against spending a lot of time on outfit design. Sorry! >.< He usually wears really fancy, slightly western styled clothing, or dark armor. Clothes not super important.)

For the campaign, we were clearly going to be the villains, and there was a lot of interesting characters and backstories I’m not going to get into here but will probably write about later in a different post.

I’m drawn to high compassion characters, which manifested in a very different way in Lotus than Jaxith. After having to deal with a lot of awful shit (again, nother post) as well as some more personal fuckery on behalf of the Neverborn themselves. As a result, he saw the death he brought to those around as a gift, the destruction of Creation the only way to end suffering. He was a loyal person who had suffered repeated abuse and betrayal, and overall completely hopeless.

The abyssal campaign went on for a couple years where the party basically started a new hyper destructive zombie plague and spread it across Creation and almost brought down the world... at wihch point our storyteller ended it and we went back to playing the good guys again and struggling to undue the vast destruction we had caused, and fight our incredibly pwoerful other characters. (It worked out really well, not sure I’m making that clear.)

Anyway, Jaxith had the background that gave him memories of his last exaltation, whereas Lotus had unbidden oracle and would be randomly haunted by visions of the future. My storyteller decided to make Lotus Jaxith’s Lunar Mate, and through a lot of shenanigans, Jaxith was able to redeem Lotus. (Again, a story I’ll tell another post at some point but it’s like 4am and I’m so tired right now)

Lotus can be drawn either as a Midnight Caste Abyssal as he was at the beginning of his campaign, or a Zenith Caste Solar as he became when eventually redeemed.

He has a sapient Scythe of Moonsilver and Soulsteel (which also gets transformed into an orichalcum and moonsilver scythe when he becomes a solar through shenanigons. ) that can transform into any string instrument (His preferance being a violin.)

He also has a ghost tiger familiar that stays with him both before and after his redemption.

And thirdly is a strange teddy bear wearing an outfit that’s a mockery of his own, including holding its own tiny Scythe. This is a “gift” given to his entire abyssal circle, and the voices of the Neverborn whispers through it, and can even animate it. This one wouldn’t be there post his redemption.

#exalted #jaxith #lunars #my art #doodles

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warden-anders · 8 years ago

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Tagged by @ihamtmus !!! aka the rays of the sun disguised as a human.

What’s your favorite childhood animated movie? And not animated?

AS A KID I watched the 2000 movie “dinosaur” enough times to break the disk. currently, my favorite movie of all time is “iron giant” and I loved that movie as a child as well. As for unanimated, I watched the 2009 sherlock holmes movie an overabundance of times. More recently, one of my favorite unanimated movie (leaving out the obvious star wars and star trek movies) might actually be “the man from uncle” because its fabulous.

What is the weirdest dream you’ve had?

i actually have a dream log and read it last night and man you Dont Want To Know. I dont know which is weirdest. ok, between a ridiculous fanfiction-y time travel romance between fred weasley and peggy carter (who was married to a now dead anakin skywalker) or the one where I’m a mcfreakin furry, which sounds weirder? I’ll send you one. I have the entire log for both. (its mainly a log for nightmares, so the rest arent very Funny)

Do you enjoy rain?

I love rain so much that every time it rains i stand outside and let my clothes and face and hair get soaked and i love it. I live in a desert, so it very rarely rains.

Why did you choose your url?

everyone talks about their cringy internet past, mine was my pinterest. currently and at the time, pinterest was stalked full of unsourced art of all kinds. a popular comic idea in this time was that aquaman was such a useless character. obviously, I was furious. he controls more than half the earth, and has the same powers as superboy did in young justice and more. so that’s become my Brand Name. you’d be surprised that it’s untaken in many places. ever since then it just Stuck and im now unable to change it. (even tho i have a SICK luke skywalker url that im nursing that i wanna change to)

What is your mobile phone background?

Do you take selfies sometimes?

meh. not really. i tried for a lil bit but theyre just not my thing.

Who was your first favorite character ever?

my first? hm..... I think Aravis from the horse and his boy. I loved her. she was Epic. Mcfreakin hardcore, man. I love her audaciousness. An Icon.

Do you have any OCs? How many? Are they from an original story of yours?

is this a real question. Man I wish I could do another cut. Well, theres too many to count. In terms of main ocs, I’ll try to be brief. First, theres punchie. who im sure you are all well aware of. then, theres sam and kabe, who are from a SPIN-OFF of an original story i wrote when I was 11. (like??? really??) also I thought no one would notice that sam has my name. In my defense, he’s literally disguised as ugly, unnerving, extremely awkward, gangly, soft-spoken, dumb in some areas and genius in others, In The Way, quick to cower, and many more things that are Not Great. The story was that of growth, and how kabe and sam’s friendships help save them from themselves. (kabe is My Wonderful Terrible Son who is That Emo Kid. hes really good with machines and listens to metal unironically while hiding the fact that he cries while listening to taylor swift in his bedroom.)

MOVING ON. more charcters include Kat’el (one of the first few to strike Fear into Forge, birbs oc), magda (a centipede elderly woman), theres technically the characters from my original novel that i wrote at 11, but those guys are pretty flat.

theres also the trio of rose, hanna, and lucy who are Great and theres an elaborate plot. one of those things that doesnt have a single chapter written and never will but the story is so fleshed out in your head. Rose is a mcfreakin dragon shapeshifter but shes got Extreme Anxiety so she can only turn into a slightly smaller dull grey dragon with dull claws and small wings. (until later that is ;) ) theres Hanna, who is the connector between lucy and rose, as they both love her with their whole heart. she just wants to bake bread and Chill but that dont happen here. nope. not at all. Theres lucy, who you cant deny acts out of love, but shes. shes the one that causes the plot to happen. she lets her fear and anger get the better of her, but i love her still. also there are zero boys in this story and im chill with that.

HECK THERES ALSO MY CLONE OCS CUB AND BLASPHEMY AND I LOVE THEM. I actually draw these guys how could i forget holy smokes.

and finally, most recently, is my dnd character who is still unnamed. I officially bought her dice today too because I wanted it to match her character

Do you despise any fictional character? Why?

sheev. badly written.

Which character gives you second-hand-embarrassment?

anakin,,, pls,,,,,,,,,stop being a creepo,,,,,,,,,ur lucky pads hasnt punched u,,,,,,,,

If you could learn three foreign languages overnight, which ones would you choose?

