Writing Discussion II

[USS Monitor]

Snuck or sneaked?

I generally prefer snuck.

There are grammar Nazis that will tell you it's sneaked and snuck is incorrect. These are usually the same grammar Nazis that tell you things like you can't end a sentence with a preposition or you can't use they as a singular pronoun. IOW, they are just making shit up and ignoring centuries of actual English usage. Just like actual Nazis, they don't know what they're talking about and you should not be fooled by their propaganda.

[Wallenburg]

Snuck or sneaked?

I generally prefer snuck.

There are grammar Nazis that will tell you it's sneaked and snuck is incorrect. These are usually the same grammar Nazis that tell you things like you can't end a sentence with a preposition or you can't use they as a singular pronoun. IOW, they are just making shit up and ignoring centuries of actual English usage. Just like actual Nazis, they don't know what they're talking about and you should not be fooled by their propaganda.

This is the sort of English up with which I will not put.

[Nerotysia]

"Dominic Emery twirled a cigarette as he stood in an oasis of flickering amber light"

Perhaps replace "as he stood" with "inside"?

"Dominic Emery twirled a cigarette inside an oasis of amber light."

Removes the very mundane verb "stood" and makes it vague enough to almost seem like he's floating or something (a nice vibe to have with this opening line, methinks). Also makes it flow better.

Speaking of which, (that totally wasn't an excuse just to talk about this) anyone else disliking the word "as" used as a conjunction? Like, in general. I feel like a period, or a comma, or dash, or anything, is almost always better.

"Dominic Emery twirled a cigarette, standing inside an oasis of flickering amber light." / "Stood inside an oasis of flickering light. Dominic Emery twirls a cigarette."

Better, right? I dunno. Random silly nitpick of the day.

(Napkiraly, sorry for nitpicking you. Keep writing. Ignore me. This is unimportant until you've finished a draft.)

This is the sort of English up with which I will not put.

Love.

[Zeinbrad]

Started a story. How's this for a beginning?

The man was massive, his body well toned and muscular, something that Vadgotha could tell even through his tightly secured slave jacket. She observed him with great interest, watching as it took four fit and trained soldiers to hold the man down, his struggles seemed to almost throw them across the room with each thrash and scream.

“My lady” A male voice broke her stare, as a tall, slender man pushed past the struggle with grace, his red skin dirty and seemed to have some minor scarring. Perhaps he felt it enhanced his rugged features.

“What is this?” Vadgotha asked, a hint of annoyance in both her tone and expression. The man coughed, a smug smile on his face “This...hunter was caught in Lord Harvilus’s estate. Thankfully he was captured before he could do any...unneeded harm. Lord Harvilus wishes to give this scum to you, Lady Vadgotha,as a sign of gratitude and his devotion to the Goths” The man answered as if he was swindling away a useless trinket.

And as a courting gift Vadgotha mused. She sighed deeply, looking to her guard captain, who stood impossibly straight and stiff, his hand tightly gripping his spear as his eyes locked on the visitors, sweat beginning to cloud up his bright white armors black visor.

“Aditkos, escort this….” She looked at the man, biting her lip “Man to the slave quarters” She said. Aditkos nodded, looking behind him and then motioning for two guardsmen to come to him, before telling them to take the captured man, all with without a word, only body language and a swift motion of his gloved hands.

The slave master and his goons soon took their leave, wishing to save themselves from the cold, logical, demeanor of her lady. The sun soon rose in the distance, shining over the white building of Vardook.

Today a day of remembrance, as Kulgoth had constantly, almost nagging, reminded his older sister, today was Karvek. It supposed to be a day of piety. Of religious zealousness, as the Ragon people remembered the glorious name of Illgoth, he who saved the Ragon from certain death and lead them to the stars.

Of course, the religious fervor had long since washed away. Centuries ago, when Illgoth was still alive, Lords and ladies would be dancing in the streets with the commoners, now it was only a day of delayed plotting.

But it kept the commoners busy, distracting them from a servile existence. Perhaps that was why it was still so widely celebrated, through Vadgotha was not a position to say. Through she could ponder the social networking of the Empire as she paced around her estate, lit cigarette in hand.

“Dochter, got a spaur fag?” A old, worn down and cracked voice, yet still filled with youth and adventure, broke her musings. She turned, a smile adorning her face as a old, hunchbacked women, red skin darkening and bagging, entered her view.

“Yes mum” She said, scavenging a cigarette out of her pockets and lighting it for the old women. The women laughed.

“Thes is wa yer mah favorite bairn” She crackled, taking a long drag. Vadgotha replied with a smile, ever since her father's untimely death, Mum had become...brazen in her actions.She let her accent flow freely now, not keeping it locked in chains to ‘provide a more presentable image’ and through her health was slowly failing, the feeling in her legs beginning to fade and ever step was with labored breaths, it seemed she still wanted to live as if she was a young courtier, awaiting the hand of a handsome lord.

“I see your have escaped your caretakers...again” Vadgotha finally spoke, pushing her cigarette off her lips. A loud, hag like laughter escaped Mum’s lips.

“Aye, bluid idiots still hink aam in th' coortyard.” She said, Vadgotha once again smiled. The poor slaves assigned to take care of her mother had their work cut out for them. If Vadgotha could, she would up their pay to match her guardsmen.

“Anyways, who’s th’ big loon? Huvmae seen the th’ loch ay heen” She asked. Vadgotha blinked for a moment, shifting her weight as she discarded her cigarette.

