#writing tips i guess

[dorkycreature-89]

assigning megan thee stallion songs to my ocs was not something i expect to constantly think about

[kaninchenzero]

you! you wanna write a pilot

like, a character who drives an aircraft or a spacecraft or something

maybe you got like a lando calrissian or a top gun maverick in mind, possibly a chuck yeager

maybe, just maybe, you don't want to make actual pilots' toes curl in embarrassment for you

so you do not want a hot shot with a death wish for any job other than test pilot

here are qualities you want in a pilot

loves a check list. seriously. check lists and flight plans are everything in aviation. ground crews should also love a check list. ideally, two different people do every maintenance check list, every refueling check list, every cargo check list, every preflight, every post flight, independently. every time. anyone who tells you you can skip a check list in whole or in part is your enemy and trying to kill you.

able to act with creative calm when things go to hell. look into the united airlines flight 232 crash at sioux city. those magnificent bastards found themselves in an aircraft very suddenly lacking one engine and all working control surfaces and put it on the ground without killing everyone aboard or anyone on the ground. possibly the greatest landing in aviation history. more people walked away than didn't. absolute motherfucking legends, including the cabin crew.

again, my information is second hand, but my father, two uncles, and two grandfathers were career pilots. so like, primary sources.

one grandfather flew bombers out of england. y'all like that diagram of a bomber with red dots on it, right? yeah, that grandfather contributed several of those data points. there are photos.

another grandfather, he flew medical flights from europe back stateside. met my grandmother doing it, she was a flight nurse on his aircraft. cute story! we did have to yell at riverside national cemetery a little when we buried my grandmother and remind them that she was a veteran in her own right when they wanted to double stack her in my gradfather's plot.

my uncles flew fighters and commercial jets. didn't know them well but they were nice enough to me.

my dad was army air cavalry, medevac out of hanoi, cargo helicopters out of mainz, gunships as army reserve in yugoslavia, civilian medevac, oil rig pilot (where he met my stepmom who was a mechanic on gulf rigs, those adams boys got some luck with the ladies on their aircraft i tell you what), commercial jet pilot. i was glad when he went from rotating wing to fixed wing craft. he said blowing up range targets with hellfire missiles is the most fun you can have in a vehicle and i believe that.

these are dudes who loved check lists. they walked away from every single landing. with a couple of notable exceptions involving nazi 88mm flak shells, their aircraft were still flight capable afterwards.

yeah okay i kinda just wanted to brag on my people using writing characters as a framing device but hey, they're all giant nerds who did some of the coolest shit out there.

[getvalentined]

I mentioned this elsewhere but I can get into more detail about it here: one of my favorite things to do when writing fic for a series that isn't placed on some AU version of Earth is to use legitimate but archaic or obsolete terms for things: "dioxidane" instead of hydrogen peroxide, "bhanga" instead of marijuana, "shellshock" instead of PTSD, and so on. I think it gives the work a more realistic air while also solidifying the setting as being somewhere else, and still being something that a reader can look up if necessary.

Also a huge fan of repurposing common idioms for the fictional setting in question. I play in FF7, and these are a few of my favorites:

In for a penny, in for a pound → In for a gil, in for a grand

Rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic → Washing windows in Midgar at Meteorfall

A bull in a china shop → A grandhorn in a glass boutique

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth → Don't look a gift bird in the beak

Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, that's why I [verb] on company time → Boss makes a fortune, I make a gil, that's why I [verb] while I'm paying the bills

Cold as a witch's tit → Chilly as Shiva's armpit

Hung like a horse → Built like a behemoth

If wishes were horses beggars would ride → If wishes were chocobos beggars would fly

Idioms catch on because there's a particular flow and rhythm to them, so you can't always just swap out a word and expect it to work—you can't just plug in "chocobo" everywhere common turns of phrase use "horse," for instance, because the extra syllables throw off the flow and make the phrase awkward to say. You gotta figure out the pattern in the idiom, where the emphasis hits, etc., and then rework that to work in-universe.

Stuff like this is very silly, but it really makes a difference to me with regard to readability and suspension of disbelief, so I really enjoy doing it in my own work, and it's always fun to see it in someone else's!

[gomzdrawfr]

"Don't cry."

Simon said this whenever he knew you were about to cry, eyes glossy and watery, lips trembling.

trigger warnings: angst, childhood abuse (referenced + mentioned), canon-typical violence (referenced)

notes: this is an x reader fic, also apologies for the grammar and errors if any

read more to continue this short drabble

“Don’t cry.”

His voice was hollow, rough, forced out before the words had a chance to settle.

Simon said this whenever he knew you were about to cry, eyes glossy and watery, lips trembling.

It wasn’t gentle, nor a plea. It wasn’t meant for comfort or to keep you from falling apart. It was rough, low, and scratched at your ears in a way that made it hard to bear.

It felt more like an order, one you weren’t sure was meant for you or for himself.

“Just… don’t.” He repeated, the words more for himself than for you. Something swirled in his eyes behind the mask, a faint glint catching the light, like shattered glass.

“Simon,” you whispered, voice cracking, but he cut you off with a sharp edge, ending the conversation before it even began.

You thought it was because of the life he led—the danger and discipline that flowed through his blood. You thought he was telling you not to cry because he needed you to be strong. After all, he was a soldier—a man who had seen more violence, death, and despair than you could ever imagine. You assumed he couldn’t stand to see weakness, the vulnerability that came with it.

But there was more.

There was always more with him.

You didn’t know what those words really meant to him, how deep they ran, how they had been carved into his very bones, how they play on repeat in his head like a broken cassette tape on those colder nights.

You didn’t know that those two words were all he had ever heard growing up, the only comfort he could muster when his mum sobbed after another bad night, when Tommy curled up in the corner of the kitchen, scared and bruised, whispering into the dark.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

He had felt helpless as a boy, kneeling before his family, wanting more than anything to do something—anything—but lacking the strength or power to act. He couldn’t make the pain go away. He couldn’t make the tears disappear.

Hearing those heart-wrenching sobs, those sniffles, those whimpers—it made him feel like that little boy again: lost, powerless, useless.

But the tears always came, and they never fixed anything. Crying didn’t make the bruises disappear. It didn’t quiet the screams. It didn’t make the shouting stop. All it did was twist his stomach inside out, wring his heart until he didn’t even recognize it anymore, and made his breathing all the more suffocating, like he was drowning in someone else’s grief.

It made him feel small.

Seeing those same tears in your eyes brought him back to that place. And he didn’t know how to deal with it. How to make it better.

He hated it. He hated feeling like that small boy again, hopeless, like he was failing all over.

Because Simon loves you, he truly does, more than himself, and yet he can’t bring himself to face you in these moments. 

Turning his back away from you, his head dipped lower, as if he were willing himself out of the memory that bubbled up, out of the pain that no amount of time or distance could dull.

Tears didn’t fix the past. They didn’t heal the scars that had been left on his soul.

“Simon-”

“Don’t cry… please.”

When he turned away, when he avoided your tears, when he grew distant whenever you broke down in front of him—it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

He just didn’t know how to handle it.

[blumineck]

"Go for the eyes," they said.

"It'll be fun," they said.

