7 June 2024

This was based on another writing prompt, this one from reddit, about a hero league hiring a villain. Arachne obviously isn’t Megamind, but he was the inspiration behind the direction this was going. Dunno if I’ll continue this plot thread or not; I’d like to, but it will probably be a while.

Mina Fulton, aka Arachne, stared at Overgrowth (such a tacky hero name, by the way) in utter shock. “I believe my ears have deceived me. What did you just say?”

The young girl shrugged, and a fern sprouted up next to her. “You heard me. The League’s offering you a job.”

Arachne stared at Overgrowth another moment longer, then gestured to the clearly villainous cut of her suit. “Is there nobody there the least bit concerned about hiring a known villain to work for a hero agency?”

“Please. You’re about as threatening as Megamind from that one movie.”

That earned the hero a scowl. Honestly Arachne wasn't sure if she should feel offended or elated; that was where she’d learned the importance of presentation. “Even so–”

Overgrowth cut her off. “Okay, so the PR guy is actually pretty worried. We’re 90% sure that’s because we’re sacking him if you accept, though.”

Sacking…? Their PR guy? Wait, then… “You want me to run the PR for the Hero League?!”

Rather than replying. Overgrowth just gestured to all of her. The hero had a point; Arachne was fabulous. She honestly wasn’t sure if this was madness or brilliance.

Now that Arachne was considering it, Overgrowth grinned. “Besides, we need the help. You’ve seen us.” Indeed. Overgrowth’s “Costume” was nothing more then a green t-shirt and camo cargo pants. It was… sad. “If we want any chance of standing up to the likes of Aetherflame and his crew, we need… more.” She smirked. “Unless you think that’s too much of a challenge for a villain like you.”

Oh, those were fighting words. Arachne’s eyes flared. “Well, then. Best be prepared, young missy. When I’m through with the lot of you, none of you will be recognizable.”

6 June 2024

I was super worn out while writing this. Almost didn’t write anything. Glad I did, though.

I’d like you to meet Fred. He’s an ordinary sort of fellow; a middle-aged bachelor, with thinning brown hair, carefully arranged to hide signs of baldness. Fred doesn’t get out much; anytime he’s not asleep or at work, he’s generally on his computer. He’s quite a fan of the Mihoyo games, to the point he will shamelessly admit to whaling them.

Now, some people might write Fred off as a slacker, a dysfunctional introvert, any number of epithets referring to asocial people letting life slip away from them. Or, well… They wold if they could ever see him. You see, there’s a reason Fred spends so much time online. A reason he works the night shift, a reason he doesn’t go out during the day.

No one else can see him. Or hear him. Or really interact with him at all.

28 May 2024

This is from another one of those prompts on Tumblr; “You’re partner is trying to hide their non-human nature. You’ve known for months, but play along because it’s funny.” I twisted it a bit; what would make such a person reveal that they know?

I had a lot of fun, but I think if I were to approach this more seriously, I would change quite a lot. Might go with vampires instead; had some easier ideas on how Zan could get “caught” without recognizing it. Werewolves don’t really have a lot of room for that; either it’s super obvious, or there’s no sign whatsoever, unless they can shift at will and shed all the time, which seemed kind of lame. honestly, the examples I used to show her true nature all seem sub-par, even the fake motorcycle trip, at least how I presented. At least to me. I’d also approach the conflict with the sister differently. Maybe have James see a texting conversation between them or something, then either call Brianne or immediately go talk with Zan, depending.

Also, on Zan as a name. I don’t know if it works as a short form for Alexandra, but it fits in my head, and my grandmother was named LaZann, often going by Zann. So it is a name, just a little unusual.

I have the most adorable wife ever.

Now, obviously, I’m biased. She’s my wife. But Zan is… How should I put this? Attractively clumsy? Not words most people would use to describe a werewolf, typically but it fits her. How else can I explain the way she accidentally bends metal objects (like our cooking pots) when she’s upset, or the way she forgets her cover stories for the scars she gets, or the increasingly ridiculous excuses she comes up with to vanish every month around the full moon?