“I...I don’t know. Harvilus” She paused, rolling her eyes “Gifted him to me”

[Conserative Morality]

Just spent four hours on playing with conlangs instead of working.

Anyone interested in seeing the fruits of my not laboring, or are conlangs boring as hell on their own?

[Conserative Morality]

Started a story. How's this for a beginning?

The man was massive, his body well toned and muscular, something that Vadgotha could tell even through his tightly secured slave jacket. She observed him with great interest, watching as it took four fit and trained soldiers to hold the man down, his struggles seemed to almost throw them across the room with each thrash and scream.

“My lady” A male voice broke her stare, as a tall, slender man pushed past the struggle with grace, his red skin dirty and seemed to have some minor scarring. Perhaps he felt it enhanced his rugged features.

“What is this?” Vadgotha asked, a hint of annoyance in both her tone and expression. The man coughed, a smug smile on his face “This...hunter was caught in Lord Harvilus’s estate. Thankfully he was captured before he could do any...unneeded harm. Lord Harvilus wishes to give this scum to you, Lady Vadgotha,as a sign of gratitude and his devotion to the Goths” The man answered as if he was swindling away a useless trinket.

And as a courting gift Vadgotha mused. She sighed deeply, looking to her guard captain, who stood impossibly straight and stiff, his hand tightly gripping his spear as his eyes locked on the visitors, sweat beginning to cloud up his bright white armors black visor.

“Aditkos, escort this….” She looked at the man, biting her lip “Man to the slave quarters” She said. Aditkos nodded, looking behind him and then motioning for two guardsmen to come to him, before telling them to take the captured man, all with without a word, only body language and a swift motion of his gloved hands.

The slave master and his goons soon took their leave, wishing to save themselves from the cold, logical, demeanor of her lady. The sun soon rose in the distance, shining over the white building of Vardook.

Today a day of remembrance, as Kulgoth had constantly, almost nagging, reminded his older sister, today was Karvek. It supposed to be a day of piety. Of religious zealousness, as the Ragon people remembered the glorious name of Illgoth, he who saved the Ragon from certain death and lead them to the stars.

Of course, the religious fervor had long since washed away. Centuries ago, when Illgoth was still alive, Lords and ladies would be dancing in the streets with the commoners, now it was only a day of delayed plotting.

But it kept the commoners busy, distracting them from a servile existence. Perhaps that was why it was still so widely celebrated, through Vadgotha was not a position to say. Through she could ponder the social networking of the Empire as she paced around her estate, lit cigarette in hand.

“Dochter, got a spaur fag?” A old, worn down and cracked voice, yet still filled with youth and adventure, broke her musings. She turned, a smile adorning her face as a old, hunchbacked women, red skin darkening and bagging, entered her view.

“Yes mum” She said, scavenging a cigarette out of her pockets and lighting it for the old women. The women laughed.

“Thes is wa yer mah favorite bairn” She crackled, taking a long drag. Vadgotha replied with a smile, ever since her father's untimely death, Mum had become...brazen in her actions.She let her accent flow freely now, not keeping it locked in chains to ‘provide a more presentable image’ and through her health was slowly failing, the feeling in her legs beginning to fade and ever step was with labored breaths, it seemed she still wanted to live as if she was a young courtier, awaiting the hand of a handsome lord.

“I see your have escaped your caretakers...again” Vadgotha finally spoke, pushing her cigarette off her lips. A loud, hag like laughter escaped Mum’s lips.

“Aye, bluid idiots still hink aam in th' coortyard.” She said, Vadgotha once again smiled. The poor slaves assigned to take care of her mother had their work cut out for them. If Vadgotha could, she would up their pay to match her guardsmen.

“Anyways, who’s th’ big loon? Huvmae seen the th’ loch ay heen” She asked. Vadgotha blinked for a moment, shifting her weight as she discarded her cigarette.

“I...I don’t know. Harvilus” She paused, rolling her eyes “Gifted him to me”

You've certainly improved markedly since I first remember seeing you here. Periods after actions, though, even if dialogue immediately follows. Commas after 'said', 'asked', etc, if they continue onto more dialogue. Capitalization after a dialogue split is only appropriate if starting a new sentence. And punctuation of some sort always comes at the end of quotes. Before if you love freedom, after if you don't.

And phonetic dialogue is annoying at best.

[Rhodevus]

Well, I started writing a little piece, and have no clue where it's going. But, I wanted to know what you people might think of it. (even though it was just said that phonetic dialogue is annoying, mine has a bit of it. I wanted to see if I was able to do it. )

Those pesky flies buzzing around Johanson’s ears would not seize their tormenting, no matter how many times the old man swatted them away with his wrinkly old hands. Johanson reeked of alcohol and burnt tobacco, sitting on the corner of the cobblestone street in front of his local pub. It had been the third time he was kicked onto the street by the bartender in the past week. But, clutching his half empty bottle of whisky in both hands, he drank away any pain that the tumble might have caused him. He looked slowly around him, making sure that the streets were empty. He needn’t have worried, the moon had nearly risen fully into the star-lit sky. The only sounds around him were of the violin and laughter from within the pub behind him and the soft chirping of crickets. Not to mention the soft hum of flies around him.