[livums]

Liv’s {Totally Optional Non-Mandatory Completely Voluntary} Pointers for Fleshing Out Character Relationships

Hi I’m liv e. and by middling demand I am going to blab a liiittle* bit about relationships.

So I will start by saying that I’m trained & licensed as a marriage and family therapist. So this is kind of what I do all fucking week. And I like this whole writeblr thing so why not make it fun and about fiction instead. LOL.

The purpose of this liiiiittle** post is to offer some ways in which you, a writer (great job btw!), might deepen your own understanding of the relationships between two or more characters in your writing. More specifically, by thinking a little deeper about how relationships function in real life.

These are ways in which I might conceptualize a relationship between people who seek my services as a clinician.

A small disclaimer: the VAST majority of my work is with couples (because I. prefer to see couples over families, lol), so this advice is coming from that perspective. Please keep in mind also that there are certainly infinite other ways to think about relationships. This is just the way I was trained. Or at least, the parts of my training that resonated with me the most, especially as I began writing more seriously.

My hope is that reading and practicing/toying around with these tips will help add another dimension to how relationships play out in your writing. So um. Cheers! Let’s chat.

*it’s not a little. it’s a lot.

**it’s a long post.

i. What I Say vs. What I Mean

When was the last time your partner or good friend pissed you off?

Maybe they were flippant about your feelings. Maybe they blew you off to hang out with someone else. Maybe they keep loading the dishwasher like a neanderthal.

And did you say to them, “Baby/honey/sweetums/bestie, it really upsets me when you load the dishwasher like that. I’ve asked you to do it X way several times, and it feels like you’re not listening to me, or that you don’t care about how I feel” ?

Probably not? Because, hello? (If you did, first try, then, wow! you’re a better person than i’ll ever be.)

You might’ve said “Dude, stop cramming shit in the dishwasher like it’s a fucking suitcase,” or “Haha, wow, again with the dishwasher. Awesome. No, it’s like, whatever.“ Or you might not’ve said anything at all, on purpose.

There is a tension that exists, there, in the CONTRAST between what we are thinking/feeling/meaning (e.g., I love you/I miss you/You hurt me) and what we are communicating via our words and actions (e.g., You never make time for me/You’re so lazy/You’re such a(n) [expletive of choice]).

That tension is ... really fucking interesting to read, huh!

Personally, I have a lot of fun watching the needs/wants/feelings of a character (that we might be privy to, as readers) get filtered through their unique... voice.

So say you write a character who is quite rough around the edges, and not very skilled in affection. They have a deep yearning to be close to [love interest], but they just aren’t accustomed to languaging their true feelings. Maybe we see how scared they are of putting their feelings out there. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying.

So instead of “I really care about you, [love interest]”, maybe it comes out something more like “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than follow me around all fucking day?”

And we, the readers, are like, wow! That’s not what you were thinking at all man! You’re so bad at this, that’s awesome.

So the point of all this is that it’s very helpful to clarify for yourself, in any meaningful interaction between characters in or soon-to-be-in a relationship:

What are the characters individually thinking during this interaction? What are the emotions that are present? How does it show in their body or their movements? Are they careful not to let these things show, or do they not notice at all?

How are they expecting this interaction to go? (Are they afraid something might go wrong? Are they looking for a certain reaction from each other?)

What DON’T they know about what the other person is thinking? What are their assumptions about how the other person perceives them--in general, and in this moment?

What is the GAP or the CONTRAST between all of the above and what actually ends up coming out of their mouth? Or what actions they end up physically taking (or not taking)?

Are the characters aware of their own contrast, here? How do they feel about it? Or, do they think they are being perfectly congruent?

In this way, you have the ability, as a writer, to create some devastatingly (or delightfully) poignant moments between characters. These are the moments that can really sell the reader on the relationship--its importance (why are you showing us this?) and its appeal (thank you for showing us this, this blew our tits off, etc).

ii. Tender Spots and How to Attack Them for Fun and Profit

So we’ve got issues.

What are the things that really fuckin get at you? Those topics that, when brought up, make you really upset and really defensive at like, mach speed. Maybe you’re insecure about your skills. Maybe it really bothers you when people see you as weak/unintelligent/a burden/unattractive. Maybe you have a rough and complicated relationship with a family member.

So these can be thought of as, like, tender spots (lol). You can also think of them as “raw” spots, sensitive spots, or triggers.

Figure out what your characters’ are!

This is another key way in which you can create deep and believable interpersonal drama--Character A (accidentally or intentionally) stomps all over Character B’s sensitive spots. So to speak.

A very cursory and relatively uncomplicated example of this in action:

Tasha and Mimi are two adults in a committed partnership.

Mimi’s got a real fucking chip on her shoulder about being seen as a burden--her father always went to great lengths to make sure she knew just how much he did for her, just how many opportunities he passed up in order to raise her, just how great his life would have been if she’d never been born.

Tasha is the oldest of five siblings. She was frequently tasked with their care, growing up. She did her best not to complain, as her parents were always very busy working to keep a roof over their head. So, Tasha did her part. She would’ve loved to rest and play and goof off like other kids and teens, sure, but it never felt possible with all of her responsibilities.

Mimi is suddenly injured and is unable to do certain things on her own that she had been doing before. Tasha goes about taking care of these things as well as taking on certain other tasks on her own that the pair of them may have tackled as a team before. Tasha feels stretched very thin by the workload, but is deeply concerned about how Mimi feels. There’s nothing to be done about the situation, she reasons, so there’s no point in complaining about how stressed out she is.

Mimi offers to help to the best of her ability, but Tasha is very concerned about her, and insists that Mimi rest and not exert herself. Mimi insists back. Tasha insists back back.

Mimi points out how stressed Tasha must be. Tasha agrees that she is stressed, but does not elaborate on her feelings. Mimi assumes that Tasha must think that she is a burden.

Mimi then becomes very emotionally activated--she is reminded, consciously or unconsciously, of how shitty it felt to have her father tell her over and over again what a burden she is, and how better off he would be without her. So this must be how Tasha really feels about her, Mimi accuses.

Tasha, who is very stressed but who cares very deeply for Mimi and her well-being, and who does not see Mimi as just a burden, becomes very activated in turn--she feels maligned and misunderstood. And now she certainly can’t talk about how stressed out she is, because it will only convince Mimi that she is right.

So Tasha is now convinced that she must continue to hold her feelings in in order to keep the peace--she’s reminded of her childhood spent taking care of others, and how she never felt allowed to express herself.

This example is obviously from a very zoomed-out view, chronologically, and is not exactly the way we would see it written in fiction (fiction is much more moment-by-moment and, well, exciting, usually). BUT we can see where Tasha and Mimi’s sensitivities lie, and how they specifically hurt each other with their behavior (unintentionally, in this case) by stomping RIGHT ON those sensitivities.

Readers love drama. And drama makes the plot go ‘round! So don’t be afraid to lay it on them!

In your (very good and compelling) writing, ESPECIALLY if you want to write engaging relational conflict, you would do well to clarify what your characters’ deepest sensitivities are. Consider the following:

What needs went unmet for them, growing up? A very cliche therapist-y question, but for good reason--our upbringing is where many of our deepest insecurities originate.