There’s been a time or two I’ve considered letting Zan–short for Alexandra–know that I’ve figured it out. But, well, I don’t know what that would mean for her, or how it would affect her pack. Plus, like I said, I think she’s adorable while she’s trying to hide it. So I just play along.

Until today.

Zan’s sister, Brianne, has come over to visit. It’s getting close to the full moon, so that’s pretty normal. I fix a little something for them, a few burgers, and I’m outside the door when I hear Zan say, “I think James is onto me, brianne. I mangled a spoon the other day, and he said, ‘Well, at least it’s not silver, right?’”

“Pure coincidence. You’re overthinking things, Zan.”

“Maybe? But, I just… I get this feeling sometimes.”

Brianne snorts. “Look, Alexandra, you want proof? He’s still married to you. If he knew, he wouldn’t be. What human wants to be married to monsters like us?”

I scowled and opened the door. Both women jump, which is a bit of a surprise. Couldn’t they hear me, or smell me, or something? While glaring at Brianne, I say, “Well, me, for starters.” Then I look over and lock eyes with Zan. “Except you’re not monsters. No matter how media portrays werewolves.”

Zan’s eyes went wide. “You… You heard that, then?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve known what you are since we got married, Zan.”

For a moment, she couldn’t figure out how to respond. “How?”

“You’re not nearly as good at hiding it as you think you are. Last month, you tied to tell me you were going on a Harley-Davidson road trip with some friends. You don’t even on a motorcycle license.”

Both women stare at me in shock, then Brianne turned to Zan. “You what?”

“It worked for Joey!”

“Because Joey Owns a Harley-Davidson!” Brianne sank her face into her hands. “Oh, this is bad. Crap.”

I set the burgers on the table and sit on the couch next to Zan. “Is it a big deal if I find out about all this?”

Zan opens her mouth, then closes it and bites her lip. She looks over at her sister, who replies, “Yes! No! I don’t know! It’s complicated.”

16 May 2024

This is from that same series of Tumblr posts that inspired both yesterday’s and the recent Rumpelstilskin stories. It went something like this: “You finished the quest and killed the dragon. However, instead of giving you the promised rewards, the townsfolk chase you out. So you do something no one’s dared do. You resurrect the dragon.”

Rumors of the dragon terrorizing the town of Birchwood had spread for weeks, with no news that anyone had managed to defeat it. So Valia had understandably expected the town to be more than a little run down, with its citizens cowering out of sight, any that remained.

Instead, the town seemed as busy as ever. Children played freely in the streets, and well-dressed housewives chatted with each other at the market. No patches on any of the pants or dresses, and Valia caught a whiff of one woman wearing an expensive perfume as she walked by.

She made her way to the adventurer’s guild, noting that the building was far more grand than the guild would require in a town of this size. The silence within only reinforced the feeling; instead of the crowds laughing and shouting among the tables that Valia was used to, the place was deathly quiet with only a couple of receptionists manning the desk.

Valia walked up to one, a younger woman with light brown hair pulled back in a bun. The reception flashed her a customer service smile. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here about the dragon.”

“Ah, yes.” The receptionist handed he a stack of paper. “The quest information is on top; underneath you can find the usual contracts, wavers, etc. Once you’ve finished filling these out, you’ll be free to pursue the dragon at your leisure.”

With a nod, Valia took the paperwork and retreated to a table near the window. The contract seemed fairly standard. The reward was a bit low for a case growing this infamous, though still within acceptable limits, at least as far as Valia was concerned.

Once she finished reviewing and signing everything, Valia took a few moments to stare out the window. A minute or two later, the receptionist came by and brought out a mug of ale. Valia raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t order this.”

“On the house. As a courtesy for any would-be dragon hunters. Unless you prefer something else? Water, perhaps?”

“It’s fine.” Valia turned her gaze back to the window. “Is this town really dealing with a dragon problem, though?”

The receptionist tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

There was a moment of silence before Valia replied, “It’s nothing.” She pushed the paperwork toward the receptionist. “Is there anything else you need before I head out?”

The reception quickly flipped through the stack. “Everything looks to be in order. Good luck on your hunt!”

Valia stood and slunk out the door, leaving her drink untouched.