POLISH! spanish (to pass this mcfreakin class), and klingon. (cuz i gotta)

my questions:

1. what's that food that you doubt is actually food that you adored as a kid? (example: spaghetti-o’s, pop-tarts, those wobbly “cheese”s that was wrapped in plastic. peeps. etc etc.)

2. you can now change in and out of any animal you want at will, which animal would you want it to be? (bonus: you can choose one for land, one for sea, and one for sky)

3. who’s a fictional character that reminds you of yourself?

4. in two days you will be transported to a place of your choice for a week, where do you want to go?

5. congratulations! you get to save a fictional character from all the terrible things they get in canon. who do you save?

6. you get to ace any class without having to do any work for it again, which class?

7. what would you put in the perfect smoothie?

8. music starts to play and you find that you just cant help but dance, what dance do you do?

9. whats your go-to movie/show/book when your sick?

10. when aliens come to earth, i hope they.....

11. what type of fashion would you wear if you had both the confidence and money? (bonus: use pictures, too!)

annnd immmm taagginngg: @ihamtmus (because the questions are different so now im curious), @connanro-chan @the-movie-that-was-never-made @steampunkforever @ranaji-chan @darling-dearest-dead and @more-than-useless

feel free to ignore this :)

#this is late gabi but illyyyyy

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maeaneke · 8 years ago

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[FIC] On Your Mother’s Grave

Title: On Your Mother's Grave Fandom: Critical Role Characters: Grog & Keyleth

Summary: “Been a lot of talking about moms, lately. Felt kinda left out.”

Grog and Keyleth, Vessyra and memories of a mother.

[AO3]

Keyleth was always real emotional. She let her feelings get to her head, all the time, good or bad. It made her Keyleth. It made her real annoying some days, but it made her Keyleth all the same.

So he thinks she’s one of the easier people to read. When she’s happy, she’s happy, and everything seems a little more colorful or whatever. Kind of like Pike, when she’s happy, but different -- ‘cause there’s only one Pike. Or when they were bargaining with Raishan, and her rage filled the room and rang his ears like it was his own blood.

In a way, he thinks, it kinda was.

But he knows Keyleth. And he knows, by the twitch in her jaw and the flex of her fingers, that she’s gonna stumble when she stands, because wounded deer move unsteady when they push too hard, and Keyleth is nothing right now if not wounded.

He has his hand on her back as she moves, from his place behind her. He doesn’t think these people will attack her, but he thinks he helps her look somewhat intimidating. A little more intimidating. Kind of -- okay, look, he’s a magician not a god, there’s limits. There’s limits. But these people don’t know her and they can talk all day but he can’t stand and let them doubt her. He has her back, literally, where he stands, and when she stands he knuckles into her spine to keep her straight and guide her up.

She catches her bearings and evens her feet, atta girl. Nobody saw nothing, and their Princess gets to shave face, or whatever it is Percy says they do while talking to people.

Staying in a place that isn’t camp, or the Mansion is unsettling in a way he didn’t miss. It’s an itch on his senses, and not a good one. When they camp, see, they’re all together, and they all take turns watching over each other. But here, they’re all split up and have to just trust nothing will happen.

That cat-faced fucker what almost killed Vax brought assassins to Whitestone, caught them unawares, and that was their home, with people paid to watch out. Here it’s a whole city of strangers and unfamiliar turf, and Keyleth might call them family but blood means nothing. He knows better than that.

It’s just a round, just a quick look, and he wasn’t gonna sleep anyway, so what’s it hurt? If he stops by the rooms of Vox Machina to listen for anything shady, it’s on his way. And if he stops at Taryon’s room, it’s definitely not because he’s thinking about running in and telling him a big fuck-off dragon found them out here in the middle of nowhere and everyone’s dead, oh, no, you gotta go kill it. Good to know it sounds like he’s in the room he’s supposed to be in, though, for absolutely no reason at all that brings him no comfort whatsoever.

He stops walking at the sound of feet, draws back to the wall and sets his shoulders as they pad and shuffle over the wet stone. He relaxes some as the footsteps come closer -- they don’t sound very confident, whoever it is. The sight of a figure cutting the corner draws his attention, a tall woman, slight of build, head down. Her hair hides her face, but something about it looks familiar. He’s really good at colors, though, and that’s a color he recognizes.

And that circlet of antlers in her hands is real familiar shape.

“Oi, Keyleth,” he calls, and she jumps, jackrabbit reflex and a hardness in her eyes as she tenses up to look at him. He feels a smile tug at his mouth, a warmth of pride in his chest at the warrior in her, even here in what should feel like a home.

“Grog. Hey.” She takes a deep breath, resettles her circlet in her hands. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“You, too. What are you doin’ up?”

“Oh, you know. I just… wanted to take a look around! Get some fresh air -- this place is so pretty, isn’t it? It’s just so pretty, and I wanted to see it with the… the stars and the moon and the --”

“Keyleth.” It’s a bad habit, hers, talking way too much. He never quite trained it out of her yet.

“Right. Sorry. Just wanted to think some, is all.” Her hands tighten around the circlet, fingers white at the knuckles where they set on the antlers.

He says it before he thinks, but it feels bad, like a lie, even though he knows it isn’t. “‘Bout your mom.”

She closes her eyes and her expression hurts. She nods, then tries to smile and look up at him.

“Been a lot of talking about moms, lately. Felt kinda left out.”

Grog stares at her, crossing his arms. “Should we talk about it?”

“Huh?” She looks as off-balance as he feels which makes him feel a little more confident.

“That’s the thing, innit? We don’t know enough about each other. I wanna know about your mom.”

Keyleth’s face shifts into something, something sharp, then sad, then a smile through that, and she presses her palms together in front of her face.

“Well,” she starts, sticky. “I think she’s alive.” Her hands fall. “Which… is good. I think. I hope. Maybe. I want it to be. She’s been missing for so long, I’d started to lose hope. Or I thought I had. Maybe I never did, I just pushed down really far?”

She looks up at him and he can’t believe how small she seems with her big sad eyes and weak smile. He gets that feeling in his chest like when he sees Pike, but different, maybe not as intense. Pike knows how to handle this better than him, but he can try, and he reaches out to rest his hand on Keyleth’s shoulder, careful not to jostle her around too much. The entirety of her collar from neck to bicep is covered, but her face seems happier for the weight of it.

