#the definitive answer is AT LEAST TEN but that would be a disservice to the mounds of floaty murky feelings he has about his own

[balladetto]

unprompted / always accepting / anonymous

"How old are you, Link?"

     Link imagines it like this.

     If he could exist the way light does when it refracts, dispersing into a kaleidoscope of colours from a single point, each footstep he takes would be haunted by a hundred different shadows. They are moments he can't sear from his memories, all separated by shapes and spaces he's had to fill for each one: he is the Hero of Time, nine summers, small enough that he only needs to ball up for his shield to cover him. He is the Hero of Time, sixteen summers, big enough that the habitual full-body strength he swings his sword with takes a Wolfos down far quicker than his heart had anticipated.

     He is nine, afraid of touch. He is sixteen, afraid of the dark. He is nine, left behind. He is sixteen, choosing to go back. He is nine, wiping Deku Baba sap from the back of his hands. He is sixteen, closing his eyes against the blood-splatter of a man whose ichor he still feels between his fingers. Link is nine and sixteen and everything beyond and in between—

     He is the distorted reflection of someone's son, cursed to a terrible fate. He is Darmani the Third, so old that they ask him to be the next Goron Elder. He is Mikau, killed too young, but grown enough that the blood of Zoran heroes sings loud in his stolen veins. He is nobody he knows how to be, maybe ten summers, dreaming about years that didn't happen and living through cycles of days he's long since stopped counting.

     If he could exist the way light does when it refracts, he'd wave a hand at these silhouettes. He is any of them. He is all of them. He is none of them. Time is kind of real, and it kind of isn't.

     Link answers like this.

     He holds both hands up, fingers visibly splayed. Ten. His right one drops and his left turns level to the ground, seesawing up and down from thumb to pinky. Give or take. He smiles, a huff of something that might be amused for a joke that's only funny to him — which is to say, it's not very funny at all. However much time needs to be given or taken.

[ddarker-dreams]

A Prayer Left Unheard. Yan Alucard x F Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships and mentions of religion.  Word count: 3k.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name,”

Your voice is but a faint whisper, reciting the archaic words by heart. It’s a mantra meant to protect you. From what, exactly, you couldn’t say for sure. The details didn’t matter. What mattered is that Integra had given you imperative orders, and you were going to follow them, benign as they may sound.

“Thy kingdom come…”

Next is the adorning of holy water. Sprinkling the liquid lightly on the aged wooden door, rivulets fall down in the same way they always have. You’ve repeated this humdrum ritual every night since your arrival at Hellsing manor. For such a notorious building, attached to even more of a notorious family, you had expected to happen upon more strange occurrences. Whatever it was that entanglement with the occult would entail. Lurking shadows following after you in the hallways, paintings with moving eyes, footsteps creaking the floorboards where no one was present.

That sort of thing. Maybe you’d gotten the wrong impression from movies like The Exorcist, where the big bad ghoulish fiends are dramatized for cinema. Whatever the case, you never neglected to do as Integra bid you, regardless of your understanding (or lack, thereof).  

“... But deliver us from—”

Evil. Right, evil. There’s evil in this world, in many forms, but the kind referred to in this verse has never resonated with you. An archnemesis to the divine, a figure cloaked in sin. Could such a creature possibly exist? And if it does, would a strung-together translation from a text dating thousands of years ago serve as protection?

These questions and more are likely to never receive a definite answer. You’re not going to stop following through with it, as that’d be a disservice to Integra, who’s given you so much and asked for so little in return. Really, this is the least you could do. She gave you a roof over your head, a comfortable bed, warm meals; everything you could’ve asked for and more.

“Amen.”

Now that you’ve taken the appropriate measures, you return to your room, a yawn leaving your lips. The digital clock on your bedside table reads ten minutes past midnight. Each day goes by with the same ease as before, not that you mind. Anything beats mindlessly roaming the crowded streets of London searching for a job or purpose that would never come. Surrounded by blurred, repetitive faces, none belonging to anyone you cared about.

Things were different here. They were better, and you were appreciative, from the bottom of your heart.

Throwing yourself onto the king-sized bed, you go over a mental checklist for the next day. Perhaps you’d visit the massive library, take a stroll through the gardens, or give cooking another try. That way you could surprise Integra with a dish of your own making when she returns from abroad. Your last attempts left much to be desired, so plenty of practice will be in order.

What time is it in America now, you wonder? Would Integra be back at her hotel room, or perhaps enjoying fine dining at an upscale restaurant? The last you spoke with her was before her departure yesterday morning. You watched as Walter opened the backseat door, bidding her safe travels. Her hardworking nature never failed to impress you. She responded to your words in kind and reassured you that she’d be back in a week.

The tinted windows rolled down for Integra to give you a final request.

“Remember what I said when you first came here, [First]. Do not venture near the basement. Understood?”

After you reassured her that you wouldn’t, the limousine headed toward the estate’s front gates, and you watched as it disappeared out of view.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the slightest bit interested in what lay dormant beneath Hellsing manor. Integra was not one for superfluous conversation, if she said something, it was for a good reason. That’s why you carried out blessings on your door despite not knowing the motivation behind it.

Ah, that’s right. The crucifix needed to go on the door next. You knew you were missing something. Rolling over, you rummage through the nightstand drawer for the wooden ornament. Nothing. Strange, that’s where you left it this morning. There’s no other reason you’d pick it up, and cleaners weren’t due until the end of the week, so they couldn’t have mistakenly put it elsewhere. So where did it end up?

Do you want to know?

Blinking, you shake your head, the whispers of an unknown voice dancing in your mind like it belonged.

I’ll show you. You’re curious, aren’t you?

Your eyes shift around the guest bedroom you occupy. The window and doors are locked, the radio isn’t turned on; you should be entirely by yourself. Maybe you’d read one too many horror novels in the library and it was seeping into your subconscious.

Unsure of what else to do, you turn a lamp on, then lay down once more. The ceiling above doesn’t provide thrilling entertainment, but staring at the solid color helps anchor you. There’s no strange voice in your head. There’s only you, your normal thoughts, and the occasional ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Everything’s good, everything’s as it should be. Nothing to see here.

“Isn’t it considered rude to ignore someone if they’re talking to you?”

You shoot up, eyes wide blown and pupils dilated. There was no mistaking how close that voice was just now. It sounded like it could’ve been right by your side, yet when you turn your head, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Who was speaking to you? They sounded masculine, boasting a smooth and baritone voice with an almost condescending twist to their words.

“Hello?” You call out, holding a hand to your racing heart. What do you do here? It couldn’t be an intruder, you would’ve heard crashing glass or the door being busted down, as you always locked it before going to sleep. Unless someone waited in your room all day, twiddling their thumbs, but why would anyone bother to do that? It’s not like you’re the rich one here — you’re a guest that Integra extended her hospitality to.

That’s when an idea pops into your mind. The phone on your nightstand, could you use that to call for help? It was intended to be used for room service, but you’ve seen the guards that Hellsing employs, they’re armed to the teeth.

You pick up the phone and punch in the necessary numbers.

It rings, rings, and rings. So you try again. Why is no one picking up? The phone chord’s connected and plugged into the outlet, and you know for sure there are people awake all throughout the night. Do you try calling the police? If there was an intruder, it would take over thirty minutes at the very least for them to make it all the way out here. Without a proper weapon, you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself, so what—

The lamp’s lightbulb flickers.

You freeze in place, watching as much to your disbelief, the light dims into nothingness. Panicked, you try and fail to get it to turn back on. The room that was once your sanctuary has turned into a house of horrors, taunting you at every turn, like it had a mind of its own. You take shaky deep breaths, trying to do everything within your power to remain calm. Maybe the lightbulb just went out. The air conditioning is still humming in the background, so there wasn’t a power outage. 

“I think I can see why Integra likes you, little human. You’ve got a fascinating mind.”

The voice is coming from directly behind you now. It’s almost as if time stands still, as you contemplate turning around or remaining petrified. You can sense what feels like a shadow enveloping you from behind, eclipsing natural darkness with something far worse; almost as if the night itself wouldn’t dare intermingle with it. The temperature’s dropped too, to the point you could see wisps of your breath in front of your face. Your hands tremble no matter how hard you clench them. You have no idea how it managed to creep in, yet there is something behind you. 

This… this must be what it’s like to be in the presence of evil.

Your body operates faster than your brain can catch up with, and you grab the still open flask of holy water. Pivoting on your heel, you squeeze your eyes shut, splashing the concoction directly behind you. This must be the reason Integra gave you the holy water. In the event something ungodly were to transpire, you could do this, fending the beast back to whichever circle of hell it crawled from. You prayed that it would work. That when you opened your eyes, there’d be nothing but a pile of sizzling flesh onto the floor, where the monster made of pallid skin and gnashing teeth once stood.  

Yes, that’s what would happen. It had to be. Because if not for that, what would happen to you?

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” the voice chuckles as if amused with your antics. “No, not at all. Unfortunately for you, it would require a lot more than a bottle of water to fend me off. You are as entertaining as I’d hoped.”

A cold finger presses beneath your chin and lifts your head up.

“Open your eyes. Look at me, [First]. Confront reality, what you’ve known to be true, but have struggled to ignore all the same.”

He’s only touching your skin, yet your soul cries out as if he was pulling it forcibly from your person. Some inherent part of your biological makeup recognizes the threatening intrusion, setting all your senses aflame, and you thrash to free yourself. Another chuckle. This time, louder than the last, but his hand recedes as you’d intended. There’s no way that pitiful last ditch effort intimidated him. He’s playing with you. Is this what it was like to be devoured by despair? To know you were faced with something beyond human comprehension, forcing your mind to compensate with explanations just to maintain a semblance of sanity?

“I could hear your thoughts through layers of brick and mortar, calling out and tempting me for months. Any lesser man would’ve gone mad. My master sought to keep you out of my reach — it was a valiant effort, if not misguided.”

You feel like you're floating. Your stomach jumps to your throat as your body moves without you directing it to, and you faintly register the press of your bed’s comforter to your thighs. Are you sitting down now? The groan of the mattress confirms this. He must’ve moved you here, yet you never felt hands on your skin, it was like you were levitated by an invisible force. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” you seethe, fighting against a force that wasn’t entirely there. At the lack of resistance to your kicking, you open your eyes, wondering if whatever was there before disappeared again.

It didn’t.

He, or whatever it was, was standing there with a Cheshire cat grin. His skin was pale and crimson eyes unlike anything you’d ever seen, the rest of his outfit a similar shade. Shadow-like tendrils coiled around his body, stopping just shy of reaching you, but their hunger was palpable. His long, unruly black hair almost seemed to move itself. There was nothing natural or normal about this apparition.

“I believe introductions are in order,” he peers down at you. “I’m Alucard, though humans have applied a great many names to me throughout the years. Perhaps you are familiar with a few.”

“Vlad the Impaler.”

He takes a step forward.

“Dracula.”

Another step.

“Vampire.”

He’s right in front of your bed, and you stop breathing.

“Why are you telling me this?” You murmur, the world around you growing fuzzier by the second. “Why… I have nothing, I…”

Alucard raises his hand to your face, yet pauses when you visibly flinch.

“You still believe I’m going to kill you.”

It’s a statement instead of a question. He speaks the words like they were inconsequential, almost bored, rather than the mischievous lilt he held earlier. Everything builds up and erupts at once. Frustration, fear, astonishment; emotions boil like a cauldron within the pit of your stomach and bubble over. This monster was clearly toying with you, acting as if you were nothing but late night entertainment, then openly mocks you for reaching a logical conclusion like that?

“I wonder why,” you reply in full sarcasm, not bothering to hide your disgusted sneer. “Is this how a vampire enjoys himself? Messing with some human who could never properly fight back?”

You have no idea how you’re able to form coherent words in this disoriented state. Or why you’re swatting at the hypothetical hornet’s nest, but everything’s happening too fast, and your mind is on the verge of shutting down. If you’re able to wound the creature’s ego, that would make you feel slightly better. Of course, getting to live another day is the ideal scenario; but beggars can’t be choosers.

Alucard cackles in a sound that makes your ears want to bleed.

“You are lovely, my dear,” his hand that had been hovering above you came into contact with your face, cupping it tenderly. “Yes, absolutely lovely. I have no choice but to make you mine.”

You slap away his hand and recoil. “Stay away from me!”

“To think my master was so selfish as to lock you away from me, keeping you all to herself.” Alucard brings his hand back to his chest, unbothered by your futile displays of resistance.

“If anything happens to me, Sir Integra will have you hunted down,” you threaten, putting on your most intimidating front. “Surely you’ve heard of her, haven’t you, vampire?”

For the first time since you’ve spoken with Alucard, the smile is wiped clean from his face. Pride shoots through your veins. Nothing you’ve done or said until this point has affected him; was this the hidden weapon? Integra must be knowledgeable of these creatures if she had instructed you to bless your door.

Alucard shakes his head and sighs. “Your belief is misplaced. My master will do no such thing. Without me, the Hellsing organization would cease to exist. She may be fond of you, yet she’d be a fool to put you above her family’s legacy.”

“Your master… is Sir Integra?” You repeat, blinking. “All the more reason to leave me alone then, vampire. You said it yourself. She is fond of me. Why risk upsetting her?”

“I’ll take you on as my wife. There won’t be anything, neither heaven above nor hell below, to separate us. At that point, it’d be too late.”

“Like I’d agree to that,” you hiss. There’s no bloodlust radiating from Alucard, and now that he’s proven to have no interest in killing you, you feel free to voice your unfiltered opinions. For an undead abomination, he’s rather talkative. This could be a way to stall for time until you concoct an escape plan. The next idea you had was fleeing from the window. It’d be a high jump, as you’re on the second floor, but you don’t think it’d be enough to kill you.

Just keep him occupied, you tell yourself.

“Your permission is inconsequential,” and there’s that damned grin again. “Do not delude yourself into thinking your human rules apply to me.”

You begin to move toward the window as subtly as you can manage. “Then why speak to me like this at all?”

“I already explained that earlier, did I not? I find you most entertaining, my dear. You saved my master’s life and caught her eye. It’s only natural that I’d pay some attention to you as well.”

So he knew about that too. If he’s been watching you all this time, that means there’s nothing that would dissuade him from his goals. He may look, speak, and sound like a human; but it’s just as he said. Human rules do not apply to the undead. No amount of bartering or pleading will get you out of this. If he won’t listen to reason, then you’ll have to escape. The window’s growing closer by the second. Everything would unfold in a matter of seconds, you’d need to utilize every moment to the fullest. Unlocking the window and then jumping from it into a clearing was the best option you had now. Then you could flag down a nearby guard, get their help, and this nightmare would be over with.

“Flattering as that is, I’m afraid I’m not interested in being a wife or whatever. I don’t think I’m cut out for something like that.”

“How wrong you are. You’re everything I expect of a queen and more,” he tilts his head up, and in the glint of his glasses, you see your terrified expression. “Quick on your feet, resourceful, and cunning. I won’t have to endure another boring night with you by my side.”

“Ask Sir Integra for a television and movie if you’re so bored. Leave now and I’ll grace you with a list of recommendations, vampire.”

He puts a halt to the tense banter by materializing behind you. By the time you whip your head around, Alucard stands tall over you, blocking your exit. You knew it was a farfetched plan, yet you can’t help but feel like all hope is lost now that this has been stolen from you too. Everything about this was unfair. His senses must be dilated to another level, there was no chance you’d be able to sneak toward the window without him noticing. It wasn’t comparable to a game of cat and mouse. A mouse might be able to escape if it was clever enough. Such a gracious fate did not await you.

“Now then. I tire of waiting, mortal, you have tested my patience far more than I’d allow anyone else to.”

A pair of fangs prick your neck.

“You’ll make for a perfect bride… [First].”

[vegalocity]

Peachtea/TripSun angst idea. Nobody knew Wukong would disappear for 500 years so they're mourning until Xiaotian starts training with him. Tang composes himself to wait a little longer but Wukong just ignores all the signs. Until he gets into an argument with Tang and Tang ends up snapping "Why did you disappear for 500 years?!"

Okay so here’s the thing, I can only get behind the whole ‘The other Pilgrims ALL thought Wukong was dead and are PISSED at him now’ stuff, only, and I mean ONLY if Wukong either thought they all didn’t want to hear from him again anyway, or if he thought they were dead too.

....I mean my only contributions to all those ‘Reunion with Baije and Wujing’ posts were both ‘Wukong thought they were dead too’ so CLEARLY thats my read on the whole thing. I sincerely can’t see him just... NOT telling people he cared that much about that he was gonna bounce for that long to be alone on FFM, so if he knew they were alive he would have told them. 

And then you know someone spotted that little shrine with the origami figures in the Special and I was there like:

 So like, lets do something we’ll both enjoy here then because all of those reunion fics are almost exclusively centered around the trio, and we oh so rarely see Sanzang (whether he is Tang or not) get involved. 

So like first off, assuming LMK is on a sci fi alternate earth instead of being in the future, there’s still a solid nine hundred or so years between the end of the Pilgrimage and the supposed time Wukong disappeared for Monkie Kid timeline (JTTW is set in like the 600s or so if i remember correctly, might be wrong about the exacts tho) so lets assume those nine hundred years were uneventful.

So yeah, idk the hows, the hows don’t matter. What DOES matter is Wukong somehow loses contact with the others and is somehow convinced they were all killed, had his last stand against DBK and then went off travelling for a century to come to terms with his brothers and his precious, darling, beloved Master all perishing due to his inability to protect them.

and meanwhile for the others he was just... GONE. Like he’d vanished off the face of the earth, And the last the three of them ever saw of him was the staff rooted into the mountain that now kept the Bull King below. Just in case maybe the tree of them would periodically head off to Flower Fruit Mountain and check in with the monkeys that could still talk, but after about a century it was clear. If he WAS still alive, he wasn’t coming back. And the idea that he’d purposefully leave all of them behind just for the hope that he WAS still alive would do his memory a disservice. 

So when Wukong returns to FFM wouldn’t it be great if he like, JUST missed that last visit? Like DAYS after Sanzang, Baije and Wujing had been there for the final time to hold an impromptu funeral for their dead friend on his homeland and finally accept that he was gone, Wukong returns to the mountain and builds his little shrine for his dead friends... the Monkeys all look at eachother awkwardly and shrug, assuming this will be settled soon enough, surely it’ll be solved before too long.

