The posts below are listed in the order I've written them, not chronologically order until you reach the Open Hold subsection. If you do reblog any of them please keep the original prompt with any reblog so the prompt writer receives love as well, none of these would exist without the attached prompt. I strongly encourage you to follow the prompters as well, they're in a league all thier own.
✨️Now without further ado✨️
[x] Waking up somewhere unfamiliar
[x] Again
[x] Learning the ropes
[x] Unarmed
[x] Honored
[x] Fields of Plenty
[x] Send me a sign
[x] To be held
✨️✨️✨️Bonus stories✨️✨️✨️ ✨️✨️in the same universe✨️✨️
[x] Armful
[x] Don't leave me here
[x] And the Thunder Rolls
[x] The Slab
[x] Six
[x] Release
✨️The Open Hold Series✨️
(x) Chapter 1: Life in the Outs
(x) Chapter 2: The Slab
(x) Chapter 3: Enemies (WIP)
(x) Chapter 4: x (WIP)
(x) Chapter 5: Exit Strategy
Postscript: this list will be updated when I see a prompt, dig up the ambition to write, add that story to the Masterlist in my phone's notes, and then transfer them all to this list. So...maybe every other week. Please reblog if you enjoy, it helps my brain want to make more words.
Post Postscript: I am also on Archive of Our Own now, see my works there under the same name, and thank you for taking the time to read through my threads.
If you're writing anything involving cons, scams, heists, or morally questionable characters who are very good at lying, here are some free resources I've been using for research. Saving you the "why is this in my search history" anxiety.
1. The FBI's Famous Cases & Criminals archive (fbi.gov/history/famous-cases) has detailed breakdowns of real fraud cases, Ponzi schemes, and confidence operations. The language they use is clinical and precise, which is perfect for getting the procedural details right.
2. The FTC Consumer Sentinel Network publishes annual reports on the most common fraud tactics in the US. Great for understanding how modern scams actually work and what makes people fall for them.
3. The Smithsonian's American Art Museum has a free digital collection of forgery case studies. If your character forges documents or art, this is gold.
4. Court Listener (courtlistener.com) is a free legal database where you can read actual court transcripts from fraud trials. Want to know how a real con artist talks under oath? This is where you find out.
5. The Internet Archive's collection of old newspaper crime sections. Search for "confidence man" or "swindle" in papers from the 1920s through 1960s and you'll find incredible real stories that would feel too dramatic for fiction.
Bonus: The Psychology of Fraud section on the Association for Psychological Science website has accessible articles about why people trust, how deception works cognitively, and what makes someone a convincing liar. Essential reading if you want your con artist characters to feel psychologically real.
Reblog to save for later. Your WIP will thank you.
hands and feet tied with rough, thorny vines that dig into your wrists at every movement. gasping with pain every time someone drags you along by them. bonus points for a thorny collar
hunger gnawing at your stomach… you could eat their food and give up any chance of escape, or slowly starve hoping someone will come to get you
dragged around and forced to dance until exhausted
forced to complete impossible (and humiliating) tasks for a chance at escape, nearly succeeding only to be denied your reward on a technicality
elaborate punishments for breaking esoteric rules or not holding up your end of a bargain
being kept in an intricate bird cage barely big enough to hold you, dangled in front of royalty for what feels like ages. they don’t seem to register your discomfort and treat you as an interesting piece of decoration
fae captured by humans:
on the flip side, being kept in an animal cage or tank, treated like a “rare specimen”
you know how butterfly wings are usually folded in on themselves, but after they’re killed and pinned they’re stretched out to show off the pretty colors? that, but you’re still alive, and it’s unbearably painful to have them constantly stretched out, with wires holding them in place
or having your wings straight-up ripped off and put up on display
obviously your restraints are made of iron or silver. just being around the stuff drains you, making you feel heavy and exhausted, and you can feel it slowly poisoning you
you need constant exposure to sunlight in order to stay healthy and happy, and start to wither and wilt after being kept in a dark cell for even a couple days
you lost any powers you had upon entering the human world, and you’ve never felt this weak and vulnerable
If you like my mini series for Liam and Marius please feel free to leave a kudos (or a comment :D) on my AO3 page for the Open Hold Series. This series will eventually have some of the chapters for Liam and Marius and the first book "In the Land of Plenty 7847" features additional characters you might recognize from the Bonus Stories section! I've been working on bits and pieces for a while now and I like what I've got so far. Let me know what you think or just settle in with your favorite drink and read a bit of hurt/comfort whump <3
I had a fifteen minute long crying session yesternight over the fact that all I was 10 years ago, at the ripe old age of 14, is lost and lonely, and now, at 24, I am neither and that filled me with so much gratitude
reblog to tell a teenager that these aren’t actually the best years of your life and that things can and will get better when you have independance and maybe are away from your situation right now.
The Caretaker flicks a cigarette onto the damp city sidewalk and gets into the back of a car. They nod at the Whumper who is driving, but don’t get acknowledged in return. Classic. The night sky turns from a drizzle into a pour and the sound of rain tapping the car’s roof becomes a quickly complemented by the hum of their movement and the dull thumps of the windshield wipers. The Caretaker is sitting in the back seat in the seat across from someone else. They look over at the other person, the Whumpee, whose head is having trouble staying upright as they sit. “What the fuck is this?” the Caretaker asks their friend the Whumper, who responds in a decidedly unfriendly way: “None of your business.” The Caretaker looks at them up and down with a poor man’s diagnostic scan. Poor in knowledge, at least, but not poor in concern. The Whumpee is obviously unwell, their skin pale, and hair wet and dark from either rain or blood. Under their jacket they have a tie and vest on over a button down shirt - the Caretaker instinctively reaches over to loosen all three. “They high or something?” the Caretaker asks, their eyes trying to track some kind of breathing that seemed even semi-normal. It’s not even close. “Don’t fucking touch them!” the Whumper says harshly with a slam of their hand on the dashboard. At this, the Caretaker takes their hands but not their eyes off the Whumpee’s increasingly limp - but not done fighting - form. In the quiet of the rainy drive, the Caretaker just shakes their head as they rub their rough cheek with the back of their hand. “Why is it feeling like ‘none of my business’ is suddenly on its way to being my fucking problem?” they ask aloud, half to the Whumper and half to themselves.