“I had… when my mom went missing. I thought she’d come back. She didn’t. Maybe Vilya is stronger.” He nods. “You’ll find her.”

Keyleth presses her mouth tight, and draws her eyes tighter. “You know her name?” Her head jerks suddenly. “Wait, oh -- what? Missing? Your mom went missing, too? What, Grog, when?”

He shrugs. “I was little.” The memory stings, less than some, more than others and it feels heavy in his mouth. It’s unfamiliar, exposing, and reminds him something of Craven Edge, of the fight with the Sphinx, and maybe that’s what this is. “She went huntin’. Didn’t come back. Lots of them didn’t. Sometimes, hunting parties just don’t. The herd never really went lookin’.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “I-I’m sorry, Grog. I didn’t know.”

“No, right, it’s not like I said anything about it or nothin’ before. Never really wanted to. But I thought, you know, maybe it’d… help or whatever.”

“I don’t know if ‘help’-- you know, never mind that. Never mind. I’m glad you told me. I’m…” Her shoulders tense like a weight landed on her and he wonders what he said wrong. She sounds tired when she picks up. “I’m sorry I never knew that. I’m sorry you went through that -- this, too. I’m sorry, Grog.”

He pulls his hand from her shoulder and claps it against his free one. “So … this Kraken, right?”

“Grog…” She follows, reaching forward to settle her hand against his elbow. “Grog, you know we love you, right? You’re family. You’re my family.”

They say that a lot, especially lately. He thinks they need the reminders, the ones who think too much, and stay stuck in their heads where things get hazy. “I know that,” he says, and he does, but an ache follows. Scanlan could talk anyone out of anything, including himself, but sometimes the others are persuasive, too. “We’re family. We’re in this fight together.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice sounds more like her. It feels more like the home he put together with them. The heaviness in his gut like bad meat disappears with her sadness, something he thinks Vax called “nostalgia” lingering in his mind.

“Hey, Grog?”

“Yeah?”

“What was your mom’s name?”

#miaspek #critical role #grog strongjaw #keyleth #episode 87 tag #cr spoilers

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manascoundrel · 8 years ago

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Trophy- Chapter 11

by Yarking Fandom: Dragon Age (general) Summery: Two troubled children meet at the Minrathous Circle. One is a magister’s heir, groomed to be the blood mage general of Seheron, without fear or mercy. Hopefully, that will keep people from noticing how very much an elf he is. The other is last born, least loved and most of his emotions involve academics and cadavers. They love each other, even if they’re not terribly good at it. Warnings for this chapter: references to past trauma (non-graphic) Special thanks beta, Autumn <3 AO3: here

It lasted.

Tertius hadn't really expected it to. Even when Cato woke up that morning, blinking away the sleep and looked up only to see Tertius looking down at him since he noticed the other boy's stirring, Cato had only had to think for a moment before tilting his head and smiling a sleepy, grateful smile.

"I didn't wake up!" he said, as if all of it was normal, as if he didn't regret falling asleep on Tertius' leg.

Cato's muzzy delight was infectious. "Did you have any bad dreams?" Tertius asked. "You were sorta twitching there for a bit and I didn't know if I should wake you up or not. You were really sleepy last night."

"I did, but it wasn't as bad as normal. I hadn't really slept in a while. The healer gave me stuff to drink so I would go to sleep, but I've been pouring it out," Cato explained, sitting up and stretching. He yawned, tongue sticking out as he did so.

Tertius stretched as well, toes splaying as he stretched out the leg that had been trapped under Cato all night. "Why come?"

"It makes it hard to wake me up. If someone comes and gets me I don't want to sleep through all the chances I got to stick 'em and get away. But I can start drinking it now," Cato said, surprisingly cheerful for just waking up. "Uh, I mean. If you wanna keep staying here at night, with me."

The stipulation had been sheepish, as if Cato wasn't sure Tertius would want to make last night's arrangement a habit. Which was absurd. Other than his leg being asleep itself, Tertius had been riding the giddy delight of his new friendship all night, only having to glance down at the smooshed and drooling face of his new best-best friend to confirm that it was real. If anything, it was Tertius that had more than half expected Cato to dismiss him when he woke, now that there was no bedsheet evidence to-

"Oh!" Tertius said, standing in the cramped space. He ignored the prickles in his still-asleep leg. "We gotta put sheets on your bed before everyone wakes up, or they'll get suspicious."

Cato recoiled. "But I don't have any sheets. The ones we sent to the laundry last night won't be done yet."

"That's okay. I have bed stuff that I brought from home, so you can have my Circle sheets and I'll just change mine. Come on!"

Tertius shimmied through the shelf, helping Cato through behind him, and they quickly returned the books they had dislodged to slip through before tromping off to the dorms. The light pattering the hall floors from the tall line of windows let through the pale pink light of morning, dusty but not yet bright. The first of the morning birdsongs began as Tertius slipped into his dorm room, motioning Cato to follow behind.

They stripped the bed as quietly as they could, the mumble of sleepy apprentices around them making them both jump and fear being discovered, but soon enough Cato had a bundle of linens all tucked up in his arms.

"Go ahead and put these on, I'll do my own, so we both don't get caught out," Tertius whispered, drawing up close so Cato could hear without waking the whole room.

Cato nodded seriously, and snuck swiftly to the door as Tertius pulled out the bedding where it was folded under his-

Tertius stared down at the yellow blanket in his hand, still for just a moment while he remembered.

Then, quick and wordless, he ran out to the hall between their dorms, catching Cato trying to open the door with his full hands just in time.

"Psst!" Tertius hissed, and Cato stopped and jumped, twisting to see Tertius, and gave a silent, mimed sigh.

"What?" he said in a stage whisper.

Tertius closed the distance between them and draped the half-folded blanket over Cato's shoulders. "My bedding is really puffy so I don't get cold. You can have this."

"Really?" Cato asked, delight lighting up his face. If Tertius wasn't sure of his decision before, he was now. "It's so fuzzy, I love it!"

"Right? But I gotta go. I'll meet you tonight at the library? A few minutes after lights out."