10 May 2024 part 1

So, this is a fresh attempt at a prompt I used back in October of 2022. I started thinking about it randomly, and came up with a different approach, so I figured, why not? I definitely had fun with it. I may come back to it and add more, but no promises.

Rachel’s last thoughts weren’t about her family, or her college classes, or her friends. They weren’t even about the idiot who’d been driving drunk and swerved onto the sidewalk. No, herr last thoughts were, “Oh, good, the dogs are safe, at least. Ms. Haversham will be relieved.”

So perhaps it is little surprise, then, that shortly after her soul arrived in the Underworld, she found herself in Hades’ office, presented with a very unique job offer.

Rachel blinked, then looked from Hades (who looked like he’d been chiseled from ice, not born), up to the eight-foot tall hound slobbering over everything with all three of his heads.

“You want me to take Cerberus for a walk each day?”

“Indeed.” Hades steepled his hands in front of him. “Your era seems to have a dearth of ‘heroes’. At least, of the kind of idiot to parade into the Underworld uninvited. So there’s been fewer people for Cerberus to wrestle with and get his energy out. Conversely, with the increased population, I’ve been busier than ever, so…” The god let out a sigh and flashed the giant dog an apologetic smile. “Well, I haven’t had the time to take proper care of him myself. So anything you can do would be greatly appreciated.”

Rachel opened and closed her mouth, looking for something to say. She looked up at the giant dog featured in so many myths and stories. “Huh. Well, uh… I can do my best?” Quite frankly, if Cerberus decided he wanted to go somewhere, Rachel was certain she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

20 March 2024

I think I’d started watching the anime Zom100 when I wrote this. There’s some pretty cool themes about seizing control of your life in there. Anyway, I had zombie stories in my head, but had no idea what to do with it. I was looking through my list of concepts I want to play with, and saw plant people. I wondered, how would “plant people” zombies be different from the human kind? So here we are.

Even almost a decade later, Violet still had nightmares about that day. The fear on her parents’ faces when the alarm sounded. The screams and press of people out in the streets. The claustrophobic feeling of breathing through a mask. The moment when someone knocked Mother’s mask loose, and Violet and her father could only watch in horror as Mother unwillingly rooted herself to the ground, her face twisted forever in pain as the fungus used her body to produce even more of its deadly spores.

Violet had come a long since then. But there were times, especially in the dark of the night, where she still felt like that same little kid.

20 February 2024

Kind of fed up with the options we have in the recent presidential elections. So I wrote a thing. I’m not sure how I feel about doing political commentary; seems a lot more prone to causing conflict and aggression than I’d like to be. But I wanted to put my thoughts down somewhere.

There was once a pair of demons who yearned to walk the earth and revel in its depravities. One was a fat, bipedal mammoth with a gold crown a top his head, who loved nothing more than to trample on the masses beneath him. The other was scrawny, little more than a skeleton, with a donkey’s head. He had a propensity to manipulate those around him, whether through words or wires, turning the world around him into a grand puppet stage.

They’d hidden themselves well; disguised as human, they mingled with humanity, and slowly gained power. Sometimes they fought–for as any demon would, they hated each other with a passion–but often times, they exaggerated their enmity while they worked behind the scenes to enslave the population.

By the time they revealed themselves for what they were, it was already too late. They’d grown so powerful, most people believed they couldn’t do anything; the demons were unkillable.

Except… there were those. Some few, small brave souls, who risked their very lives to speak out against this injustice. “There must be a better way.” “We have to have other options.”

Like a whisper in the wind, the words traveled to and fro, and with every new gust, more voices joined in the chorus. The demons and their henchmen tried to stop it, of course; it would not do for the people to have a voice, to remember freedom for themselves. But who can stop the wind?

Spurred on by the voices in the breeze, brave men and women rose up to oppose the demons. It was true that one soul, alone, had little hope of vanquishing them. But together, with the voice of the people behind them? There is nothing a champion could not accomplish.

So the question remains. Who among us is willing to stand?

9 February 2024

This was… really random. I don’t really know where my head was that day, other than the fact I didn’t want to think about anything too hard. I can’t even call it a crack-fic. It’s just… strange.