And then another 400 years of kingly depression naps and the others falling in and out of contact with eachother as they adapt to the ever changing world around them later, Xiaotian snatches the staff from the bull family.

And... Look... It’s been a ROUGH 500 years on Sanzang now called simply Tang. He’d only recently tracked down Baije-now-called-Pigsy in the past... what Ten years? and was only tangentially aware of what Wujing-now-called-Sandy was up to. And... Look... LOOK. It’s ridiculous that he’s still hung up over losing Wukong as much as he is. He’s Well FUCKING aware it’s ridiculous. He should know better, he quite LITERALLY reached immortality through enlightenment. He KNOWS he should know better. 

So why-... Why can’t he say his real name without his gut still twisting into knots? He still tells the stories because telling them behind a wall of detachment, pretending he wasn’t there on the action for most of them helps in some small way, but why does he have to always call him ‘the Monkey King’? What a question, he knows why. He gave his heart away when he was still mortal, and so mortal his heart will forever stay. Dead and returned to the stone with the impulsive monkey he’d given it to.

And then It’s not dead. Because he’s not dead. and honestly at first it’s just shock, it’s just reeling with the sheer tidal wave of feelings he had to spend hours meditating just to sort through. The three of them meet up after Xiaotian and Xiaojiao have turned in for the night to discuss what the FUCK just happened, and all three of them come away with different conclusions. 

Baije is furious and will refuse to seek out Wukong unless its to tell him off for letting the three of them belive him dead, Wujing is sad and would like to see Wukong again to simply ask why he’d decided to cut the three of them out of his life like that, but doesn’t want to do it alone. And he’s...conflicted.

He wants this to be a joyous discovery. he wants to be so relieved and euphoric at his monkey still being there, having ALWAYS been there, that he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for days on end. But he can’t. It’s all so... messy inside and he’s going to need to keep his distance if he wants to be able to approach Wukong with a level head. This was why attachments such as these were foolish he should have known better all those years ago but it was centuries too late now, and this confliction is what he has to suffer through as the result... wanting to laugh and cry and scream all at once because Wukong is ALIVE, he’d spent SO long in mourning for him, and HOW DARE HE ignore them all and let them assume the worst?!

So he hides behind that Scholar Tang persona while he sorts through his emotions. And it works for the most part. 

And then New Years happens.

And... Look, Wukong’s been THROUGH it in the last 500 years. He’s done everything he could to just... GET OVER the loss of his love His Master and His brothers. he went through all the damn stages of grief, 

Spent that first decade in denial poking around everywhere he could to see if any of them-ANY of them were in hiding somewhere, spent another three decades wandering the world and starting fights with other cultures divine warriors (and that Aphrodite chick was DEFINITELY hitting on him the entire time, extolling about how rarely she got to use her ‘Aria form’ whatever that meant) to work through his rage without actually getting himself in trouble with his own heavenly court. Spent another twenty years or so looking through as many underworlds as he could find, no matter how many of them really wanted to test just HOW immortal he was (Answer: Too Immortal for any of them) to see if ANYONE had anything he could work with, and always coming up empty. eventually crossed the ocean to the other landmass because he was tired of looking at all of these places and seeing either memories or wasted time looking for bargaining chips, and spent a decade or so deciding he hated Mexico and went back to China. and then spent another thirty years just procrastinating returning home to his mountain.

When he returns to flower fruit mountain its as though he’d never left. His monkeys greet him with excitement but he’s standing on the shores of his home he hasn’t seen in a century and... feels nothing. Like his ability to feel anything for anything beyond the people he’s lost is gone. He makes a little shrine that spends most of its time on a shelf that's difficult to be able to look at full on without craning your neck weirdly and if any of his subjects notice that he takes a bit too much care in folding the little paper figure of the monk as he sets the four figures up along the edge of the little thing none of them judge him over it. He’s rarely got the energy for tears anymore, but when he does it’s usually when that little figure catches his eye.

By the time Xiaotian crashes into his life he’s... getting better. At least he thinks he is. having the loud excitable boy in his life is helping chase the shadows away a little bit (though when they return oh how they scream) and he hears some stories of his friends on training days and... geez sometimes he’ll tell this or that story and Wukong will be so THOUROUGHLY reminded of someone that it just... hurts.

And then New Years happens.

And he finally sees him again -- And he finally meets Xiaotian’s friends

And he still doesn’t know how to feel it’s all SO MUCH -- And they feel familiar so he gives them all a quick glance with golden eyes

And he can only do the one thing that feels safe right now -- And oh... that makes sense. How lucky they all found eachother again after reincarnating.

Sanzang hides behind the Tang persona and lies with an energy that could only be harvested from the sheer maelstrom of emotions fighting for dominance -- and Wukong leaves before he says something incriminating because now he knows and he can’t Un-know.

He should have known better but its centuries too late. And it doesn’t even matter that he doesn’t know how to feel about this whole thing he HAS to keep seeing him, he can NOT let him vanish again -- This was a mistake, this was a mistake, he cannot face them all and see lack of recognition, he cannot have his brothers treating him only as Xiaotian’s mentor he can NOT handle looking at him and seeing a stranger.

He needs to at least TALK to him -- He can’t stay away

Wukong doesn’t start out hanging out at the Noodle Shop on down time, that’d be too much too quick, especially since Baije-.. Since Pigsy is clearly still pretty steamed for the whole ‘letting Xiaotian into the world of magic and monsters’ stuff. But he’ll often shapeshift and keep an eye on things like that... No he is NOT eavesdropping on the reincarnations of those three out of the ridiculous desperate desire to feel close to them again. Because he’d rather just love him miss them from afar than be treated as a stranger.

But of course Tang notices when he does. Every time. And every time he wants to say something but his throat feels too tight. That first day he’d fallen on the persona because it was all he felt he COULD do but now the very idea that he’d have to pretend to be someone else just to be able to speak to his monkey not his not anymore Him was completely out of the question. Tang’s actually surprised with himself the first time he finds his voice. 

The conversations come quickly, neither of them quite content to ignore the other now that its become obvious. The conversations are mostly stilted, awkward. Wukong seems both unable to help himself from talking to him, but unwilling to LOOK at him. Tang’s best guess is that he somehow doesn’t recognize him, Had he really changed that much in the time they’d been apart? Had he really lost so much affection for his old master that he could no longer recognize him beneath a slight change in appearance? That might be the reason the Hurt finally starts to win in the eternal standoff between Joy and Sorrow in how this whole thing makes him feel. 

And maybe it’s something simple, maybe Wukong is just barely starting to lower his guard a bit. Maybe just sharing a space with the man who once was the love of his life his master was finally starting to chalk over the rough edges his long since broken heart would constantly stab into him with. and he just SAYS something. Something probably innocuous, something he’d said a million times on the Journey alone. And to Tang it just... feels like he’s mocking him, like he’d known this whole time and had just been playing with his emotions in a way he wouldn’t have tolerated back then- so why should he tolerate it now?

 And the first words out of his own mouth are “Bad Monkey!” and Wukong freezes as Tang begins to lecture him

How he’d spent a solid third of his time immortal in mourning over him, how he’d been the one to tell Baije and Wujing that it would be a disgrace to his memory to believe him alive and instead that he’d chosen to cut the lot of them out of his life, despite how much HE’D wanted to believe it too. How hurt he was to find out that not only he HAD been ignoring them for so long but also that he’d apparently had apparently not even recognized any of them when they HAD all seen each other again! How much he’d missed him, how happy he’d still been to see him again. 

Yes, yes, pathetic, emotional baldy always bursting into tears at the simplest of things nothing’s changed etcetera etcetera- He hadn’t been lying on new years when he said he had a million questions, but all he really wanted to know was why? Why did he cut them out of his life, why did he shut HIM out? Why did you disappear for 500 years Wukong?

And Wukong reaches out, his hand is- shaking? and removes the glasses from right off his face--normal glass obviously, Baije had insisted they completed the scholarly look and annoyed him into compliance--

“You’re-” he hesitates, looks, almost afraid? “You’re not a reincarnation..?”

Oh... 

Well now they both looked the part of fools.

Two sobbing fools clutching to eachother in the alleyway behind Pigsy’s shop, and oh MAN did they have some things to talk about, because Wukong was DEFINITELY coming back with him to his apartment for the night and then first thing in the morning he was going to visit his brothers to internalize that THEY weren’t reincarnations either and then he was going to have to explain where he’d been for that first century while they were all still looking for him to THEM too. 

And yes he should have known better than to get attached to him in this way in the first place, it was disgraceful, the sheer misery it had brought alone was proof enough of that. But Wukong was nuzzling into his shoulder, and pressing those strange feeling monkey kisses across his cheeks and jaw,  and his breath was hitching with pure relief and joy and it was for him-

And fuck it, he just didn’t care. 

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [977]

"Aedan," Ellana's eyes are barely open as she shoulders the door to the sitting room open, “It’s seven in the morning and you aren’t doing yourself any favors to the occupants of this house. I know that no one actually expects us to end up together, but if you’re going to go through with the farce of attempting to change my mind you should at least make an effort not to actively piss me off.”

“Oh boo, I bought you tea.” Aedan says, standing up and handing her a rather sturdy cup. Ellana squints to read the strange mash of sharpie that’s probably the name and order on the side, but fails to comprehend any of it. “Come on, we’re going out.”

“We are?” Ellana glances down at herself. “Do I need to get changed? I mean. Obviously I do, I’m in a dressing gown. But what are we talking about here?”

“We’re going to get breakfast, and then we’re going for a walk, and maybe we’ll be out long enough for lunch,” Aedan waves at her. “Go on. Get changed. Match me if you can’t figure anything out.”

Ellana glances over Aedan. Ankle high dark brown leather boots, dark wash jeans, navy jacket, loose white button up, cream muffler.

“Match you? What, and give the collective underworld a stroke? Not on your life,” Ellana replies. “I’ll be back in ten.”

“Fifteen,” Aedan corrects.

“An expert on my morning routine are you? Do tell, was that in the dossier that was passed around about me?”

Aedan presses a finger to his lips. “Fifteen, Ellana. Go on. I’ve got breakfast reservations.”

Ellana retreats to her room, nearly scalds her tongue on the tea, and gets dressed in ten minutes. And then with the other five she quickly applies eye liner and mascara.

She’s back down with a whole minute to spare, securing her scarf around her neck and making sure her hair isn’t stuck down the back of her coat.

“Lovely,” Aedan beams, offering her his arm and barely waiting for her to take it before marching them both out to the front hall, out the doors, and into his mid-life crisis of a car.

“God, if we had met under any other circumstances I think I’d want to have you killed.” Ellana slides her tea into the cup holder in the center console, notes that Aedan has a matching one, and immediately picks that one up to give it a try.

“Sure, Ellana, go ahead and try my coffee that you’re definitely not going to like,” Aedan says, “It’s got three shots of espresso in it and caramel syrup.”

“That explains so much about you, Aedan, it isn’t even a joke.” Ellana quickly puts the cup back and tucks her hands under her arms, jaw cracking a little as she yawns. “Did you really have to come fetch me so soon? We saw each other eight hours ago. At a party. You know? The one where we first met face to face?”

“I do recall, seeing as I was there. I wanted to be the first one to see you afterwards,” Aedan says cheerfully.

“Careful, Cousland, if you aren’t careful someone’s going to think you’ve fallen in love with me.”

Aedan laughs, delighted by the idea. “Me? In love? With a person? Not in this lifetime. Adorable! I suppose I’ll try it eventually, just to see what the fuss is about.”

Ellana pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I put on eyeliner for this. Hold on. I’ve got to text my family, who is asleep, that I went out with you and I’m not being held hostage or anything.”

“You know I met your mother before you came downstairs. She does not look her age, let me tell you. I hope you have her genes, that would be a wonderful gift to pass down from generation to generation.”

“I meant Carver.”

“Ah, Hawke.” Aedan’s tone goes from casual to the unnerving side of polite.

“Oh tell me how you really feel why don’t you?” Ellana rolls her eyes, pulling off one of her gloves and cringing at the cold as she quickly taps out a text message to him. “And he was staying over last night along with the rest of his family in the guest wing of the manor.”

“You’re not picking Hawke, as we discussed previously. Does he realize that yet?”

“I think everyone’s that matters has realized it and Carver’s just in denial over the fact that he can’t save me from the politics of being a daughter in a crime family,” Ellana answers. “Seriously, Aedan. What are we doing?”

“We’re going to get breakfast. I’m going through the motions of wooing you for the sake of it,” Aedan replies. “If I back off immediately it makes me and my family look bad, and it also does you some disservice. Also. I want to know everything. You and the Iron Bull were out of sight for a whole hour.”

“You’re not going to ask about Edric?”

“Edric? Please. Between the two of them Edric isn’t the one with the reputation for breaking hearts and in some cases literally breaking beds across Thedas.” Aedan smirks. “I doubt you and Edric and a conversation worth talking about. Did you two just talk about his niece or his sister?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m sure he promised you the most chaste and polite and business like of arrangements in order to assure your comfort.”

“Yeah.”

“It was all very pleasant in the most banal of ways.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“Get used to it, I’m always right. Now. The Iron Bull. That’s an interesting conversation that I must know all about.”

“And I must tell you?”

“You could lie.” Aedan shrugs. “But keep in mind that appearances aren’t always the truth. And while I may appear like the most devastatingly handsome and intelligent man in our generation who’s talents will be overlooked and mourned years down the line — “

“I will throw myself out of this car, Aedan.’

“ — I am definitely that but I am also much better at reading people than most would give me credit for. And when one is often written off as a loudmouth who’s in love with his own reflection and won’t give the time of day for anyone else, people tend to say things around me without much mind to the content of their speech.” Aedan shoots Ellana a pointed look. “People tend to have loose lips and they’re quite easily cajoled into saying more than they mean to in blunter terms. So yes, Ellana. If you’d like to know some more details about the Iron Bull — because let’s face it, he probably told you scant to nothing — you’re going to tell me at least a little bit of what you and he talked about last night.”

Aedan smiles. It’s a beautiful smile. Ellana wants to kick it in with the heel of her boot.

Ellana sighs, hitting her head against the her seat.

“Aedan Cousland, you and I are way too similar for our own good.”

“I know. That’s another reason why you’d never pick me and I’d never want to be picked by you.” Aedan hums, tapping his fingers on his steering wheel. “Just sitting in this car with you makes my hair stand on end you know. I think after this whole business is done we’ll be excellent long distance friends, where we can’t physically read each other. Now, enough small talk. The Iron Bull. Details.”

[windstormwielding]

@catnippp​ said via Send 💭 + a topic and my muse will tell you what they think about it (accepting!):

💭+Quincies/Espada after the wars

“Goodness... where do I even begin with those?”

A mildly apprehensive Kōtarō couldn’t help but crane his head back a little, chin resting between thumb and curled index after he set down his cup of hot ginger tea. Eyes closed for a few moments so he could concentrate on his answer in relative silence… and with the additional comfort of guaranteed anonymity from the man with the bucket hat sitting across the low table, he was free to speak his mind without judgement or persecution.

When one of his men brought up the topic of Aizen a few days ago, his answer came with a straightforward explanation of his own distaste toward the turncoat with godly ambitions, a common opinion shared among many shinigami within the Gotei 13.

But the Espada and the Quincy, on the other hand… Just sharing his honest opinions on either group would take some time for him to elaborate freely, but both at once? That would take the 13th’s lieutenant a hot minute and a half to properly compile his thoughts.

Then again, there’s some benefit to speaking off the cuff—no second-guessing, just throwing out the first things that come to mind. Ten years still gave him plenty of time to think, even between restoration efforts within the Seireitei, and boy does he have a lot on his mind on these.

Might as well begin with the easy one?

“I guess I’ll start with the Espada. A group of already ultra-powerful Menos-class hollows whose transitions into Arrancar were heightened by the Hōgyoku… and were recruited or coerced into working under Aizen,” Kōta began. “As things currently stand now, I don’t have any particularly strong feelings on the Espada… I’ve said it once before already, but I really don’t think Arrancar are inherently evil. Heck, I’d even go so far as to say that even Hollows aren’t inherently evil, though they are definitely more frenzied by nature in order to feed—only ones who were truly evil as humans get sent to Hell upon death anyway. There’s good and bad among the Arrancar, just the same as us Shinigami, and I would be doing their reclaimed humanity a disservice if I still thought them no different from beasts. They’re people, and like people, all that matters is the kind of person each individual Arrancar chooses to be.”

With that train of thought, Kōtarō blinked to himself once he realized he had gone off on a tangent, then shook his head and downed some warm tea to renew his focus. With a satisfied hum, he resumed his discussion on the main topic of his monologue: the actual Espada, and not waxing philosophical on Arrancar wholesale.

"Anyway, I’m getting off-track, but my point is that I’m not going to condemn the surviving Espada for their past affiliations; once that war was over, the feeling I got was that they wanted to move on from Aizen just as much as we did. After the ex-Captain got them involved in his affairs, only to send them off to die by the hands of other Soul Reapers, they deserve at least that much from us. I won’t pretend I know the new Queen Tier Harribel personally, but she does have the A-OK from a friend (Nelliel) of a friend (Ichigo) of a friend (Captain Rukia) of mine. Overall impression is that she’s leaps and bounds ahead morally over the likes of Barragan Louisenbarn and Aizen himself, so that should count for something, right? My hope is that we can establish some kind of amicable relationship with her new order she’s trying to raise, although I’d imagine she would rather have us leave well enough alone—just so long as we’re not hostile toward one another…”

A wistful sigh followed as the Lieutenant’s thoughts drifted on wishful thinking. It would be nice if the Gotei 13 and the new Queen could found a diplomatic partnership of some kind, wouldn’t it? He personally felt an amicable alliance would only help to better strengthen each side, but even the new kingdom born within the realm of Hollows have little to no reason to trust the Seireitei as is. Then there’s the matter of Central 46, the governing body of the Soul Society, who’d surely have thoughts of their own on such an alliance, and none of them positive. What a shame.