Cato's face flashed with something Tertius couldn't exactly place, but he liked it. Cato nodded and nuzzled against the fuzzy edge of the blanket. "Thank you."

Tertius beamed as Cato slipped into his dorms, feeling giddy and light and like he wanted to skip. He couldn't wait to tell Stardust about this.

Cato flopped onto his bed after history class belly-first, nuzzling and rubbing his face against the fuzzy yellow blanket like a cat scenting his favorite person. His books and papers scattered at his bedside, assignments already done in class while some of the other students had asked questions and needed help. His tutors had already taught him the basics of the Senate and how it came to be. It was, after all, his birthright, and he was expected to know all that plenty better than the students who it wouldn't really matter to. Cato was proud of his role, and excited to do well and make his family proud.

The longer he stayed in the Circle, the more he felt a stubborn pride in representing not just his district, but elves as well. Cato had a sneaking suspicion that the Circle's attendance was a good way to judge how many elves would be working alongside him in the Senate, and- he considered with a shudder- how some of the other magisters might feel about him being there at all, even if it was his right.

Cato pet the fuzzy blanket stretched across his bed. This he hadn't expected. The Danarius boy was strange, certainly. But nice. More nice than Cato had expected. More nice than he even knew what to do with. The gift and promise of meeting again tonight had struck at Cato's already weathered wariness, eroded with exhaustion and gratitude for what he had already done for him, both calling the dorm master and finding him a safe den to hole up in should trouble arise.

He would be able to sleep. How trying it had been to stay awake hadn't really occured to Cato until he no longer had to resist it. He would be safe, and because of that, he could sleep, and be healthier, and stronger and then even more safe. All because of the human.

Cato wasn't sure what to make of Danarius being so helpful, despite his humanity. Perhaps some were good.

If so, Cato didn't much care. Enough of them weren't. Enough of them took him in the middle of the night. His mother's warnings were fresh in his mind, and Cato slipped his knife under his pillow where he hid it when he was in bed and reading. It was daytime. He was safe. They wouldn't be that reckless.

All the quiet reassurance in the world didn't fade his fear as much as the promise of the library.

When Cato met the Danarius boy at the library the night, he brought his bookbag, overflowing with necessities and goodies and treats.

"Dan!" Cato whispered, hopping when he saw the other boy lingering shadily in the aisle of their secret cubby hole's entrance.

Dan turned to him, cocking his head and looking perplexed. "'Dan'?"

"Yeah, cos you're a Danarius, but the whole thing sounds stuffy and too much and you're my friend. So. 'Dan'."

"You know my name's Tertius, right? You remember?" he asked.

"Yeah, but most humans from important houses go by their house name, and 'number three' feels... I don't know. Rude, or strange. Both. Do you not like it?"

Dan beamed as he lowered himself to the floor and pulled out the books hiding the cubby. "No, it's nice! I just never had a nickname before. Especially not one with my family, since I'm not heir. Oh, do you want me to start calling you Fen'Rhea? Or maybe just Fen? I really like 'Cato' to be honest, that's what I've been calling you in my head." For a moment, Dan blustered, cheeks going pink as if he had mispoke somehow. "I mean, when I told Stardust about you."

"Naw, 'Cato' is fine, I don't need a fancy name. Tamas calls me and Aun 'fenris', sometimes. She said her tamas called her that and her tamas' tamas called her tamas that and... you get me. 'Fenris' means 'little wolf', so it's for all the badger-wolf kids," Cato explained, eager that Dan seemed as excited to learn about his family as Cato was to share. He can't imagine any of the other apprentices humoring him so much without making fun of his elvhen ancestry. "Tamas also said soldiers can earn a nickname when they do something out on Seheron. So I'll just wait for then. Those names aren't always nice, but they 'build character' and that's supposed to be good."

"'Fenris'," Dan repeated, considering it as if he was trying to decide if he liked how it tasted on his tongue. He slipped, legs-first this time, into the den. "That's a pretty name."

"Who's Stardust?" Cato asked, poking his head through after Dan and getting a faceful of his robes. He batted the robes away and waited for Dan to crawl up on the cushions before sliding in himself, dragging the book bag behind him.

"Oh! I never said, did I?" Dan said cheerily, knocking his heel on the paneling as Cato got comfortable. He continued, eyes shut and a delightfully smug grin on his face. "Stardust is my pony."

"What? You have your own pony? Wha-, that's so great, why did you get a pony!?" Cato gasped, happy for his friend, even if he was a little envious. He's not quite sure what a kid his age did with a pony. Could Dan ride it? Oh, but they're so small, the image was funny to even think about!

"Stardust is the best and most beautiful pony there is. My papa got her for me, and she's so nice and sweet, and she kisses me and she really loves sugar, and- oh! Oh, can I show you to her tomorrow? I visit her every day between classes and naps."

Cato grinned. He wasn't entirely convinced the pony even existed with how Dan bragged of her, so he was willing to call the potential bluff. And if it turned out Stardust was real and not "invisible" or "at home" like some of the other apprentices might try to pull, then at least he got to see a pony. "Sure thing! I know your group does different things than mine, since we aren't ever in the same class, but we have time after lunch when we can play or take naps. I'm never tired at naptime, so we can go then if you want to."

"She'll love you, I know," Dan said, very serious.

Cato climbed up onto the cubby's cushions and pulled his bag between the two of them. "I bought some things," Cato explained, dumping out his bag and picking out items. "Since this is our spot and no one else knows about it, we can hide stuff in here. Let's see... I brought a pillow and an extra blanket- I didn't bring the yellow one because I want to have that one out during the day since it's special- and a deck of cards. Do you know how to play Diamondback? It's really fun, I'll teach you! Uh... I have a couple of books. This one's of fables. You can read it and see if there's any you haven't-"

"Uh, Cato?" Dan interrupted.

"Yeah?"

Dan looked at the pile of stuff between them, picking up a puzzle game Cato had brought in case he got bored. "Where are you going to put all this stuff? We don't have much room to sleep already. I figured that's what you'd be doing here, right? Like what we did last night?"

"Well, yeah. But I'm going to put them in here," he said, patting the cushions. When Dan looked more confused than less, Cato hopped up and pulled Dan to a stand as well before lifting the cushions to reveal a hollow space beneath the nook. "You didn't know about this? It's so apprentices can put their bags someplace safe while they're reading. And since this place is a secret, this is extra safe. Nobody could ever possibly know where it is, so we can be really extra sure that the things in it won't get stolen."