There is a question no one in Belobog or Penacony seems to know the answer to. Who, exactly, is the Garbage King?

Admittedly, this is because 99% (or more) of the population straight up doesn’t care. But you have those rare few–be they an eccentric Nameless or a certain struggling author–who know this secret could open the door to countless other discoveries.

So let’s ponder for a moment what sort of being he (or she) would have to be. What Aeon might he, and the trash can as a whole, worship? Not Nihility, for IX would not encourage such diligence; nor would Elation fit well, for his works are not bombastic or  entertaining enough. Neither Destruction nor the Hunt fit, and Yaoshi’s Abundance also is a bit too much of a stretch.

He could conceivably be some obscure, long-forgotten or presumed dead member of the Genius Society,; they are all eccentrics by nature, and if his devotion to trash was somehow inspired by a thirst for knowledge, it’s not inconceivable. HooH’s Equilibrium is an obvious choice, along with Preservation. A worshiper (or remnant) of Idrila the Beauty is not impossible, either; one who strives to find the beauty in anything, even the contents of a trash can, seems like it would fit well with such an eclectic order, as does one who takes care of trash to preserve the beauty around him. Finally, he could also have obscure ties to Harmony, in doing his part to make the world more clean and orderly.

26 January 2024

What would Malenia do in the world of Genshin Impact? Other than wreck everything, I mean.

Malenia said nothing for several minutes. “This world is too cheerful.”

“Eh. Sure, Teyvat certainly has a different feel to it than the Lands Between, but… its got its own shadows. Come, follow me.”

I led the goddess incumbent up Starsnatch cliff toward Dragonspine. I’m pretty sure I kept our arrival secret from the bastards on Celestia; from what I’ve seen, they wouldn’t take too kindly to our arrival.

The monsters die swiftly. The only surprise comes when the ruin guard near the Temple of a Thousand Winds caught sight of Malenia during a waterfowl, and even that wasn’t too much trouble. I don’t think anyone knows what to make of her; she is colored like a pyro character, but if there’s one element she’s not connected to, it’s fire. …Isn’t she basically a dendro character?

“Why is the lightning on this gods-forsaken world purple, of all things?” Malenia grumbled.

I blink. “I…actually don’t know. Let me check.” A quick, out-of-universe google study later, and… “Huh. In real life, natural lightning tends to look more purple. Maybe in the Lands Between, it looked yellow because of its association with grace and the Golden Order?”

Malenia nodded, musing on that as she impaled the hilichurl archer who’d prompted the question. SHe looked across the river, at the snowy foothills of Dragonspine. She took a deep breath in and commented, “Smells like home.”

“What, snow and the ever-present sense of danger?”

Malenia gave me a noncommittal grunt and jumped across the river. I sighed, then whistled for Torrent so I could follow behind. No sense in freezing to death before I even make it to the Nail.

19 January 2024

Really short. I was wondering, there are sentient weapons; why not sentient tools? Then, I apparently had trouble focusing. Partially inspired by this song on Youtube.

“Good morning. Will ye be crafting anything today?”

I sighed and pulled myself out of my bedroll. There was no sense in replying; the hammer and I both knew I’d left that life behind me long ago. Fool that I was.

I walked out of my tent to see my compatriots preparing breakfast around our little fire.

13 January 2024

This was a strange exercise trying to figure out if I could capture emotional snapshots of key scenes, and use that to tell a short story. I’m not super happy with how that succeeded, but I think it was good practice all the same.

1) It was an ordinary sort of town, the type you might find anywhere. Rural, quiet. The kind of place were things never really happened. The books loved these sorts of places; they could make things happen there, leave the audience wondering if it could happen to them, too. Of course, it never does.

Kids go to school. Parents go to work. The biggest threats in anyone’s lives are their ever-looming debts, but for the most part, even those feel far off and distant. Tomorrow’s problem. And only for adults. For a teenager, the scariest problem is if the guy or girl they like would ever like them back.

2) Then, an explosion. A burst of light and sound. Maybe distant, perhaps the classroom next door. Screams and panic. People rushing, shouting, pushing into each other. You have to get out. There has to be a way out!