Arms folded unto themselves for comfort as the lieutenant leaned back against the zaisu. His gaze stared off into nothing in particular as he looked up to the shop ceiling.

“...but that’s just how the system works, isn't it? We slay Hollows so they can be reborn into Souls, and so that we can keep preserving the balance between the Soul Society, Hueco Mundo, and the world of the living lest it all comes to an unceremonious end. While I don’t think that ought to apply to fully sentient beings like Arrancar, in a way, I see us slaying Hollows as a mercy. It’s a kindness, really, to end the suffering that consumed them as souls, souls we couldn’t save on time… which is more than I can say compared to how my precursors treated the Quincy.”

And there it is. Kōtarō turned silent at his mention of the Quincy—the polar opposite to his kind, those who he directly and involuntarily fought against in the Quincy Blood War. The relationship between Hollows, plus Arrancar by extension, and Shinigami was a relatively simple one to break down into words. It was an easy regurgitation of hard facts internalized over his century-long career, splashed with his own personal impressions on those who stood at the apex of Hollowkind. Quincy, on the other hand… where could he even begin?

“…I only swing my zanpakutō to slay Hollows. Cutting down humans though—the very people I’m supposed to be keeping watch over and protecting—that’s not what I signed up for, but that’s exactly what I did during that war, isn't it? Even if it was in self-defence, those Soldaten were still humans with lives to live and families to come back to… it’s shameful, when I think about it.”

Gaze narrowed as grim visions of the war returned to the forefront of his mind, then shut firmly with a wince for an expression as Kōta fought those unpleasant memories back.

“A-anyway, right. The Quincy, a race of spiritually empowered humans who fight with reishi manipulation… though I’m guessing you’re asking specifically about my thoughts on the Vandenreich, aren’t you?” This earned the lieutenant a slow nod from his candy shop-owning inquirer. “Well, whereas the Espada were either coerced into joining Aizen, fought for the sake of fighting, or relished at the opportunity to kill Soul Reapers, the Quincy who rallied under Yhwach’s banner differ in that they all shared a justified, nigh-unified hatred towards us. Unlike Aizen and the Espada… the Quincy’s war was a direct consequence of the Gotei 13’s past actions—that much, I understand now. Yhwach only galvanized and weaponized what was already there because of my predecessors.”

The look on Lt. Ryōhei’s face came off as fatigued now—he had a long time to think about this particular subject, with many sleepless nights spent reading and discussing the matter with fellow reapers after the dust settled. “Even if genocide was attempted for the sake of preventing the collapse of all three realms, all in the name of balance again, it’s still genocide, right? Of course retribution was going to follow. Of course they’d want to wipe us out in turn, just as the Gotei 13 tried to do unto them between the first war and the attempted extermination over 200 years ago. Then the second war came, only for Yhwach to dispose of them just as easily once they served their purpose…”

The storm-haired man paused as his own words started to weigh him down. "I feel... awful for them, really. Time and again they’ve been persecuted through no real fault of their own. Quincy don’t exist—weren’t brought into this world—only to die by our hands. I refuse to accept that.” A brief pause, to top off his half-full cup with some fresh tea... only to realize the pot was empty. "Then for their loyalty, the reward many of the survivors wrought was abandonment by their own God-King. There’s no sugarcoating it: the Quincy deserve better. Compassion, aid, pity, whatever; they kept getting robbed at every turn, and then were robbed some more when they’ve had enough and bit back. I don’t care if negotiations in the past fell through—we need to sit down, try again, keep talking, and come up with something of a proper solution for both sides.”

His company noted how Kōtarō’s observations between the Espada and Quincy differed, given he’d only ever fought one of the two himself, and so he piped up with an interesting question. Forgiveness?

“Truth is… I do forgive them, Urahara-san. Really, I do. Impossible as it may seem, even after they’ve slaughtered thousands of our own? Including Yamamoto, Sasakibe, and… and even Ukitake? After everything they’ve done? I honestly forgive them. There’s no point in condemning the remaining Quincy for fighting under Yhwach’s banner once upon a time. What matters is how we survivors—us and them—choose to live our lives in the here and now. Those among the Sternritter who still swear fealty to Yhwach, it’s probably inevitable we’ll come to fight again. There, I can sleep comfortably knowing I’ll raise my blade to try and stop them from trying to pile on more needless sacrifices, and this time, I’ll be ready for them if that happens. Those who just want to live their lives in peace, on the other hand… I’d like to build up a proper rapport with them somehow, if it’s doable, you know?”

A laugh broke from the lieutenant, albeit a sardonic one, as he continued with that line of thought. “Though I’m sure they don’t want to risk making themselves visible to Gotei folk like myself, or would sooner put an arrow through my heart before I’d get the chance to say: ‘Hello, my kind tried to wipe yours out on three separate occasions! What say we forget all that and let bygones be bygones over a good sporting game of shogi?’” Kōtarō even swung his arms together to emphasize his delivering a punchline as though he were a standup comedian, but the wry smile on his face made it clear he wasn’t aiming for laughs.

Ah, his tea grew cold from neglect… and the cup was still half full.

Oh well, down the hatch.

As he drank the last of his tea, Kisuke chanced another question—if there were any Arrancar or Quincy Kōtarō would want to meet himself. An interesting proposition…

“Well… I did hear that Captain Kurotsuchi has a Privaron on standby who specializes in wind manipulation like me? I’d like to meet him sometime, if that’s the case—discuss our craft, see what we can learn from each other and what not.”

A name slipped from the man of science’s lips: Dordoni. The lieutenant of winds nodded and made a mental note of it; the next time he’s over by the Shinigami Research and Development Institute, he’ll ask around.

“As for the Sternritter, at least among those I’ve read about… that’s an easy one. Sternritter T: Candice Catnipp, the Thunderbolt.”

Somehow, his name choice only seemed to amuse the man sitting opposite across the table. The combination of fan raised over his face, a tasteless joke, and a sly smirk got under Kōta's skin immediately.

“H-hey, hey, it’s nothing like THAT! I’m a man of storms and wind, she’s a woman of thunder and lightning—I vibe with her aesthetic is all I’m saying!” Kōta was quick to shoot up onto his knees and slam his hands on the table as he tried to defend himself (he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of crazy weather they could create together, lover of storms he is), but it was a fool’s errand that only spurred Urahara into further laughter at his expense. Oh well.

“SO, as you asked, I shared my thoughts on our former adversaries and then some. Say you keep your end of the bargain and we keep all of this between ourselves?” he huffed, shooting an unimpressed glare toward the man in green, who just set down a new batch of fresh tea for them both with a nod. At least that’s settled.

Kōtarō mulled things over as he sipped on ginger, as he found his mind going back to Ginjō and the words they exchanged then. He had believed in the greater good of the Soul Society for so long, but some of the atrocities his own kind committed had him stop and think sometimes. Even his late Captain set his foot down when he saw one injustice too many with Rukia’s execution 12 years prior, which only made Ryōhei prouder to serve the Thirteenth Division under Ukitake’s name.

The source of all that injustice… the endless suffering of Hollows, the attempted genocides onto the Quincy, the ongoing squalor Souls lived in after believing in the idea of a cozy afterlife…

“…sometimes, I can’t help but wonder,” Kōtarō found himself saying. "How much easier would it be for everyone if we didn’t have to worry about something as arbitrary, impersonal, and cruel as ‘balance’ in the first place?”

[moonlit-nest]

I got our Wizard a gift

   So I play 5E with all of my school friends, right? Quick background of our party makeup: Our DM, of course, and then me, a Paladin (don’t worry, I’m not the “Lawful Stupid” Variety) Sorcerer multiclass named Sunn. Additionally, you’ve got Fib the Rogue, Kepesk the Bloodhunter, Lotë the Druid, Edgar the Fighter and Minthe the Wizard. 

    So, my character, Sunn, is a pretty nice guy. At least, he tries to be. He thinks about others and likes to handle party talking and social skills, due to Charisma being his primary stat. Not always, but usually. He’s kindhearted, charming, and passionate about the people he cares for.         Then you’ve got our Wizard, Minthe... complete 180. A Necromancer who tends to front a cold shoulder, and doesn’t seem to really care about other people. At least, not at first (there were backstory reasons as to why she acted the way she did at times, though that’s for another tale). She raises the dead despite the social stigma behind her specialized magic, and tends to take a no shit attitude, and an all or nothing approach. I guess in a way you could say she and Sunn both took the role of joint “Speakers” for the group, since Sunn was the lighthearted “let’s go, team!” Type of guy who rallies his comrades, and Minthe opposed this by keeping the group on track and focused, and was surprisingly level headed, even during times of crisis. You’d think they wouldn’t really get along, right?

   Well, as it turns out, they actually clicked, and surprisingly well! Maybe it was that they were both dedicated and experienced casters, maybe it was that Minthe found my strange character interesting (he’s a Furry, which is almost basically unheard of in our setting by the DM, unless you count established races like Lizardfolk or Arakockra under the furry umbrella term. Buy and large though, Sunn was pretty unique), but they grew to have a slightly antagonistic but genuine friendship the first chance our group got to chill and roleplay in an inn. To get an idea of what their relationship looks like overall, Minthe’s player and I often joke about situations the two could find themselves in, and how, generally speaking, Minthe and Sunn make jabs at the others expense frequently, but always in good fun, as they know each other well enough to not take it so far as to hurt one another’s feelings. In fact, when things get serious, they work surprisingly well together! Admittedly, that may be in part due to the fact that Minthe’s player and I (we’ll call her... Sam, for the sake of privacy 💛) have a pretty good relationship outside of D&D, and we both are very experienced D&D and role players, so we just mesh easily.    So, with that context in mind, we come to the story part. Our party had recently traveled underground (long story short, it was a more secret route into the castle of the city we were under, we were rescuing an innocent woman from execution). There was a puzzle we had to get past involving the guard of said underground path (Sam did a great job here, as she had to tell the guard a story that would entertain him in order to pass, and she rolled very high along with her very good roleplaying, which was more than enough to let us pass), and then we were in the stretch towards the underground criminal base that would allow us passage to the castle from the inside. As we make our way through the narrow cavern, which slowly filled with water, insuring we didn’t lag behind too much, we made our way to a... very... peculiar area.      The walls seemed to end, and all around us looked like a night sky, even below the semi-opaque stairway that seemed to slowly crawl downwards. We had outpaced the water in this point, so we were free to carefully observe our surroundings in this otherworldly zone... I’m not exactly sure what this was to be honest, but my current theory was, at some point, we failed to perceive a portal of some kind that connected us to this magical hallway, a limbo between the cavern to wherever the underground criminal zone was. Anyway, no point in delaying, we begin proceeding downwards into the abyss, dimly (and I do mean  dimly) lit by artificial star lights.   

   I should mention that, at this point, we concluded this session. A week passed us by, and we were hyped! Unfortunately, Sam was unable to proceed with this week’s session due to family business I believe, so we agreed to proceed with the session and edify her on the events immediately once the session concluded. As for Minthe, we felt it would be wrong to do her the disservice of just pretending she was there but not letting her do anything, so, despite our lack of a character sheet, we agreed to let someone use her character. I took that role, since I had the relative most experience with both 5E and Spellcasting out of the rest of the players at the time. 

   Now, resuming the in game events, we’re traveling through this odd realm of darkness, faint light, and downward stairs. Eventually, we begin to worry a little, so we all decide we’ll be making perception rolls to keep cautious. The dice were rolled, and every single one of our characters heard a strange series of noises as we listened... it sounded like... chittering...   

   Naturally, we’re unnerved. This was the first thing we had in this campaign that even felt reminiscent of horror themed, so we weren’t sure what the DM had planned... we get our vigil, and remained stalwart, proceeding further below. Eventually, we see the outline of a massive set of doubled doors, complete with large handles that were probably higher up than Lotë, who I wanna say was the shortest member of the party. However, the doors aren’t all we see.       Above, we see multiple lights flicker in the darkness. One, two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty... tens... hundreds. Blinking in quick succession. They were a slightly different color than the stars surrounding us.     These, as was obvious, were no stars.        From just above the door, an incredible and mortifying sight revealed itself - a monstrous, gargantuan, opalescent Spider, the starlight now reflecting off of its revealed form, its razor sharp fangs, needle pointed legs and gemstone-fortified body sparkling in all of its death-foretelling glory. Then, as if things couldn’t be worse, the seemingly infinite eyes of above closed down towards us - hundreds of smaller twinkling spiders, raining down upon us.

   Roll Initiative.       Our Bloodhunter Kepesk went first, activating his crimson rite on his weapon and charging for the spider. Then a small group of the swarm attacked everyone in a small enough zone, dealing minimal, but still noteworthy, piercing damage. Keep in mind that the fact that this battle takes place on a stairway limits our mobility, lest we risk falling off of said stairs into who knew where...   

   The orders continue, Sunn strengthening the party with his magic, Lotë hurling spells and supporting friends when needed, wisely using fire to help ward against the webs that the many abominations sometimes used to keep us in place, Edgar bravely defending his friends with his viscous morning star, Kepesk distracting the leader of the creatures and dealing significant damage with his ice-coated scythe, Fib narrowly dodging and weaving through attacks and cleverly using the darkness to pass checks (presumably for being able to disengage and hide) before returning to the fray with impressive sneak attack damage, and Minthe channeling her most powerful spells at her disposal to decimate the army of spiders.       Now, Kepesk, he’s a... cocky son of a bitch. Well, mayhaps not cocky, but I lack a better term. He’s absolutely chaotic, as is his player, though in the best way possible. He only does nonsense when he knows it can benefit the group, or at least himself and not harm the group, and it always makes for a good laugh! This boss fight would be no different, as he evades and disengages from the giant spider, and attempts to use her own weapons against her - by charming one of the spiders. Not, you know, magically charming them or commanding them. Just... you know, trying to tame it. In the middle of the fight. While also dodging the flurry of swipes and jabs from the boss.       It may sound ridiculous, but we just thought it was as hilarious as it was badass, and we were dying of laughter, even the DM was into it (despite the fact that she later described never in a million years anticipating it, so good on her for being awesome about improvising shit). Now, he did, admittedly, have to earn it. A check to learn more about the spiders, a check to calm the spider, and then a few other things to make sure it didn’t die, fall, etc etc, since we were trying to kill as many spiders as possible, and he was sandwiched between the horde and the boss. He definitely suffered some hits and had to earn his pet gem spider, but, he did!       Now, I see this, and I’m laughing while I think of a way to help. Maybe I have a spell that can make his checks easier, or buy him some time by getting the boss spider’s attention with a Divine Smite from Sunn, as I still had one last spell slot for him. But, I realized, Sunn rolled less than adequate on his initiative, and he was out for more than a few rounds, at least six or so. Minthe, however? She was next.   

   Now, for whatever reason, my thoughts lingered on Sam. “Man”, I thought, “what would Sam think if she were in this situation with Minthe?”       Well, quickly, I had an answer. I smiled to myself, now giggling quietly.       “She’d want a pet of her own, right?” I thought to myself. I mean, I wasn’t sure if she had a familiar or not at the time, but I knew the idea was humored by Sam and our DM. Maybe, just maybe, I could actually pull it off! A check to figure out what these things are, how to tame them, just get Sunn or Edgar to protect her from some spiders and boom, should be easy, right? Yes, it was. Just... not as easy as I thought it would be.       “DM?” I ask, politely.       “Wassup?” She asks in return, awaiting my response.       “Minthe notices Kepesk not fighting with one of the spiders, and reasons that she’s away from most of the enemies... can she try to tame a spider as well?”       She thinks on it for a second, and asks me to explain my reasoning, which I do. Minthe was known for being a little strange, since she was a Necromancer and didn’t really give a damn what people thought about her, so it’s not like it was out of character. I also add that it would be a nice surprise for Sam, since she had thought about getting Minthe a familiar before, and maybe this would be a way to ease that desire until a real familiar could be obtained (she ended up getting a... raven, or maybe a crow, as her legit familiar. He’s hilarious and can communicate using telepathy, he’s surprisingly eloquent with common, if a bit snarky)! The DM rules that I can certainly try, and to roll an Arcana check to learn more about these creatures. Minthe, being a wizard, had a very high score, and I rolled decently, between 10 and 15, so I was safe, and learned all of the information Kepesk had. Then, I roll another Arcana check to try and tame it (the reason I rolled Arcana and not Animal Handling, as I recall, was that Minthe was using her knowledge and actual facts of how to tame the creatures as opposed to intuitive care for the animal). I pick up my D20, shake it with both hands, and mumble “pleeeeaaase work..” to myself. I let go, and a few clacks ring out. People were curious if I could do it.       Natural 20.       I was pumped for the rest of the night - not only was the spider okay with chilling with Minthe, it fell in love! With two new allies on our side, we defeated the rest of the pests and took down the Massive Spider herself! Victory was ours, and the session ended as we pushed open the heavy metal gates, greeted with the sight of relatively civilized society. It was full of crooks, but at least there was an inn, so we felt pretty damn good.       I eagerly texted Sam the report of the session that night once I was in my car on the way home (wasn’t driving, lol), and told her the tale of how she would have a viscous, dangerous little crystal spider to roleplay with as her character in the next session. To this day, both Minthe and Kepesk still have their spider kids and they honestly love them very, very much.       The End! 💛

[tenrk]

➜ EVENT: star bright casting ➜ LOCATION: park hyatt hotel - interview room ➜ DATE: sunday 28th 2020

why was he doing this? subjecting himself to this ordeal all over again? was this what he wanted? did he really want to start himself on this journey that lead him down the path of self destruction all over again? 

to put it simply, yes, he did want to do all this again. when he’d come back from his three month long disappearing act he’d known from the moment he set foot in seoul that he’d be fighting for this dream once more. of course, people would judge - he’d had his chance, and he’d blown it. but performing, being on stage, dancing and singing for people was something ten had always wanted to do, and probably always would want to do. so, it’d be a disservice to himself if he didn’t take every opportunity presented to him to get back to where he was before. 

being judged was what led ten to his breakdown, and he knew it’d be hard to deal with being judged all over again, even more so now, but his therapist was on speed dial if he needed her, so he couldn’t let his fears take over again. not this time. 

he has his doubts as he’s filling out the form, wondering whether he’s too old to try again, or if he’ll be judged poorly for throwing everything he had away, but somehow the form gets filled out and then he’s just waiting to be interviewed. he’d never gone to something like this before. when he was signed in the past he’d been noticed through an event and invited to audition, rather than go out of his way to attend one. the second time he’d only had to send in a few videos he’d filmed himself. 

this feels different. 

eventually, his names called, and though he notices the heads of some other people waiting snap up to look at him, recognising his name, he ignores them and heads into the interview room. he’s not sure what his chances are like, since they might just write him off because they’re worried he’ll quit like he did before, but he knows he’d got experience in front of cameras, and with being interviewed, so he’s not nervous. 

he stands, perfectly at ease in front of the camera while they check the sound and the video, then give him to cue to introduce himself.