Cato beamed, watching his friend as the gears so obviously turned in his head. "It really is like having our own room. But better! What else did you bring? What's that?"

Dan pointed to his folded game board and the small velvety bag of pieces. "That's for games. One side has chess and the other has Sternhalma. I can teach those to you too if you don't know. I'll try to tell you all the rules before we start; but chess has a lot and sometimes I get them mixed up, especially the horses and the Circles, for some reason."

Cato trailed off, distracted by the mystery of why did he get those two mixed up. His attention snapped back when Dan laughed. "I already know how to play chess. I've never heard of the other one, though. Sternhalma? Is that an elf thing?"

Cato laughed. "It's in Ander. It means 'Star-'... er, star something."

";Halma' is Arcanum for jump," Dan supplied. "Is it from that? If it is, that's really strange."

"Maybe it came from before the Imperium and the Anderfels didn't like each other," Cato reasoned. If so, that was really interesting. "I bet there's a book on it. We should probably find one, just in case we don't know if something's a fair move or not. That way we can look it up and it'll be-" he braced himself to try and pronounce this right. "Non-par-ti-san."

"What's that mean?"

"It's when two groups that usually are fighting each other agree on something. It's a fancy word magisters use sometimes when they don't want to assassinate someone they usually want to assassinate over something, so it's okay if you don't know it."

Dan looked unimpressed. "I don't know if I want to play a game where you're going to want to assassinate me if I play a wrong move."

"That's not-!" Cato chirped, afraid he'd been misunderstood, when he saw Dan trying hard not to smile. It had been a joke. Cato snorted, and shoved Dan's shoulder in mock-anger. "Maybe I should."

"I would like to learn," Dan promised. "But it's starting to get kind of late, and I found this really great book I want to look at, and you should probably try to sleep soon."

Cato wilted slightly. He was happy to be sleeping, more happy to feel safe doing it, but the entire endeavor had developed a strange sense of dread when he thought about it. Cato didn't want to look at that for too long- he had the impression that maybe there was something bigger that would snap at him and lash out if he poked too hard at it, and he was too grateful to actually get some sleep to risk spoiling that just because his feelings were all... bad.

"Okay, but let me finishing showing you all my stuff," he bartered.

Dan agreed, and Cato picked through his puzzles and games, night gown and change of clothes, and showed Dan his knife- briefly- before deciding he would keep this one thing out. Just in case.

"Can I use the hiding spot too?" Dan asked as Cato packed away the last of his little knick-knacks, pulled out the blanket and pillow and changed into his sleeping gown.

Cato shrugged, smoothing out the front of the gown. "Sure! There's plenty of room. What do you want to hide?"

"There are a couple books I think look really nice, but... I'm a little worried that the Librarian won't like me checking them out. So I want to hide them so the other apprentices don't take them," Dan explained, looking away and voice going a step higher. "It's not really important, but-"

"What kind of book aren't you allowed to check out from the library?" Cato asked, surprised. It had to be a really neat book for Dan to not be allowed to read it. All the enchanters say they should read every book they could, so this one had to be extra special.

Dan blushed, cheeks turning red. "It's... uh. It's got sssome pictures."

"It's a picture book?" What kind of picture book would be banned? Picture books weren't impressive- they were for little baby kids like Aunny who couldn't read.

"No," Dan explained, as vaguely as he could. "It's got p-pictures. You know. Pictures."

Dan was trying to suggest something, stressing the words with a certain fluster. The blush had spread out to the tips of his ears and down his neck. Cato still didn't get it. "...I don't get it."

"I can show you, but you have to promise not to t-tell."

Cato nodded, wanting to be in on the secret more and more as time passed. "Course! Best-friend promise."

Dan beamed at him, evidently accepting the oath. "I'll be right back then, I'll go get it."

Dan wormed his way out from the low shelf, and Cato listened to his footfalls until they disappeared. Cato waited, excitement slowly eroding as time passed in favor of worry.

Had something happened? Nothing happened. Dan was human. But what if someone knew Dan was his friend? What if they went after Dan because Cato liked him?

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that that was precisely what had happened, that Dan was gone and hurt and it was his fault, because he had gotten him all tangled up in his mess. By the time he heard someone walking through the aisle toward their cubby's bookshelf, he was entirely convinced it was someone coming to drag him away, his whereabouts gotten out of his poor friend through some nefarious means.

Cato brought the knife up, pointing it down and trying not to think about whether it was enchanted or not. Eyes, belly and between the legs.

The books on the lowest shelf were pulled out, and-

And Dan's head popped through the hole, a smile and a blush on his face. "Sorry I was- oh."

"Sorry!" Cato apologized, placing the knife back on the shelf behind the books and sitting on his hands in abashedly. "Sorry, you were taking a while and I thought you might have been... someone else."

Dan's face was scrunched. "Okay, but can you not keep pointing knives at me? It's scary."

"I said I was sorry," Cato grumped, feeling guilty.

Dan shook his head and continued to climb through the shelf, dragging a large, new tome behind him. He sat back on the cushions and pulled it onto his lap. "Okay, you know how I like to draw?"

"Yeah," Cato nodded.

"And you know how I like inside stuff? Like muscles and organs and things like that?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well, I like to draw pictures sometimes from these books that show all the organs and things, because you can see where everything goes. I read the books and a lot of artists do that, so they can get better. So I was thinking-"

"Okay, but what's in the book?"

"So I was thinking," Dan repeated, emphasis implying that he was getting there. "That I want to find books with pictures of people so I can draw people without them moving around all the time. So I was looking for books with people, and I found... this! Wait... one second. Let me... gotta find the page. Ah! This!"

Dan opened the book to a page with beautiful illustrations. Woodcut prints of women in all sorts of poses. Drawing water from a well, feeding chickens, doing laundry. It looked terribly mundane, except-

"They're naked!" Cato shouted, forgetting himself. Dan nudged his elbow into Cato's side and shushed him. Cato continued, quieter this time but with a conspiratorial bent now that they had proper, legitimate contraband. "Why are they naked? Is this... for bed stuff?"