Outside isn’t better. Rivers of people flood the streets. The current pushes everyone; young, old, small, large. No one can fight it. A little girl cowers in the corner; a hand reaches out, but the current pulls it away before it can reach her. More explosions ring out from behind.

3) Stunned silence fills the room. It’s plain, with cheap flooring and beige walls. A table and a handful of chairs are scattered around, occupied by a group of worn and weary fighters. All looking to you.

20 September 2023 part 2

Redoing the magical girl scene.

…become a magical girl?”

Sarah blinked twice and tipped her hand to the side. “Why would I want to do that?”

The rabbit-thing froze, eyes fixed on Sarah. “...I was under the impression most young women your age aspired to the position. Quite fervently, in fact. Is that not the case?”

With a shrug, Sarah answered, “I’m not them. I’m me.”

The silence stretched on long enough to get awkward before the rabbit-thing replied. “I see. And the fame and fortune that come with the station don’t appeal to you, I suppose?”

“WHo in their right mind wants to be famous? I’d never get any privacy anymore. And there’s other, probably safer ways to get rich if I decide I want that.”

“Hmm.” The rabbit-thing bobbed his head and sat quietly, apparently lost in thought.

After a moment or two, Sarah asked, “Would you mind moving over a bit? You’re sitting on my homework.”

“Ah, my apologies.” The rabbit-thing hopped to the floor, but before Sarah could get back to work, he asked, “So you enjoy learning, then?”

“Well, yeah. There’s so much to see and discover, and the more you understand, the more doors it opens for you, yeah?”

“Then would you have any interest in learning the lost secrets of Atlantis, or perhaps even the technologies of my people?”

Sarah paused and glanced back down at the rabbit-thing. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious, but this whole thing seemed more and more sketch the more he pushed.

19 September 2023

So… It’s been a while. And I don’t remember much. So for a bit, I’m going to post three or so times a day, and work on refining everything with author’s notes and whatnot later. I’m impressed how much of a backlog I have, actually; it’s been hard to focus for a long time now.

Sarah wasn’t expecting a familiar to show up in her bedroom that evening. To be honest, she wasn’t expecting one to show up at all. She didn’t exactly fit the “magical girl” profile. Given the choice, she preferred to keep to herself, and her outfit tended toward dark colors, only softened by her golden-blonde hair. And even that she’d dyed black for Halloween last week.

And yet, here the thing was, a weird little pseudo-bunny sitting right on top of her AP Calculus homework. They stared at each other for a minute or two, when a male voice echoed inside her head. “How would you like to become a magical girl?”

Sarah blinked a couple times then scowled. “Heck no. Why would I want to do that?”

Prince Xavian Edwist von Hescher expected this to be a fairly routine contract. The girl–Sarah Dossinger, was it? – had few friends, and one of the highest compatibility scores Xavian had ever seen. By rights, she should have jumped at the opportunity; all his siblings’ contractors had.

So when Sarah declined, Xavian was at a complete loss. What was worse, she disregarded the idea completely, as if it was too much of a hassle.

“W-what do you mean?” he pushed. “Magical girls are granted access to magics and technologies beyond your wildest dreams! What’s more, they are afforded fame and fortune both here and among the Atlanteans. Why would you not desire that?”

To Xavian’s shock, the girl’s scowl deepened. “What person in their right mind wants to be famous? I have to deal with people way too much as it is. As for the rest, well. You know what they say. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Besides, I’ve got a pretty cozy life right now, anyway.”

Xavian couldn’t find words to reply to that. After several minutes where he gasped like a fish out of water, Sarah asked, “Could you move, please? You’re sitting on my homework.”

He hopped down to the floor, and the girl proceeded to ignore him to work on solving integrals and the like. After another several minutes, Sarah asked, “WHy are you still here? Don’t you have other people to bother? More contracts to make?”

“I… No, I don’t. I can’t, actually.”

That made Sarah pause. She pulled back to look at Xavian. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

Xavian flinched. “I, er… Well, it takes a lot to materialize an avatar and send our consciousness to this realm. Without the energy from a contract, it’ll take a while to save up the energy to go back.”