Additionally/alternatively, what do your characters understand to be their role in relation to other people? E.g., are they always the caretaker, the burden, the comic relief, the heartbreaker, the lonely hero, the boss? How did they first get this idea of who they’re ‘supposed’ to be towards others, and how was this reinforced throughout their life? Are they satisfied or dissatisfied with their ‘lot in life’? What do they hate about their ‘role’, if anything?

What sorts of situations might remind them of what they hate most about this role? E.g. ‘I enjoy taking care of others, and I’m good at it, but my partner gets upset if I discuss how stressed I get sometimes--I’m never allowed to express myself.’ How can you incorporate these situations into your story to create conflict?

How does your character respond when these sensitivities are triggered? Do they lash out? Do they retreat and get quiet? Do they ghost people altogether?

What do they think will happen if they are unwilling or unable to fulfill this role in their relationships with others? E.g., ‘My partner will leave me if I am not a good caretaker’, ‘Nothing will get done right if I’m not the one taking charge’, ‘If I don’t keep others at arms’ length, even if they say they love me, I’ll end up hurt.’

This is another way in which you can help your relationships really come to life! Anyways. Read on for more cheer and relational joy!

iii. We’re Attracted to What Hurts Us Sometimes, AKA Oops! I Ran into the Knife, Ten Times,

(less of a part 3 and more a part 2.5, but it was simply too long. so,)

So maybe you have a good idea of what your ideal partner/bestie looks like. It’s probably any number of positive traits: kind, considerate, good sense of humor, shapely posterior, ambitious, active, fun-loving, studious, etc.

What probably don’t make the list are things like: emotionally distant like my mother with whom I long to have a reparative experience.

Maybe you’ve witnessed (or been in) a relationship wherein all parties can be described as ‘just so bad for each other’. And maybe this relationship should not have lasted as long as it did (or shouldn’t be lasting as long as it is). And maybe you’re like--’Why are these assholes still together?’ Or, importantly: ‘Why did these assholes get together at all?’ The answer may surprise you! But more likely, it won’t.

Sometimes, we pick people on purpose specifically because they stab us right in the sensitive spot (again. so to speak).

(i should clarify before moving on: I am specifically NOT talking about relational abuse, here. That’s kind of an entirely different subject that is like. the cousin of this subject. In this discussion, I specifically mean relationships in which there is no major power differential--you’re just bad for each other. These relationships can be what we might call ‘toxic’, sure, and painful, but not abusive. The distinction is important, moving forward. ok ty)

[Author’s Note: I need everyone to know that I wrote and subsequently deleted 700 words here because I realized they didn’t make any fucking sense ok. let’s try this one more time.]

Essentially, it’s a known phenomenon among humans that, when we have experience with relational distress in the past (e.g. a partner who neglected you emotionally, or parents who disregarded boundaries you tried to set), we like to seek out similar people with whom to form relationships. Weird! But not really.

The human brain seeks closure and resolution--where we couldn’t get things to work out with our parents, or our exes, we try to get the same situations to work out next time, with someone new.

Let’s look at another example, together. Take my hand,

Suppose you write a character (Character A) whose mother was in and out of their life from a young age, and never seemed to prioritize them. Now suppose you are looking to craft a fraught or tragic or dramatic romance (or other relationship) with this character. Using what you’ve written of your first character’s backstory, you can do just that!

It’s perfectly believable, you know now, for your Character A to pursue a love interest (Character B) who has a tendency to... not want to stick around. Maybe this love interest seems to fear commitment and intimacy.

Now, maybe Character B in actuality has a very dangerous profession that requires that they maintain the utmost discretion, and be ready to flee anywhere at a moment’s notice. Maybe the fate of the city/kingdom/nation/world relies on B’s profession.

It probably doesn’t make them leaving all the time hurt A any less, though.

Character A, unconsciously or not, is determined to make things work this time around. As the relationship deepens, B is faced again and again with the choice--stay, for your love, or go, as duty commands. Maybe they’ve taken a vow for their profession that is no light thing. They leave, time and time again.

Character A, unconsciously or not, remembers this feeling--it’s an old one. Mother, time and time again, chose something else over them. It would be understandable for A to feel a deep anger towards Mom and B both. Maybe A takes drastic action to get back at B (action that is also, symbolically, retaliatory towards Mom)--maybe they cheat on B, or do something that endangers their own safety.

When all they really want is just to get B to stay.

It’s probably very clear now why it’s not so simple a thing for A to choose to date someone more consistent--this is something that goes beyond B alone.

In this way, you can very easily weave themes into the relationship(s) of your main characters. Maybe the story of A explores the pain of abandonment, or loneliness. If B is the protagonist, maybe the story explores the way we excuse our shitty behavior in relationships (maybe the job is a pretext--maybe they really are scared of commitment), or maybe it’s about the dilemma of duty over love.

Relationships don’t always make sense. Or rather, they do make sense, just in a different way than we might expect. You can use this understanding now to intentionally explore a number of complex relationship dynamics, and to create nuanced (but sympathetic) characters. As you do, consider:

In your existing characters’ relationships--what keeps these assholes together? Why do they have to be with each other, as opposed to anyone else? This is important, again, for selling the reader on the relationship, especially if it’s your work’s main relationship.

What initially attracted your characters to each other? Consider again from the previous section (what is this, a fucking textbook?) the historically unmet needs of your character(s).

How do your characters go about expressing their needs? Think again about CONTRAST here--what is the discrepancy between what the actual need is, and how the character seeks to fulfill it? E.g. ‘I need to keep B from leaving me, because it really hurts me when they go, so I’ll go risk my life just to keep their attention (rather than express this pain to them).’

What similarities, if any, exist between your MC’s relationships with the people in their present lives, and your MC’s childhood relationship(s) with their caregiver(s)? Could you expand on/deepen any similarities in your writing? What themes might emerge if you did?

iv. Change / The Arc

So you’ve got your work’s central relationship. It’s believable, it’s just the right amount of dramatic, it’s suitably tragic, and just all-around devastating. People will cry. Great job!

Now what?

Well, that depends--what ending do you envision for your relationship?

If they remain together, do they get the happily ever after? The happy-for-now? Is the reader left to wonder about whether or not their relationship will survive?

Do they not make it at all? Are they separated by tragedy? Do they crash and burn? Or maybe they try their best, but despite how badly they love each other, it’s just not enough?

Whatever the Point B of the relationship is, if it’s central to the work, you’re gonna want to have a clear arc in there. Or not, idk, I’m not your mom.

You might already know, if you inhale every piece of writing advice you come across (like me), what makes a compelling character arc. The good news is that it’s much the same with relationships! Kind of.

Systems (relationships) tend towards homeostasis. Without deliberate intervention, relationships want to remain the way they’ve always been. Just like people!

And just like characters, relationships need a reason to change. Like a catalyst, or a motivation. Whatever the hell you wanna call it.

It’s not always, like, complicated to figure out the driving force behind change in your central relationships. Sometimes the pieces fall together!