"I don't think so- it was with the books with all the other regular pictures. It even has other regular pictures in it too! And besides, I don't think people really want to do... uh... 'bed stuff' thinking about girls feeding chickens," Dan reasoned cautiously. He flipped through to show all of the other pages, all sorts of random objects in all sorts of weird angles. "I don't really want to do 'bed stuff' at all. Maybe I'm just not old enough yet, but I really just like the book because it's really good at helping with my drawings. They have tons and tons of pictures of hands! Hands are really hard."

"Yeah, you probably grow into it. Like magic!" Cato agreed. Privately, he was glad that Dan wasn't terribly interested in the drawings on the page for those reasons. They were pretty illustrations, but he felt a similar disinterest in that sort of thing when presented with the pictures. The older boys in the mess hall always made crude jokes that Cato didn't get, and the seemingly universal understanding that girls had bodies that felt good when you look at them went over Cato's head. "I can see why you would think the librarian wouldn't want you to borrow this one, yeah."

"There are a couple more. More pictures of naked people, and also pictures of other things, too," Dan explained. His voice sounded frail. "Thhhe inside stuff I told you about before? They have pictures of people's insides. Elves and Qunari and Dwarves too! They're books for healers, so they know what can go wrong inside of you, but the pictures are really good and have lots of small little things that you wouldn't really notice. Can I show you?"

"Sure!" Cato agreed. If Dan was so excited about it, he wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

Dan pulled up a second book, flipping it open to a diagram of a human torso being spread out to show the intestines, kidneys, liver and stomach and how they all folded tidily into the body. "See? And up here is where the stomach would connect to the- Cato? Are you okay?"

Was he okay? He felt cold and away and sore, sweat prickling on the back of his neck and his body locked tight at the sight of the insides. He had seen those before. It had spilled out of the rat.

When Cato came to his senses, he was on the floor, legs curled so he could fit into the small space of the cubby. Dan was above him, tearstreaked and blotchy in his crying.

"Ck-" he managed, sniffing and sobbing as he leaned back. "Cuh- Catooo?"

"Yeah?" Cato asked, blinking away the strange sleep that overtook him. "What happened?"

"You fffell d-down. I thought mmmaybe you d-d-died," Dan only barely got out between his hitched breath.

"Sorry," he apologized, sitting up. He felt a little dizzy and eased himself back to the ground. He'd get back up in a bit.

"Are yyyou o-oh-okay?" Dan stammered.

Was he? What had even happened? "Ya huh," he decided. "I feel pretty okay now. Little tired. That was weird."

"D-don't you eeever d-do that to me aaagain!" Dan said. He took the pillow off the cubby cushions from where Cato had left it and flopped it at Cato's head, furious. Fhop. Cato's hands came up and clawed at the air to defend himself, swatting at the pillow as Dan brought it back to his chest.

Cato tried sitting up again, feeling less cloudy and more lucid after the pillow attack. His ear, free from their cuffs for the night, swivled back in annoyance. "S'not like I meant to-" Fhop. "Grgh! I didn't mean to do it. Besides, I was still breathing, so-" Fhop. "Would you stop that?!"

"I thhhought-" Fhop. "You-" Fhop. "Died!" Fhop fhop fhop.

"Well I didn't!" Cato snapped, finally managing to catch the pillow as it came down and snatch it out of Dan's grasp. He twisted his body away so he was between Dan and his feathery weapon of choice, nose wrinkled. He stuck his tongue out in defiance for a moment, and Dan began to cry in earnest. Loud, wailing sobs, the likes only a five-year-old could achieve.

Ah jeeze.

"Hey," Cato tried, shoulders slumping and he prodded Dan's shoulder to get his attention. "Hey! I'm okay! See?"

Cato flapped his arms, demonstrating his obvious hail and hearty state. Dan mostly ignored him, stutter stuck as he wailed, "I- I- I-"

"Shhh, I'm fine. I'm okay! You gotta shush, Dan, or people are gonna hear and then they'll come and find us," Cato warned, his voice squeaky from worry. "They like seeing people cry, so you gotta stop. Here. Try this- this works for me. Just don't hit me with it."

Cato passed the pillow back to Dan, who buried his face in the side and gave a very muffled scream. Cato waited awkwardly for his friend's meltdown to subside, slapping his palms on his knees where he sat cross-legged in a random rhythm. Finally, Dan's wailing tapered into wet, nearly silent sniffles. "Yyyou ssscared me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to! I don't know what happened, I just.. there was a big... thing, and I fell asleep?" Cato explained, poorly. He gave a lopsided smile. "But I'm okay. I'll talk to the dorm master and see if they know what might have happened, so I don't scare you again."

"Yyyou swear you're okay?"

"Ya huh. It felt bad before I went to sleep, but I think you feel worse than I do now," Cato assured him. "I wish I brought snacks. I'd offer you one, but I was afraid we wouldn't eat them in time and they'd get moldy and gross. Or someone would smell them and find out about this place."

"Yeah, maybe don't," Dan agreed, his tears quieting to just jagged little sips of air. When he spoke, he sounded more embarrassed than angry or panicked. "You felt like you were dead."

"Huh?"

"Like how people who are alive feel like air, and dead people feel like swimming in water, sort of?" Dan continued, oblivious to Cato's confusion. "Only, it was more like alive people are air and dead is like... honey. You felt like water."

"What are you even talking about?" Cato asked again, completely lost.

"You know. That feeling when people are alive and when they're dead."

Cato's brow furrowed. "I don't know. Or at least, I never noticed before. I never heard of that."

"Yeah? That's weird. Maybe it's something that'll grow in, like magic or liking girls. I don't think I used to be able to do it," Dan explained, his voice trailing into near silence. It made Cato uneasy.

He didn't want to think about dead things. Even thinking about the book he'd been shown made Cato feel queasy and not good. "Dan, I don't think I should look at those pictures until I figure out what happened."

"Oh," Dan said, voice off. Probably disappointed. Cato hoped he wouldn't start crying again; he already felt bad. "Okay. That's fine, I guess. You should probably sleep anyway. Uh, d'you still want to meet Stardust tomorrow?"

Cato wasn't sure how that was related but he was glad he could at least say yes to this. "Course! He sounds like a nice pony."

"She is a nice pony," Dan corrected him, but seemed satisfied in that at least. Maybe Stardust was real, if Dan could remember that detail. Cato still decided he'd believe it when he saw it.