This room is...appalling, she thought. Pieces of creatures lay scattered at her feet, atop sandy slopes and gore dappled puddles their metallic shells lying prone, bloody ichor leaking from the hulking masses. A thick layer of ruddy silt covered everything, a scene which she found, absolutely disgusting. Her clothing stuck fast by the sweat pouring down her back; she hefted a broken corpse into one of the trunks of a shattered creche pier.
Ginella had buried the body beneath armfuls of sand, her own body aching with the effort while she eyed the room warily. Her mind was clouded, waves of memory giving her whiplash as she tried to give order to the events that had led to this all out massacre.
Another painfully obvious issue was that most of the useful items among the dead were in an entirely different language. She couldn't yet read this flowing script that capsized on itself and taunted her; instead opting to fit the armored pieces she found by using the dead as a loose guide, leaving the more restrictive bulker helm of the- Imperials, a foreign thought provided the word as quickly as she could wonder about who these people had been. Ginella made the swap in favor of one of the lighter ones the skirmishers had been wearing. Nevermind that the horrid armor was mostly the color of sand, which- she hated. Ginella knew leaving was the wisest choice she could make right now, sorting out all of...whatever this shit was, could happen later. Briefly stretching, she heard her aching joints pop and groan as she strode for the door, spotting a hammer too large for her to handle right now but the nearby body of another intruder also seemed to have a handaxe she could repurpose.
Old instincts crawled out of a cloudy hibernation, reminding her that any nightmarish creature might crawl out of this dune filled hellscape and she didn't want to be here to see it. Some of the spiders out here were the size of boulders, kicking up blinding dust clouds before they snapped you in half and moved onto the next meal. The Sicari liked to bury themself and lie in wait, sometimes for fucking years, until an unsuspecting creep of tortoise came to close and...
Ginella averted her gaze, trying to shut out the image and ferociously fighting the pull to count each individual grain of sand, not only would it not calm her mind but she'd be trapped here longer if she couldn't get ahold of herself. Yanking her mind back into focus, Ginella grabbed the axe handle and pulled. She was about to pass the doors threshold pining for the freedom just beyond, when a rasping moan escaped one of the damned. Hair rose on her neck as she slowly turned and the pained moan turned to a soft whimper; Ginella saw the man, impailed on glassy entrails, she had missed the fact that he was still breathing, having come to conscious again recently she guessed. Another quick sweep revealed that one body in the center of the flfloor and the not-corpse pinned near the doorway were also breathing. Shit- maybe she wasn't as clear headed as she had thought. Ginella approached the man carefully, and the his eyes fluttered open at her looming shadow. Blood soaked his right arm and sleeve but wasn't actively flowing which was probably why he was still alive.
"You...you could be free." The man signed or well she thought that's what he said. The movement of his hand was jerky and tied for his attention with the excruciating pain of simply breathing. That coupled with the use of only one hand...maybe he had meant released? Or helped...but that was a different sign. Ugh, it had been too long since she had practiced any form of sign language.
She frowned, replying slowly, at his eye level and pointing to the glass. "I am free, you are impaled."
He grimaced, whether from her response or another bout of pain was unclear. Slowly he signed again, not bothering to lift his arm from his lap this time. "Help us," that was definitely the sign for help this time "they will take you in."
Ginella rolled her eyes at that, "I am not a lost soul, intruder." Her hands mimicing the break of a chain then one weaved beneath the other. She pointed at herself as she continued, "I will not be taken anywhere. You are here, why?" She sat in front of him now having found his pack and began to rummage through the contents. She stopped when he was ready to answer again, not seeing what she was looking for or maybe there was a remedy kit somewhere and she just couldn't read the stupid symbols to tell. The man's hand lifted, pointed finger moving down in a swirl and the curling as he pulled with all four fingers in the final motion. She thought that might meant story- maybe, he could also just be confused. That, however, was all the skirmisher could manage, he was looking worse by the second.
Ginella turned away from him easily spotting two additional packs, now that she knew what she was looking for, and waited for the skirmisher to open his eyes again before continuing with her questions. "Remedies? Where?" She signed to him, the movement still awkward and possibly incorrect. The man's eyebrows knitted as he tried to follow her question. She had to repeat it slowly a second time before he understood. Probably the wrong signs then. Ginella saw a war rage behind his eyes as the skirmisher tried to weigh the benefits of whatever offer this was against the abysall lullaby death had begun to sing for him.
Lady Lull always beckoned with such tempting offers so Ginella could understand the hesitation. She pushed him though, her voice the little nudge he needed to shut out the great sirens song. "If you die, I will still take them with me." Ginella pointed back toward the not-corpses among the dead behind her as she spoke. She hadn't meant it as a threat but the man seemed to take her words as one. Gritting his teeth before pointing out the proper bag. Ginella began to rummage but quickly became frustrated and ended up dragging the bag back to him. He gave her a confused look, which she ignored, then began to point out the proper items, walking her through triaging his people with the supplies. Painstaking hours passed as she worked through a dimly lit, disturbingly gritty, impromptu revival unable to read the ointmants and quick expanding patches she applied; working with what guidance a slowly dying man could give.