Sarah glared at him, making him shrink even smaller. “How long?”

“Er, it’s… a-about a week.”

“A week.” Sarah’s voice was flat.

“...Yes.”

After a moment, Sarah groaned and rubbed her temples. She muttered to herself, “Mina keeps rabbits, right? Maybe I can pass it off to her for the week.”

Xavian froze. “D-do you really plan on foisting me off like a common rabbit!?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one who showed up unannounced. Why should that be my problem?”

Xavian’s fur bristled. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Not a clue. Not that I care. You skipped straight to your crappy sales pitch, and skipped right over introductions.”

Xavian finally realized how badly he’d botched this whole thing. He did his best to draw himself up regally and bowed his head. “My apologies. I am Prince Xavian Edwist von Hescher, of the Arcadian royal family.”

The look Sarah gave him was filled with disdain, but before Xavian could protest, she just shook her head and turned back to her work. “Yeah, I really dodged a bullet there.”

“Eh?”

“You said Arcadia, right? The fae aren’t exactly known for making fair deals. They’re all about half-truths and twisted words; more like Kyubey in Madoka Magica.” She shot a glance. “Not that you seem very capable of that.”

2 August 2023

Ever since I first read it in seventh grade for class, the short story The Lady or the Tiger has always fascinated me. I’d periodically find myself chewing on it, wondering not so much what would the princess choose, but what’s the best outcome overall? I consistently come back to the solution I present below. I should note this explicitly goes against what it says in the original story; it makes it very clear the princess’s beau fully expects her to help him survive the trial. Which always rubbed me wrong.

I had some vague ideas about a potential story arc after the dude kills the tiger, but it’s not a particularly high priority at the moment; we’ll see if and when I get to it in the future.

Princess Nikka could only stare in shock, her blood roaring in her ears. Her father, the king, looked thoroughly pleased with himself, as he sat smugly upon his throne. Did he not realize what he’d just done? Of how utterly he’d just ruined all hope she had for her future?

Of course he didn’t. It didn’t matter how she felt about Leug, or what promises they’d made. It only mattered that the king thought she’d defied him. And so Leug would be put to the Trial. And no matter which doom he chose… She’d lose him. Forever.

Unbidden, and unwelcome for the weakness they implied, tears welled in the corner of Nikka’s eyes. One moment, visions of blood swept over her, as she imagined Leug eviscerated by the tiger. The next, images of Leug’s arms around another woman, while she was forced to watch from afar as she grew old and lonely. Or worse, chained to the side of whatever clan chieftain or foreign dignitary had gained Father’s favor.

A hand rested on Nikka’s shoulder, pulling her out of her waking nightmare. Leug, bound in chains and yet somehow still more noble in bearing than all her father’s court combined, flashed her a smile and whispered, “Send me to the tiger, will you? When the day comes. I know you’ll find out which is which; so when you do, send me to the tiger.”

Nikka’s blood turned to ice. “Do you not wish to live? For your own happiness?” She ignored Father’s souring expression.

Leug chuckled. “Of course I do. But what life, what happiness is there without you? Nor could I be so cruel, to either you or my wife-to-be.”

“So you have given up hope?”

With a shake of his head, Leug explained, “There’s still a way. One single path I can see.” He flashed her a smile, one full of false bravado to mask his fear. “I just have to kill the tiger.”

10 June 2023

My White Room puzzle story continues to fascinate me. It’s a bit like playing chess against myself, and not like Gerti does it in the Pixar short. To add to it, I always seem to write it when I’m exhausted and can’t muster the brain power required to work on one of my other, more focused stories. Makes the whole thing quite fascinating. I wonder what comes next?

I finally snagged the key from where it was wedged between the front of the speaker and the screen. It was as white as everything else in the room; I was more than a little tempted to try and scrape it to see if it was white all the way through, or just painted.

I headed back to the Ebony room and tested the key in the lock. It worked, though it did feel strange to use such a pure white key on such a pitch black door. The door swung open to reveal a bright, almost garish, scarlet room. Unlike the other two, there were other colors as accents; one of the throw pillows was white, and the small end table by the couch was black. I think it had more or different furniture than the other two rooms, but I was too tired to really notice or care. Instead, I just crashed on the couch and zonked out.