“my names chittaphon leechaiyapornkul, or ten. i’m 22 years old and a dance teacher at 1million dance studio, and a first year dance student at korea national university of arts.” it’s short, but sweet, and punctuated by a relaxed smile at the end. he wonders for a moment whether whoever will watch these will recognise him - he’s changed a lot since he was in the idol world. 

the interviewer, eyes on her clipboard, finally glances up at him and speaks.

“thank you. now, i’ve just got a few questions to ask. please look at the camera while responding.” ten nods, glancing to the camera, then back to her. 

“so, why do you want to be an idol?”

ten’s not entirely sure how to answer, having already been one, and given it up. “ever since i could walk and talk i’ve loved to sing and dance. i can’t remember a time in my life where i wouldn’t have rather been dancing.” he smiles, a genuine smile as he thinks about his greatest passion. “i was lucky enough to have the chance to be an idol for a while. dancing and singing on stage, interacting with the people who really cherished my performances and my skills gave me the biggest rush of euphoria. there isn’t a single thing in the world that’s comparable to the feeling of knowing you’ve brightened someone’s day just by doing something you love. i wasn’t able to keep ahold of my dream for a long, due to health issues, but now that i’m better, i know i can’t just give up on my dream. it’s not too late for me to try again.”

“you mentioned both singing and dancing - which is your best skill? do you have any other notable talents?”

“i’m a dancer, first and foremost, but i do love to sing as well.” he responds with a smile. “i started out focusing more on rapping, but found i preferred singing after a while, so focused my energy on improving in that area more so. but, really, dancing is my biggest passion. i’m at my best when i’m dancing. nothing makes me happier than dancing. i love all styles!” he beams, thinking of all the styles he has yet to master. “i’m mainly based in hip hop, but i’ve been dabbling in contemporary recently, and have taken a few ballet and tap classes over the years. my ultimate goal would be to master all styles of dance, even if that is a little far fetched.” he laughs as he finishes speaking. 

“you wrote on your form that convex are an inspiration to you - your former group, correct? could you elaborate more on how they’re an inspiration to you?”

this question tugs at something still raw in ten’s chest and he finds it hard to push a proper smile onto his lips this time. “everyone in that group were, and still are, like brothers to me. i don’t personally know the new members, but even so, i care very deeply about them by association - they’re carrying on the convex name when i couldn’t, and just seeing them all work so hard to continue to do something i know we all loved to do, and all still do, despite us being separated, inspires me to work harder to get back to that level. so that maybe i can perform on the same stage as them again one day. i’d like to meet them again on award shows, maybe even watch them win right there beside them.”

“you had to leave convex for health issues, you say. could you tell us more about that? were there any other obstacles in your life you’ve had to overcome that were bigger than that?”

ten’s quiet for a moment as his stomach twists and turns, recalling the day he had to leave sphere, leave convex, leave his family. he knows it was for the best, but it doesn’t help to dull the pain. “yes. i... became a trainee at a very young age, when i hadn’t fully figured myself out yet. being a trainee is hard, harder than a lot of people expect or anticipate. harder than i anticipated, that’s for sure. i never really had the time to learn healthy coping mechanisms before i entered the entertainment industry, and because of that i wasn’t able to look after myself very well when things got hard. being an idol was ever harder, and i refused to ask for help until it was too late. i had to step back for my health, even if it was the hardest thing i ever had to do. i knew if i didn’t i could really hurt not only myself but the group, so i did what have to be done. i took some time away to get help and learn those coping mechanisms i didn’t have before, and i’m much better now. i’m ready to face the hardships of being a trainee, and an idol, again.” he thinks about the second part of the question and hums. “my childhood was tough. my older brother and i never got along, and he made growing up around him pretty difficult. i didn’t really do much to overcome that, sadly, as we’re still not on great terms, but i did move away with my mum, which helped a lot. being away from him, i think, probably helped us both out. we just have clashing personalities.” he says, knowing he’s sugar coated and underplayed the whole thing to hell and back. 

“through these hard times, did your family help you out? could you tell us about them?”

family. something ten still hasn’t found a good balance with. it’s not something he enjoys talking about, but it is something he’d had to talk about with his therapist, had to face up to and figure out. “they wanted to, but i had to do it on my own, i think. it was right for me to take the time to be on my own and focus on myself and being happy in myself without needing outside help, at least at first. my dads side of the family, apart from my sister, well, i’m not very close to them, and likely wouldn’t ask them for help. my older sister though helped me a lot growing up, and still helps me now. she’s one of the few people i feel comfortable going to for help. my mums side was definitely a lot of help when i came back to seoul early this year. i have two younger siblings on my mums side, a brother and a baby sister, and spending time with them is always fun and relaxing, so whenever i feel stressed i make sure to visit them.”

“okay, only one more question. if you weren’t trying to be an idol, what do you think you’d be doing right now?”

ten thinks hard, struggling to find an answer as he realises he’s never even thought of an alternative. “i’ve never thought much about it. not being an idol never seemed like a possibility. i feel like it’s what i’m destined to do. but i suppose i’d be finishing university, probably teaching dance as i am right now. i’d always be doing something to do with dancing. i can’t see my life any other way.”

“thank you, that’s all. do you have any questions?”

“no, i don’t think so.”

“alright, well, have a nice day.” the interviewer stands and heads over to the door to hold it open for ten to exit through. 

“thank you, you too!” he replies with a smile, walking through the open doorway and out past the other people waiting. as he makes his way out of the hotel he wonders whether a rejection would sting as badly as he thinks it might. would his fear of never having another chance, having been blacklisted for quitting, be realised? 

[oakensherwood]

No one sent me asks from this list about my 2019 reading year, so I answered all of them, because I wanted to and because I can. Enjoy!

How many books did you read this year?

35! My highest number on Goodreads record is 38, so I almost beat out my highest number to date, but I��m pleased with the 35 I did read.

Did you reread anything? What?

I like to reread books, and this year I reread Little Women and The Tale of Despereaux

What were your top five books of the year?

In no particular order: The Good Neighbor: The Life and Work of Fred Rogers by Maxwell King Pachinko by Min Jin Lee Yale Needs Women by Anne Gardiner Perkins The Scarlet Forest by A.E. Chandler Meg, Jo, Beth, Amy: The Story of Little Women and Why It Still Matters by Anne Boyd Rioux

Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

Not particularly… Although I did read two books by Monica Hesse. Both were good, but they didn’t blow me away. I was just intrigued enough by the first book, to pick up another one. What genre did you read the most of?

It doesn’t really count as a genre, but I did read 34.3% nonfiction, followed by 31.4% historical fiction. 

Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to?

Yes, unfortunately. I made a 2019 TBR just because, without designating it as a concrete goal, but I’m still sad that five of the books never made it onto my “read” list.

Affinity by Sarah Waters *When We Were Outlaws by Jeanne Cordova *84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff Pages For You by Sylvia Brownrigg Journey to a Woman by Ann Bannon

* denotes books I tried to read but were inaccessible due to library availability. All of these books are being carried over to my 2020 TBR. 

What was your average Goodreads rating? Does it seem accurate?

3.6 is my average, which feels okay, but I do feel like I had a lot of great books this year! Ten 5 star books, and eleven 4 star books. My average does feel mostly accurate, but I might tip it up a bit to 3.8.

Did you meet any of your reading goals? Which ones?

I didn’t set any particular reading goals other than to not set a reading goal, haha. I set my Goodreads challenge to 1 to relieve all pressure and allow myself to just enjoy reading. I made a TBR just to keep my focus narrowed, but I didn’t make it to force myself to read any of the books. I definitely enjoyed my reading this past year, I am pleased with the non-goals that I set.

Did you get into any new genres?

I think I definitely read a lot more nonfiction this year, and I think it’s something I definitely want to continue doing. Many of my favorite books of the year were nonfiction. 

What was your favorite new release of the year?

Yale Needs Women by Anne Gardiner Perkins! This book is about when Yale became co-ed, and follows the lives of various female students who were the first women at Yale. I would highly recommend this book to anyone and everyone. 

What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?

I tend to read more of the backlist than new releases, so this one is tough. As it turns out, I think my favorite is a tie between Pachinko by Min Jin Lee and The Scarlet Forest by A.E. Chandler. Both were published in 2017. 

Any books that disappointed you?

Ugh. Yes. The Daylight Gate by Jeanette Winterson, Nottingham by Nathan Makaryk, and Sherwood by Meagan Spooner. 

What were your least favorite books of the year?

The Daylight Gate by Jeanette Winterson and Women in the Shadows by Ann Bannon. 

What books do you want to finish before the year is over?

The year is already over. I was in the middle of two books, which I would have liked to have finished: A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki and Ghosts of the Tsunami: Death and Life in Japan’s Disaster Zone by Richard Lloyd Parry. I finished A Tale for the Time Being today (01/03), and will probably finish the second in the next few days. 

Did you read any books that were nominated for or won awards this year (Booker, Women’s Prize, National Book Award, Pulitzer, Hugo, etc.)? What did you think of them?

After a quick couple Google searches, I don’t think I read any books nominated for or won awards. 

What is the most over-hyped book you read this year?

I feel like I read several books that had a good amount of hype (either this year or in previous years). The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon, Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid, among others. But I enjoyed many of my hyped books as much as I expected. With one exception. I was not a fan of Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan. Ugh, that was an over-hyped and unenjoyable book. 

Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

Pachinko surprised me. But otherwise, I don’t think so. I have a pretty good sense of which books I like, and if I don’t like something, I can DNF it a chapter or two into the book, guilt-free. Life is too short for unenjoyable books. 

How many books did you buy?

4. 

Did you use your library?

So much. That’s why I only bought four books. Overdrive and my Kindle are my best friends while I’m living in the Japanese countryside, far away from access to English books. 

What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations?

I really don’t track new releases, so I didn’t anticipate any new books this year.

Did you participate in or watch any booklr, booktube, or book twitter drama?

I watch plenty of Booktube, but I don’t follow channels that participate in drama. The most “drama” I participated in was watching Ariel Bissett’s video about the difficulties of being a book reviewer and reviewing a book published by a close friend (referencing Christine Riccio’s new book.) But I don’t think that’s drama. I think it’s an honest opinion about her experience and very positive content.

What’s the longest book you read?

I think it’s probably The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samatha Shannon. 

What’s the fastest time it took you to read a book?

I haven’t the faintest idea. And I don’t want to dig through my Goodreads to find out. 

Did you DNF anything? Why?

I DNFed Sherwood by Meagan Spooner. For many reasons. But mostly because I felt it did a disservice to real medieval women by over-writing history and promoting incorrect assumptions in order to write a modern feminist Robin Hood retelling. A badly written retelling to boot.

I also DNFed Across a Broken Shore by Amy Trueblood and Invictus by Ryan Graudin.

What reading goals do you have for next year?

My Goodreads reading challenge is already set to 1, and I plan on enjoying my reading as much this year, as I did last year. I also want to read Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott and England Under Norman and Angevin Kings, 1075-1225 by Robert Bartlett. Otherwise, I have a focused TBR that I am free to ignore if I wish. 

[chyrstis]

Nice try (but it won’t work twice)

It’s Whitetail Mountain time, and also time for Jess and Jacob to say hello.

Rating: T Word Count: 5.7K

Link to AO3!

___

As it turns out, earning Jacob’s attention doesn’t take much effort at all. A fact that the Deputy wishes weren’t the case.

______________

The F.A.N.G. Center had been home to all sorts of creatures.

Not necessarily the fanged kind – cue Sharky’s audible disappointment – but it hadn’t been out of bounds to expect to see wolves, wolverines, and even bears resting and healing up within its walls. One bear in particular had been the singular draw, and Cheeseburger was as adorable as a full-sized grizzly bear with maximum mauling capacity could get.

With the cult in charge, its focus had been redirected.  Repurposed for something much, much worse, if what she’d heard about the Judges was true. Wolves were dangerous enough on their own. Adding bliss to the mix was a possibility that she didn’t even want to entertain.

So, when Dutch had called in, saying that one of the caretakers of the place had been holding out, looking for help, Hana made a little detour. It hadn’t been hard to convince either Sharky or Hurk – the latter of which was just itching to dig into any kind of mayhem in general – and she pulled up on the outskirts of the center so the three could find a way in.

Just because said way involved rockets didn’t mean it was entirely a bad one, but it was far from quiet, and soon enough, the entire place was on fire, literally and figuratively.

When she wasn’t choking on smoke, or stomping out the flames threatening to climb up the leg of Sharky’s pants, she was trading fire with the handful of Peggies stationed there, none of which actually had Judges to back them up. That had been a small blessing in and of itself, and she gave the universe a mental high-five before digging for a spare stick of dynamite.  

The rest fell into place after that, leaving the F.A.N.G. Center singed, but standing.

She asked Dutch to put out a call to see if they could get some people to the center to lock it down, and with that resolved, the three had settled in to wait for them.

There was one outstanding problem, however. Cheeseburger wasn’t on the grounds, and hadn’t been seen since he was released.

Cheeseburger’s caretaker, Wade, pointed them all in the direction of where Cheeseburger had run off to, not even fazed by the fact that an actual bear was on the loose. The cult had been interested in seeing what could be done with the animal, possibly by dosing it with bliss as well, and he’d let it go shortly before the center had been taken.

With that as the alternative, she found herself agreeing with him. She hadn’t seen any of the converted wolves yet, but a blissed out megabear did not need to be added to the mix.  

Sharky and Hurk had opted to bear hunt, while she decided to hold down the fort. She made the two swear up and down that they would yell for her if things went south before leaving, and hoped like hell they would actually take her up on the offer instead of winging it.  

The souvenir shop she hadn’t had a chance to visit while it was all intact and operating before, and looked better suited now to a spot from an apocalypse film. The work they had done to clear the place out hadn’t helped, but the wind was technically blowing the fires in the opposite direction of this building, so…at least it wasn’t going to add to the look.

Hana pushed the door open, listening to it creak as it swung inward. It was a small building, and most of the items on display had been scattered across the shelves and the floor.

There were the usual items, like t-shirts and postcards, but the stuffed cheeseburgers and teddy bears drew a smile from her as she walked past them. She came to a dead stop when she saw it, however.

The bobblehead stared back at her from its place on the shelf. The bear itself had a giant smile, one bordering well on goofy, and when she picked it up to get a closer look, nearly dropped it when it started to speak.

“You smell just like a cheeseburger! Yum!”

The voice laughed, and she shuddered. “Hello, nightmare fuel.”

That sound likely haunted many a small child’s dreams, and wasn’t just limited to the toys. The speakers outside kept on playing other recorded phrases on repeat, all of which followed a similar theme. For people aiming to bank on selling merch, they could not have done a more severe disservice to a beloved mascot.

She set the bobblehead down with the same care she’d use for fine china, and slowly backed away before moving on.

Nearby two wanted posters were hanging up on the wall. One for an Eli Palmer, and the other was torn, only leaving the bottom edge with the name remaining. That one was for Jess Black.

Figures Jess would be a total mystery. Dutch hadn’t described his niece’s appearance, and she hadn’t asked, so Hana was going to have to hope that if she did run into Jess without warning, she’d be able to introduce herself before the bullets started flying. Dutch had said she was up near the lumber mill which they had cut around to grab Hurk. Swinging back to check for her made sense while they were well within reach. The statue had been her driving goal for the last few days, but it could wait.

Eli, on the other hand, she could get a good look at. Or as good of a look as the image presented showed. The long hair and beard definitely gave off the great outdoorsman vibe, and she found it difficult to tell his age because of it.

So, this was him, eh? At least she had a face to the name, even if it wasn’t looking likely she was going to meet him any time soon, if at all.  

Dutch had mentioned he was the head of the group giving Jacob the most push-back up here, the Whitetail Militia. Though, he hadn’t sugarcoated any of his words when it came to how well they were doing. Pressure from Jacob had come non-stop, and the long-standing endurance fight was one that had been wearing them down for a while now.

It was only a matter of time before the Resistance could kiss the Whitetails goodbye, so even if she couldn’t link up with them officially, she could at least take some of the attention off of them. That, she was getting to be quite good at.

“Still,” she mused, crossing her arms as she thought over the events of the day, “maybe you might wanna dial this back a little, eh? Guy’s not going to want to talk if you’re busy setting fires on his doorstep.”

“Deputy, do you copy?”

The radio at her side cracked as Dutch’s voice came through, and she picked it up. “Yeah, Dutch. I’m here. Everything okay?” If she had to ask, the answer was no, but she wanted him to confirm it first.

“Where are you right now?”

“In a room full of cheeseburgers, if that’s any clue.” She took a look around the souvenir shop again, her radio in hand, and crept over to one of the windows. “I’m at the F.A.N.G. Center right now. Why?”

“There’s been some talk on a few of the other channels about an explosion near there. Multiple.”

She winced. “You don’t say?”

“Bet I can shoot right between that gap in the bars, tagging both of those Peggies while threading the needle like a maestro.”

The gap in question she checked out with her binoculars, looking like a tight fit. “With a rocket?”

“With my one and only,” Hurk said proudly.

Sharky only served to back him up, standing right by his side as the three huddled close. “Cuz’ll get it. He’s a pro at this kind of shit.”

She thought it over for a grand total of ten seconds before saying, “Do it.”

“Uh, there might have been some noise. Maybe more than intended, but nothing was hit that didn’t deserve it. Should be quiet from now on.” She paused, considering both herself and the company she was currently keeping. “Quieter, at least.”

“Not quiet enough.”

That was not Dutch.