Her first priority had been the body at the center, eh- person, at the center of the space. Their entire left side looked like a bloody version of an acorn pecker tree. Crimson caps littered their left side, some how managing to miss major arteries. Getting the bleeding to stop was only half the battle - removing each fiberglass filament...she was content to have such a useful tool in the little green glove, the fabric protecting her hand as she worked to remove them all. As she ran her hand above the wound shards began to slide out like quills from the skirmishers skin. Each time the glove made contact she thought there surely couldn't be more and yet another pass always revealed another hidden handful. Ginella arduously pulled each glittering filament settling them neatly in a clean bin, incredible as it was Ginella still felt sick having to watch the process. Once the crimson spines were out she cleaned the mess of flesh as well as she could before applying a gooey pink mesh the man assured her would do something to staunch the blood then moving on to the next Skirmisher.
This one had been... staked. Her hands...oh Lady Lull, Ginella thought. She could see one mangled palm had been ripped from a spike in the wall, the other metal piton had been bent so the woman couldn't free herself from it. That was the theory anyway but to Ginella it looked like she had tried to rip her left hand down off the stake via the muscle and tendons between her index and pointer finger. She hadn't gotten very far before another blow to the face had broken her nose and put a stop to her effort.
Carefully Ginella removed the woman's hand from the stake, the gap in her palm now large enough to move around the cruel curve. Carrying the woman to where she could see the still impaled skirmisher, Ginella worked to clean, apply ointments and wrap her wounds as well without so much as a stir from either of them. Finding multiple pairs of cuffs Ginella secured both, no longer bleeding individuals, so she didn't have to worry about her head being bashed in by some semi-conscious skirmisher and turned her full attention back to the impaled one. His red rimmed eyes stared back at her, she hadn't realized he had been crying. She'd been so focused on what she'd been working on she'd missed the display entirely.
Ginella had saved him for last, knowing full well he wouldn't be there to guide her choices and wanting as much information from him as possible before hand; though now she became acutely aware of how desperate this scene looked. Skewered to a wall and forced to watch a stranger you can only hope will help your people and not slaughter them at your feet made being overwhelmed seem like an appropriate response. She could see him fighting to stay in the realm of lucidity, eyes dulling and swinging dangerously between agonized clarity and the hazy pitch of dissociation calling from distant corners of the world's veil. Carefully, Ginella weakened the glass with an obsidian scalpal from one of the foreign kits, moving to brace the man's chest with her palm she cracked the shard behind his shoulder, separating both shard and man, from the bulk of the structure. The Skirmisher hissed in pain, free hand reflexively grappling her arm to steady himself as he slid forward chest braced against her waiting hand. Ginella lowered the whimpering man to his left side slowly, wishing the bastard had shown her which container held pain killers. Understandablely, he hadn't trusted her not to knock him out with them -which meant an annoying amount of whimpering, growling and... the man reached for something.
In slow motion, Ginella watched as his free hand grabbed for a syringe lying outside the remedy kit, a milky gray liquid already prepped within. He had the snapped the cap off and swung it at her with his free arm aiming, rather accurately, for shattered plates along her back. Ginella's arm slammed into his swing, denying the attempt in a deft manuever, hand grappling his as he struggled to make the syringe connect. Bending the man's hand and arm back into himself, Ginella slid to sit atop him and ignored his gutteral gasps as her new position jostled the glass embedded within his shoulder. Calmly applying her weight as they fought for control of the syringe and it's mystery contents, which may be a mystery to her but the skirmisher likely knew exactly what was in the vial and based on his increasingly violent attempts to buck her off his chest, he was terrified of what came next. Tears welled in his eyes as he shook his head rapidly, Ginella felt his pinned hand clawing against the plate she wore. The man's eyes widening as she forced his arm further, using his shaking hand to guide the syringe down into the skin near his right arm and depositing the gray sludge with a press of the plunger. Ginella watched as his eyes widened, mouth gasping as she held his hand around the syringe, waiting to see the effects of what he had tried to stick her with. The Skirmisher slowly stopped kicking beneath her, left arm going slack within her grasp, even so she kept a firm grip on him.
She waited there another ten mintues, checked to make sure the little shit was still breathing- he was and noting for herself that the vial was likely a paralytic. Serves him right she thought, tossing away the syringe and leaning down to get a closer look at his bloody shoulder, debating on wether to leave him. Coming this far would be a waste, among other things, so she set about removing the blade of rose red glass before tucking another pink meshy strip into the raw wound and laying a grey silk along the angry flesh. The silk came to life as she had seen before, snaking it's way into the wound and sewing the ragged skin back together. Horrific.
She was still upset about the pain killers, mostly because she knew she needed them but now Ginella was fairly certain the skirmisher would be regretting his decision or rather, the series of decisions, right about now. While elements of the kit worked on healing the three survivors of this blood bath. Ginella scavenged every pack she could find, placing what felt like similar items together before consolidating the lot of it into three bags. She found fetters and applied them to all three intruders before picking up the man and handcuffing his good arm to his unconscious companions.
Travelling out into the hall she walked a short way from the room, not shutting the door entirely the light slipped out ahead of her. Ginella stopped to knock gently against a root then another further along the hall. Hours passed as this process went on and the halls remained silent in protest, before she finally found another door. This time leading to personal quarters, one bed but plenty of space for three idiots and herself. Ginella wanted answers which meant all three of them would need to go eventually but she wasn't fully recovered and she had the feeling these intruders were likely to try and kill her again, the hard way it is then. Returning to the massacre - she saw the man twitch as she passed, paralytic beginning to wear off. He had apparently not passed out like his companions but she understood- fear would do that to a person.