Feeling satisfied with his state of aloneness, he lifted his near empty bottle in front of his eyes, the clear liquid swirling around the base. With a slight nod of his head, his eyes changed from their dark grey to a vibrant purple, then back again. Johanson laughed drunkenly as he took a large swill of the full bottle of whiskey in his hand. After many years, Johanson had trained himself to take great care with his powers, even in a drunken state. Who knew who would be watching for any Mystics around those parts of the city. The king always needed more to join his armies. It seemed as though the wars in the New World were not going the way he had originally hoped they would. Johanson had already spent half his life fighting for his king and country. Many would call him a deserter. He preferred the term, retired.

The door behind him opened wide, the music louder than it was before. The sounds were muffled once again as the door closed once more. Johanson turned around, leaning his elbow on the curb to see behind him. A young stocky boy with only a few whiskers on his chin stood quietly, looking at Johanson, and then shifting his gaze to his quarter empty booze bottle. His eyes widened as Johanson struggled to remember the boy’s name. “Jeffrey?”

“Y’r…” He mumbled slowly.
“Jenkins? I know it starts with a ‘J’.”
“Y’r a… ah.” He was noticeably shaking, pointing at Johanson’s bottle.

Johanson grinned devilishly, placing a finger to his lips, “Don’t want to go spreading that rumour around, would you boy?”
Johanson’s eyes sparkled a brilliant purple and The boy fell backwards into the pub, knocking open the door. His eyes were shut and he mumbled unintelligibly in his sleep. Johanson rose unsteadily to his feet. This was no longer the place for him to remain. The stench of magic hung in the air, it would only be a matter of time before the King’s watchdogs had found him.
“What in blazes happened to Jensin?” Shouted the bartender from inside, still laughing with the rest of his customers.
“Ah! Jensin was th’lad’s name! I knew it! A ‘J’ name for sure.” Johanson said wildly between swigs. “He took a tumble. Th’boy couldn’t handle his rum.”

“Off with yer.” The bartender waved at the old man, “You’ve enough t’last you all week!”
“All night by the way he goes through it!” Laughed a fat sailor with a pretty girl on his leg. His arm wrapped around her tightly, with a small wrinkled bag of coins in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

“Ai’t.” Johanson grumbled. “There’s plenty of fine ‘stablishments to choose from. G’night lads!”
With that, Johanson took his first wobbly step along the cobbled streets and away from the merry sounds of the only pub open so late into the night. It was fine with Johanson, he had enough of drinking for the time being. He was old, but not too old not to know that life still had a few pleasures left worth living for. He looked up at the starry night sky. Though the moon’s bright white beams blotted out most of the nearby stars, the great bear Ursa still twinkled magnificently in the heavens.

“Ullo my friend.” He said to the sky, blocking his gaze of the moon, leaving a small shadow cast along his face. The stars seemed to twinkle brighter in response to his voice. “Oh, don’t be that way. Y’know I’ll join you when I’m ready.” Johanson mused. He looked down at the ground sullenly, before returning his eyes to the constellation, “an’ I’m not ready. No matter how much I wish I was.”
Johanson breathed out a wispy old breath, and continued on his way, past the lords’ stables. Past Julie’s stand, who always had an extra flower and a kind smile for an old drunkard like him. Past the burrows and bungalows which housed more than a few dozen veterans of wars long since forgotten. Wars that Johanson had most likely partook in.

[USS Monitor]

And phonetic dialogue is annoying at best.

That depends on how far it diverges from standard English, but in this case, it's a bit much.

[USS Monitor]

Well, I started writing a little piece, and have no clue where it's going. But, I wanted to know what you people might think of it. (even though it was just said that phonetic dialogue is annoying, mine has a bit of it. I wanted to see if I was able to do it. )

Those pesky flies buzzing around Johanson’s ears would not seize their tormenting, no matter how many times the old man swatted them away with his wrinkly old hands. Johanson reeked of alcohol and burnt tobacco, sitting on the corner of the cobblestone street in front of his local pub. It had been the third time he was kicked onto the street by the bartender in the past week. But, clutching his half empty bottle of whisky in both hands, he drank away any pain that the tumble might have caused him. He looked slowly around him, making sure that the streets were empty. He needn’t have worried, the moon had nearly risen fully into the star-lit sky. The only sounds around him were of the violin and laughter from within the pub behind him and the soft chirping of crickets. Not to mention the soft hum of flies around him.

Feeling satisfied with his state of aloneness, he lifted his near empty bottle in front of his eyes, the clear liquid swirling around the base. With a slight nod of his head, his eyes changed from their dark grey to a vibrant purple, then back again. Johanson laughed drunkenly as he took a large swill of the full bottle of whiskey in his hand. After many years, Johanson had trained himself to take great care with his powers, even in a drunken state. Who knew who would be watching for any Mystics around those parts of the city. The king always needed more to join his armies. It seemed as though the wars in the New World were not going the way he had originally hoped they would. Johanson had already spent half his life fighting for his king and country. Many would call him a deserter. He preferred the term, retired.

The door behind him opened wide, the music louder than it was before. The sounds were muffled once again as the door closed once more. Johanson turned around, leaning his elbow on the curb to see behind him. A young stocky boy with only a few whiskers on his chin stood quietly, looking at Johanson, and then shifting his gaze to his quarter empty booze bottle. His eyes widened as Johanson struggled to remember the boy’s name. “Jeffrey?”