6 June 2023

There’s this one concept for a D&D character that’s been knocking around my head for years, but I’ve never really gotten a chance to play her. She’s a cleric with a split personality; one, graves domain, that is shy and timid but also incredibly kind, and the other that is the death domain and can best be described as…uninhibited. I got tired of waiting to move somewhere I could find a group (my internet here sucks, so I don’t consider that a viable option), so I tried writing a scene. Don’t particularly plan on continuing at the moment, but I may change my mind and develop the arc and story later.

The alcove Tarynn found herself in wasn’t especially comfortable. For some reason, she’d figured that since it was in the temple of the Eternal Rose, it would have some comforts, but she had no such luck. Probably from all the pushback about the corruption that had run rampant a decode or so ago.

She poked her head out to look around, but at the sight of her lady-in-waiting, Anya, just around the corner, she pulled back into the alcove. She’d tried too hard and come too far to just get dragged back home now. Not for the first time, Tarynn wished her other self were out right now; for all the problems she caused, the other one was a lot more bold, and would never just let herself get carted off. She probably wouldn’t have resorted to hiding in uncomfortable alcoves, either.

“You’re sure she went in here?” Anya said, with clear concern in her voice. “I know things have calmed down recently, but given her… connection to the Undying Princess, this isn’t the safest place for her to be…”

“She’s here, alright.” Tarynn recognized the voice as Joseph’s, her official bodyguard. “Storms have mercy, that might be why she’s here; she assumed we wouldn’t think to look here.”

Tarynn blushed. Joseph was absolutely correct. Obviously, that hadn’t worked out so well, but she hadn’t gotten caught yet, so it was all good, right?

The pair chatted for a little longer, and Tarynn began to sweat. If these two were here, where was Robin? Officially Tarynn’s maid, and unofficial her scariest, most capable bodyguard, Robin was the one Tarynn worried about most; even her other self had trouble dealing with her.

Soon enough, the two voices moved away, and after several moments of silence Tarynn poked her head out again. When she didn’t see anyone, she stepped out of the alcove and heaved a sigh of relief.

That lasted until a voice behind her said, “Running away from home, m’lady?”

Tarynn let out a squeak and spun around, shoulders drawing together.” There stood a tall-ish tiefling, maybe a head and a half taller than her own 5’3”, with a mane of shaggy brown hair around his curled horns. A pendant of the Rose’s symbol hung free on his chest, and Tarynn took a step back.

He raised his hands above his head, an easy smile on his lips. “Easy there; I mean no harm. Just curious, I suppose. You’re the one they’re looking for, am I right? So, why are you hiding?”

Tarynn’s thought began tumbling over themselves, churning her brain to such a mess she had trouble sorting one from another. She opened her mouth to try to answer, then turned bright red when nothing came out.

12 May 2023

This is just notes on a dream I had, but depending, it may be good reference material for another story later.

Set in an Indian-style culture (or, as much as can be w/ my limited knowledge). Central character was a young woman with special powers; she could either reinforce things or superheat them. This was good, because they were often attacked by brass/bronze creatures. I’m not sure how they moved; it almost seemed weeping angel-ish, but everyone acted like they could move normally. Maybe it was just a low-budget dream?

There was romance; the central character loved a guy from the upper city/upper class, and he even seemed to reciprocate. I don’t think the class divide was an issue; I think the problems came when he found out she was attracting these brass monsters (they werre trying to kill her), and he and all his people wrote her off as cursed and refused to have anything to do with one another.

That’s when the things actually attacked in the dream. She piled scraps and paraphernalia together and reinforced it into walls for everyone. The rest of her village seemed used to this; they knew how to fight the things, and did so w/o fear. Only a couple small ones even made it to her. She was fending off a couple rodent statues (a rabbit and I think a squirrel), when a couple others tried to sneak in behind her–snakes. She noticed them (this is where the freeze-frame came into play), and took care of them.