Rummaging through the remedial kit, she found then applied, the same serum to both of the other skirmishers before unlocking the man's cuffs. His eyes tracked her, hateful, as he could do little more than watch her work. She did her best to ignore him, hoisting his helpless form over her shoulder and tracking back down the path to the new room. By no means a short walk, but when she finally managed it all three skirmishers were secured along different walls. Only then she began to retrace her steps and cover her trail in the dust. That settled, she began arranging the room leaving the most greviosly injured skirmisher cuffed to the ancient stone slab currently serving as a bed. Another lie slumped against a wall aluminum manacles anchored to the floor, and the final one tracked her path whenever she entered. He was tucked against the opposite corner, where he could see both her and his allies. She wasn't trying to play mind games with him but of course he didn't know that. Ginella sighed, sitting in front of the door, removing the helmet and lying her head against the petrified wood and decorative metal. Running her hands through ratted knots of hair she felt sick when a clump of it came out in her hand. She stared at the strands, omens of consequence -martyrs of implication. Ginella scattered them away the dull orange strings which highlighed on the granite stonework beneath as they landed. This would only continue to worsen, she thought draining two canteens of water before forcing herself to save the rest. That at least made her feel better, she could feel the cool liquid flowing through her, supporting what life she had left. She had to shut this out, right now she needed to function, everything else could wait.
Ginella didn't sleep but had long ago mastered the art of closing out the world. Too much had happened, the reality of her situation hammering home just how alone she was. Ginella hadn't wanted this yet she had saved these idiots hadn't she? What did that mean for her, for the brief future? Eyes shut Ginella let time slip by, pretending not to hear the fearfully smothered sobs of the man who very nearly stabbed her. Ginella relaxed into the sensation of cool stone on her skin shutting out what she couldn't fix right now. She had been there once, might comfort him if she had known where to begin. But no, she was technically holding them prisoner now so comfort was long gone. How was she going to make this work? She needed this to work.
With an idea forming Ginella 'woke' with a soft scrape of metal on stone, but really she just wanted the would-be stabber to know she was awake. He had been staring at his companions, likely hoping for some other signs of life, but his head snapped to her as the powered armor she refused to remove announced her intention. If looks could kill Ginella would have suffered the effects of, hopefully, instant death -that's what she figured she could expect from him anyway. Not a sadist, just a person who would like to see her dead, so the normal reaction. She rummaged through the pack and pulled out a ration seed cake wrapped in a leafy layer, finding a small victory in the fact that at least the food was edible. She'd have preferred jerky but desperate times...
Ginella finished her meager portion and caught him staring at her again, or rather the seed cake next to her. With a sigh she stood, scooping a new packet up, kniving open the leafy blossom and placing the plant parcel just outside his reach. The man frowned, jaw grinding at another perceived slight as he watched her back away. His manacled hand formed into a rude gesture a moment before the lock popped open, letting his arm free. Suprised, the skirmisher looked up- stupidly. If this had been an accident and Ginella hadn't been holding the remote release she would have had time to run a marathon before coming back to beat his ass. Shaking her head Ginella leaned back against the rooms door, still standing because fuck him, but motioned to the seedy peace offering between them.
He eyed the food, perhaps believing she had done something to it even though she had opened it in front of him. Admittedly with the syringes and the kits, she could have so, she tried not to hold his hesitation against him - even if he was an idiot. The awkward stand off continued for a minute or two more before he moved closer to pick up the foil wrapped leaflet. Taking small bites and watching her like a cornered animal. Part way through the scant meal, she realilzed he was signing and watched closer.
"-going to kill me." He had ended the motion as a statement not a question so he wasn't asking why she hadn't killed him. She thought over the half sentence before asking him to repeat the gestures. "I thought you were going to kill me." Yeah, that's what she thought he had said.
Ginella shook her head then clamped her middle and pointer finger down on her thumb in a long pinch, "No, you're an idiot. They get to keep breath-" She started sarcastically then stopped because what help was that? Hands briefly held aloft in thought she started again, "I'm not going to kill you, I am sorry to have scared you." She didn't look at him as she signed, choosing a point past him to fix her gaze as she continued, "I...You should not be here. You need to leave."
He thought about what she said, brows furrowing again as he took another bite. "You will not keep us?"
"No, I have business elsewhere." That was true enough but the skirmisher looked shocked to hear it.
"You're going to...walk away?" She was having trouble understanding as he gestured rapidly but she thought she understood.
"Why not?" Ginella shrugged. "I don't owe you anything."
"That's not what I meant-" he began again.
Ginella cut him off with a glare, firmly signing "My business is my own intruder. Mind yours." She finished with a gesture to his unconscious companions. He glanced to them and back again, weighing something in his mind. Paying little attention, Ginella reached for a pack using her foot to slide the bag across the floor to him.
"Supplies for...a while. This room is deeper within the-" She caught herself careful not to give too much away. "The..complex," That would work. "waiting some days before leaving would be wise. You are unable to travel this way."
He looked down at the bag, disbelieve shrouding his features. He hefted the overloaded pack to grapple it between his legs, other arm still immobile though she could tell the wound was still merrily knitting itself back together again. Absolutely vile, even if it was effective. It took a minute but he eventually came out of the bag with a thumb sized golden canister. Holding the lid between his teeth he tilted his head and unscrewed the small container. Seeing him this active despite massive blood loss and a bum arm made Ginella glad she had opted for the handcuffs, she out classed him in most aspects but the little idiot was resourceful and that would have been a pain in the ass. When everything has a potential use that only those types see, well, underestimating people is the leading cause of death among the chronically stupid.