“Looks like someone is playing at being a soldier.”

This was not a friendly. Not when speaking with an edge like that, and that narrowed down the potential list of people calling her to one.

“So, that doesn’t get me a sparkling seal of approval from the man himself, huh?”

“No,” Jacob replied, the response flat. “You’re a problem. One that I’ve been told needs solving.”

When John had contacted her like this down at the Woodsons', he hadn’t dismissed her outright. Had even traded a few comments with her as she tried sniping at him right up until he mentioned sending people to get her.

Jacob was not John, however, and trying that same method with him was quickly looking to be a huge mistake.

“There’s work to be done, and what you are doing is counter to our progress. What threatens the Project, threatens us, and I don’t have time for games. There’s no use in running. You won’t get far.”

Only static filled the air after that. She stared at the radio for a few seconds, her finger hovering over the call button, and eventually cracked when no one else spoke up. “Dutch?”

“…ey! Kid, respond! Are you still there?”

“Yes.” The word sounded smaller than intended, and she cleared her throat before speaking again. “ETA on the guys headed here?”

“Last I heard, they’re about fifteen to twenty out. A group of Peggies tried to cut them off, but they’re still coming.”

Along with whatever Jacob was planning, and here she was, practically alone - short of having Wade nearby - swearing to herself next to a pile of teddy bears and burgers.

“Oh, this is bad. This is bad,” she muttered, giving the empty store a quick scan before holding the radio up again. She needed to call the guys back. Now. “I’ll figure it out. Just tell them that-“

A small, piercing sting to the back of her neck cut her off mid-word.

She slapped at the spot, hoping to swat the damn bug that had bit her. Instead her fingers closed around a small object. One that stung when she plucked it from her neck, and brought it in front of her face to examine.

A dart. A red dart.

“Are you fucking serious…?” she said, her words slurring.

She fell to the side, her sunglasses clattering on the tile below, and a set of hands grabbed her roughly before she could hit the floor. There were two figures in the shop with her, both with their faces covered, but their eyes exposed.

A disappointed sigh was the last thing that left her, as her eyes slid shut.

---

“Hey.”

Hana’s eyelids fluttered, then closed.

“Hey!”

She felt a flick to her shin, and she tensed, sucking in a breath through her teeth. “Ow!”

When she opened her eyes, the woman crouching down beside her backed up, one hand tucked close to the pockets of her green overshirt, and the other curled around a small knife.

Her hood was pulled up over her head, tangled dirty-blonde strands spilling out of it, and her eyes remained set on Hana as she watched her closely.

Hana slowly rubbed her hands over her aching leg, not wanting to drop eye contact just in case that would be the thing to set her off. Her legs were stiff, however. Unable to be moved apart.

When she glanced down to see what was locking them in place, she noticed the ropes, wound tightly around her ankles. The two were in an isolated spot, somewhere in the forest proper, surrounded by trees, and no other voices could be heard within range off them.

Slowly Hana raised her hands in surrender as the seconds ticked on, and tried not to let too much of her nervousness show.

“Don’t,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Says the woman with the knife.”

“I was in the process of cutting you loose. I saw you moving and thought it’d be better to let you know now instead of during, so you don’t fucking kick me.”

She noticed the large compound bow slung over her back, along with the words painted onto her clothes. All of them were a stark white against the green fabric, all of them roughly written, and as Hana took another look at her, she tried not to focus on how deep some of the scars on the woman’s face were.

“Thanks,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I think I owe you one, then. Sorry for being….well, me.”

“And who are you?”

“Oh, uh. Shit. I’m Hana. Or if you want to be formal, Deputy Vao, the asshole running around stirring up trouble.”

The woman gave her a curious look. “Deputy.”

“Yeah, Deputy.”

“Yeah, I did hear about some asshole of a deputy running around. Just not up here until now.” She leaned down and grabbed for the ropes, her knife glinting as they sawed through them. “Chatter’s scattered, but there.”

“Gotta love it when your reputation precedes you. And you are?”

“Jess. Jess Black.”

“Holy shit.  Dutch was…he told me to keep an eye out for you here.”

“Did he?” She helped Hana unwind the cut ropes from her legs, and tossed them aside. “And here I was wondering if I’d ever get to meet you. He’d only been talking you up ever since this shit started. How the cult’s having a fucking crisis over just how much damage you’ve done, and that’s just the something we need more of around here.”

“Well, I aim to please, and anything that makes their lives that much worse, I’ll gladly do in spades. So, if you have any suggestions, name it. I meant it when I said I owed you.”

Jess thought it over for a few seconds, studying her face this time. Eventually she gave her a small nod. “I’ve been tracking patrols. Looking for any of Jacob’s pet Chosen that would report back to the Cook. I was following a new route, but saw the men dragging you back to the VA Center, and no one that goes in there comes back out. And if they do, not right. Not after hitting the Chair.”

“And here I was thinking I had shit luck.”

“Still was if they got you. He’ll try again.”

That was not something she was looking forward to, but for now she’d take it. “Of course he is. The Seeds really have a problem taking no for an answer, no matter who I’m talking to. …Who’s the Cook?”

Jess’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “He’s a twisted fuck. One that should’ve been put down a long time ago. Instead he’s here, playing into Jacob’s ‘cull the weak’ bullshit, and using it as an excuse to do things that-“ She took in a shaky breath, her hands shaking slightly, but on the exhale they stilled. “To do things to people that no fucking person would ever think they’re capable of.”

Hana shifted, watching as Jess’s gaze which had been locked on her not even five minutes ago, shifted to the bushes surrounding them instead. “All of those things are solid reasons,” she replied, crossing her legs under her. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just get me close enough to kill him. That’s all that matters.”

“Done.”

Jess looked over at her and snorted. “You don’t need much convincing, do you?”

“You saved my life, and the world could always use one fewer motherfucker in it, so…” That got her the briefest of smiles, and Hana couldn’t help her grin in return.  “Yeah, I’m in.”

Hopping to her feet, she patted herself down, wondering what had been left on her, only to notice her bag resting nearby. The relief that hit upon seeing it was immense, and Jess sighed when Hana hugged the gear to her chest.

“They didn’t bother to remove it before dragging you along, so you got lucky.”

“Hell yeah, I did.” Kissing it would’ve been overboard, but as she went through it, she was tempted to. Especially when she found her radio, banged up as it was, but still intact. “So damn lucky.”

“Come on.” Jess tilted her head to gesture out towards the woods. “Daylight’s burning, and we need to head past the lumber mill before dark.”

“Hey, uh, Jess? You didn’t happen to see two guys wandering around close to the F.A.N.G. Center, by any chance? One in green, loves fire, but hopefully isn’t on fire, and the other leaning really hard into the whole ‘America, fuck yeah!’ theme?”

The next look Jess gave her stopped Hana in her tracks. “You were with them? No wonder Jacob was able to find and pick you up in record time. They’re like a herd of fucking elephants.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know they don’t set off every alarm.”

“Just most of them. You too, if I’ve heard right.”

Hana’s face flushed as she recalled just how big one of the explosions had been back at the F.A.N.G. Center, taking out the incoming trucks as she’d reached over to high-five Hurk. Jacob’s call had come not even five minutes before she’d been tranq-ed, and she’d been handling souvenirs for God’s sake.

They’d played right into Jacob’s hands, and lucky for all of them, she’d been the only one taken. If Jess hadn’t found her… God, where would she be right now? Would anyone have known?

Each thought that followed was worse than the last, and when Hana did finally reply to Jess, it was after letting out a long breath through her teeth.   “Touche.”

“You want to radio them, go ahead, but if you want to do this, I need you quiet. I will not lose him again.”

“If I’m going to be honest with you, I’m kinda crap at the whole stealth thing too, but…I’ll try. I owe you that.”

“Good. Follow me.”

---

They had a lot of ground to cover. While the mill hadn’t been too far from the center by car, going by foot was a different story. Jess made it look effortless, cutting through any paths in the brush without interference, and didn’t let anything slow her down.

She, on the other hand, was a city kid. This was not her schtick, though Hana did genuinely think at times that she was adapting pretty well. Just not when she was forcing herself through bushes, and snagging herself on branches, while stepping on every brittle leaf known to man.

Jess told her to stay close, but distance did end up creeping between them. She would check back, throwing one hell of a dirty look at her when it seemed like she was going to get left behind, but there was no waving Jess on ahead.

The other woman refused outright, and Hana couldn’t argue with that either after the second time Jess doubled-back to find her. After being drugged and taken three times now – and counting -   she couldn’t afford to be alone out here, no one could, and eventually Jacob was going to want to know where she went.

And she still hadn’t been able to get ahold of Sharky or Hurk. She’d tried radioing the two along the way, the signal unclear as she gave it a few solid smacks. It’d taken a beating, but hadn’t completely crapped out yet. At least, she hoped it hadn’t.

Shit, what if their radio was out? “Hello?” She let go of the button, then spoke again when no one answered. “Shurky? Hark? Whatever team name mash-up you two decided on, copy? It’s the Deputy. You guys still out here?”

Static came through, but she could hear voices as they faded in and out. This was bad. She’d try again later, but hopefully this wasn’t going to stick.

Jess stopped, holding up her hand.

She raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t budge. A sound rose in the air, a howl, growing louder by the second until tailing off.  

“Judges,” Jess drew her bow, and crouched down low in the grass.

Reaching for her rifle, Hana watched as Jess all but disappeared, blending into the woods surrounding them. A lump was growing in her throat, and she worked to swallow.

“-copy, roger-“

She slapped at the radio at her side, switching it off. Every hair stood on end as she turned in place, and when she heard the charge, heard the crashing through the brush it was almost too late.

Something quick flew past her, and she darted to the side, jumping clear of the spot where the large wolf would’ve pounced. With white fur, this wolf was larger than the others, its snarling jaws wide as it whirled to stare her down.

The handgun by her side was the quickest choice, and she fired, watching as the Judge shot forward, going for her. It was on her, it would reach her like this, and she tumbled back, screaming as she kept on firing.

Two arrows buried themselves in its side, and it cut away, leaving Hana scrambling back away from it. She didn’t wait this time. She saw the flash of white, saw the red streaked across its forehead and down its nose, and ran.

Distance. She needed something between her and it, other than air.

Her handgun tumbled to the ground, her fumbling making her miss her holster, and she grabbed for her rifle. Tucked it close, as she heard the animal bearing down on her with heavy breaths.

Turning now would be a mistake. Turning now with no clear shot would be a serious mistake.

A quick look over her shoulder told her what she knew. The Judge was there, white stained red, but it branched off from her, darting back into the bushes.

She skidded to a stop and fired, sending a full burst of shots into the woods. The howling stopped, cutting off sharply, but she heard movement still. Not just her own nervous pacing as she ducked behind a tree, her attention jumping to anything and everything.

She sucked in a breath, her heart hammering, and looked for Jess.

“Jess?”

No answer came. In fact, the only sound she could hear now was her shaky inhale.

“…Jess?”

She broke into a run, getting up from her position only to scream in pain as something sharp drove into her left thigh. It sent her down to the ground, her mind yelling at her to move even as her body rebelled against her.

She twisted on the ground, trying to push herself up as she took in the arrow jutting out of her right thigh. An actual arrow, stuck deep.

The shock of it took a few seconds to sink in, but when it did, panic welled up fast.

Oh. Oh, fuck. So this is what happens when the tranqs fail.

Each stab of the metal lodged in her leg was agony as she moved, but after a few seconds, it was no longer as sharp. As present. She set her head down on the ground, her breaths slowing as she rested there, drifting.

She shouldn’t have. Knew she should keep moving, but just couldn’t bring herself to.

---

Her eyes were open. They were open, but there was nothing to see in front of her. Not at first. Only blurred shapes as she felt hands lift, and set her down.

Her head rolled as she leaned back in the seat she was placed in, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark. A light flashed, the image bright against the back of the room. It was almost too much to look at, but Hana let herself focus in on it, seeing the image for what it was.

Someone took her wrists in their hands, placing them one by one on the arms of the chair. The light behind them made it difficult to see who it was at first, and she held her eyes shut for a few seconds, before opening them again.

The realization of just who was standing in front of her hit hard enough to leave her gaping up at him, struggling to say something. Anything. “…Stace? Oh, God,” she whispered.

The bags under Pratt’s eyes were dark, his face drawn and thin. He was unable to focus on any one spot for more than a second at a time, and she winced when he strapped her wrists down tight.

This wasn’t the guy that had dropped a huge stack of papers on her desk in the middle of the day, telling her that the documentation was wrong and needed to be hand-corrected one by one. This wasn’t the guy that had called her Probie whenever she’d trip up on something basic and make a small mistake in front of Whitehorse. This wasn’t the guy that complained when she’d bought them all coffee one day only to remind her he’d asked for a damn latte instead.

This was another man. One that curled into himself to seem smaller, his hands trembling as he stared deep into her eyes, unblinking, as he withdrew.  “You shouldn’t have come for me. You shouldn’t have.”

A voice was speaking, the words coming to her clearer now as she shook off the last of the drowsy feeling, but she didn’t turn her head towards it. Hana looked at Pratt instead, mouthing, I’m here for you, before trying her bonds. He’d locked them down securely.

The look he gave her in return he held for a few seconds before dropping his eyes to the ground. He backed away, clear out of view.

The whirring of the projector’s motor hit her ears then. As did two words. Weak. Soft. Neither of these things the voice spared his distaste for.

She took in the room they were in, the click of the projector drawing her attention as the image in front of her changed. She wasn’t alone. Others were seated as well, all of them restrained as they watched.

“…our heroes used to be gods. They did not give in to doubt. To let go of their ideals, when convenient. They did not lose what it meant to survive."

The owner of the voice took his place in front of them, still speaking, still facing away. He was wearing a camo jacket, marking him as either military or a guy set on copping the style as he paced forward, the bones of the animal on-screen now scattered across his back.

“These heroes, the ones we would follow now, are no gods. They are weak, feeble, diseased.”

But she did know this voice. Had heard it before, had seen a flash of this person before, and it wasn’t going to take her three guesses, let alone five to tell her just who this was.

When Jacob Seed turned towards them, he didn’t wait for them to answer, or to respond. Only continued as the images in front of them grew more violent.

“They use this power to guide us forward with no direction, the many, leading the few, but they forget what history has taught us. That sacrifices must be made.”

The wolf on screen was tearing at a fallen deer, its flesh coming away from the bone.

“That we must cull the herd so it stays strong.”

Hana counted the clicks, watched the slides change, and watched as Jacob turned towards her. He still spoke to the room as a whole, but it was different now. He knew where she was, and there was no hiding here.

“Over and over, the lives of the many have outweighed the lives of the few. This is how we’ve survived.”

The lights and images were distorted as he came closer. Every step, highlighting or hiding him until he was right in front of her, staring down. He was a tall man to start, but from her current position she felt so much smaller, her eyes wide as he zeroed in on her.

Her hands clenched into hard fists, her nails digging into the palms of her gloves.

“This, we’ve forgotten, but now the bill has come due.”

She’d hardly prepared herself when Jacob leaned down, and she felt the legs of the chair drag across the floor towards him. The burns were easier to see up close, the skin on parts of his face rougher and heavily scarred.

And as he intended, his eyes held her.  

“With the Collapse, there can be no doubt. This time the lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many, and when they realize what they’ve lost, that this time there’ll be no one to save them from madness, hunger, or desperation, we’ll be ready.”

He let go, standing at his full height again. Her jaw unclenched as distance was re-established between them, but when he reached for a small box on a nearby table, she didn’t know what to do next.

“We will cull the herd.” He started winding a small lever on its side, attention still set on her. “We will do what needs to be done.”

It opened, and her whole body tensed.

Music played, the words to an old love song coming to mind.

She gasped at the sudden pounding in her head, at her response, and saw red.

Only red.

Only you.

She squeezed her eyes shut, only to feel the sensation recede as her senses went into overdrive. Opening her eyes, everything narrowed into focus. It was the same room, the same chair she had been strapped to, but they were alone now.

Her bonds were gone, removed from her wrists.

The wolf flickered on the screen in front of her, snarling around the viscera in its jaws. Seconds ticked by in her ears, the sound echoing in the small room as she stood up from her seat, rooted to the very spot.

What, what am I…?

A gun rested on the desk in front of her, and her heartbeat quickened, her attention on the two men still strapped to their chairs up front. They pulled at their bonds, and they came loose.

She stared down at her hands, watched as they trembled, and felt a pull. An urge.

Arm yourself.

They stood, whirling on her, guns raised, and the buzzing in her ears reached a fever pitch. Her fist shot out, punching one squarely in the throat. He went down as the other fired, and she tried to sidestep around him. The shot grazed her upper arm.

Again.

She gasped, pain shooting through her system, through her thigh as she placed her weight on it, and fought him for the gun, turning it on him. It went off, the flash blinding her briefly, but soon her vision came back, the edges of it tinged red. Only red.

Keep moving.

The room opened up, the doorway ahead leading to a hall.

She ran down the corridor, reaching for the weapon presented to her, her nerves on fire. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t relax. Three men had the upper hand above her, perched high, all of them training their weapons on her. Only her.

Do it. Cull the herd.

Cull the- Pain lanced through her again, making her clutch her head. Bullets hit the barrier in front of her, and she pushed ahead once it cleared, climbing up towards those hiding there. They would get her. Find her. Hunt her down. Kill her.

She fired, again, and again, and again, listening for the voice. Waiting for it to let her continue.

Again.

The room changed, resetting her position in space. She took the offered knife, and continued through the maze.

She fell, clawing through the dirt as the person above fired.

Pushing up, she ran towards them and sank her knife into their chest. She repeated the motion over and over until they crumpled at her feet.

She stared down at her hands. At red, so red.

Good.

This was-what was she doing?

Her body quaked, sickness running through her.

Move.

It settled deep into her stomach, and she gagged.

Keep moving.

Sucking in a breath, she squashed the feeling down, spitting bile out onto the floor.

Up ahead she had to climb. To rise. A man slammed into her as she was standing up, forcing her to bring her knee up to kick him back. Her muscles screamed, but she couldn’t have them fail. Not now. Not while the clock was ticking.  