Pay attention to the characters within the relationship--as your characters progress through their arcs, their relationship will naturally shift. It will probably not look exactly the same as it did when it began--there might be similarities, of course (they’re not entirely different people.. usually. And there’s a beauty to bookending a story with the familiar, certainly). But in this case, the relationship can be thought of as an extra character, almost. It’s unsatisfying to read a whole story wherein a central character stays exactly the same. It’s further strange and incongruent for a relationship to stay exactly the same while the characters have like, achieved actualization or whatever.

Outside events can force change on a relationship, just as they do individual characters. A couple that’s close to Characters A and B get married--and A & B start to wonder what their future together even looks like. B’s company hires a fiiiine honey, who’s exactly B’s type, and A starts steaming about it. A pandemic ravages the nation, and to prevent the spread of the virus, A and B have to stay inside togeth

YOU GET IT ok anyways I’m fucking tired of writing. If you’re wanting to develop the arc of your MCs’ relationship(s), think on some of this:

Do your characters see any problem(s) present in their relationship? Are they all equally aware of the problem(s)? Do they agree on what the problem(s) are?

How secure are your characters in their relationship? If anything could possibly cause doubt and conflict to arise, what is it?

Where do your characters see their relationship going in the near future? In the far future? Do their visions align? If not, how do they differ? Do they even want the same thing?

Is the arc of the central relationship congruent with the arcs of the characters who comprise it? I.e. does the relationship remain exactly the same as it was when it started, despite the characters undergoing wild metamorphoses? Is the reverse true?

When you think about their relationship, INDEPENDENT of any ending you may already have decided, where do you see it going? Like, where do these people feel like they’re headed, realistically? Does this align with the ending you’ve decided on for them? If not, this doesn’t mean you’ve written a bad relationship or anything, it’s just a possible sign that some really intense shit might have to happen in order to shift their course, y’know? Or not--the world is your oyster and you are the God of your own creation!

What are you trying to say with your story, and do the arcs of the central relationships reflect that message?

final thots

If you read all that shit, thank you. I wrote it all in one sitting and posted it without proofreading 💜

In all seriousness, I want to emphasize that, although some of these aspects of relationships are most visible in rels with a lot of anguish and maybe even some toxicity, you by no means have to write this kind of relationship in order to make use of these tips. You could write a very Normal couple!

The idea is to offer you some avenues through which to consider aspects of your characters’ psychology and personalities, and how they mesh or clash with their partners’ or besties’.

Anyways I hope this was helpful. I love talking about relationships I could literally go on and on all day. Which I kind of just did so. lol.

I’ve been liv and I’ve got two main WIPs I’m working on right now: The Romance of the Demigods and The Marking Blood and they’re full of really really super normal relationships and examples of me definitely taking my own fucking advice.

Cheers and happy writing! 💖💖💖

[littlestormofmess]

hello ! i know it's been more than a week since wad but i wanted to do a little something for: @danrifics (who started all this !!), @dnphobe @manchesterau @phan-tasia @less-amazing @phulge @hmfakeaccount and @oriharakaoru who bought tickets for 150 people (!!!!) to watch the show + the afterparty !!

as it was probably the case for everyone else that entered the giveaway, it wouldve been hard to buy a ticket myself, living on the other side of the world where the economy is very much fucked up kdhdk so thank you guys so much for this opportunity !! its also the first time i get to see one of these guys' live shows, well, live; and it was very exciting to get to experience it alongside so many people, i had lots of fun !!

anyways, all of you guys are more than welcome to request doodles in my asks/dms, if you so wish😌 could be dnp, could be anything ! (mostly) if not, *pushes this little guy toward you* there ya go. have a lovely day !! 🧡

[pharawee]

Oh wow. Spirit Reborn (the original teaser has since been deleted) aka Khemjira Must Survive completely changed production companies and has been revived as Khemjira the Series by Mandee starring Namping Napatsakorn as Khemjira and Keng Harit as Parun.

I've just recently read the novel it's based on and it's an incredibly detailed horror novel steeped in Isan and (Thai) Buddhist folklore with very little BL stuff happening until the bonus chapters - presumably because it's not right for someone like Parun (a very respected practitioner of Buddhist "white magic") to consider or even get distracted by thoughts of that nature.

The original production received a lot of criticism for not sticking to the novel but I guess Mandee gets the Domundi bonus. Then again, Domundi isn't exactly known for... not being spicy. And here they can't even leave the spiciness to the side couple because they're Parun's students and have to adhere to the precepts too. Unless they rewrite the whole story - which would be a pity because it's so very clearly Buddhist and I really liked that about it.

[screamingcrows]

what about 17 with dottore bestie? 👀

Bestie I was gonna randomise the prompts buuuut it's a great prompt so I'm doing it 💙 "There is a fine line between stupid and genius"

It's established relationship kinda? There's a very tasteless plot point lmao, drugging in a sense but it's not reader on the receiving end.

Steam caressed your skin as you brought the cup to your lips, eyes focused on the man in front of you. You saw him swallow once, twice, before setting down the fragile procelain with more care than he usually showed you.

It was a rare occasion that you both have time to sit down, nevermind the nerves swirling around in your gut. It was fifteen minutes before The Regrator would arrive. Fifteen minutes before the future of your project, and in turn your position under Dottore, would be determined.

"You're afraid," Dottore's voice was gruff, taking another sip before continuing, "he will know the moment he steps foot in here, and you'll be all the more sorry for it. He despises people who fail to keep a level head."

A frown tugged at your lips, trying to will your hands to stop their incessant trembling.

"But-"

"Don't start on that," the dismissal in Dottore's voice had you feeling like a scolded child, "Pantalone is well aware of his own hypocrisy, pointing it out will only sour his mood further."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and mentally trying to get all the important pointers in order. Dottore had made you rehearse those three minutes over and over to the point where you swore they must've been burned into your mind.

"Good, deep breaths. The tea is brewed to his tastes, I've handed in all reports in a timely manner as of late, he's sustained no significant losses, the beast should be as agreeable as he gets."

The sight of your rough sketches spread across the wooden coffee table made you wince. Were the measurements off? Did they even have use for a weapon like this?

It didn't look particularly presentable either, the graphite lines smudged in several places. Your fingertips brushed against them, trying to reassure yourself that Dottore had encouraged this, and he wouldn't entertain poorly thought out ideas.

"What if he refuses to fund it?"

"We've already discussed this, you retain your current position and-"

"And I can try to polish it before attempting again..."

Hail clattered against the window, the dark skies outside perfectly encapsulating your current hopes. It wasn't so much that you wanted to be Dottore's equal, you weren't delusional enough to think it possible, but the chance of seeing pride warm his garnet eyes once more had your stomach doing flips.

Before you could slip further into the trenches of your mind, you felt the couch dip and the familiar heat of his body against yours, an arm unceremoniously circling your shoulders and tugging.

"A rejected project isn't the end of the world."

Dottore gave your shoulder a small squeeze, a little too tight to be comfortable, and you had to hold back a chuckle at his somewhat endearing attempt. Resting your head atop his shoulder did help to soothe your nerves, if only-

"Can't you do the talking? You know the technical details as well as I and have more experience negotiating with him, not to mention the question of rank-"

"And how do you hope to get experience if you refuse to try? I said that I'd support you, not that I'd coddle you," there was a sternness to his voice that would've made your toes curl in any other situation, "and in the unlikely situation he brushes you off due to rank..."