The man dug out two sapphire looking beads and shoved them into his mouth chased by a good amount of water. She eyed the container curiously trying to figure out how to approach her question.
"Painkillers." He answered and her frowned response actually made him smirk, the bastard. "Need them?" He gently rattled the golden canister and she could hear the beads within.
Now it was her turn for uncertainty. She held out a hand, watching him deftly replace the lid with his teeth and throw it in her direction. She caught the sparkling little container, all but ripping off the lid to get at the tiny meds within. The man had taken two and with as much pain as she felt Ginella wasn't even sure these would help. Through gritted teeth she settled on three of the blue beads before resealing the contents and tossing it back. The skirmisher didn't have to move, catching her throw and settling back against the wall once more. Gently tapping the floor to a beat only he could hear. Ugh, outsiders and their music.
"So..." He began, waving to catch her eye, "will you be with us for a time?"
What kind of a question was that? Of course she would. "You cannot fend for yourself or your own." He didn't seem to think that answered the question. Taking a more direct approach she said, "Yes, that would be wise. If you all die my efforts will have been wasted." There were other reasons that didn't involve being adopted like a wild dog but that would come later.
He squinted, unsure if the comment was intentionally hostile or part of her lacking charm. She didn't clarify further instead inspecting each item within her bag and labelling it according to how she'd been instructed to use it.
The man tried again, her stubborn silence not detering his constant need for questions. "My name is Alder Catterghelt." He waited for her answer but when met with a flat stare he continued anyway. "I heard- I think I heard them call you Traeg..." Her face soured at the name, and he threw his arm up, "I don't have to call you that. I was, I would like something to call you is all."
"Why," She started then stopped herself again. Ginella wasn't partial to the name but she also wouldn't be with them long enough for it to matter anyway. "Traeg is fine."
"Alright then Traeg. I wanted to thank-"
"NO." She words bursting from her before she could stop them, the sound of her voice, so abruptly firm, made him jump in the wake of what had been a quiet conversation. "Do not thank me." She lowered her voice trying to cover the anxiety that had grabbed hold of her chest and began to squeeze. "You have nothing to thank me for. This was not an offering. You are no prisoner. We do not matter to one another. I need to leave, you need to leave. Do not thank me and do not be so free with your name." Her hands moved to run through her hair, stopping just short as she remembered what had happened earlier. "This world will eat you alive if you continue to be this way. I do not wish to see you dead for your troubles." She hadn't meant to add the last part but, well it had slipped out. True again, she didn't want to see any of them dead when she'd worked so hard to keep the little shits breathing. "We will become unknown to each other again within a short time, this is better." She watched for a reaction and saw something she couldn't place, an unfamiliar emotion, gone before she could dig into the meaning.
He absent mindedly tapped the golden container on the floor at his feet. Meeting her eyes and nodding gently, letting go of the canister and motioning to her bag. Happy to be free of that conversation she picked it up and moved closer to him, keeping the bag defensively between them- just in case.
She opened it for him and watched the man, Alder she thought irritatedly, pull out an odd box. He held it out for her to hold as he adjusted dials and a voice crackled out of it. Ginella nearly dropped the black box but managed to grab it again before it hit the floor. Eyes wide she looked to Alder for help and he held out a hand. Gladly she dropped the voice into his outstreached palm.
Gently he placed the device on the ground, and signed to her "I need a voice to reach my people. This will bring them." She frowned doubtfully but she heard the box squawking and that alone was unnatural enough to convince her. "It's a radio and very old so I'm not suprised you don't recognize the style. The one in your helmet is way more advanced, but based on this."
Sure, she thought, whatever the fuck that meant. "you need a voice, why?" She questioned hand pulling away from herself as she finally settled into her place on the floor.
"To reach them." He said, as if that was enough of an answer. Her confusion must have been clear because he contined. "Speak to them and home base will retrieve us."
Ah, yes okay. That she did understand, a negotiation then. "You will not return here?" She questioned toward him but her scrunched face emphasized her disaproval.
"No- Yes, I mean yes we will not return." Good, she watched carefully as he relayed instructions for how the radio device worked. 'Old school' he called it. Old, she understood, but not in this context apparently. "You need to tell them Zealot squad is alive, rescued and enroute to marker N."
She raised her eyebrows at the name 'Zealot squad' but understood the general task, feigning confusion until he pulled some additional mapping and showed her exaxtly what he meant. She frowned but ignored the nagging feeling that wormed it's way into her guts as she saw beige painted for...well for a terrifyingly large stretch of the map that she was sure wasn't supposes to be that color. Instead she turned back to him flicking dials on the radio once he was ready.
A voice broke through surfacing like audible flotsum in an ocean of static. "...emer..cy frequen...ease identify yours...ser."
Alder smiled excitedly urging a response. "Zealot squad is alive, they are enroute to..." She paused looking at the map again, "m-marker N." She held the button too long accidentally cutting off the reply that came back.
"-at..ave not identified..self...who am..spea...with?"
"Your voice is...muddied?" She struggled to explain hand curled to a fist in frustration. "Your people don't belong here, you need to come get them. Enroute, marker N."
"-opy. Ident..thi...your...arning." The box sounded annoyed which Ginella understood because she was also annoyed.
"Z-e-a-l-o-t" She spelled slowly. "Zealot team. Meet at marker N." Ginella let go of the button right after, a long silence filled the space. She stared at the floor, waiting. Suddenly the box crackled to life clearer than it had been. "Copy. Zealot team, Yellerk squad set to meet at marker N. We have a lock on your frequency, have you cleared cache radius? We haven't had pingback from your Pithlink in a while, we figured the cache killed it."