Dan continued, breaking Cato out of his thoughts. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"What?"

"It's not bad to like this?" Dan asked, genuinely unsure. "Nobody else does. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with my head, since I like looking at that stuff. I already stutter. What if there's something else... different? I mean, you really, really didn't seem to like it, and you're good. Is it normal, you think?"

Cato suppressed a shudder at the vague reference to the book's contents, but swallowed down the squirmy feeling and nodded. "Don't see why not. Just because it made me-" Cato gestured, unsure of what to call his brief episode, "-doesn't mean it's bad. We don't even know why I-..."

Cato finished off by gesturing wildly again, pleased when he saw his friend's tearstreaked face light up at the playfulness. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Naw, not if you're not mad at me," Cato promised. Dan shook his head vehemently, as if the notion of being cross at Cato was downright repugnant, and Cato nodded. It was settled. "Alright. We're okay."

"Yeah."

"Cato?"

Cato looked to Dan, whose face seemed to glow now that that was resolved. "Yeah?"

"Go to sleep. The good kind this time."

Cato snorted.

#dragon age #trophy #yarking writes

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sporadicbeepboops · 8 years ago

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20 Games I Loved in 2016

The Switch delay. Several big AAA duds. Another year without an official Mother 3 U.S. release. 2016 could have been a disappointing year. (Outside of video games, it certainly took its toll.) But at least from my perspective, the good far outweighed the bad. Virtual reality finally made it out of the gates, and despite some hiccups, it shows real promise. Long-delayed games like Final Fantasy XV and The Last Guardian somehow made it to store shelves AND surpassed expectations. And love it or hate it, Pokémon Go inspired a genuine pop culture craze the likes of which we’ve never seen before, at least as far as games go. I think all of that is worth celebrating.

Before we get to the list, some quick shout-outs and no-brainer caveats…

2016 was not kind to the Wii U, but the 3DS quietly had one of its best years ever. That’s partly reflected here, but I couldn’t make room for Dragon Quest VII, Fire Emblem Fates, BoxBoxBoy!, Metroid Prime: Federation Force and Gotta Protectors, to name a few. Sometimes it felt like Nintendo was just cleaning out its closet — how long ago was DQVII released in Japan? — but we benefited either way.

Overall, I played fewer games this year, but the ones I did play held my interest longer. Thanks to various microtransactions and DLC, 2016 probably hit my wallet just as hard.

What didn’t I play? Stardew Valley, SUPERHOT, Final Fantasy XV (at least past chapter 2), Frog Fractions 2, Hitman — oh, and I didn’t get to stuff from last year like Yakuza 5 or The Witcher 3, either. Yakuza 4 was pretty solid though.

I left off any new ports of games that came out last year or prior, unless there were substantial additions that changed the experience in a meaningful way. That meant The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess HD and Mini Metro weren’t in the running, while Rez Infinite technically was.

Love making lists, hate ranking items in said lists, just because I’m incredibly fickle. There’s a good chance that I’ll want to shuffle everything around the moment I publish this. But my podcasting buddies are counting on me here, so it’s time to be decisive.

Keeping all that in mind, here are the games I really loved in 2016…

20. The Witness - I’m already cheating because if I’m being honest, I didn’t actually love this game. The Witness takes a couple dozen hours to finish, and I spent at least half of them staring at a notebook, drawing grids, connecting dots, and having no idea how to pave forward. But even if I didn’t love the game, I respect it immensely. I admire Jonathan Blow’s commitment to this singular idea, of taking the kind of puzzle you might see on a restaurant placemat and coming up with every possible permutation of it. And there is of course a “meta” layer on top of that, where solutions to each component change the environment around you — tree top bridges that unfold based on the paths your lines take, or colored glass panels that create new puzzles on top of old ones. It might be cold and off-putting at times, but The Witness is still commendable as the ultimate puzzle box.

19. SuperHyperCube - I bought into PlayStation VR for games like Rez Infinite and RIGs — big, flashy, “immersive” experiences. And they delivered! I’m a very happy PS VR owner, and I hope Sony builds on its momentum this year. (I’m skeptical, but then being a virtual reality early adopter was always a leap of faith.) However, while I got exactly what I expected from most of the launch titles, it's the simple puzzle game seemingly modeled off of “Brain Wall” that I keep coming back to. I turn on the headset to play Job Simulator or Battlezone, but I always play a couple rounds of SuperHyperCube before I’m done. A solid case for virtual reality not as a thrilling roller coaster, but a hypnotic, relaxing voyage.

18. Headlander - The best game Double Fine has put out since Iron Brigade. Free-roaming Metroid-style exploration, a perfect 70s-synth sci-fi score and a fun body swapping gimmick at the heart of it all. I wish there were more vessels for your noggin to control, but there’s a strong foundation here.

17. Kirby: Planet Robobot - It’s easy to take Kirby games for granted, and that’s especially true of Robobot, which uses the same engine and many of the same powers as the recent Triple Deluxe. What does the former bring to the table then? Smart level designs that take advantage of the new mechs without letting them dominate the action. A novel mechanical world that feels distinct from the typical pastel meadows. New amiibo support. OK, so maybe it doesn’t add that much to the series, but it’s right up there with Super Star anyway.

16. Pokkén Tournament - This game is a fresher, more enjoyable fighting game than Street Fighter V. It doesn’t even matter (too much) that the single player is pretty thin or that the roster is small. When’s the last time you played a one-on-one fighting game that felt truly new? Pokkén is a great 3D fighter and a great 2D fighter at the same time, which is no small feat. And it’s also a gorgeously animated recreation of those battles we all imagined happening in our Game Boys 20 years ago.

15. Uncharted 4: A Thief's End - The popular sentiment seems to be that Madagascar is when this final Uncharted entry really takes off. Slow drama and frequent cut scenes give way to island exploration and memorable shootouts. My take? The back half is fun and the epilogue is lovely, but I could spend an entire game in Nathan and Elena’s living room, or hopping around the globe for the next story sequence. Wherever you stand, this is a fine way to close out a reliable series.