Your shoulders slumped as you curled a little closer, eyes drifting back to the golden liquid swirling in the fine porcelain.

"Then I watch him drink his tea and regret it."

Dottore's fingers were wrapped around your chin before another heartbeat could pass, digging into the soft skin as he angled your head upwards, the beaked mask nearly taking your eye out.

"What?"

How you wished he hadn't put on the mask yet, seeing his eyes widen in disbelief was such a rare occurrence, and from how his chapped lips had parted, you'd wager disbelief would shine clearly in them.

"You said we'd get back at him if he was mean, so I did some preliminary work," a small chuckle left your lips along with some of the unease that had gnawed at your bones.

Right. You would have the last laugh no matter what.

"I- that," Dottore fumbled for but a moment before letting out an almost tired growl, "what did you do?"

Small giggles rippled through your body as he pushed you to the side, reaching forward to snatch a cup. You could see him bring it to his lips, this time inhaling the steam.

"I didn't poison it, not really anyway, just added a laxative."

The snort that left you was downright disgraceful, but little did you care, not when The Second jolted as he did, almost sending the cup flying before turning to you with a sneer.

"There is a fine line between stupid and genius, and this, darling, has to be the most idiotic thing you've done. We have been drinking it as well," he practically spat out the words, only encouraging your amusement.

Seeing him this frustrated was well worth the trouble of having kept the petty revenge plan secret. You simply grinned, wiping tears from your eyes as his hand tangled gently in your hair, the subtle concern for not messing up your appearance right now making your heart flutter. The punishment for keeping him in the dark would come later and be all the sweeter for it.

"It's not in it's active form, it won't work unless the catalyst is also consumed," you gestured to the plate of sweets atop the table, "so we have nothing to worry about. I haven't had any tea, so I'll eat some and offer him if it comes to it. You simply pass and we'll be safe."

The groan that slipped past Dottore's lips had warmth blooming in your chest, his hand loosening it's grasp before gently stroking your hair. Decently proud of the little insurance, you relished in seeing how his frustration died out, and the fond tone of his voice.

"Little vixen..."

You leaned into the touch of his gloved hand as it came down to fondly hold your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin.

The loud knocks against the heavy door was enough to have every muscle in your body tensing, every shred of confidence slipping through your fingers as Dottore rose to open it.

You saw him grasp the handle and look back at you, signature grin in place, baring the pointed teeth that so often left marks in your flesh.

"Well? Do we greet a Harbinger sitting down?"

Frantically you scrambled to stand at attention, nearly knocking over the table in the process, the sound of Dottore's rumbling laughter when he opened the door doing little to make your now prominent blush fade.

[achillesuwu]

Writing Tip

It helped a friend so I guess I will share: when you have a hard time writing or even begin a sentence. You sometimes still have a general idea of what you want to happen

Like (literally pulling this out of my own writing and I’m literally having a hard time with it) :

Arthur walking out of the mud.

There a mud in his hair

He is frustrated.

I want him to get out.

When you have done that you may not have a lot but you already have SOMETHING to work with. (It can be done with anything even when you are not writing fiction. I used that a lot in school and at university)

Then you can link them together nicely, you got 1 action, 1 description, 1 feeling and I know how this must end. (The point isn’t even to use them all.)

Don’t mind the [] I’m still searching for the right word but look what those 4 sentences gave me

Waking up from the death is as [exhausting-éprouvant?] as getting born. Water sweeps in his armor and freeze him to the bones. If it wasn’t bad enough, the heavy weight of the mud drags him back. His weary muscles are no match to them. Yet, there is something in him grating his consciousness. Something that makes it unthinkable, unbearable to give up. He pushes forward, his arms shake and burn under the pressure.

His head breaks through the surface, he wants to scream but there is nothing in his lung. There is nothing. He doesn’t even have the time to panic, his reflexes kick-in as he chocks and gasps. The air flooding his lungs like a thousand of needles. It’s the worst thing he ever felt.

It tastes like heaven

It isn’t perfect and I will reread it but it’s a lot better than a blank page don’t you think ?

[toaster-hair]

i think a good and compelling romance story should work even if it were platonic.

if the relationship of the two main characters is only compelling is because they are expected to get together, then thats no good.

but, if the two (or more) characters have an interesting dynamic, chemistry, as well as just generally good writing, then you could easily make them compelling without even having to be romantic

[m1d-45]

i gobbled and devoured the post imposter things. scrumptious!! but what if poor little xiao man feels guilty for hunting or scarring us in the hunt? and please don’t feel obligated to answer, i know you’re busy

burden to bear

word count: 2.7k

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, canon typical violence…. minor body horror? blood mention.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

during the hunt itself, xiao is driven by a need to prove himself, pushing past his instinct and the way his karma flares around the one on the throne. he sees it as a way to redeem himself, to finally scrape some of the sin off his hands. it’s a way to prove himself, and one he takes eagerly.

it’s not correct to say he’s blinded by faith, but it’s not exactly wrong either. he definitely feels, subconsciously, that something’s… off, maybe, about his god. perhaps it’s the way his vision always seems to flutter and flare, or the ice in his veins when the command to hunt is given. he feels uneasy, unsettled, finding himself rolling his shoulders and wondering if he needed to add more stretches into his routines. and yet, despite the tension in his shoulders and the twist in his stomach, he kneels, bowing his head with a swear of fealty that goes unanswered.

unacknowledged.

perhaps he had delivered it wrong?

he doesn’t think much of it, quickly dissolving from the throne room and appearing besides the statue of the seven on the west edge of liyue. looking out over jueyun karst, he knows it’s a bit fruitless to start his search there due to the vicinity to the other adepti, but the spires there are tall, filled with wiry bushes and crags of rock that are easier to hide in than may seem at first glance.

he draws his pole arm, spinning it once over his hand before tapping the end to the stone beneath him. he’s not sure why he’s so nervous—is it the fact that this is technically the first order he’s been given? is it the idea of slaughtering somebody so identical to his creator that it nearly fooled morax, who’s been alive longer than he could fathom?

or is it simply the prospect of failure?

xiao grits his teeth and steps off the edge of the floating stone, halting his fall with anemo at nearly the last possible moment.

his feelings meant nothing. orders were given, and he had to follow them.

why else was he there, if he couldn’t?

it takes him longer than he expected to find you. he’s almost impressed, really, that you managed to evade his searching eyes, that you dodged not only him but the other adepti as well, all without taking refuge in any villages or otherwise civilized areas due to the orders the millelith put out. you hid well, he could attest to that, and though he was the one to find you, it was only on accident.

he was clearing out a group of hilichurls north of the inn. he was surprised so many had settled so close to the statue of the seven, as hilichurls usually avoided concentrated elemental energy, but didn’t think too hard about it. he simply unhooked his mask from his belt, noticing the difference in strength between these hilichurls and the average, and teleported into the middle of the camp.

the first thing he heard was a spotter’s cry. the second was the mitachurls’—archons, there were three—roar as they hefted their weapons. the final one was the intricate chanting of the abyss, but not any incantation he recognized.