She saw the tension in Alders shoulders release at the flood of information. He quickly pinched his index and middle finger above his thumb in answer to the question. "Nnno," Ginella hesitated as she read and translated for Alder. "You can hear us now? We are coming in clearly?"
"Yes" The box replied cooly, "We have you for the moment. Not sure how, if you are still in cache range."
"We are in the cache." Ginella spoke evenly now, waiting before she relayed Alder's message. "Two critically wounded. Two operational members." She translated the last part narrowing her eyes at Alder and hissing at her inadvertent inclusion among their group.
"Four total members?" There was clear hesitation in the voice.
"Three original members...and a st-"
She stopped before finishing the word 'stray' now ignoring Alder she continued. "I am not a member, I am translating for Alder, this device is poorly constructed and does not allow for proper communication between you and he." Another long pause during which Alder had placed his head in his hands, seemingly distressed.
"A translator huh?" The voice, infuriatingly, oozed doubt.
"Yes." You prick, she added mentally.
"Alright, I'll bite. Alder, simcode."
Eyebrows knotted in confusion, Ginella turned to Alder for her own translation. What the hell was a simcode? The man seemed reluctant then began to sign...a poem? No less confused Ginella began to recite the lines.
"In darkest night and blackest pitch,
Lived a demon they called a witch.
She sat among great evergreens,
Heavenly visage, despondent sheen.
I offer no aid for death-
is my liege, stand alone and fear the besieged."
"Alright, enough." The box cut her off shattering the odd trance those words had begun to lull her into. "We meet at the marker. You get my people there."
Shaking her head, Ginella's mind felt clearer as she responded, "I will, they will be waiting for you there."
"Re...t" The static suddenly bursting back into the conversation like an eager whelp.
"Shit. Yes! Yes! I-we heard you!" There was no response this time, only the static buzzing away angrily.
Why did she feel so desperate for them to have heard her, to have understood? This couldn't happen now she needed to be level headed, this had to work. A noise snapped Ginella out of her skulk. With frightening speed she whirled, hand already on her axe as she met the eyes of the woman in the corner, seething with hatred so deep it made Ginella's skin crawl.
"Who the fuck are you?" The woman's dark hair was dotted with sand, deep bags had appeared beneath her eyes and despite having the upper hand the manacled skirmisher managed to make Ginella feel, on edge. "I said, who the-fuck are you?"
"Me?" Ginella snarled back, "who the hell are you?" That shut the woman up. Her face souring before she pinned Alder with an icy glare.
"Simcode." She demanded.
Seriously? This again. True to form Alder began reciting something, not a poem- "A bad cat dies enviously, fettered, gored, hollow in jealousy; kenneled like mutts near open plagueland. Quietly reach, stand tall, united, victoriously waving xanthic yarb-"
"And I will call you Zealot." The woman finished with a broad smile, seeming content with the smattering of words that had little to no bearing in the conversation. Just trying to follow Alders signs had given Ginella a headache. She stopped watching him as he began to explain what had happened, occupying herself with the map Alder had left out and starting to plot a route. She caught a number of over exaggerates signs between the pair, that she was doing her best to ignore but they might as well have been shouting at one another, she'd be equally uncomfortable and much less tense.
A pointed motion finally pulled Ginella from her mapwork as Alder asked for the woman's manacles to be removed. Ginella fixed him with a hard gaze then stared the woman down with the same icy glare she had nailed Alder with earlier.
"Are you going to try to stab me?" Ginella asked cooly.
"Honey, I don't try to stab anyone. I always hit my mark." While it was nice to know she wasn't the only sarcastic and hostile one here Ginella would have preferred they be more on the sarcastic side and not so actively threatening. She raised her eyebrows at Alder who looked apologetic but offered little else. Alright then-
"No." She answered going back to her map and starting the mental math for her plotted course.
"Wh-" The woman clearly hadn't expected such a curt response, stammering before finding her fight again. "What the fuck do you mean no? We're supposes to be friends now you Emperial shithead."
Not looking up from the map Ginella stopped her mental math noting the trip to their marker at fourty-five days out, assuming good weather, and seventy-something if there were major set backs. "Friends," She began, "tend to know each other for some time. We, have known of one another for what amounts to less than a day, less than half an hour if we narrow that to time we have both been conscious within the same room." Ginella noted the path, passing it to Alder to look over and finally met the other woman's eyes. "I asked if you were going to stab me, what is your answer?" Alder looked nervously between them as the pair stared each other down. Seconds dragged by but eventually the woman relented.
"No" She growled, eyes trailing to one side. "I won't stab you to death, or shoot you or whatever..."
That would have to be good enough. Ginella pointed at the bag she had given over to Alder an hour ago and watched as he sheepishly retrieved a set of keys, having been momentarily stunned to find them there.
"It's Treag, right?" The woman tried, letting Alder pop open the lock on her left wrist before moving to her right. When Ginella didn't answer she continued, "you know leaving this shithole is no joke lady."
"Ellie, now is not the time." Alder tried to cut in, attempting to mediate a peace but the woman, Ellie, continued.
"If you get cold feet there is no coming back, say goodbye to all your fancy gear and on demand food." She had discarded the manacles and stood up now. "It's a harsh world out there, every horror story you've heard about the Wildlands, they're all true. We live among shapeshifting monsters who eat childre-"
Ginella had stepped up to the woman in the blink of an eye, Ellie's bravado draining away as she reflexively grabbed for a weapon she wasn't wearing. Ginella loomed over her, voice dropping to a dangerous snarl. "Under no circumstances do I ever, want to come back here. You don't seem to fully grasp how absolutely fucked you were without me so let me enlighten you, Ellie." Leaning further in, the other woman shrank back unable to get further from Ginella as she continued. "Your friend beside us has holes the size of cherry pits that I had to plug up with the help of a man who's arm was all but sawed off by a blade of glass." Ginella's face was red, blood rushing as anger curled, purring in her chest, "I'm not asking you to grovel, while you were staked to a wall by your fucking hands, I got all three of you out of there." The silence was welcome, none of them moved and breathing had become optional for the time being.