The only notable thing that happened in the dream after that was when her (ex-)boyfriend was kicked out of the upper city during this attack. He was too closely associated with the main character, and thus also cursed.

1 May 2023

I’ve always found fae fascinating. Deals, exact words, true names… I don’t know that I’ll do much more with these characters; perhaps finish this scene/short story, and leave it at that. But who knows? We’ll see.

The clank of a blacksmith’s hammer rang over the homestead. Fynn didn’t recognize the old man, though something did seem familiar about him. After looking around for a bit, Fynn finally found David. He called out to his old friend, with just a touch of suggestion laced into the words; he needed David’s help, and on the off chance he was still sore about what happened last time, a little… persuasion could go a long way. “Good day, old friend! How goes the farm?”

To Fynn’s surprise, the magic found now purchase in the young man, sliding right off him like water from a leaf in a rainstorm. The young man turned and gave him a puzzled look. “Do I… know you?”

Concern tickled at Fynn’s heart, but he hid it behind a jovial laugh. “Come now, David! Surely there are better times for games!”

Behind him, the clank of the hammer stopped. The blacksmith spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “Leave my son out of your schemes, Fynnelion Summerchild.”

Fynn was rocked to his core. Those words carried power, especially with the use of Fynn’s true name. What’s more, Fynn realized why the old man looked familiar. He spun slowly to face the blacksmith. “David?”

19 April 2023

I was dead tired, and needed something random. So I went back to the White room.

Heads up, by the way. I might be shifting my layout and/or schedule in the near future for this, to better align with my goals for it. A way to make the stories more complete/accessible to anyone who’d come for them, and adding on more of my writing process for those more interested in that. My only concern is that’s going to be a time commitment, and I don’t really have an excess of that (not that I’ve met anyone who does). There’ll be a more official update post once I’ve actually got it figured out/working.

Alright, now where was I? Ah, yes. Locked door in the Ebony room. Well, what do I have to work with? There's a couch in each room; all there cushions, as well. And in the White room, at least, there was a loudspeaker; is there one here in the Ebony room, too? It seems like it would be harder to spot…

Ah, yep, there it is. Gut feeling says the solution is going to do with those, somehow, which is awkward. They’re just high enough to be effectively out of reach, and I don’t have step stools here. Oh well. No matter.

Just in case, I look under each of the couches and pull all the cushions off, to make sure the key didn’t fall (or get stuffed) between them.

I briefly consider cutting open the cushions, but I don’t have a knife, so that’d be difficult. All I’ve got are my keys, and, well, I don’t think it’s worth the effort. Instead, I head to the White room and drag the barren couch so the armrest is directly under the speaker.

I get a mental image of someone else landing here and seeing all this sprawled out like I have it. The couch cushions strewn about, the couch shifted out of place. For some reason, to me, it’s a funny image.

12 April 2023

I’d just watched Tolkien again, about his life, and it struck me that for as iconic a creature as the balrog was in Lord of the Rings, it never really shows up anywhere else. Probably because it has too much in common with the aesthetic of the traditional demons in Christian lore? regardless of the reason, I kind of wanted to do something with it.

That said, I’m pretty dissatisfied with this attempt. It doesn’t feel true to what they were, and is all sorts of weird. It was worth exploring, but I won’t be doing anything with these ideas directly, at least.

It is said that the first balrog formed the moment man first tamed fire. For before that the flames held no malevolence; they were but a force of nature, destructive as they were. But no, under man’s control, it was only a matter of time before someone used them with ill intent.

In our world, they remained largely unseen, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. There beside the first man who committed arson; every “witch” burned at the stake. The many, often literal, flames of war, up to and including the nuclear bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

But here, in the world of [Lordran], they were not content to keep to the shadows, to whisper into the ears of men. No, here, they stalked the realm in physical form., giant horned beings of ash and flame. Few knew they’d ever had a master, and none but them knew if they served another after his death, or if they worked towards their own inscrutable ends.

There was no killing one, either; at least, not permanently. The great heroes had struck even the mightiest of them down at various points throughout history, earning a century or two’s reprieve from the beasts’ tyranny, but they lacked the divine power required to slay them for good.