She grabbed her holstered gun and dove in close, pistol-whipping him hard enough across the face for blood to fly. That didn’t stop when he hit the ground, and she let it go. Any measure, any degree of restraint.

It bled out through her limbs, through her body onto the floor. That wouldn’t help her. That wouldn’t save her.

Excellent.

Her hands were slick, a dark, deep red as she stood up and walked through the doorway, down the same hall she had traveled before.

This time she didn’t look down at them. She didn’t waver.

Ahead she needed to climb. She gripped the steps, pulled herself up as the clock kept on moving, kept on ticking.

Before her, was the end. Before her was the only path left, leading down a long chute.

She jumped, and didn’t feel a thing as she hit the bottom.

---

Hands grabbed at her chair. Righted her, pushing her up to sit.

Red flashed in her vision. The only thing that she could connect to before. To the room. To the chair. To the music.

She could hear people speaking. One, two, three. Maybe more.

A projector flashed in her mind, showing Staci, then Jacob. He held a box. A small brown box.

Why can’t she-

Her cough came out as a harsh rasp.

“Holy shit!”

She was dropped, the chair clattering to the ground, and her breaths came fast as her chest grew tight.

“-we’ve got a live one! Quick get her out-“

Why can’t she remember it? Any of it?

“She’s looking bad, hurry-“

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t.

[scripttorture]

This is a two part question. The first part will cover details concerning the character and situation, which I was wondering if either or both could highlight torture as okay. The second part will take the character and situation and give a scenario so I could check for accuracy. So the character I’m asking for tortures people, they do it regularly, and for fun, as if they get more stressed out they’ll pick up a few more victims to torture. (I’m wondering if there’s a max amount of people (1/17) someone could handle torturing in a certain amount of time?) When talking about it with others, they’ll claim it makes them feel better (more stable really) and that they need to do it. They’ve been hurting and killing people since they were a kid (about eight or ten, due to jealously and neglect), their parents don’t really care what they do and they’re allowed to make whatever decisions they want, so torture is pretty engrained in their lifestyle. This character is highly apathetic (2/17) and doesn’t care for people. They mainly torture people because they like the power it gives them over people especially because they hate feeling weak in any sense, and they also like causing people pain and watching them bleed. They do understand and state at some points that what they do is unforgivable, but they show no remorse or regret over torturing and killing people, it’s almost like a high to them. I’m not overly sure what type of effects torturing people would have (3/17) on said character, except that it’ll make them feel more apathetic and desensitized and maybe even unstable and feeling like they need to do it more often. They also like consuming the victim, though sometimes the victim doesn’t last longer than a few months because they really bloody and cruel procedures. I’m not sure how long a victim would last, they have a doctor on scene and have medical knowledge so they can keep someone from dying right away, and I’m also not overly sure on how (4/17) popular overly cruel techniques are. They aren’t affiliated with a government or anything, but they have a very wealthy backing making it really easy for them to do as they wish. They also don’t do sexual things to their victims, they prefer to keep that sort of thing separate and are more about seeing how nicely people can get taken apart. (I was wondering then if slowly killing people counts as torture actually as sometimes it can take several months. Nearly all of their victims die, (5/17) the longest never lasting more than a year. I was also wondering what type of torture methods they would really enjoy.) When they want to mix something up, they’ll use something like stress positions, but it’s not as fun because it’s less hands on, though they may leave someone like that while they go off to do something else. Most everyone turns a blind eye if they’re aware of what this character is doing, because if they don’t they could easily end up being the character’s next victim. (6/17) Sometimes the character will make people watch or even participate, (what type of effects could that have on someone, especially if it’s someone that’s really not prone to doing it in the first place?) I am worried about people turning a blind eye as coming off as writing off torture as okay, even though the main character states that it is not okay, and that they are a horrible person for doing it, especially since it’s at the expense of other people’s lives to do such a thing. (7/17)

OK so my game plan with this one, since it is so long is to post it as two separate questions that I’m going to try to post one after the other. This is the longest ask I’ve ever gotten and I really want to thank the asker for being so patient because it’s taken me a very long time.

It is also very very long so I’m putting it under a cut. :)

I don’t think this part comes across as condoning torture. But I don’t think it’s quite there in terms of realism. I’m going to go through it and highlight the differences between your scenario and reality, with a couple of suggestions for how to incorporate or work around some of them. I’m also going to try and answer the other questions peppered through this about the effects of torture on torturers and witnesses, types of torture that might work and time frames/physical limitations.

There’s a lot to cover so this is going to get long.

So the first thing that’s coming to mind is that this sort of set isn’t how legally defined torture happens in reality. And I think it’d be useful for me to outline the differences now because all the research I have on torturers is from legally defined torturers who operate in these ways. The same things might not apply to your character.

For starters organisations that torture actively screen out people who seem to want to torture. Anyone with marked sadistic tendencies usually isn’t let in. Neither is anyone with a noticeable mental illness. These organisations see people like that as a risk. They see them as disruptive and disobedient. So they screen them out and then pressure the people they’ve let in to torture.

The second major difference I’m seeing is time frames. Legally defined torturers are usually spending a substantial period of every day torturing. They don’t have a break from violence. It is almost constant in their daily lives for…..years. Abusers and a lot of violent criminals on the other hand are not usually committing violent acts for such a prolonged period, every day for years on end.

And that probably makes a difference to the effects on mental health for both groups.

There’s also the general set up- So the way he’s picking up victims at random and the scale of it with multiple victims at a time is very in keeping with the sorts of scenarios common in legally defined torture. But I’m not sure how sustainable that is with one torturer. The kind of organisation that I’d expect to operate in this general way would have hundreds, possibly thousands of members. You’re talking an entire army camp, the police force for a whole city, a massive hospital. The kind of place that would have dedicated on site cleaners and cooks, a host of ordinary members and probably at least half a dozen torturers if not more.

Generally legally defined torturers concentrate intensely on one victim for a period of about 2-3 days after they’re brought in and to a lesser extent for the next 1-2 weeks. After that they tend to loose interest and leave the victim alone for longer periods. That doesn’t seem to be what you’re going for. The impression I get is that this character is keeping up that first day intensity for multiple victims at a time over a prolonged period- until the victim dies. And well that’s just not physically possible for one person. It’s too physically exhausting and time consuming to keep up that long.

The differences for that last point are the easiest to change in the narrative.

I think there a couple of ways you could go with it- The one that seems most true to the scenario you’ve outlined is to shorten the lifespan of the victims and have this happening in spurts. Which I think is more in keeping with the behaviour of studied serial killers. (I am not an expert on serial killers and most of the reading I did on them was when I was around 12. Even if those sources were good sources they’d be outdated at this point).

Essentially rather than have the character constantly have victims that they’re devoting a lot of time to- have these kidnappings happen in short bursts. So the character kidnaps say, a maximum of 5 people at a time (I think 3 is a more realistic number) and spends anywhere from a week to three weeks torturing them to death one after another. The character then goes into a ‘rest’ period where he doesn’t go after anyone for a month or more.  

The victim characters might be captive for a month, possibly longer if he takes breaks between victims or goes into a rest period before murdering all his captives. But they won’t be continuously tortured for that period of time.

This scenario would depend on other people doing the hard work of actually keeping these victims alive; ie feeding them, cleaning the areas they’re kept in. This means a support staff of somewhere between 3-10 people. I’d suggest going for a higher number.

Characterising techniques that are more likely to be lethal as ‘worse’ or ‘crueler’ really isn’t a good idea. Torture is torture and everyone experiences pain differently. Trying to rank things as better or worse does victims a disservice and it’s often used to dismiss the experiences of survivors who don’t have obvious physical scars. That’s the majority of torture survivors.

I class torturous execution methods as torture. Whether the law does depends on the broader context and motivation of the murder. Legally speaking torture is something done by an organisation. In most places that means government bodies or armed groups holding territory but in some countries the definition includes certain large organised criminal groups. The motive is also defined as; for information, to force a confession, to intimidate the victim, to intimidate other groups or as punishment for something the victim/other groups have done.

This character isn’t acting on behalf of his government or a larger organisation. He also doesn’t seem to fit most of the defined motivations, though an argument might be made for intimidation. Legally speaking in our world he isn’t a torturer. If you want your world to have a different legal definition I don’t think there’s a problem with that but you should think carefully about how you end up defining it and who gets cut out.

Scarring tortures aren’t necessarily more painful or more likely to be lethal. I’m interpreting this ask as- talking about things like vivisection or breaking on the wheel. Things that are lethal but may take a long time to actually kill.

Given that context and the stipulation for ‘hands on’ violence I can suggest a couple of things. Given the length of the ask I think I’m going to have be brief here though:

Breaking on the wheel: systematically breaking the bones in major limbs working inwards from the extremities

Disembowelling: cutting through the skin and muscle to expose the gut and leaving it exposed

Flaying: removal of large portions of skin

Immolation: burning the majority of the body

Vivisection: dissection while the victim is alive and conscious

Repeated cutting using hundred of shallow injuries

There are a great many other forms of torturous executions. I’ve stuck to things that can leave the victim alive for days afterwards even though they can’t be saved (without magic or sci fi tech). I’ve also stuck with things that…. keep the torturer physically close to the victim and can take an extended period of time.

This would have a profound and traumatising effect on witnesses. The research we have suggests that witnessing these kinds of acts can radicalise people. Someone who was willing to ‘compromise’ and work with the character before could very quickly become strongly opposed to them. It encourages dissent and outright attacks.

If the ‘staff’ here are allowed to leave then there’d be a very high staff turnover. People would leave in droves. And a lot of those people might go on to form a base of dissent in society generally.

If they can’t- then the staff are all going to start showing symptoms of trauma. Spacing these attacks out the way I’ve suggested- it would probably take longer then it would for real world torturers. But I’d say that within three months all of them would have a noticeable mental health problem.

The list of common symptoms is over here.

You’ve got multiple characters so I’d suggest picking a range of different symptoms. These symptoms would impact on their ‘work’ as well as their health. I think self harm and suicide among the staff would be common. If they’re forced to remain then I think active confrontational resistance would be too, especially if a significant portion of them are suicidal or self harming.

Regardless of whether the staff are free to leave or not I think most characters staying in this situation, with direct contact with victims, for a significant period of time (a month) is likely to have some sort of mental health problem. Characters at a greater remove, ie those that don’t see victims, may have a little longer but I think even then they’re likely to be traumatised quite quickly.

As for the character himself-

Honestly this is not how I’d characterise a torturer. It sounds much closer to a person ordering torture without witnessing it. It sounds like torturing divorced from the trauma it induces.

It isn't the insistence that this is 'helping' him. Or the way he's doubling down on the subject of violence. It's the apathy.

None of the symptoms classically associated with torture cause apathy. The idea here seems to be that he’s doing bad things because he doesn’t or can’t care about people. Which seems to be leaning in to the idea that torturers hurt people because they’re mentally ill rather than torture causing their mental illnesses.

We’re pretty sure that the reality is that way round for a couple of reasons. Firstly, most organisations that torture actively screen out mentally ill people. Secondly we know that witnessing violence can be traumatising and repeatedly witnessing it increases the chances of developing a mental illness. That’s from studies of people with PTSD and studies of survivors from wars, genocide and famine. Thirdly the anecdotal accounts of both torturers and their relatives/friends back up the idea that most of them were healthy before they started torturing and became severely mentally ill afterwards.

I’m not sure how much the differences between legally defined torturers and your character would affect this but- If this story was happening over years then even on the somewhat slower time frame I’ve suggested I think this character would be ill. I think the chances are he’d be traumatised and would be prone to exactly the same symptoms as his victims.

Showing that means changes but I think you’ve got space to decide how big those changes are.

You could keep the character exactly as he is but rather than have him torture people directly have him coerce others into doing the actual torturing. I think that could fit with your scenario generally pretty well. It could help explain why their hasn’t been some sort of uprising against him: he’s shifting the blame on to others and silencing people by making them culpable too. It also fits with the social position you’ve given him and the implied need for control over others.

I think it fits with the idea of him ‘taking people apart’ as well. For instance say he picks out someone he wants to pressure into torturing a victim and the target is a family man. So the character uses the target’s family as part of that coercion process ‘Do exactly what I tell you and I’ll never go near your family. But if you don’t your children will go missing.’ If the character has done something like this before he’ll know there’s a high chance his target will be traumatised and develop a severe mental illness. Coupled with guilt and a lack of explanation the sudden change could easily destroy someone’s family life.

Another possibility is modifying the character.

There are a couple of ways you could take that. One is using an outside perspective of this character, having the character say that they get a ‘high’ from this abuse, that they ‘need’ it and that they’re ‘apathetic’. At the same time show that the character is…. not apathetic and not getting high from a traumatising and physically exhausting campaign of sustained abuse.

Pick some symptoms out and show those symptoms. While you have the character saying something completely different and possibly having other characters believe those statements.

It would be perfectly in keeping with the behaviour of torturers for your character to….put forward an explanation for their actions that’s at odds with what they actually do.

You could also try to select a symptom set that makes the character appear apathetic or unemotional to other people. In some people depression and suicidal ideation can appear this way to others, but I think it’s important to stress that this isn’t actually apathy and it doesn’t make people violent. It also wouldn’t get better with exposure to violence.

I think if you choose to use that approach then you’d need to be pretty careful about how you handled showing these mental health problems. I’d strongly recommend having good characters with similar mental health issues and symptoms to balance things out.  

I think it’s especially important that you disconnect the character’s abuse from any abuse or neglect they suffered as a child. That’s a really poisonous trope, telling survivors of child abuse that’s it’s going to turn them into abusers. Honestly I think the best thing to do there is to get rid of it. Have their parents distant if you like. Have the relationship be bad. But don’t fall into that trope. It’s really bad for survivors.

OK- what have missed?

I don’t see anything unrealistic about the character consuming bits of their victims. Though uh you may want to look up prion diseases because I think they’re more common among people who routinely engage in cannibalism. (Fun Fact: Russian makes a linguistic distinction between cannibalism of bodies that were already dead and murdering someone to eat them.)

I also don’t think there’s a problem with your character having no remorse for their crimes. This is anecdotal but- when torturers do express remorse it seems to be entirely in the context of negative effects their actions have had on them and their life, rather than any appreciation of what the victims went through. They lack insight into their crimes.

So having the character carry on with no regret, regard the victims as worthless or only really good for the torturer’s gratification- that’s possible and I don’t think there are any problems with making that choice here.

Wrapping this part of the question up- So far as I can tell your main concern is unfounded. I don’t think this is showing torture as ‘OK’ in any sense.

It’s also not that unusual for people generally not to combat a high ranking individual who tortures. The witnesses, victims and the relatives of victims are all likely to oppose this individual. But people who are not directly affect by torture in this society may well view it as too much of a risk. People at higher levels of society may consider themselves ‘safe’ from the abuse, think that it doesn’t matter if ‘commoners’ are hurt and materially profit from the torturer remaining in the high social position he occupies.

But there are areas where this significantly departs from the reality of torture. And some of those departures come with some unfortunate implications.

I strongly recommend changing some of the central aspects of the torturer so that this doesn’t suggest mental illness drives people to violent behaviour.

The suggestions for changing the set up; I don’t think there are any unfortunate implications tied up with the way you’re picturing things now. It’s about trying to figure out what’s practical for the sort of setting you’re aiming for. Similarly I don’t think there are unfortunate implications in the way you’re dealing with witnesses and coerced ‘helpers’ now, but appreciating the symptoms they’re likely to have and the effect it’s likely to have is more realistic and I think it adds to your story.

I hope this helps. :) I’ll get the next part up as soon as I can.

Disclaimer

[huntershelper25]

I can’t remember who I stole this from. It was 3 AM and I just hit copy and paste and saved for later. So if you know who started these please let me know so I can give them proper credit.

1. when did you start watching supernatural?

I would have to say it was 2009 or 2010. I was flipping through the channels and I saw Baby and I was like OOOOO nice car! So I flipped back and then it was OOOO hot guys! and then I was hooked. I went on a hunt to find ALL the episodes and started watching from the beginning.

2. who is your favourite in tfw?

I love them all, but Dean is my absolute favorite. I have a thing for broken men... what can I say. But beyond that I just love his character development over the years and I love when we get to see a glimpse of silly goofy Dean. I miss that Dean.

3. who is your least favourite in tfw?

Yeah, that’s not… 404: answer not found

4. tag your top 5 supernatural blogs.

@nyxocity​ @noturbaby​ )I’ve been out of the game for a few years and so far these are the only OG gals that seem to still be active. I am definitely looking for new people to add to this list!!! 

5. what is your favourite character (not including tfw)?

Lucifer... well, not the recent one, but the old Sassy Lucy I loved him

6. who is your favourite woman in supernatural?

Charlie

7. John or Mary?

Oh wow that’s tough, they both have their pros and cons... I’m going to go with Mary though. I have to give her some leway in the fact that she DID die and missed her kids growing up and so she has to learn to be a mom to adults. I always had a bad “relationship” with John.

8. what were your first opinions of sam, dean, cas and jack?

 Well TBH I thought Sam was a bit of a Debbie Downer I’m so evil woe es me. Dean I didn’t take too seriously at first, which I think was kinda the point. They wanted you to get to know him before he showed you his true colors. Cas... due to my religious background I kinda laughed at him and found him to be a bit of a joke... sorry, just being honest. and Jack... I gave him the benefit of the doubt from the beginning.

9. whats your favourite season?

Oh, man! This is hard... I don’t have a favorite season tbh... maybe ten? it’s the one I rewatch the most for some reason.

10. whats your least favourite season?

Seven. Like, only because Bobby dies and I can’t… like, I just can’t.

11. opinions on destiel?

I don’t ship it and am not a fan of it, but as long as you’re a polite shipper you have no beef with me.

12. do you believe supernatural queerbaits?

No. I do not.

13. seasons 1-7 or 8-14?

I refuse... that’s not fair.

14. favourite villain (plot wise)?

Crowley. But… also, Lucifer, but also starting to love Michael…

15. do you think they should end the Lucifer plot line?

Um, yes. I love Lucifer he holds a special place in my heart, but I think his story has been told and it’s time to let him go.

16. who do you think has gone through more trauma (sam, dean or cas)?