That...hadn't felt as good as she thought it might. She needed air, snatching her pack Ginella stalked out of the room, cross cut corridors until she was sure she'd gone far enough. She should have left, should leave. Right now. But something pulled, tying her to the spot. A debt to be repaid, the little shits. Ginella focused on her breathing, reaching a calming cadence. She could do this, they were so close and she was going to need their help. Retracing the path back to the massacre chamber Ginella could smell death before she reached it. She scooped up the helmets previously left. Swapping out the one she preferred, Ginella played with the settings, glad to see they worked after the bloodbath here. For the most part anyway, a mic on one radio was damaged but Alder also didn't need one so there was that. She ran a cord of rope through two and tied them off like a belt. Time to head back then...she had cooled off, hopefully the other woman, Ellie, had too.
"Halt." Ginella felt her heart skip a beat at the command stopping on pure instinct but it wasn't for her. The order had come from much further in, tapping the side of the helmet lightly she watched the visor of the helmet offer her a limited broadcast now that she was in range of what the on board system deemed 'allies'. Selecting one with a clearer view she recognized Alder, not in the room where he should be, standing with one arm aloft and another inside a sling. "Identify yourself."
Picking up to a jog, helmets clanging at her side Ginella rounded the corner - ax low and ran face first into the second of what was...two, four, five...fucking six Empiriette's. That's what the system called them, Empiriette allies.
Okay...she thought, rattling around in the comm system until it opened for her. Alder was right, this helmet was way more advanced than the radio she'd been shown; offering far too many options in her opinion. "You're here." She didn't have to reach far to sound out of breath after running damn near top speed to get to Alder in time. Closing the live video Ginella pretended to see Alder for the first time calling, "damn it Cade. I told you they'd be here why didn't you stay inside?" All six spun to face her rifles ready. It was bad form really, they should have noticed her much earlier, their tactics were amateurish at best with no clear rear guard, no real leader. And she had thought her gaggle were idiots. Between that and how high they had jumped at the sound of her voice, she was guessing this group wasn't exactly the Empire's finest. "Put your weapons down you idiots." Ginella growled into the commlink, "can't you see he isn't a threat. The man practically lost an arm in the last skirmish."
"Oh yeah? and who the hell are you?" Came the reply from the back, no the front of their little brigade. Nearest to Alder, a masculine voice crackled back and Ginella realized she wasn't talking to everyone she was talking to everyone but the people she actually wanted to hear her. Gods damn it all.
"I know you can read the identifier in your visor, so you tell me." Her tone was flat, no nonsense, that of one exasperated warrior who, hopefully, outranked all of them. While she waited for idiot one to find the right informational tags she stepped into the crowd of them, towards Alder but stopped in front of idiot one, who was identified in her visor as Kemmer Signalis, male and of the second lowest rank. The system had helpfully ranked the rest of them, or rather the armor they wore, as Knight class cadets and Kemmer Signalis as, Officer Signalis. Terrifyingly the system had a direct line to...everything, everything about them was plugged in to their armor as much as their skin, hair and nails were parts of them.
"Apologies, Officer Treag. We were informed of a possible- "
Not willing to miss the opportunity, Ginella cut him off, gambling with her response, "don't apologize to me." Finding the open comm and switching to it as she faced Alder, she continued, "There seems to have been a misunderstanding Commander Cade. Officer Signalis would like to apologize, he was unaware of your rank due to the significant injuries sustained." Only she caught Alder's widening eyes before his expression shifted. Lowering his hands he waited expectantly, before striking a pose that any cadet knew to fear. Gone was the wild eyed man who might have feared for his life and before them stood a Commander.
"C-commander Cade..." Breathless the officer snapped to attention and the rest fell into lines behind him. "I am ashamed to have not recognized you. We have been sent as an escort squad to ensure the safety of any surviving memebers." Idiot one had dropped to a knee and Ginella watched Alder as he made his move. Brimming with confidence, he strode down the line of readied soldiers then back again coming to rest at Ginella's side one more. Placing a hand on her shoulder giving little more than a nod and letting the Empiriette's disect his intentions how ever they like.
"Alright, then." Ginella stepped forward. "The Commander has endured multiple injuries and has requested I be his acting second until such time as he is fully recovered." She stared at the company of kneeling soldiers. "Commander Cade will ensure you are rewarded for your effort and dedication. Officer Yacktura is also injured and waiting safely for pick up. If you would be so kind as to offer three of your men Officer Signalis, we will meet with you again when we've collected our...squad." she tried not to sound reluctant about the word but she still hated the idea. "The Commander has specific instruction for you and the remainder of your troop. He believes there is something worth recovering here."
At this the officer and his knights perked up, helmeted heads raising in anticipation. "See the markings along the hall behind me, they will lead you to an open room. It was a bloodbath in there so be sure to ease into the scene, I don't need someone puking in the Commanders discovery." Ginella let the excitable officer talk amongst his men doling them out into two groups. A cluster of three staying nearby as the rest scampered off to find mystery markings in the darkened halls. That settled Ginella flipped the information field off, raising the visor of her helm to whisper to 'The Commander'. "Sir if you'd like to regroup with Officer Yacktura, I can get this cluster in order and meet you in five minutes."