“Y’r…” He mumbled slowly.
“Jenkins? I know it starts with a ‘J’.”
“Y’r a… ah.” He was noticeably shaking, pointing at Johanson’s bottle.

Johanson grinned devilishly, placing a finger to his lips, “Don’t want to go spreading that rumour around, would you boy?”
Johanson’s eyes sparkled a brilliant purple and The boy fell backwards into the pub, knocking open the door. His eyes were shut and he mumbled unintelligibly in his sleep. Johanson rose unsteadily to his feet. This was no longer the place for him to remain. The stench of magic hung in the air, it would only be a matter of time before the King’s watchdogs had found him.
“What in blazes happened to Jensin?” Shouted the bartender from inside, still laughing with the rest of his customers.
“Ah! Jensin was th’lad’s name! I knew it! A ‘J’ name for sure.” Johanson said wildly between swigs. “He took a tumble. Th’boy couldn’t handle his rum.”

“Off with yer.” The bartender waved at the old man, “You’ve enough t’last you all week!”
“All night by the way he goes through it!” Laughed a fat sailor with a pretty girl on his leg. His arm wrapped around her tightly, with a small wrinkled bag of coins in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

“Ai’t.” Johanson grumbled. “There’s plenty of fine ‘stablishments to choose from. G’night lads!”
With that, Johanson took his first wobbly step along the cobbled streets and away from the merry sounds of the only pub open so late into the night. It was fine with Johanson, he had enough of drinking for the time being. He was old, but not too old not to know that life still had a few pleasures left worth living for. He looked up at the starry night sky. Though the moon’s bright white beams blotted out most of the nearby stars, the great bear Ursa still twinkled magnificently in the heavens.

“Ullo my friend.” He said to the sky, blocking his gaze of the moon, leaving a small shadow cast along his face. The stars seemed to twinkle brighter in response to his voice. “Oh, don’t be that way. Y’know I’ll join you when I’m ready.” Johanson mused. He looked down at the ground sullenly, before returning his eyes to the constellation, “an’ I’m not ready. No matter how much I wish I was.”
Johanson breathed out a wispy old breath, and continued on his way, past the lords’ stables. Past Julie’s stand, who always had an extra flower and a kind smile for an old drunkard like him. Past the burrows and bungalows which housed more than a few dozen veterans of wars long since forgotten. Wars that Johanson had most likely partook in.

In the first sentence, I think you mean "cease" rather than "seize."

Overall, it's not bad. I like the bit about magic having a smell. That's a cool idea.

[Zeinbrad]

How can I describe a character being left handed without being obtuse about it?

[Respubliko de Libereco]

How can I describe a character being left handed without being obtuse about it?

The best way to handle it will depend on how and why it's relevant (to the plot, theme, atmosphere, or some other aspect of the story). If it's not relevant in any way, don't mention it at all.

EDIT: Some examples: If it's relevant because left-handedness is seen as wrong in this society, you can describe some other character's disgusted reaction. If it's relevant because the character needs an unusual, custom-built weapon, mention it in a context where you're already discussing the character's personal belongings.

I can't give a specific suggestion without knowing more about the context.

[Nordengrund]

I have a superhero story on the back burner of my mind and have kinda gotten into a superhero phase with all those movies coming out.

My dad grew up reading comic books, particularly Superman and I have read a small handful myself, but I generally prefer manga. Idk if I would do it in a comic book format, but I have two hero teams from different eras in our history, and a few villains.

One team was created during the Cold War and consists of a trio of superheroes who battle a Soviet version of Superman. After the end of the war and the demise of the Soviet Union, the Russian superhero retires and the trio dissolves with one member dying, another retiring, and the last one continuing his career as a hero and going down his own separate path.

The second team is in our time and was founded by one of the members of the Cold War team. The new team is international instead of exclusively American unlike the Trio. It has five or six members with maybe a couple of independent vigilantes who occasionally work with them.

I don't plan to make it super long like Marvel or DC, and I plan to depict the heroes as morally gray.

There is also a vague story outline and I have planned the fates of a few characters.

Any advice or tips of what not to do and what has been done to death?

[Equestria and Griffon]

Attention:A new writing contest! Judges need to be hired by anytime,but before August First! Four days after.it begins...The judging!

[USS Monitor]

I have a superhero story on the back burner of my mind and have kinda gotten into a superhero phase with all those movies coming out.

My dad grew up reading comic books, particularly Superman and I have read a small handful myself, but I generally prefer manga. Idk if I would do it in a comic book format, but I have two hero teams from different eras in our history, and a few villains.

One team was created during the Cold War and consists of a trio of superheroes who battle a Soviet version of Superman. After the end of the war and the demise of the Soviet Union, the Russian superhero retires and the trio dissolves with one member dying, another retiring, and the last one continuing his career as a hero and going down his own separate path.

The second team is in our time and was founded by one of the members of the Cold War team. The new team is international instead of exclusively American unlike the Trio. It has five or six members with maybe a couple of independent vigilantes who occasionally work with them.

I don't plan to make it super long like Marvel or DC, and I plan to depict the heroes as morally gray.

There is also a vague story outline and I have planned the fates of a few characters.

Any advice or tips of what not to do and what has been done to death?

Just do what works for your story and don't worry about whether it's been done before or not.

[Foledonia]

How can I describe a character being left handed without being obtuse about it?