he kept himself half in smoke as he danced around the edge of the camp, taking out the archers while he tried to find the abyss mage. he could catch glimpses of hydro bubbles through the walls of the hut, but the steps were covered in frost-

he barely ducked under the swing of a mitachurl’s axe, slashing his spear along its side as he slipped away, darting across the path of one charging with a large stone shield. it clipped his shoulder despite his efforts, pain spiking down his arm, but he didn’t pay attention to the injurh. normally he wouldn’t be this distracted, but two abyss mages and three mitachurls in one camp could only spell bad news. the best he could likely do was to leave and grab back-up, but who? the millelith were busy, morax and the adepti were on their own search…

xiao quickly climbed onto the roof of the hut, jamming his spear between two of the logs to keep grip on the woven roofing. the grass was damp, squishing uber this feet, likely from whatever hydro magic the mage was busy with within it. it likely wasn’t the smartest idea to stand on the roof, but this area of liyue was mostly plains, with little cover from the charging mitachurls. he needed a moment, if only a short one, to hash out a plan to deal with the camp.

the three mitachurls were standing besides the hut, two with shields and one with a crackling axe, electro dancing along the blade. xiao shifted, pivoting around the peak of the hut to move away from that one, the grass roof squishing below his feet.

the mitachurl’s ear twitched.

he shoved himself off the roof just as the mitachurl slammed the flat of its blade onto the roof, the whole shack shaking. electricity swarmed across the waterlogged roofing, reaching the opposite edge just as xiao dropped off it, landing between the other two mitachurls. they didn’t charge, nor attack, their motivations only made clear when the hiss of cryo froze out the lingering moisture in the air in front of him, effectively boxing him in.

the abyss mage swayed in its circle, staff glowing a sharp blue from within its bubble of frost.

“leave, adeptus,” it hissed, waving its staff in a circle. “you have no place here.”

xiao didn’t reply, instead picking apart his options. he couldn’t do significant damage to the shield mitachurls without utilizing his burst to destroy their shields, but that didn’t cover the mage at all… and he was still wet from the roof, so the mage would be able to freeze him within the time he had drawn in enough anemo energy to wield his mask with any level of efficiency…

he flexed his hand around his polearm. how had he gotten into this situation? his only options were to get lucky or teleport away, but even the latter of those relied on the first.

luck. how useless was he, to rely on luck-?

“‘adeptus’?”

the abyss mage startled at the voice, the cryo it had been swirling dissipating. both he and it turned to the side, to the entrance to the hut, where a figure could be seen just beyond the mitachurl.

his first instinct was that it was his god, and he briefly relaxed under the knowledge that he’d get out of this in mostly one piece.

his second was to recognize the torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin, and realize that you could never be his god.

xiao’s eyes narrowed, his spear twisting towards you faster than the distracted mage could react. you, his target, the one he had been seeking out, were hiding behind the abyss. he should have expected it, in truth, figured out the one known for going against the rules of nature would side with the most unnatural force, but that was not for now.

not now, when he was launched forward by the power of anemo, his spear driving him forward, barely skimming the mitachurl in favor of his true target: you.

your eyes barely had the chance to dart in his direction.

xiao was, in truth, not the first one to see you.

many villagers had glimpsed you running around the outskirts of their villages, plucking apples and sunsettias off trees and taking mint from their gardens and leaving bundles of sweet flowers behind instead. they’d seen you, face half-covered in a poor mask made of scraps, your clothes that of the haphazard stitches of the hilichurls, which helped you blend into teyvat a bit more at the price of comfort. many had seen you and assumed you were a run of the mill thief, perhaps one taking advantage of the current hunt since the millelith were occupied. they wryly called you clever, warning the traveling merchants about you, the one they glimpsed at inane hours of night.

he wasn’t the first to see you, by far. he was, however, the first to recognize you.

he was the first to lay eyes upon your form and realize the truth, to realize that the blood seeping into your clothes was the color of stars and galaxies, to recognize that your heart beat blue.

the argument could be made that the hilichurls were the first, or perhaps the mages that had taken you in and brought you food, but it was not them that gathered you into their arms and whisked you away in a flash of teal, uncaring of the spike of cryo that drove into their side at the last minute. the hilichurls did not walk with frosted-over limbs, the abyss did not cry with a throat full of ice, calling for assistance in undoing their own crime.

xiao couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not that baizhu was in the pharmacy, speaking with herbalist gui over the front desk. on one hand, it was best to have the most experienced healer in liyue at your side, but on the other..

“adeptus xiao, what is-…..”

confusion, then anger, then realization, all flashing over his face in an instant before he tilted his head and walked quickly to a back room, xiao following.

he busied himself with picking the ice off his body and clothes, ignoring the shake of his hands and the stench of blood in the room. the mage had pulled you from the point of his spear, but he still hit the side of your stomach, and he could tell it was messy.

knocks sounded at the door but baizhu turned them away sharply, only allowing qiqi to pass him a bowl of lotus seeds. he was focused, changsheng slithering off his shoulders to grab supplies as needed. time seemed to slow to a crawl, like xiao had entered a domain without an exit, filled with the iron smell of blood and the never ending chips of ice he peeled from his skin. it left behind stinging wounds and red marks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

what was his brief moment of injury compared to a scar upon his god?

the moment that baizhu had stopped, all but collapsing into a chair and wiping off his hands with a tired call of ‘it’s done. the foundation will be okay.’ xiao had stood and left, biting his tongue through the protests of both his own body and the doctor.

he’d given changsheng his confession, but he did not wish to stick around and hear his verdict.

weeks later, morax came and visited him at the inn, carrying with him a plate of almond tofu and an apology. xiao leaned against the furthest edge of the balcony, curled around the plate, staying as far as he could from the one with your aura imprinted upon him.

he felt it, when zhongli had first come up the stairs. the shock, then the warmth, the all-encompassing comfort that soothed the pain from the bruising on his shoulder. he felt it, and knew that he did not deserve it.

“it’s not your fault,” zhongli insisted, baritone words colored with unreturned sympathy. “the fake… had fooled us all. even me. i cannot hold your actions against you when i myself would have done the same.”

and maybe that was true. maybe he would have drawn his own weapon, pierced your skin himself, acting on the orders of one who dared to take the place of the divine, but that was irrelevant.

xiao was the one who had hurt you. and it was entirely his fault.

almond tofu, his favorite dish, tasted bitter and sour on his tongue, almost akin to the pain medication that zhongli had made him drink after noticing how cautious he was with his injured arm. he’d made him take the first dose in front of him and swear to take the rest, with a long monologue about taking care of himself tacked on afterwards, but it was for nothing. aside from the first night he had it, xiao hadn’t touched the bottle. it sat on his nightstand, beside a bed he hardly used, taunting him when he returned earlier than usual.

he could take it. there was nothing stopping him from doing so, and he probably should if he wanted to return to his duties quicker. but every time he picked up the glass, thumb tracing over the engravings as he undid the top, he hesitated.

he could take it. he probably should. but did he deserve to?

you were still recovering, possibly still bedridden weeks later. your blood still stained his spear, dripping down to his palms, pale and scarred skin marked further with the blue and purple swirls of his sin. you were still in pain, still healing from a spear to your side, and he was here, reaching for medicine for a sore shoulder?

