Nick does a worldbuilding

What is it about Jacques that made him good for hunting witches? How was he broken?

 

He doesn't remember much about life before, but I know a few things. He was from a fairly poor village, which was burned down during a battle in the last war. It wasn't even burned down for the battle, it was just collateral damage. Regardless, Jacques was the only survivor, and unfortunately the people who came across him afterwards were heavily involved in the witch hunts.

No family, no friends, no money. He was just a kid then. He wouldn't be missed. So they blindfolded him and blocked his ears and left him in the dark. For a long time, he had nothing but food and water and the feel of the cell. The witch hunters dragged in mages and regular people and trained him to tell the difference. You know the people who abuse their animals by 'training' them? Sort of like that. But he did come out of it with the ability to consistently smell magic.

They used him to track down mages for years. He was probably freed after around ten years, but no one's exactly sure - and anyway, it's a long time to be kept from sight and sound. So it's no wonder he's messed up.

 

this is going here only because i actually want to write it and this is where i'm most likely to find it again

Spoiler: League Of Unfridged Ladies

mek: Audrey deserves better
nick: audrey deserves so much better
mek: She should get together with May
nick: yes!!!!!
nick: support group for badass women who made it through hell in weird musicals
mek: whose abusive boyfriends get dismembered
nick: YES

((and then audrey II fucking eats audrey))

mek: my heart
nick: i don't like this musical anymore
mek: My black and crispy heart
nick: suddenly may bursts in and kills the plant
nick: "taking care of a big. fat. WEED"
mek: Yes!
ryn: I like this crossover
nick: may rides off into the sunset with audrey
ryn: Do they take out Frank N Furter and rescue Colombia?
nick: YES
nick: YES THEY DO THAT TOO
ryn: GOOD
ryn: The League Of Unfridged Ladies
nick: YES
nick: i'd read it
nick: i might even attempt to write it
nick: like - may unfridged herself
nick: she can help the others do it too!
ryn: They roam the land, crossing over into other IPs and liberating the ill-fated ladies, the mothers and girlfriends
nick: YES
nick: IM GONNA DO IT

 

How did Lady April lose her eye? Do people think she killed her husband? How and why?

 

Spoiler

The official story is that a servant was clumsy with a knife at dinner once (and then got executed because April was already less than tenth from the throne). The unofficial stories range from really dumb to really gruesome; there's stories about attempted assassinations, and at least a couple versions where she herself did it. The truth is that she was born blind in that eye, and the doctor that was hired to fix it (who definitely had no idea how to do it) fucked up really badly. No one knew about her eye besides her immediate family and this one doctor, because gods forbid the child not be perfect according to arbitrary standards. The doctor was executed, so that part is true. The secret never got out, and April was young enough when it happened that even she believes the official version.

People definitely think that she killed her husband, but they're off by a little. She didn't kill him, she had him killed. There's a difference.

He was stabbed in his sleep, and she and her accomplice managed to frame a particularly offensive noble that had already tried to kill him once (it was in a fit of rage, and clearly he didn't succeed, but it was enough to make him a suspect). The rumor is that it had to do with her eye, and this is correct. Don't insult your wife's looks, especially when she's already touchy about them due to internalized ableism, and especially when you're not even that great a guy to begin with. At least attempt to be nice to her, I mean really.

 

Happy Birthdaymas, Nick! I made you a picture of my idea of what the Weeping God might look like. I hope you like it!

Spoiler

 

OH MY GOD I LOVE IT

 

got the urge to poke at romison. changed some things, gonna see how it works out.

He’s out of bed before he even realizes he’s awake, already up and staring blankly at the pages in front of him. He picks up a pencil, considers it, puts it down. There’s no point in writing, not today, maybe not ever.
He gets up and opens a window, stares out of it at the dull street below. Someone’s selling umbrellas, bright splashes of color that do nothing to make the world seem less dark.
Tomorrow it will have been one year since the chosen one shot himself in the head.

Spoiler: romison green 3.0 part 1

Luke casts another glance at the empty pages before abandoning them to go lie down again. Fucking Daniel. Just like him to leave just when everyone needed him most.
He’s almost asleep again when there’s knocking on the door. He pulls a pillow over his head and tries to ignore it, but it just gets louder and louder until he gives up.
The door isn’t even locked. No point locking it when he has nothing anyone would want, when everyone around here can pick locks with less effort than using keys.
He pulls himself up and opens the door. “‘Matis,” he says. “What.”
Clematis grins at him. “Let’s go to the diner. You need to eat something.”
“No. Not today, no.” He tries to shut the door but she sticks her foot in the way. It’s stupid; she could just come inside if she wanted, but she grew up in a part of the city that believes in locks and security and privacy and bullshit like that. She still thinks that knocking is polite, that she has to wait for someone to let her in.
“You don’t have to think about it,” she says, as if it’s that easy, as if there aren’t going to be pictures of Daniel plastered up on every wall, as if the city isn’t still in shock from his death. As if Luke isn’t still in shock from his death.
“I’m not hungry,” he tells her, even as his stomach is growling, traitorous thing that it is.
She looks at him disapprovingly. “Don’t lie to me, Luke.”
He tries to shut the door again, with as little success as the last time.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to eat something.”
“I’m a mess.”
“No one’s going to care,” she says, and she’s right.
“Five minutes,” he says finally.
“I’ll wait.”
*
The rain must have started again while he was looking for his shoes; it’s coming down harder than it was before, harder maybe than he’s ever seen.
“Maybe this time we’ll all be washed away,” he says, and it’s more a prayer than anything. He deserves no less. The city deserves no less.
“Maybe you will,” Clematis jokes, poking him lightly in the side. “You’re so light, anything could wash you away.”
He doesn’t say anything. They keep walking as the rain falls, stinging at their faces.
“The rain isn’t going to stop this time,” he predicts after a couple of blocks, shivering.
“Of course it’ll stop. Everything ends.”
“Even this?” He gestures at the city as a whole, a gaping mouth full of jagged scraping teeth and people who still haven’t accepted their coming deaths.
“Especially this,” she tells him. Her hair is soaked through and almost as dark as his, now. “Every city falls eventually.”
Someone runs past them with a newspaper over their head, trying to shield themselves from the worst of the downpour. The paper is all but melting and the pulp is starting to run down their arms, but Daniel’s face is still barely recognizable on it.
Clematis grabs Luke’s hand and pulls him into the diner.