One of the most important things about developing believable characters is remembering that your characters mustn't see what they are or how they exist as different. They must take it in stride. If your character is left hand dominant, then make them do things mostly with their left hand. Don't come right out and say, "Jim, being left handed, grasped the door nob in said hand and turned it." And don't make your character feel somehow lesser because of it. Then they'll seem like an oversensitive weakling... unless they're being persecuted for it of course.

Instead, say something along the lines of, "Jim traded his rifle to his weaker hand and grabbed Henderson's vest handle with his left. His rifle felt odd in his right hand, but Jim fired anyways, knowing that if he let up for even a single moment, the enemy would emerge and cut both of them down."

But to be honest, unless their left handedness is somehow a major plot point, I would leave it out. You have to remember that most people are ordinary. Most people are right handed. There is truly no reason to make a character left handed unless your story cannot progress without that little detail.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

But to be honest, unless their left handedness is somehow a major plot point, I would leave it out. You have to remember that most people are ordinary. Most people are right handed. There is truly no reason to make a character left handed unless your story cannot progress without that little detail.

I feel like this is wrong in many ways.

A detail doesn't need to be super plot-important in order to merit inclusion. It could instead be atmospherically or thematically relevant. For example, if there's an ongoing idea of reflections or symmetry or something going on in your work, then left-handedness could be related - maybe you want two characters to be "mirror images" of one another in some sense, and handedness plays into that. Alternately, maybe you're aiming for a story with a bit more of an archaic feel, so you decide to make a villain left-handed and embrace the idea of them being "sinister/not right" (although YMMV on whether or not you could pull this off safely).

Also, left-handedness could be relevant to the plot in a not-crucial-but-also-not-totally-inconsequential way. For example, from experience I can say that fencing a lefty feels really weird if you're not used to it.¹ This could, say, give a boost to someone's reputation as a duellist.

Finally, you seem to imply that characters should be "ordinary" or reflect what "most people" are like, which isn't necessarily a reasonable expectation and could potentially be construed badly. How does this sound?

But to be honest, unless their race is somehow a major plot point, I would leave it out. You have to remember that most people around here are ordinary. Most people are white. There is truly no reason to make a character hispanic unless your story cannot progress without that little detail.

While there's some argument to be made that you shouldn't bring up race (or handedness, sexuality, etc.) when it's not relevant, that's not the same as just assuming that every character should belong to the majority by default.

Now, all that being said, I agree that there's no reason to add a detail like left-handedness unless you have at least some good reason for it, but that also applies to literally any other detail you could possibly consider adding.

1. In a recent tournament, somehow five of the six other fencers in my pool were lefties. Luck of the draw, I guess.

[USS Monitor]

How can I describe a character being left handed without being obtuse about it?

One of the most important things about developing believable characters is remembering that your characters mustn't see what they are or how they exist as different. They must take it in stride. If your character is left hand dominant, then make them do things mostly with their left hand. Don't come right out and say, "Jim, being left handed, grasped the door nob in said hand and turned it." And don't make your character feel somehow lesser because of it. Then they'll seem like an oversensitive weakling... unless they're being persecuted for it of course.

Instead, say something along the lines of, "Jim traded his rifle to his weaker hand and grabbed Henderson's vest handle with his left. His rifle felt odd in his right hand, but Jim fired anyways, knowing that if he let up for even a single moment, the enemy would emerge and cut both of them down."

But to be honest, unless their left handedness is somehow a major plot point, I would leave it out. You have to remember that most people are ordinary. Most people are right handed. There is truly no reason to make a character left handed unless your story cannot progress without that little detail.

Most people are right handed, but it'd be weird if everyone was. A lot of times, it doesn't come up which characters are right-handed and which are left-handed, but you would still assume there are a few left-handed people around.

If you have a story with a lot of sword duels or baseball, then it's relevant who the left-handed characters are, and you can just come right out and say it when it becomes important.

[USS Monitor]

Anybody writing anything interesting? I miss when this thread was more active.

I've been naming provinces for my political fantasy, and figuring out what to do with the Libertarians. The story has mutated a lot since I first started brainstorming for it, but I think it's going somewhere pretty good. As for what I'm going to do with the Libertarians, they capture the protagonist, but then instead of killing her, raping her, keeping her tied up, etc. they just make her promise not to hurt them or undermine the party's interests. So she's been captured by a bunch of weirdos that she doesn't like, and there's nothing physically stopping her from killing them in their sleep with their own weapons or running away or whatever, but she can't bring herself to do it because they're treating her so much better than she expected and they just keep reminding her that she promised not to hurt them.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

Anybody writing anything interesting? I miss when this thread was more active.

Working on something for the contest (though I don't have all that much confidence that there will be enough entries for a proper contest). It's experimental and religious-ish, but I think it might work, and it should stay within the 750 word limit (which doesn't appear to be changing any time soon).

I've also considered a short story about a government "Bureau of Suicide" where people can fill out an application for permission to be guillotined, but I'm not sure what the point would be.

[USS Monitor]

Anybody writing anything interesting? I miss when this thread was more active.

Working on something for the contest (though I don't have all that much confidence that there will be enough entries for a proper contest). It's experimental and religious-ish, but I think it might work, and it should stay within the 750 word limit (which doesn't appear to be changing any time soon).

Wordcount got raised. I have my doubts about how well that contest is going to go too, though.

I've also floated around the idea of a short story about a government "Bureau of Suicide" where people can fill out an application for permission to be guillotined, but I'm not sure what the point would be.