(it was worse than that. bone had knocked against bone, bruising beneath where muscle could reach. it ached even when he sat as still as possible, dragging him out of every attempt to meditate. the dark purple splotches stretched beyond his clothing, reaching across his back and up his neck, making nearly any action flare the wound. it was far beyond an over-exerted muscle or a particularly tiring day, and yet even the worst nights of his pain were staved off by the memory of having to wash blue off his blade. even as the latch on the bottle was undone, the lip pressed to his, he could never bring himself to drink it)

(even the small droplet of it on the rim, tasting of qingxin extract and violet grass, threatened to make him sick. how dare he?)

yes, it would likely only get him into more trouble were he found out, but he was careful not to be. whenever the wind brought him the heavy presence of geo, zhongli’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, he snatched the bottle and emptied it into the stone carving on the balcony, letting the medicine soak into the soil beneath it. it splashed when he was sloppy, the deep purple medicine appearing blue on the stone, sparking a memory that weighed harder on the pit in his stomach.

even as he handed the bottle over to zhongli, his jaw clenched from the strain on his shoulder. the action was stiff, jerky, but evidently smooth enough that it had passed his assessment.

zhongli tucked the bottle away, surprisingly not drawing out a new one.

“i am proud of you, and of the progress you have made,” he said, golden eyes softening in the light of dusk. “well done, xiao.”

how strange, he thought, watching him leave, that the very action that made his vision swim with unshed tears was one that was praised.

he wouldn’t complain, of course. he never would. this pain was his to bear, just as the burden of your bloodshed was his to shoulder. he was well aware his pain could never take back yours—though he wished, desperately, that he could move your injury to him. he wanted to be able to take on the physical reminder of his defect, to take the hit of his own spear to spare you from his lapse in judgement. he would take it, take ten times the pain you endured, if only it meant that your skin was free of his scars.

it would be an honor to assist the divine, even at the price of his own life.

[rjalker]

A thing I keep noticing in stories about slavery that have been written by white people is that it can never just be "regular" oppression and slavery.

It always has to have some magical or scifi-tech componant to it that makes it work.

The Jaffa in Stargate are only enslaved because they're dependant upon the Goa'uld larva. As though it's impossible to oppress people without literally making them chemically dependant upon you.

Constructs (aka, anthroids) in The Murderbot Diaries are only enslaved because they have brain chips that will fry them if they disobey an order. As though it's impossible to force people to do things they don't want to unless you can literally kill them instantly if they don't.

These kinds of authors don't seem to fundamentally grasp that slavery is a real thing that happens in real life. Without any impossible outside help that only exists in fantasy or scifi. Real people are enslaved and they don't need to have killer brain chips in their heads to do it. They don't need to be surgically altered to rely on their slavers for their health.

It's the same with people who only write abusive relationships if there's some literal actual magical thing keeping the victim from leaving. As though real abusive tactics just don't exist.

It's just really fucking aggravating. I know I've seen tons more examples of this but I can't remember what they were from.

It's like these people just refuse to accept that real oppression exists without the aid of magical brain chips or parasitic aliens. You don't need to be able to literally fry someone's brain if they think bad thoughts about you if you physically or psychologically beat them down and enact real fucking control over their life.

I don't know. This kind of trope just seems like it's diminishing the affect of real slavery and abuse because it's pretty explicitly saying that "if XYZ magical control thing didn't exist, these people wouldn't be oppressed because they'd fight back".

As though real oppressed people don't fight back. As though the whole problem of being oppressed isn't that you lose every time because you lack the power that the people who oppress you use to keep you down.

I feel like it's because A)These people don't want to actually admit how horrible real life slavery and abuse is. B)they see themselves as the main character of the universe, so they think that if they were the one being enslaved, they'd instantly succeed at fighting back and winning, because they either can't, or refuse to aknowledge that when faced with systemic oppression, they'd be just as helpless as every other victim in history. They want to see themselves as all-powerful even in imaginary situations where they face oppression they've never actually dealt with, so they have to add some magical Impossible Barrier over top of the actual oppression to make it justified for why they haven't won already.

They think that if the roles were reversed and white people were systemically oppressed, they'd be the main character who magically leads the uprising with has no casualties. They think they'd magically never get hurt or watch their family or friends get hurt or be traumatized or actually opressed in any way.

It's definitely a form of victim blaming. It's definitely making light of real slavery and abuse. It's very fucking infuriating to have to keep reading in pretty much any scifi or fantasy series that deals with slavery that's written by white people.

so. Writing tip. How about learn how actual systemic oppression works instead of assuming the only way to enslave people is by literally being able to fry their brain?

Like. It's saying "these people have literal murder chips in their heads to enslave them, what's your excuse for not freeing yourself?"

[tacomedli]

Tainted Hero - Chapter 1

Sooooo I'm gonna try to start writing this story again, it was started in 2021, posted to ao3 in 2023, aaaaannnnd I never got past the first chapter. But here's to hoping! Anyway this chapter is already on ao3 obviously but I figured I might as well post it here too as something to get me started again.

Sneak peek:

Warriors barely glanced at them as this was happening, but in the split second that he was distracted he heard another cry--this time coming from none other than Legend. The captain watched in horror as vines of a black something crawled up the vet’s body, coming from--coming from his shadow.

“LEDGE!” Wars ran forward, not really having a plan but knowing he had to reach their veteran. The other heroes were shouting behind him, and he heard the thud of boots running in his direction, but he ignored it.

“I’m fine,” Legend bit out, then grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “I just can’t move.”

Warriors wrapped his arms around Legend’s torso and pulled. No luck.

The black grew steadily, now climbing up his waist. This was not good. 

Full chapter under the cut!

The monsters were infected, of course. It had been a while since Warriors had seen any that hadn’t been. In fact, the last time had probably been back before he’d met the other Link’s. What had caused all this strengthening black blood, anyways? Probably Dark Link, as he’d appeared in battle a few times to watch them from afar.

The heroes had grouped off into pairs, watching each other’s backs, with Wolfie helping out where he could. Twilight was nowhere to be seen, as he’d been off fetching more firewood when the ambush had happened. Hopefully he hadn’t been caught by monsters himself.

Warrior’s train of thought was interrupted by a particularly heavy slash from the lizalfos he was currently fighting against, and he almost staggered under the weight.

Keeping his balance was difficult on the uneven terrain, reminding him that they still had no idea whose time they were in--if anyone’s at all. Wars gave one final stab through the flesh of the lizalfos, piercing it through the heart. With an agonized squeal and a puff of purple smoke, the enemy was gone forever. The hero took a deep breath and turned around, looking for anyone who needed help.

His eyes widened when he saw the Shadow himself, the despicable Dark Link, sitting lazily in the branches of a nearby tree, his expression somewhere between amused and bored. 

“Time!” Warriors shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder at their unofficial leader. “The Shadow is here!”

Eight pairs of ears (though one covered in fur) perked up at that. If only these monsters would give them a break so they could face the real threat!

Time grunted in response, unable to move away from the two stalfos that were currently circling him. Wolfie bounded up to him, snarling and making to bite the ankles of one of them. Time spared the wolf a glance, his grip on the Biggoron Sword tightening. “Wolfie, I got this! Go help Warriors!”