14. Picross 3D: Round 2 - Seven Picross games — eight if you count the Twilight Princess freebie — on the eShop. That’s a lot of a perfectly fine thing. But none of them are Picross 3D. Thankfully, the real deal finally arrived this year, with hundreds of puzzles and a few extra gameplay wrinkles. Worth the premium price tag.

13. Titanfall 2 - The campaign didn’t need to be good. Multiplayer FPS games live and die by their multiplayer, and many developers seemingly write off the single player experience as an afterthought. That’s why Titanfall 2 is such an unexpected treat. The factory, the time hopping, the airborne carrier — all cleverly designed, with platforming gimmicks that would feel just as suited for a Metroid Prime game. I think the reason the new Mirror’s Edge fell flat for me was that this game featured the same parkour moves in a much more exciting package.

12. Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE - This crossover game is Persona-lite, yes, but I think that sells the characters and world a bit short. While its inspiration focuses on the pressures of being a Japanese high schooler, #FE is all about the Tokyo show biz scene. Pop music, soap operas, microwave cooking shows — it’s all very goofy, but the game still takes its protagonists’ dreams and ambitions seriously. #FE also makes clever use of the Wii U GamePad, turning it into a tablet/social app that helps keeps the conversations going. Even if you’re not into this particular “scene,” #FE may still win you over.

11. Rhythm Heaven Megamix - I can’t get enough Rhythm Heaven. They could put 20 new musical minigames on a cart annually and it’d make my list every year. Sumo wrestlers, lumberjack bears, monkey slumber parties — all magic.

10. Severed - A Vita game! It’s great to see DrinkBox Studios stretch beyond sidescrollers with this first person dungeon crawler full of grotesque monsters and creepy, colorful mazes. Swiping and poking on the Vita’s touchscreen feels great. The controls are key to Severed’s success; if battles were menu-driven, the entire game would fall apart.

9. Pocket Card Jockey - I hope Nintendo keeps letting Game Freak be this weird. It’s not just that it’s horse racing plus solitaire. It’s your jockey biting the dust and being brought back from the dead to repay his debt to the angels. It’s the brassy, big band score that accompanies every race. It’s horses with luchador masks and cats hanging from their backsides. Pocket Card Jockey is a miracle of localization.

8. Pokémon Sun - Yes, another Pokémon game. The Alola region is the best thing to ever happen to this series. Previous games had regions based on cities like New York and Paris, but the results always felt half-hearted. In Sun (and Moon), the tropical island setting influences everything from the creatures you catch to the trials you complete. I’ve never demanded a believable world from this series, but that’s kind of what we get here, and it’s terrific.

7. Inside - This is the type of game where the less you know going in, the better. It’s Limbo — a previous Justin GotY — filtered through a twisted dream logic that I still can’t get out of my head months later.

6. Paper Mario: Color Splash - I know you don’t like Sticker Star. Rest assured: that 3DS oddity feels like a rough draft for Color Splash, which improves upon its predecessor in every way. A textured, vibrant world that rivals Tearaway in its papercraft. Thrilling scenarios like a train heist, an underwater game show and the throwback above. Hilarious dialogue that mostly makes up for the many, many identical toads. I miss the liberties Intelligent Systems used to take with the Mushroom Kingdom, but everything else about Color Splash restores this spin-off series to its former glory.

5. Overcooked - This year’s couch co-op champ. Cooking with a partner is all about communication, and that’s doubly true when the kitchen is split across two flatbed trucks or on an iceberg rocking back and forth. My friends and I love head-to-head games like Smash Bros. and Towerfall, but it’s nice to play a game that’s all about puzzle solving and careful planning together. And I love the wistful stage select music.

4. Dragon Quest Builders - Minecraft has always fascinated me, but I don’t do well without direction. That’s why I’m so grateful for Dragon Quest Builders, which breaks down the open world construction into small, manageable tasks. I started off just sticking to blueprints and keeping decorations to a minimum; now, I’m spending hours building up towns the way I want them to look, for no other reason than my own personal satisfaction. Even taking the crafting element out of the equation, Builders does a great job of capturing the adventuring spirit of its parent series.

3. Pokémon Go - I didn’t set out to put THREE Pokémon games on here, and in a vacuum, this is much less satisfying than Pokkén or Sun. But we don’t play video games in a vacuum, and certainly not this one. I played Pokémon Go in Central Park, talking to strangers to find out where the Ivysaur was hiding. Or I played on my lunch breaks, exploring parts of South Street Seaport with coworkers that I had ignored for years. Go’s peak came and went, but it remains one of my fondest experiences of the year.

2. The Last Guardian - Another game that’s more than the sum of its parts. The Last Guardian is finicky and sometimes frustrating. Trico is hard to climb. The camera doesn’t know what to do when you’re up against the wall. So what? How many games feature a creature this lifelike? He may be an illusion made up of A.I. routines, scripted animations and fur shaders, but all of those elements come together in a uniquely convincing way. His evolution from reluctant ally to friend has a subtlety I’ve never seen before. I’m glad Ueda spends as much time focusing on the inner struggles as he does the external ones. Hope it doesn’t take another decade for his next game.

1. Overwatch - I didn’t even know what Overwatch was until two weeks before its release, and even then, I didn’t expect much from it. I had played Team Fortress 2 and thought it was just fine. I knew what to expect. Medics, tanks, builders — that sounded familiar to me. But I was so wrong. Overwatch isn’t just a team-based shooter; it’s the superhero team-up game I’ve been longing for since “The Avengers” was in theaters.

All 23 (and counting!) heroes have their superpowers, and all of them have their jobs to do. What really sets Overwatch apart is when these heroes are bouncing off of each other. Any combination of six is going to have its own dynamics. Mei dropping ice walls to give Reinhardt time to recharge his shield. Junkrat dropping traps to help Bastion watch his back. Mercy gliding up to Pharah to give her rockets a little extra punch. Every battle brings new possibilities and strategies to the table. I’ve played over 100(!) hours and feel like there’s still so much to learn.

But it’s not all serious business either. The colorful personalities, animations, costume designs and more do so much to shape the world, even when I know next to nothing about the overall “lore.” Last year, Splatoon felt like the only shooter I’d ever need, but Overwatch has actually managed to supplant it in my heart. That’s something this Nintendo fanboy never thought he’d say. Can’t wait to see how Blizzard builds on their masterpiece in year two.

#video games #games of the year #games of 2016 #nintendo apologist

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