It's an interesting thought, but I'm not sure what you should do with it. Maybe have someone that is in the process of filling out the forms and so forth, but something happens to change his mind and he has to back out at the last minute.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

I've also floated around the idea of a short story about a government "Bureau of Suicide" where people can fill out an application for permission to be guillotined, but I'm not sure what the point would be.

It's an interesting thought, but I'm not sure what you should do with it. Maybe have someone that is in the process of filling out the forms and so forth, but something happens to change his mind and he has to back out at the last minute.

I was thinking of starting with the guy in the waiting room, with a bit of a brief flashback to filling out the forms, but leaving everything vague enough that at first the reader doesn't know what he's waiting for.

He then gets called into the actual guillotine room, and starts to have second thoughts when he sees the guillotine, but the operator says something along the lines of "Look, pal, either kill yourself or move along. You're holding up the people behind you," so he sort of gets pressured into doing it.

I was also considering a bit where he asks for something more painless (like death by nitrogen inhalation, maybe), and the operator tells him that if he wanted a painless death, he should've gone with a (legally licensed) private suicide firm.

I feel like the more thought I put into it, the darker it gets.

[USS Monitor]

It's an interesting thought, but I'm not sure what you should do with it. Maybe have someone that is in the process of filling out the forms and so forth, but something happens to change his mind and he has to back out at the last minute.

I was thinking of starting with the guy in the waiting room, with a bit of a brief flashback to filling out the forms, but leaving everything vague enough that at first the reader doesn't know what he's waiting for.

He then gets called into the actual guillotine room, and starts to have second thoughts when he sees the guillotine, but the operator says something along the lines of "Look, pal, either kill yourself or move along. You're holding up the people behind you," so he sort of gets pressured into doing it.

I was also considering a bit where he asks for something more painless (like death by nitrogen inhalation, maybe), and the operator tells him that if he wanted a painless death, he should've gone with a (legally licensed) private suicide firm.

I feel like the more thought I put into it, the darker it gets.

One of those could work too. Especially if you're trying to fit it into a short wordcount, I think those might work better than my idea. I kind of like the one with the private firms.

I was thinking of something where you had to submit the paperwork, but then it takes a couple of weeks to process, and while he's waiting for it to get approved, something happens to change his mind. Much less dark than where you were going with it.

[The first Galactic Republic]

Is it okay to post fan fiction here?

Not as a regular thing but that's what my story is and I just want some opinions on the writing.

If you're not a fan of the franchises you might not enjoy it as much or get the characters, and I'm sorry about that. It would still be nice to have some opinions on it though.

[USS Monitor]

Is it okay to post fan fiction here?

Not as a regular thing but that's what my story is and I just want some opinions on the writing.

If you're not a fan of the franchises you might not enjoy it as much or get the characters, and I'm sorry about that. It would still be nice to have some opinions on it though.

Go ahead and post and see what people have to say.

[The first Galactic Republic]

Is it okay to post fan fiction here?

Not as a regular thing but that's what my story is and I just want some opinions on the writing.

If you're not a fan of the franchises you might not enjoy it as much or get the characters, and I'm sorry about that. It would still be nice to have some opinions on it though.

Go ahead and post and see what people have to say.

So this is the beginning of a Fire Emblem Marvel crossover.

Some information to understand the setting.

The basic plot of Fire Emblem Awakening is that in the future an eldritch abomination named Grima the Fell Dragon almost wipes out humanity, but the children of the player characters are sent back in time by a benevolent deity named Naga to when it was still possible to stop Grima. The Fire Emblem part of this story takes place just before they go back.

Also I call them children, but they're all in their late teens at least.

I'm assuming everyone knows at least a little bit about the Marvel characters. It's important to understand that the supervillain Dr Doom is the leader of the fictional country of Latveria.

"Everything's ready. Once the portal opens, we'll be able to go back in time like Naga said. We'll have the opportunity to change the past forever."

Gerome stepped back. He and the other children of the Shepards looked at the portal. The swirling blue green mass of energy before them was somewhat frightening, but inside was supposedly their only hope of salvation. None knew exactly what they'd find on the other end. Naga had told them that her ritual would take them back in time, back to when Grima could still be stopped. The children would lose everything they'd ever really known. Their entire lives. But if there was anything they could do to stop this hellish landscape from ever existing, any of them would do it without hesitation. They had lost their parents to this war. They lost their homes to this war. Humanity was in danger of being lost to the war. They had no choice. This was their last chance to change the future.

Lucina stepped forward. She looked at the portal, then back to her friends. They had been through so much together. She couldn't have done any of this without them. She couldn't even go on without them.

"Everyone ready?"

Cynthia smiled. "If there's heroism to be done on the other side of that portal, how could I resist?"

"Ready as we'll ever be." Inigo said, doing his best to put up a charming facade. He was nervous though, as was everyone. But there was no turning back now.

Gerome approached Lucina. "There may come a time when you need to conceal your identity. Take this." Gerome handed Lucina a mask. It was crafted in the shape of a butterfly. It was beautiful, yet imposing. Even intimidating. She took it.

"Thank you Gerome."

"I just hope you'll find use for it-"

Gerome's sentence was cut short as an arrow cut into his neck, a spray of blood narrowly missing Lucina. As it dawned on the others what had happened, they cried out or rushed to Gerome's side. Lucina however drew her Falchion and turned to the firer. Risen.

"Gods no."