Wolfie gave a sharp bark in return, then turned around to scan the battlefield for royal blue and midnight black. 

It wasn’t hard to spot. War’s blade flashed silver in the sunlight; scarf billowing out behind him. Dark Link’s grin was eerily wide as he slipped down from the tree limb, not bothering to equip any sort of weapon.

Wolfie’s eyes narrowed as he sped toward them. If the Shadow was unconcerned with the danger surrounding him, then he must have something up his sleeve yet. Wolfie wished briefly that he was human right now, so he could shout some sort of warning to be cautious in Warriors’ direction. 

At that moment, Warriors risked a look behind his shoulder. He’d heard Time’s yell, so it didn’t surprise him when he saw Wolfie coming closer. What did surprise him was the blur of red and green that matched an arrow’s speed, and the fierce battle cry as the Tempered Sword was raised high.

Legend.

Dark Link didn’t move until the last possible second, whipping out a blade that was black as coal to counter golden orange as Legend slammed into him. Warriors didn’t even know where the black sword had come from--but knowing Dark Link, it was probably summoned by dark magic or some other evil spell thingie.

Said Dark Link was unharmed from the attack, but even so, the force with which Legend hit the Shadow’s blade sent them both skidding forward a few feet--or backwards, in the Shadow’s case.

The latter still grinned as he pushed against the interlocking blades with a shove, forcing Legend to jump back. By this time Warriors had reclaimed his wits, and after taking a deep breath, charged the Shadow head on.

Dark Link was light on his feet, however, if the next minute proved anything. He barely even used any sort of magic as he alternated between defense and attack with his opponents, Wolfie included.

Neither side was gaining, though the heroes seemed to be the only ones growing tired. They’d been battling a camp of monsters up until now, after all, while Dark Link had only laughed to himself as he watched from the safety of an oak.

Upward swing, jump back. Spin attack, shield. Dodge, jump back. Swing again--

Warriors could feel the beads of sweat rolling down his temple, and was all too aware of a surprisingly painful pebble in the bottom of his right boot. How much longer was it going to take before someone else came to help? He’d like to think the three of them could take the Shadow on themselves, but he’d learned long ago that underestimating the enemy was no small mistake.

Wolfie jumped to bite Dark Link’s arm, but as he’d done countless times before, the Dark side-stepped him while simultaneously clashing swords with Warriors. That eerie grin was finally gone, but there was a glint in his eyes that Wars didn’t like one bit.

Legend threw himself forward yet again, hoping to get in an attack while the Dark was occupied. However, Dark Link vanished into thin air just before Legend could reach him, causing Wars to stumble from the sudden lack of pressure.

“Argh!” Legend whirled around. “Where are you, you--”

Warrior’s eyes widened. “Leg, look out!” he yelled as the Shadow reformed behind the veteran. 

Legend knew exactly what Warriors’ warning meant, and that if Dark Link was truly behind him, there wouldn’t be any time to turn around before he was quite literally stabbed in the back. So instead, he opted for a spin attack.

Which probably would’ve worked--if Dark Link wasn’t insistent on showing off his teleportation magic. Or in this case, his ability to merge with the hero’s shadow. Legend stepped back quickly as soon as he realized what had happened, but of course, his shadow followed.

Wolfie snarled, but heard an indignant yelp as Wind was disarmed by a stalfos a few feet away from them. He sprinted to the boy’s rescue, clamping his teeth down hard on the culprit’s neck as Wind hurried to retrieve his blade.

Warriors barely glanced at them as this was happening, but in the split second that he was distracted he heard another cry--this time coming from none other than Legend. The captain watched in horror as vines of a black something crawled up the vet’s body, coming from-- coming from his shadow.

“LEDGE!” Wars ran forward, not really having a plan but knowing he had to reach their veteran. The other heroes were shouting behind him, and he heard the thud of boots running in his direction, but he ignored it.

“I’m fine,” Legend bit out, then grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “I just can’t move.”

Warriors wrapped his arms around Legend’s torso and pulled. No luck.

The black grew steadily, now climbing up his waist. This was not good. 

Suddenly, Sky was there. “I have an idea,” he said, looking to Wars.

“Well, let’s hear it,” the captain replied, voice clipped. “Doesn’t look like we have much time here.”

Sky nodded, then held up the Master Sword. Sacred light climbed the blade, preparing it for a Skyward Strike.

“Oh, none of that, please,” came the disembodied voice of Dark Link. “If you’re going to be so rude, I think I’d best take my leave.”

Legend inhaled sharply as the black vines grew higher with increased speed, beginning to cover him—

“NO!” Without a second thought, Warriors lunged to grab ahold of his friend, unsure of what this strange magic would do and not really wanting to find out.

His fingers barely grazed Legend’s shoulder when there was a sudden flash of light, and he was no longer in the middle of a battlefield. His stomach grew nauseous and he was light-headed, and before he knew it he was keeling over and everything hurt and something felt wrong and—

Warriors’ eyes peeled open, and he blinked a few times. He immediately noticed two things: one, they were in a very dark and ominous prison cell, and two, Legend, who was slumped on the ground next to him, wasn’t moving.

Great. Just great. This was wonderful.

[i-write-comics-not-screenplays]

Tip for Comic Artists+Writers

(If you don't do this already!)

Draw in ballpoint pen. In a notebook.

If you're like me and you struggle to plan your script in a word processor, or you struggle to "storyboard" or even sketch in a digital art program for your comic...

Don't do that part! At least, not yet anyway!

Scribble and sketch and doodle your characters, and their lines of dialogue, wherever you want on a piece of notebook paper, with a ballpoint ink pen. You can try and figure out the comic panel configuration of a page if you want to do that, but otherwise I recommend you don't do any panel-planning yet... in order to not limit yourself to a single page in the story. Draw the first and last scene in the same page, or only draw the witty one lines you had in your head that made you want to make this comic!

The benefit: there's no pressure to get it perfect!

Don't like how you drew the hands? Well scribble it out, or ignore it; it's not the final draft by any means. You're just getting the idea on paper so you can visualize it! It's the best way to practice what emotions you're trying to convey, or the positions of the characters, without worrying about if it's "good" or not. It gives you the freedom to make mistakes, so you aren't paralyzed by the possibility of making those mistakes and the trouble of having to edit them.

You can use a sketchbook or a pencil, but for me, this defeats the purpose of letting myself experiment and make mistakes with the art/dialogue. You get visual representation of what you want to work on (scribbled out hands tells me, "be sure to practice hands and gestures!"; Stricken out dialogue lines tells me, "yep that's not how I want him to say it. Maybe I should practice a few different variations of that line?")

Their faces can look wonky, their word bubbles can be poorly placed, and the dialogue can be absolute "cringe"... and guess what? It doesn't matter because first of all, it's hilarious what you can come up with when you let loose, but second and most importantly, you're getting your ideas down in writing and on paper!!!

--additional note: it gives you so much for you to reference from as well. I recommend letting the notebook be your central spot for experiments, concepts, story ideas, notes, reminders, and important details for your story/comic/graphic novel so it becomes a personal reference guide for you (and maybe somewhat of an encyclopaedia?) :)

I hope this is helpful - it has been for me!

[causenessus]

he's so pretty