While Sam’s trauma is more on the surface and we see it unfold right in front f us, I honestly think Dean has been through more. He just hides it better. I mean just look at his character development. He went from this goofy, silly, joke telling, prankster, who was obviously hiding his pain behind the jokes, to a drunk who uses his fist and his guns to work things out. I’m just waiting for the day that Dean’s lead friggin box can’t take it anymore and his marbles spill all over the bunker floor.

17. whats your favourite supernatural episode?

Death’s Door. tbh I think they should have left Bobby with that episode. It was so beautifully done. I think it was a disservice to his character to bring him back the way they did.

18. do you like case episodes?

Yeah. What’s not to like?

19. who do you relate most to in tfw?

Probably Sam. We both wear our hearts on our sleeves and feel emotions so deeply. We care for others more than ourselves and I have definitely had moments, like Sam, where I felt I was unimportant and people would be better off without me (I’m better now guys I promise! That’s why I left Tumblr all those years ago. I needed to get my head on straight and deal with my depression)

20. why do you like supernatural?

It is a show that hurts so good and makes me so happy at the same time and the fact that they can pull off the dynamic that they do, consistently, is amazing. (leaving this answer because it said it better than I could)

21. if you could bring back one character and kill off another who would they be?

If I have to kill someone off to get someone back than I refuse to answer this question. They all have a part to play in this story. They all have a purpose, no matter how insignificant. It isn’t fair to kill one off to bring back a character that may end up doing disservice to that character by stringing them through a story line that they just don’t fit in anymore.

[wondrousworldbuilding]

Using prophecies in fantasy without making eyes roll

Good ol’ stand-bys, ubiquitous fantasy tropes, are difficult to avoid. And sometimes we don’t want to avoid them. Goddammit, sometimes you just need a good, solid prophecy to write the story your want to write. 

“It’s not my fault all these other people before me have written prophecies, too!” you say. 

And you’d be right. Unfortunately, they did. So us modern-day writers have to live with the it. So what do you do when you want or need to use a well-worn trope? 

Know the trope. Make it your own. 

Know that, no matter what you do, some readers will still hate it.

But you can’t make everyone happy, right? So let’s get started.

How-to guidelines from our predecessors

Prophecies in fiction have been used countless times. But there are reasons why we continue to use them. And while you don’t want to completely copy how it has been done before, we can all learn something from the basic form of real and fictional prophecies. 

1. Prophecies are often vague and general

The language and phrasing used in prophecies, because of its important and symbolic nature, tends to go for sounding mystic and grand over sensible and utilitarian. This language achieves its poetic goal, but as a price, the meaning can be allusive, vague, or even seem contradictory. 

A man named Jerry will kill a man in a fight on the corner of 3rd and Main on the fifth of January, 3820. 

On the dawn of winter in a forest of gray, when one life dims, another remains.

One of these actually gives you some useful information. The other could mean a vast array of different things at any point in time, but technically applies to the same situation. One of them (though poorly) reads more like something you’d find in a piece of fiction. 

2. Prophecies are often misinterpreted

There’s likely to be disagreement on the meaning of any yet-to-be-fulfilled prophecy. If it’s well-known, then common folk might take it to mean one thing, while the wealthy another. The well-educated might take it to mean one or two (or three or a thousand) things, while the uneducated take it to mean another. If there are two prominent schools of thought, then people might passionately disagree about the meaning. It’s possible that none of these interpretations are true. 

‘Tis the nature of vague and metaphorical language.

The culture of your world will influence how people treat the prophecy. Conversely, the prophecy and its interpretation might have a huge impact on the culture, government, or religion of your world. 

3. Prophecies are given in context

In the example above about the murder in winter, with no context that “prophecy” means basically nothing. Part of what creates nuances in interpretation of prophecies is variations in the understanding of the prophecy’s context. 

Upon the rebirth of the emperor, the dark messenger will be slain; the eagle will conquer the land.

In this sample, very little is made clear when there’s no context. We have no reason to care, let alone believe, what these words are trying to convey. But say that our myths tell the story of a vanished young emperor who would someday reappear to take his throne, that the messengers of evil are immortal, and that the eagle is symbolic of peace...

It all starts to make a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Any alteration in context, however, could vastly change the meaning. 

Prophecies don’t stand alone. They only work within their context. They aren’t created in a vacuum and they are not understood in a vacuum. Creating the vibrant world that surrounds your prophecy will go a long way to making it interesting and important.

4. Prophecies require a prophet

Why do people believe the prophecy? Why don’t they? When implementing a prophecy into your world, you need to pay attention to how people receive its message and ensure that that belief has a sensible backing. 

A prophecy came from the mouth (or pen) of a prophet. If the people of your world totally buy into the words of this prophecy, then there needs to be a reason. What made this prophet reliable? 

What not to do: There was this old woman and everything she said was totally batty...all except this one thing. This one thing will definitely be absolutely true, so help me, God.

Like any aspect of culture, the “why” factor is important. Why do people believe the prophecy? Why has it survived so many years? Or perhaps people don’t believe the prophecy...so why is that? 

Consider Nostradamus. He’s a pretty infamous prophet, even though only some of what he said every seemed true (and almost entirely in retrospect). For the most part, when you mention him, people will kind of laugh it off. It’s mostly a joke. However...his words might also be true! But it’s best not to put all your money on it. 

How are the words of your prophet generally received? How will this affect how your Important Prophecy™ is viewed and understood by the people?

“This Important Prophecy™ is believed because my story needs it to be believed,” is not a good reason. So make sure it runs deeper than that.

Pitfalls to avoid

1. Using a prophecy as a matter of course

Your prophecy should have a very integral part in your story and world. Using a pointless prophecy or using one just because you think, since you’re writing fantasy, you probably should, are one-way tickets to eye-rolls. 

Like any trope, if you’re sticking it artlessly into your story, then you doing the trope and yourself a disservice. Every element you choose to include in your story should drive it forward, should deepen your conflict or characters. No inclusion should be made flippantly. Be sure that if you’re including a prophecy, you use it to its full potential.

2. Making it too simple or mundane

If you’re doing it right, then your prophecy will be super important to your story. And if it’s super important, you’re going to want it to be super interesting. If a dull, run-of-the-mill Chosen One prophecy is, unironically, what your story hinges on, then you’re likely going to get some eye-rolls and, worse, readers who put down your book.

3. Going for too much

On the other end of the spectrum, prophecies that are convoluted or require the ten-page backstory to put into context are likely going to take too much attention away from your actual story. Prophecies tend to focus on one (general) event. It can cover a few facets of this one event, but if you try to outline too much you risk detracting from the here-and-now or getting too far in over your (or your character’s) head. 

Things to consider

Is the fulfillment of the prophecy a mystery even to your reader? Or does the story give the answer, leaving the path to the fulfillment to be the mystery?

Is your prophecy immutable? Is it Destiny and it will come true no matter what anyone does?

Is the prophecy self-fulfilling? How do the characters’ knowledge of the prophecy affect events? How might their ignorance of it? 

How does the fulfillment differ or align with the expectations held by the characters?

Did the prophet speak of their own freewill, with true foreknowledge, or were they a vessel for a deity, or some supernatural being?

How was the prophecy passed down to the present? Was it done so flawlessly, or might there have been translation, oral, or interpretation errors that happened along the way?

How widely accepted, or known, is the prophecy among the common people? 

How common are prophecies in general? Does this one stand out in some way? If so, how and why?

Does the prophecy give away an outcome, or does it simply set up a situation?

How detailed is your prophecy and how have those seemingly specific details been misinterpreted?

How certain is anyone that they understand the prophecy? 

If the prophecy proves to be false, how does that element find resolution within the structure of the narrative? (i.e. if you placed great importance on the prophecy with the intention of pulling the rug out from under your reader, how are you going to resolve the situation to keep them from feeling cheated?)

What do you think about the use of prophecies in fiction? What are some of your favorites or least favorites?

Happy writing!

[blacknovelist]

To get your mind working through the haze of woozyness from the anesthesia, A more specific ask for the AU+AU of the Canon!1-A and Ageswap!1-A in Role Reversal world: Both classes meeting Number 1 Hero All for One, Principal Stein, and both Deku's and Toshinori having an encounter with their villainous counterpart. And being aided by Hero!AFO and Shigaraki, who both Canon and Ageswap pupil's had discovered was a bit of a shy dork beneath his detached demeanor. At least in school.

Hoh, the effects were mostly gone, I think, but thank you for the thought! Mostly, the anaesthetic just made it so I couldn't much stop talking, but that's not too different from me on the regular anyway, haha. :PBut nonetheless, to go into greater depths concerning each class's reactions to specific characters in the Role Reversal verse... Not much changes from the previous answer, admittedly, apart from some more specific little bits.Ageswap 1-A would have the easiest time of adjusting, so to speak, though encountering Principal Stain would still be Weird as Hell bc Stain more or less stays the same between universes tbh (him being cast as principal is a surprising choice, but I can't say I don't think it's interesting! :0). I imagine their reaction to seeing Canon 1-A's villains as heroes and that would be, just, off in general. You know something isn't quite right, but, you can't exactly say anything about it either. Encountering All for One as the top hero, for Ageswap Deku especially, is damn surreal. They only know AfO as the calm, cool, collected student of a fully grown Shigaraki, but seeing him as this larger than life figure, only comparable to Ageswap Izuku's status?? They know they can trust this alternate, logically, but instinct is a bitch - only the fact that they're used to, again, young AfO, really helps however little. The same goes for Role Reverse Shigaraki, too.Poor canon 1-A has no such fallback. Most of the kids have difficulty accepting and getting used to Shigaraki and AfO as "good guys", especially Shigaraki. Though, Role Reversal Shigaraki would be a bit younger than canon Shigaraki, I guess? Which isn't much, but it'd help, a bit. I envision their reactions to Role Reversal AfO, Shigaraki and Stain to be a lot like their reaction to Ageswap Enji before they really got used to him, except about ten times worse and lasting three times as long. Toshinori is the worst off when AfO is around, though at least RR AfO wears a different outfit from canon, I imagine.A lot of characters who were more directly affected by the villain counterparts (canon Toshinori, all the kids who went to Kamino Ward to find Bakugou, canon Bakugou, etc) find themselves unable to keep their eyes off the Role Reversal guys, though not for lack of trying. They sleep in shifts for the first few months, for their own peace of mind most of all. Mostly it's all very disorienting. I mean, imagine someone you hate at work or at school is suddenly a good person trying to help you even though you know they hate you back in reality - you want to be able to like them back, but memories and life experience are a bitch. Slotting in timeline-wise, chances are, when canon and Ageswap 1-A encounter the Role Reversal villains, it's mostly RR!Izuku and a handful of other RR villains like RR!Tenya, RR!Tsuyu, and RR!Ashido. Mostly because in my head, they (and a few others he took with him there's no way he'd go with like three ppl) would be best at getting in and out of places and chances are, RR!Izuku didn't attack the 1-A's to prove a point or cripple anytime, he did it to suss out his hero counterparts. Still, even outnumbered, RR Izuku is not a force to be messed with, and he makes it known. For canon Izuku, and canon 1-A, it's all just shock. What comes to mind are a bunch of initial plans I had for A Place to Be, where Hisashi was originally a criminal/villain and made that fact known to Izuku and the others, tho the way I wrote Izuku's reaction in the final drafts didn't change much even tho he's not technically outright anything bad in APTB now. But the tldr of it is, a lot of heavy shock, and also the entirety of canon 1-A aggressively converging around canon Izuku and hammering into everyone's head that their izuku is not the man in front of them wrecking shitWhile canon Izuku reboots and the rest of canon 1-A split between holding off the Role Reversal villains and looking after their Izuku, Ageswap are moving in to also stop the villains. This villain Izuku, while it's strange to be fighting someone who shares faces with their teacher/dad and a dear friend, is still different enough that tbh it isn't.........a huge challenge to fight him and the other RR villains. That's probably the only real good thing about all this multiverse jumping - even if their faces are the same, their ages and experiences and outfits change too.When canon Izuku is ready to get in on this, no one holds back against the villains, regardless of faces. It would be a disservice to everyone, if they didn't treat this fight like a real possible life or death one, because you just really never know if something is gonna go wrong, ever. What ends up most jarring, though, is definitely the sight of RR!Shigaraki leaping into the fray with RR 1-A and the teachers, and with all the ferocity of a very angry cat. Before this, Shigaraki probably kept distance - he, too, has his fair share of weariness, but also in general he's not a huge people person. But here, in a fight, keeping people safe? That's his scene, man.Ageswap Deku has a minor heart attack (or five) watching little Shigaraki leap into the fight, at first because he can't get the image of his students disintegrating out of his mind, then because it turns out that sometimes Shigaraki of the RR universe can get a wee bit reckless out there and Jesus Christ boy watch your sides please be careful holy shit please don't die(Canon Toshinori is watching with him and thinking about how this could have been his Shigaraki, his Tomura, once upon a time. It hurts, thinking about it, because it reminds him again of every single way he's managed to fail his Nana and her family.)RR Izuku and them back off quickly and get away scot-free, though not for lack of trying. They just know what they're doing. The juxtaposition of RR Shigaraki in a fight and RR Shigaraki in any other situation on planet Earth is massive, reminds everyone of Ageswap Enji, and does well to diffuse a few of the lingering tensions after that brawl. Some of canon and Ageswap will never really be able to be casual or normal around the Role Reversal guys (Canon Tenya and Ageswap Enji to Stain, canon Toshinori to AfO, both Deku's to Shigaraki), but, there's less reason to sleep with an eye open once you understand a little bit more about the other side.

[wanderingstoryteller]

Path of Fire Thoughts - Act II

And the adventure continues! In case you missed it, you can read Part One of my little recap series here. Bear in mind: Spoilers for both Act I AND Act II are below the cut. Proceed at your own risk. 

I do have one non-spoilery thought about all this before we proceed, though. See, the direction the story took has left a lot of people in the community... unusually bitter. I’m not going to judge anyone for deciding they don’t like the where things went. While I personally can’t agree, I know that there’s no objective standard for this sort of thing. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” and all that, right?

But one complaint in particular has really been getting on my nerves. Specifically, this idea I’ve seeing that these lore-bombs are proof Arenanet “Doesn’t respect the story of the first game”. Maybe that criticism would have had a little more merit in 2013, but now? In this expansion? Really? 

In these new maps, my character can’t walk ten feet without tripping over at least three callbacks to the first game. I have been geeking out for four straight days over things 99% percent of our community neither knows nor cares about. Has anyone stopped to consider that maybe -- just maybe -- the devs who created Prophecies and Nightfall in the first place might actually be fond of their previous work?

If you personally don’t like this story, that’s perfectly alright. But please don’t run around saying silly things like this. It just kills the mood for everyone, and it’s clearly not true anyway. 

Anyway, enough heavy stuff. Time for some lighter news: The End of Days.

First thing’s first: Yay, actual Revenant lore! It wasn’t much, nothing more than an off-hand comment by Rytlock, but the implications are huge. Revenant legends are capable of contacting the living and teaching them how to harness these powers. Rytlock was taught by Glint -- because of course Glint wouldn’t let some minor inconvenience like “death” stop her meddling -- but what’s stopping the other legends from doing it? Because screwing with people from beyond the pale of death is Shiro Tagachi’s wheelhouse, too. 

I’d also like to say that this instance did wonders for Rytlock as a character. For just a second, we got a look under all that anger and snark. And what we saw was... guilt. “I failed them. I failed Glint.” I’ve seen a lot of people annoyed at Rytlock’s attitude this expansion, but it’s easy to forget just where that attitude comes from: a sense of deep shame, a feeling that he’s the reason Snaff and Glint died. Like Eir and Zojja, he has a pretty intense case of survivor’s guilt. 

The above definitely made me nerd out, but as it transpired, we were just getting started. Next stop: The Tomb of the Primeval Kings. Elona’s Primeval rulers always fascinated me, especially Nahlah and Dahlah, who were in charge when the Scarab Plague rolled through. I never dreamed in all of Guild Wars 2 that I’d actually be able to talk to them. Which I did. And it was amazing. 

But all of that -- Glint’s Lair, my audience with the Primeval Kings -- was all just the warm-up. Because we then hit the part that really blew me away... and the part that’s got all the controversy. So let’s talk about our audience with Kormir, why I loved it, and where it admittedly could’ve gone a bit better. 

Why I Loved It: 

I feel like so many people didn’t enjoy this scene because they expected Kormir or the other Six to help us somehow. If that’s the root of the problem, it would explain why I was fine with it -- because I knew they wouldn’t. The Six were pretty adamant about keeping out of human affairs since Nightfall, after we proved we could hold our own against a god-tier enemy. So the idea that they’re withdrawing from Tyria completely, abandoning even their Realms? Can’t say I didn’t see it coming. 

Her reasons for not interfering were also pretty sound. Because she’s right -- the last time the Six fought on Tyria, they created the Desolation and scarred it forever. But when we fought Abaddon in Nightfall, we never did any damage that couldn’t eventually be reversed. Basically, Kormir throwing down would be the equivalent of stopping a roach infestation by setting your entire house on fire. Sure, you killed the roaches, but there were better ways, dude. 

Finally... anyone else catch Kormir’s final words to Kasmeer? “You carry with you the blessings of all the gods. Never forget that.” See, when I heard that, it sent my brain on a bit of a journey, and I started putting some pieces together:

1. Kormir admitted that she was still an active (if incredibly subtle) force in the world up to that point. 2. Kasmeer has been a devout follower of the Six her entire life. 3. Kormir clearly had a special interest in Kas, if she “carries the blessings of all the gods”.  4. Kasmeer also has the inexplicable and blatantly supernatural power to detect any spoken lie.  5. One of Kormir’s most well-known titles is “The Goddess of Truth”. 

My conclusion? Kasmeer’s power is a blessing from Kormir, and I’m amazed I never considered that possibility before. Like, holy shit, you guys. This is huge. 

I’d also just like to add: Kormir’s Sanctum is awesome. I explored for almost an hour and I know for a fact I still haven’t found everything. I’m definitely going back when I complete the main story. It’s like Hidden Arcana all over again. 