An army of Risen were forming in front of the children. Dozens, and more seemed to be coming.

"Gods NO!"

The others drew their various weapons, all trying to contain the fear that spread across the party. Their last chance at salvation, Naga's spell, had been compromised. Grima had found them.

In front of the Risen stood a hooded figure. Noire loosed an arrow at the figure, but with a wave of a hand the arrow was deflected with such force that it impaled itself in a nearby wall.

"So this is where the last remnants of humanity have gathered, thinking what I wonder? That they can escape the coming fire?"

Lucina pointed her blade at the figure. "Who are you!"

"You know who I am." The figure stretched out its arms. It levitated above the ground and then fired a blast of energy at the group. They leapt out of the way, but as soon as their formation broke they were charged by the Risen. The children fought back, but they couldn't stop the Risen from quickly moving to block the portal. They were trapped.

Lucina fought bitterly, cutting down Risen and trying to make her way to the portal. But she also tried to help the others make their way, and couldn't get through the Risen quickly enough. More kept coming.

The hooded figure fired another blast of energy. The children moved out of the way, but the figure quickly ripped a chunk of the floor out and telekinetically threw it. It struck Brady, knocking him to the ground.

Lucina couldn't ignore it, but it wasn't the first time one of the children had fallen. Kjelle's lance swung no longer. She could no longer hear Laurent. She refused to acknowledge this however, as the thought of her friends falling would be too much to bare. She had already lost so much, they all had. Now in their moment of hope, the group was falling one by one. Lucina refused to let the thought cross her mind. She kept fighting, focusing on all of her rage and frustration to avoid tearing up. Suddenly she felt a figure on her back. She turned ready to strike only to find Severa, her face wet with sweat and blood.

"The portal. Our only chance. We need to get to it."

"I'm not leaving the others!"

Severa gave the most hopeless look Lucina had seen in a long time. "If we don't act now nobody will make it through."

Thinking quickly to avoid the sadness of the thought, Lucina nodded and sprinted towards the portal. Severa followed behind, the two cutting down Risen in their path.

They made it near the portal, but there were still Risen blocking the path. Inigo and Yarne fought to hold them off. Owain tried to comfort the injured Gerome. They were the only ones Lucina could see. Gerome looked up at Lucina.

"Whatever happens. You need to make it through the portal. You have the Falchion."

The thought of leaving her friend's corpses behind horrified Lucina. The thought of abandoning those who were still alive was worse, but she had to be strong. She had to remember that she was fighting to stop all of this.

She nodded and moved to step through the portal. "On your right!" Inigo suddenly slashed a Risen that had appeared behind Lucina. He turned to her, a reassuring expression on his face. "Please. Go."

Lucina took a deep breath and stepped to the portal.

Before she could step through a blast of dark energy struck near her. Owain, Inigo, Yarne, and Gerome were blasted away. Lucina was the closest to the blast, but Severa leapt to tackle her out of the way. Lucina was knocked to the floor. When she looked up she saw Severa's face welting and turning red from the heat, though she was struck in the back. Lucina pushed her off and kneeled beside her.

"I'm sorry mother. I'll... never be as good..."

Lucina struggled with tears. "Gods." Suddenly though a horrible thought crossed her mind. She looked up to find it was true. Risen were moving to strike down the others as they tried to recover. There was nothing she could do for them. She could think of nothing else to do.

"Grima! I know you're here! You want me the most! Please! Take me! Let them go!"

Suddenly a strong wind blew through the room. A dark cloud obscured everything. Lucina couldn't see anything, not even the portal. She noticed the roof was gone. It appeared to be night out, until six horrible red eyes illuminated the sky. Lucina was full of hate, frustration, sadness, and she was just damn tired. But it all melted away before fear when she saw those horrible eyes. The room was now empty, Lucina was the only one there. The portal was gone.

"So ends the human race. The future is built upon the past. But your kind will never see it. Your mother and father are dead small one. As are your friends. Why do you continue to fight?"

Lucina clutched her blade as tightly as possible, as if it was the last thing anchoring her mind to sanity. "I'll never stop fighting you Grima, I'll never let you win. Not as long as I still draw breath!"

"Ha ha ha HA! Soon you will join your race as it takes its rightful place in the dirt. Now it is your time to DIE!"

Lucina was once again blasted with the wind, it took everything she had to keep standing. Suddenly the six eyes approached her. Blasts of energy went around her as Grima attacked. Grima's head, the size of a warship, approached her. It's jaw went right for her. Lucina desperately pointed her blade at Grima, which shook as violently as her hands, and could do nothing but scream as the Fell Dragon prepared to deliver upon her the oblivion that it had bestowed her whole world.

----

"Do it pal. I dare you."

A guard sprinted to an alarm button. Spider-Man shot web at the man's hand and pulled it way, but not before he hit the alarm.

"He did it! He actually did it! Do I not scare people?"

"Sorry web-head. No one is frightened by a grown man who fights crime in underoos." Wolverine approached the guard and stabbed him with adamantium claws. "That's how you send a message to people."

The doors to the room opened up and dozens of guards poured in. As they took aim at the two, Iron Man burst through the roof. "Think fast shorty!" Iron Man suddenly fired a blast from his repulsors at Wolverine.

He deflected the blast with his claws, which glowed white hot before unleashing the energy as a powerful blast. The guards were violently blown away.