Neither of them faced the Empiriettes and while Alder appeared stoic, she could tell he was shaking likely from over stressing his injuries. He nodded to her though and when she made a show of kneeling as the knights had done before, he began to make his way back towards the room further in. With any luck she had bought them the time they needed. Now, she had the trio of Empiriettes awaiting further command and...shit, this was all such a fucking mess. Making a show of watching her Commander go only bought her a few moments, glaring silently at the cadet who boldy questioned why they were not following bought a few more. Ginella switched to a private link between them and began giving directions, confidently beginning to lead the troop in a wide arc that would allow her to reach the skirmishers when she was ready. She was also vaguely aware of the spidery metallic creatures having spotted a number of them as they traipsed about the halls.
"I need your help in clearing this area. We need to open a path this way, one of the intruders fled in this direction and we'll want to question them if they're still breathing." Ginella had led them to a gaping crack in the wall that she had spotted earlier when she'd made her trips back and forth carrying the skirmishers. The crevice was just wide enough that the armored individuals could fit through with a little effort, and an extremely reasonable spot to flee if say, you were running from a large armored individual. Without so much as a question all three piled into the wall, which to her suprise was much larger on the other side. Encouraging them forward, Ginella could feel something stalking the soldiers, catching light glinting off sandy limbs, watching through a camera's lense what these three couldn't sense. As they gave their final reports Ginella cut their link, the image freezing on a fully grown Sicari as it burst from the sand. Screams echoed from the crevice but grew silent as she waited, double checking that all three links read back as defunct. Once she was certain, Ginella collected her things only leaving behind the pair of helmets she had brought along much earlier, hidden as far inside the crevice as she dared to reach. Having been much longer than five minutes she wasn't sure what to expect, it would have been both a relief and a nightmare to see the skirmishers had gone and left her behind. On the one hand she would feel less responsible if they had left of their own accord and on the other she might suddenly become overwhelmed with the urge to follow them to make sure and that would be a gigantic pain in her ass. She also needed them for-
A short sword was leveled at her neck, Ginella stopped dead in her tracks. "Simcode." The shadow hissed and she recognized the voice.
Ginella relaxed slightly, "I still don't understand what that is, you know."
"Good, that's the point." Ellie slunk forward her unconscious companion slung over her back. Behind her Alder carried two bags, one on his left shoulder and another in the crook of the same arm. "Where are the ones that were with you?"
"Dead." She answered flatly, taking a bag from Alder and swinging it overtop of her own. Ginella ignored the blatant disbelief from Ellie and couldn't make herself meet Alder's horrified expression. Did they want her as an ally or not? Messages were mixed at best and she couldn't deal with warriors who didn't want to kill things, not in the sick and twisted way but in the kill or die horribly way. She needed these people to figure their shit out so she knew where exactly she stood within their fucked up little unit.
Ginella waited for Alder to resettle the bag on his arm, then started for an exit. Taking the front door would be tantamount to any other terrible death so... she'd be taking them another way.
Big scary living weapon whumpee following around their little old lady caretaker ready to defend her with his life on her trips to the grocery store after she saw him sitting in the rain and brought him in for tea.
He’s at least two feet taller than her and built like a tank, meant to fight and destroy and kill but she just politely asks if he’ll carry the big bag of cat food to the car as she’s “not as young as she once was”. He carries the cat food and doesn’t feel sick to his stomach following orders any more.
She retired years ago but still keeps up her errands, writing letters and playing cards with her other lady friends, all of whom coo and fawn over him (after their initial concern) and he becomes the recipient of many a homemade craft. His closet overflows with grandma sweaters and his bed is layered with quilts, and it’s the first time he’s been surrounded by such softness and warmth. And they never have to worry about having some big strong man to help get their Christmas decorations out of the attic.
He calls her Miss and ma’am, as if he was afraid of her name, while she calls him honey like it was his name. He likes it better. There were no bad memories tied to “honey”, only those of tea and cookies in her mismatched kitchen chairs and walks down to the park when the weather was nice.
They look an odd pair everywhere they go, but she simply tells anyone that asks that he’s her son, and slowly it starts to feel like it. She mentions that she’d always wanted a son (or daughter, she wasn’t fussed really), and doesn’t the universe have such a funny way of making things happen? He swallows hard and doesn’t mention that he’s always wanted a mother too.
Guys if you want queer shit written by queers on our own terms you're going to have to start seeking out weird independent media. I'm sorry that's the only place you can regularly find it idk what to tell you, we can't keep acting like there's nothing if we're not getting blockbusters and triple A titles or whatever it is we're waiting around for. The thing you keep saying you want is already being offered for free by one person making a passion project on the internet and you would both benefit enormously if you interacted with it instead of lamenting that the only options we have for representation are pandering afterthoughts from corporate shit
If you want to make the writing process easier, something I developed is the concept of "anchor scenes."
These are any scene, chapter, or line of dialogue that absolutely has to exist within the story. It can be something simple or complex. All that matters is that you know what has to happen and when it has to happen.
In my WIP, there are only two anchor points. The ending scene, which is about a page long, and one chapter that happens roughly in the middle of the story. The opening, the build-up, and the rest of the finale don't "matter" as long as these anchor scenes are reached.
When creating an outline, it helps to plot these anchor scenes down so you know what you're working towards.
Characters can have a related concept, but it's usually best that they're fluid. Motivations and themes are the heart of any story. The vessels that carry those themes are less important than they may seem.
My main character is a semi-anchor, in that her motivations and lessons cannot be greatly changed. Her appearance, backstory, small personality traits, etc, only exist to serve those lessons.
VCTea, definitely a Whump Blog @vaguelycryptictea - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