Where It Could’ve Gone Better:

If you love something, you shouldn’t be afraid to criticize it, and I admit there were some things I found a little lacking. First, Balthazar. While it’s true that Balthazar being a temperamental asshole does have precedent, his motives are pretty disappointing. The writers could’ve made him a tragic figure, an honorable-but-flawed warrior that went off the rails. What we got is serviceable, but I wanted something more than that, ya know? 

Also, if this is really curtains for the Six on Tyria, I really wish Kormir’s Sanctum had done more to close a few loose ends -- especially where Balthazar is concerned. Because so far, we never did find out what happened to Menzies, or what happened to the Eternals, or even why he killed his father all those years ago. And if those questions aren’t answered here, I don’t think they’ll be answered anywhere. 

Am I the only one who really wishes Marjory were here? Because relationship stuff aside, it would have been very interesting to see her reaction to Kormir. Marjory isn’t one of the faithful. She’s the kind of person that would call Kormir out for the inaction of the Six. And seeing that unfold would have been fascinating. 

I know we’ve been talking for a while, but amazingly, we’re still not done. Because even more story stuff happened in the Riverlands. While I’m betting a lot of people found the search for the Lost City annoying, it was honestly one of the funnest parts of the story for me. Wandering around this massive map, following leads, narrowing things down... it made me feel like a real explorer. Plus, I think it was great for the pacing -- gave me time to process everything I’d just learned before I got to Kesho. 

In Kesho itself, I found a lot of cool stuff -- the revelation of Glint’s master plan was just the beginning. See, one of the pedestal recordings had a throwaway line that kind of shocked me: Joso mentioned, off-handedly, that the Elder Dragons weren’t always destructive. They used to be like Glint -- maintaining balance, redistributing magic, etc. Glint’s plan is just a restoration of the regular order. The implications for that are huge, and it opens the door for some very interesting story beats. 

I also love that we’re slowly learning more about the Forged. I think a big weakness for HoT’s storytelling is that I never fully understood what the deal with the Mordrem was. How self-aware were they, exactly? How did the process of corruption take place -- did the sylvari have to willingly submit, or could Mordremoth force the issue if it chose? Questions like that always bugged me, but the Forged don’t leave much room for ambiguity. We’re learning exactly where they come from, how they’re created, and what makes them serve Balthazar. The prototypes in Kesho were another piece of a puzzle that’s been delightful to solve. 

And finally... who betrayed who, Balthazar or Joko? Because I’ve been to the Desolation. Whatever alliance those two had clearly didn’t work out very well, if their respective armies are in a state of open warfare. Good thing it fell through, too, because turning Joko into one of Balthazar’s lieutenants would have been a great disservice to his character. Best to let him do his own thing. 

Final thoughts: The story hasn’t petered out like I thought it might -- at least, not yet. If anything, they raised the bar even higher. Can they stick the landing?

I’m off to Tarir to find out. Yes, time to see Aurene, a decision that will in no way go horribly, horribly wrong. See you after Act III! <3

[honkasithbadonkajedi]

Aren’t you forgetting something? (A Zee and Kash AU feature)

(Inspired by my absurd need to write fiction at equally absurd times of night, a post of that one scene from Brooklyn 99, and the tag

this is zahra and kash

attached to it by @tarydarry) --------------------

He forgets the name every time they leave.

He’d spotted it during a torrential summer downpour while moving apartments, picked it out from the small local listings, and allowed it to aid and abet him and Zahra when they were too lazy to walk to a good bar, too in need of a strong drink to sleep.

It’s a terrible place by all accounts. The padding on the stools is frayed and fraying still. There are floorboards where there shouldn’t be any, and all of them squeak. The pool table looks like it’s been to war and back, the sticks for playing required to be rented out to stop their use in fights (this did not prevent their use in fights). It’s a ramshackle stack of a bar that smells like sour beer. But the ‘dim lighting’ and ‘bartender who knows your face’ sense of atmosphere had been a standing achievement for over a year.

The drinks weren’t half bad either. And it was cheap.

Zahra’s been stirring her rum and coke quietly for ten minutes now, and he knows this isn’t good. She’s not angry. He’d prefer her anger actually; that stormy, scrunchy-browed scowl that overcame her face when something disappointing mustered itself enough to get in her way. But right now she’s...lost in thought? Absorbed? No, ‘pensive’. She’d use that word.

Zahra is Pensive, which means she has words for him. And he isn’t going to like them.

“Let me get this straight:—”

“Dear gods...” There’s too much scruff and eye-bagginess on his face for this.

“Keyleth.”

Maybe if he rubs his eyes hard enough they’ll fall out and Zahra can take him to the hospital and not talk about this. “Mnhn?”

“She likes you.”

“Maybe?”

“You like her.”

"I guess?”

“You love her.”

‘Yes’ would be terrifying. ‘No’ would be a lie. “I...have no idea?” He wishes he could stop answering with questions.

“I’ve seen her as often as you have, you know,” she continues, smiling that Zahra Hydris smile and he wants to disappear somewhere where he can’t hear his suddenly thundering pulse. “She’s sweet. And gorgeous. You could do worse.”

“Everyone knows she’s pretty.”

“Except for her.”

A scathing snort. But he knows it’s true. And if she weren’t so damned adorable he would’ve stayed annoyed by her sunshine and her sheer inability to function in a public space for an hour before saying something squint-worthy. Or maybe it wasn’t just the ‘adorable’ part. He knew he was an asshole. It would be easier to walk away if she weren’t so damn brave; if she didn’t wake up every morning and spend every minute, every breath, finding a reason to move forward even after all that’d happened to her.

And then there was him.

“We’re different people, Zee. Too different. There’s a whole list of differences between us,” he says - pragmatically, sagely, he feels - and plunks down his empty mug for another round.

“Bullshit. You’re not that different. And it doesn’t matter even if you are. Not with the way you look at her every time she walks into a room.”

He doesn’t have to see her to know there’s that little upward turn at the corner of her mouth, every second like a verdict that he, Kashaw Vesh, is guilty as fucking charged of having a heart and he hates it.

“Look at me. You know me, right? I’m just the—the graveyard shift-ing, black coffee-drinking, scowling man her friends tolerate! She wouldn’t take me.”

“They don’t tolerate you, they like you. Or would like you if only you’d actually let them. And you’re being much too hard on yourself.”

His look of skepticism must’ve been louder than he thought. The radio in the back actually hikes it down a few decibels.

“I’ll admit you took some getting used to,” she offers, demonstrating rare charity toward his bitterness, “but I think they’d grow to see you much as I do.”

His shirt is one size too big in spite of his muscle mass, bunched up against the hand he’s resting his cheek against with a vengeance, pooling spitefully at his hip to remind him he’s wearing it...and he still feels naked under the sudden weight of the conversation.

They’ve never really talked about it. This. The emotions. They’d never had to. In this city, this life, after all that’d happened, they were all each other had and that didn't need to be questioned. ‘Best friends’ was too cheap a term to drape over the shared car rides and late night phone calls. ‘Sister’ was too terminal.

....Comfortable. They were Comfortable. Nothing had to be said unless it needed to be.

And there was so much to say.

“And...how’s that?” he asks, knowing full well that this could lead to staying in the bar until sunrise and one of them crying.

“Like someone who matters, and someone to be cherished until death comes.”

So much to say. His eyes won’t stop stinging. But before he can even hope to conjure the words (or force himself to), she laughs, her tone rising to something more cheerful. “She’ll also be attracted to you, probably even want to—“

“Zee!”

“I was going to say ‘kiss with indiscriminate passion’, but that’s quite possible too.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“Oh don’t be such a child about it. You like her, possibly love her, and she at least likes you. Get on with it and tell her!”

“What...now?!”

“It’s barely sunset. Her shop will still be open even with the rain.”

“I...doesn’t she...like...someone else?” he asks, so weakly it feel like a wisp of vapor.

“Someone Else is besides the point.”

“Wh—okay, I’m an idiot when it comes to this shit but I definitely know that is not how it works!”

“That’s how part of it works.”

“How do you even know she likes me?!”

“The way she looks at you, you daft—!”

“It very much works differently than this!”

“You’ll never know if you don’t say something, now will you?”

“Okay, okay let’s just say I go and just have it out! What if she doesn’t like me? What then?”

“Then you move on with your life and stop moping! That’s what you’d tell yourself right?”

His mouth pulls into a thin line (and he can’t decide if this is not to do her the disservice of a scowl, or to put a lid on the elation of being known well by someone) and pushes himself off his stool. “...If this goes wrong I’m blaming you.”

“But it won’t~. And aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Uh...”

Slowly, painfully, awkwardly (and he really wonders about that list of differences) he presses a quick peck to Zahra’s forehead before taking off.

“No, pay your bill!” she shouted, unheard over the sudden slamming open of the door and the footsteps resounding against puddle-ridden pavement. “Damn it, who raised you?”

Rain continued to pour, and she breathes out a laugh at the thought of Kash cursing his way through the rain. In all likelihood she wouldn’t hear about this until either 2am or next afternoon. But she’d be the first to hear about it if she picked up her phone quickly enough.

Maybe she should take the day off. Just in case.

[mydreamcatcherblogme]

The Great Hunt [or where to look for ideas]

      I've been struggling with this post (and writing in general) for quite some time and I finally got around to saying to myself 'Sit your ass down and get it written.' Well, that worked better than expected :D     It turns out that the most common reason for not being able to write – which applies to me and many, many others – is the lack of ideas or inspiration. Some have a hard time starting their story, others write themselves in the corner, others write without a problem but struggle with making the story come to life.

    The trick is to find something that makes you fall in love with that story so bad that you wish to push on no matter what. Maybe you find the perfect drawing/picture for your MC. Maybe you think of a mind-blowing plot twist or why not a whole language or species? Or maybe you just need to find something to get the cogs turning so you can get out of the hole you dug yourself into.    Everybody has their own thing - something that always inspires them, something that puts them in the mood for writing. If you're lucky, you have learned consistency and you can sit down and write every day, with or without inspiration. If you're like me, well then, you'll need a bit more to get started.   Here are the top ten things that help me get my head in the story: 1. Change of scenery   This one has always worked for me. I usually write at home, comfortably sitting on the sofa or in front of the kitchen table – with all the free time in the world. But nothing comes.    So I decided to try and write somewhere else.    This is a bit tricky because you can’t just bring your laptop everywhere and you can’t stay there for hours. You need

electricity (even if your laptop’s battery is awesome), you will probably need some food and drinks. So you have to find a cafe like Starbucks or Costa or even your local cafe if they will let you write there.    I found my writing den at Costa Cafe which is on the main street in the center of my city. You can sit in the back and have some privacy while you work. Or you can sit by the front window and watch people or enjoy the sun while writing your next chapter. Every time I go there I end up with twice as many pages in twice as little time. I definitely recommend. 2. Reading Books     I used to fool myself that I mustn’t read books in my genre since I didn’t want to unconsciously steal ideas and I wanted to develop my own voice. This is the worse disservice you can do to yourself.   Writers need to read. This is the only rule you can’t break. You don’t read to become like the other authors, you read to understand what works and what

doesn’t; how the pace makes or breaks a story; how to develop characters organically so they make sense and your readers love them. And last but not least — you read to be entertained.    From time to time you need to take off your writer’s pants and snuggle in your reader’s pajamas. You’ll be surprised how easily your imagination will come to life when you get lost into a new world. Yes, maybe you’ll find scenes and ideas so awesome you would want to put them in your book. And maybe you can use some of them for your story — it’s impossible to write a completely original book. Everything you can think of has already been thought of and told in some form. The point is not to come with a completely new idea but to make old ideas sound new again.  3. Watch a Movie/TV Show     I know this comes dangerously close to procrastination but it’s not when you don’t overdo it. And if nothing else helps, you have to find something to inspire you again…   What I personally do when I’m stuck is re-watch movies that previously inspired me (and that I liked enough to

watch more than once) or find new TV shows with an interesting storyline, particularly in the genre I’m writing in. You’ll be surprised how many twists and plot ideas you can get from there. And it’s okay to use those but be sure to make them your own and most importantly – be sure that they fit your characters and your story. Don’t do it for the big reveal or flashy moments. Do it because it’s the most natural progression or because it is something your character needs to do to evolve. 4. Looking at Pictures/Drawings     Visual stimulation is my greatest inspiration. For me, it may be anything — a person I meet on the street, an unusual sight, a picture, a drawing or a sculpture. Any kind of art usually gets my creative juices going as long as my weird mind connects it in some way to a story.    Often, when I go out to write I sit by the street window in the cafe and spend some time watching people. Their

interactions, facial expressions and even movements help me write realistic characters.    The next thing I turn to are sites like Pinterest and Tumblr or even Google itself. I’ve spent hours and hours on them looking at pictures, ideas and portraits for my characters so I can easily describe them in a way that will make them even more vivid for the reader. Sometimes, I browse through them for new ideas. Most of my plots have begun with a picture of a character, place or even an object. My mind needs little to get started and once it gets it on with the writing we go.  5. Find the Perfect Beat       Most of us have playlists made for a particular story. I know I do. And when I write on this story I put on that playlist and in 99% of the time, it gets me

in the right mind frame.     The trouble is that eventually those songs are going to become annoying or lose their power and then you’ll need something new. So I recommend spending some time on YouTube or Spotify just browsing through songs you’ve never listened to before. Start with a song you like or one that relates to your story in some way. YouTube will give you suggestions – check them out. Save the ones you like, skip the ones you don’t. (Damn I just sounded like the lady from the Spotify commercial). Even if a song doesn’t go well with the current story save it in another playlist. You’ll eventually finish this story and you’ll need inspiration for another one. Recycle your inspiration as much as you can — you’ll be surprised by the results. 6. Finding a Writing Buddy     Finding a writing buddy is a great idea. First, because you’ll get support and encouragement when you need them and second because you’ll feel accountable and you’ll try harder to put in the work.   The best option would be to find somebody from your city and write

together in person. After the initial excitement and getting used to one another, you’ll be able to spend hours not talking and just working on your books without being weird. If you can’t find somebody close by then find somebody online.    This person doesn’t have to be somebody that has read your work. But it is advisable to be a writer so they understand the whole process and can help with brainstorming if you hit a wall. And most importantly, they must be at least as committed as you are because there is nothing worse than you being excited and inspired to write and them talking nonstop and distracting you. 7. Going back to basics     Sometimes nothing helps getting you to write. Not your favorite music, not your favorite writing spot or a collage of your character’s portraits. I know the feeling — it’s the worst.   What I do when I hit such a roadblock is to get rid of everything that can distract me. Bye to my laptop, bye to my home where I can find a hundred things to do, bye to conversation or phone. I grab a notebook and two pens and I get out. The only thing I allow myself is some music — provided you have your social media muted or you listen to it offline. Minimize

your distractions.   At first writing by hand would be painfully slow. You may even just stare at the blank page and not write anything for a while. That’s okay. Let your mind go places, let it get bored. Because what do you do when you’re bored and you have nothing to distract yourself with? You think. And if you’re a writer as you claim then the first thing you’ll think about is your book. Maybe you’ll think about your favorite scene, or maybe about some plothole you noticed when re-reading, or maybe you’ll think of a cool new scene. Once you get there, let your hand do its thing and keep your mind wandering. 8. Talk to your characters     When I say talk to your characters I mean literally. I have a series called ‘Remnants’ and the second book is titled ‘Remnants of Souls’. I had some hard time writing it, for some reason it wasn’t moving forward properly, and I realized it was because I didn’t understand and see eye to eye with some of my characters.   So I put the book aside and wrote down a few interviews with the main

characters. You treat them like real people – if you’ve done your job right they will be just real enough – and you ask them the questions you don’t have the answers to; or even ones that you think you know. Then you let your inner schizophrenic out and answer from their point of view. It’s not only fun but it is a tremendously enlightening. Not to mention that you can later use those ‘interviews’ as extras for your followers when you publish that book.   You can try writing scenes with them that have no place in your book — something from their past or future; a dream or even something from a parallel universe. The idea is to understand what kind of person they are, how they react, why they do what they do and think the way they think. Once you know them well enough you’ll have no trouble finding ways to motivate them. 9. Brainstorm that idea     Getting stuck on a scene or a concept is something every writer runs into at least once a book. If you’re like me, you’ll run into that wall every few chapters. It’s not that I am such bad at planning (at least I hope) but I am constantly thinking of new cool ways the story can go: new scenes to add; new characters to create. And sometimes those ideas are conflicting hence putting me in the tight spot.     Brainstorming can happen in two ways. The first way, and the one I usually

choose because I prefer working alone, is to write a full plan for your story. I know that for you pantsers this is not an option but I am a planner so…    You can always change things along the way but the idea is to write the whole plotline, develop it and find a proper ending. Then you can see if the changes you have in mind can work without changing absolutely everything. If you’re not ready to commit to a plot you can write each scene on a post-it note or a card and just line them up and re-arrange them until you’re happy with the outcome.   The other option is to use a friend or another writer to brainstorm. The good thing with this is that they will bring a new, fresh perspective and that can spring ideas within you which can resolve your problems. The bad thing is that they have a different way of thinking than you and the ideas they give you may be confusing or completely inadequate for your vision of the story. So be careful when you pick your buddy for brainstorming. 10. Re-reading your story     I bet every book about writing you’ve read told you never to re-read or edit your work until you’re finished. This is absolutely true if you can manage it — it’s hard to finish something when you keep going back.   But if you put the editing aside sometimes you have no other options but to go back and re-read. Why, you ask?   First, because you’ll get excited anew for the story. When you began writing it you had an idea, you had vigor and you probably spent a few long, sleepless nights imagining the whole story, the

characters, the landscapes. Re-reading it will take you back to that state of mind.    Second, if you had spent a long time away from the story you are bound to have forgotten some small details from it which were hints or turning points for scenes to come. Once you read them your mind will connect the dots again and you’ll be able to pick it up from where you left it.   Third, you can think of new ways to continue the story. If you have spent some time away from it and you come back you look at it with new eyes. You may have forgotten some of your ideas, you may not like some of the scenes or the characters and you may also decide to take it in an entirely different direction. That’s all great as long as it gets you writing.    How do you find your inspiration? Do you have any tricks for getting back into writing mode once you've been out of it for a while? I'd love to hear your stories and suggestions as well.Yours truly,Joana Read the full article