Iron Man landed on the ground admiring his handiwork. Wolverine approached him, smoke rising from his skin. His healing factor healing burns as soon as they appeared. "That hurt."

"No pain no gain my man."

"Next time warn me."

Spider-Man brushed an unconscious guard off of him. "Yeah I'd appreciate that too."

"Arrogance might not be a uniquely American trait, but "heroes" from your wretched country do it so well."

The three turned to a massive hologram of a familiar armored figure. Iron Man lifted up his visor. "Look who's talking? We're in Castle Doom, in the city of Doomstadt!"

"Also there's a massive statue of you coming in here dude." Spider-Man chimed in.

"Invading a foreign country. My country." Doom's eyes flared with fury, visible even through the hologram. "I'm going to have to show you how we deal with this kind of threat in Latveria." The hologram flickered away, in its place a giant walker like robot approached. Weapons flared up from its body.

"Ugh more fighting? I do not get much arch support in this costume."

Iron Man flipped down his visor. "Put a sock in it Parker."

"Socks make it worse actually."

*Snikt* "He meant shut your hole."

High above the battle in a balcony, a number of technicians worked on various computer screens. "Weapon systems normal. Preparing to engage combat protocols." "Engaging."

Suddenly the doors opened up. The technicians readied their pistols, but it was just one of their own. "You don't have authorization to be up here!"

Captain America stepped out from behind the man, shoving him to the ground. "No we don't."

Before the technicians could open fire Captain America threw his shield, knocking three of the four out. The fourth was able to duck and took aim, but suddenly the soldier on the ground sprung up and knocked him unconscious. The soldier took of his helmet, to reveal the familiar grizzled face of an old one eyed war vet."

"Alright wing-tips, you've bought me some time, but you and the rest of bravo team need to keep them off my back."

Captain America nodded. He turned to his teammates, Daredevil and Black Widow. The three ran out the door. "Good luck Fury."

"Likewise Murdock."

Below Iron Man was busy holding off the robot, blasting it with repulsor blasts while Spider-Man swung around trying to web up the weapons. "Stark come in, this is Fury."

"Better late then never old timer. Shut this thing down."

"Sorry Stark. I need to overload Doom's reactor. You know damn well we won't get another chance at this. You'll just have to have your armored adventures without me."

Stark groaned as danger readouts popped up all over his HUD. "Always leaving us to pick up the pieces."

Iron Man flew down to where Wolverine was, who was waiting for his ankles to knit back together after a nasty swipe from the robot. "Let me guess. Another team up planned?"

"You know me too well." Iron Man said as he was already carrying Wolverine into the air. Iron Man flew under the robot and blasted it with a high powered laser from his gauntlet. An armored plate fell off as he passed under it. "I know this isn't going to be the fastball special you're used to, but I don't believe they can't teach an old Wolverine new tricks."

"This'd be almost exciting if they didn't put me with two of the three people in the world least likely to shut up."

Iron Man circled back around as flew under the robot again. As he did he threw Wolverine into the exposed gap in the armor. He landed on the ground, Spider-Man landing next to him. "Did you just throw him in there!

"Ehh he can heal."

The robot turned to fire on the two for a second, but suddenly began to violently shake and spasm. Suddenly Wolverine tore his way out of it, but before he could jump out the robot's reactor exploded. The five feet three Canadian mutant went flying with the robot's debris, slamming hard into a wall.

"Might want to wait for his vocal cords to come back before going over to him."

"Anyone ever tell you you're an ass Stark... wait don't answer that."

As the two admired the job well done, the hologram of Doom reappeared. "The US is paying for that!"

Stark stepped forward. "Would you accept a generous donation from Stark industries? We give out aid to struggling countries all the time."

The ruler of Latveria was able to contain his rage only because he was sure victory over the heroes was at hand. "Did you really think you could outsmart me." The massive hologram seemed to turn to face Fury. "That goes for you too Director of SHIELD." Suddenly the control panel froze up. Nick Fury quickly tried to activate the SHIELD override he installed, but it failed.

"Much like the people here, to the computers of Latveria I am god. On your knees. All of you."

The massive castle gates opened up and from them poured what looked like the entire Latverian army. The soldiers all pointed their weapons at the heroes.

"Did you really think a giant spider was my ultimate plan? I'd like to thank you for being here long enough for the army to catch up."

"Fury?" Stark said over comm.

"You may be a crafty bastard Doom, but you're no match for American tactics. Time for Plan B!"

Fury pushed a button on his wrist. Suddenly explosions rocked the entire castle. Chunks of stone began to fall from the ceiling. The soldiers turned and fled, and the heroes followed them out. Iron Man went up for Fury, grabbing him and flying him out of the castle.

'You dare run from a direct order! Fire! Kill them!"

Doom's hologram was interrupted as a chunk of stone hit the emitter. Iron Man flew Fury out of the castle. Four more Iron Man suits flew down from the clouds and into the castle. They emerged and landed next to Stark, opening up to reveal Captain America, Daredevil, and Black Widow. The fourth suit was carrying Wolverine in one hand, and Captain America's shield in the other.

"Once again doing all the hard work."

Captain America brushed himself off. He looked with the other heroes at Castle Doom. "Fury I thought we were here for the reactor? There's no way the President authorized you to destroy the castle."

"Steve's right Fury. When did you plant those explosives. Do you have any idea of the consequences this could cause?"

Fury's only response was to spit on the ruins of the castle. "Good riddance."