 

The thermostat in the diner is stuck, which isn’t a bad thing, he supposes. They might be dry before they leave.
The girl at the counter doesn’t look like she’s doing too well. She’d been fanning herself with her hat as they’d walked in, and she readjusts it self-consciously before they can walk over to her.
“What’ll it be?” she asks, wiping sweat from her forehead absentmindedly as Luke tries not to look at the picture pinned to her shirt.

Spoiler: romison green 3.0 part 2

Clematis orders; Clematis always orders, because she doesn’t trust Luke to eat anything she doesn’t specifically make him eat. Which is fair, because he doesn’t eat when she doesn’t make him.
The girl disappears into the back. Clematis sits down in the corner booth and waits for Luke to join her.
“I told you this was going to be fine,” she says as he sits down, either not noticing or ignoring the picture of Daniel behind her. “You look better already.”
“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” he says.
“Don’t be,” she advises. “Have you heard back from anyone yet?”
“They don’t want my stories. They just want reassurance that - that Daniel’s gonna come back and save them. That this was his plan all along.
“Did you even open the letters, Luke?”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re all rejections.”
“If you don’t want to look at them, I will.”
“You can’t,” he says. “I burned them.”
“Luke, you can’t afford matches.”
He shrugs. “I dreamed I burned them, then. What difference does it make?”
Clematis frowns. “Let me read them when we get back.”
Luke throws his arms wide in a be-my-guest gesture. No point arguing.
*
The eggs are rubbery and greasy, and the bread is cold, but it’s food. It’s uncomfortable eating with Daniel staring down at him from the wall, but it would be worse to refuse the food Clematis is paying for.
The coffee has a sour aftertaste, like someone used lemon juice to make it instead of water, but Luke downs the mug mechanically every time it’s refilled; it’s at least an improvement from the eggs.
Clematis seems unbothered by the coffee, but then again she puts so much sugar in it that it’s more like a sludge than a drink. Luke can’t imagine it makes much of a dent in the aftertaste, and just thinking about the sweetness on top of it makes him gag, but Clematis swears by it.
Clematis pays for the food, leaving enough of a tip to make the counter girl brighten up despite the pressing heat - though that isn’t really that much in this part of the city, barely enough to buy a cup of coffee.
“Stay safe out there,” she says as they leave, and she seems to genuinely mean it. Clematis blows her an over-dramatic kiss, and then they’re back in the rain again.
It doesn’t seem to have stopped while they were in the diner. There’s enough water in the street now that it’s up to Luke’s ankles, seeping into his shoes.
“I told you,” he says. This is how it ends.
“There’s still time,” Clematis replies, but she’s distracted, staring up at a picture of Daniel’s face that’s taller than both of them combined. She looks almost as though she’s just now realizing that he’s dead and gone, that he abandoned the city to whatever fate it’s heading towards.

 

The apartment is a mess, but even Clematis doesn’t have the heart to judge him for it. She does straighten piles of books as she goes, moving stray empty boxes out of her way, but saying anything about it would be going too far. She shuffles through some stacks of paper before finally saying, “I found them.”
“Great,” Luke says, and turns back to the window. The umbrella-seller isn’t out there anymore - no one is out there anymore. There’s a single umbrella floating down the street, blown inside out. Broken. Fitting.

Spoiler: romison green 3.0 part 3

Clematis says something, and then says it louder, and then calls Luke’s name until he turns around.
“I said, this one’s an acceptance letter,” she says, waving it triumphantly above her head.
“Don’t joke about it,” Luke says. “It can’t be.”
“No, look.” She crosses the room and holds the paper in front of Luke. “They want your story. They’ll pay you.”
“I don’t remember sending it to them.”
He doesn’t recognize the name at all, actually. It’s not flashy or descriptive like the names of any of the journals he’s been courting for the last three years.
Clematis shrugs. “So?”
There’s nothing to say in response to that, so Luke just says, “Is it enough for the rent?”
“No.”
“Jaye’s going to evict me.”
“She always says that.”
“The world is ending, Matt. None of this matters.”
“There’s still time,” she says again, clearer this time, more determined. “We don’t know for sure.”
“We both saw him die. We both watched.”
Clematis looks out the window, just for a moment.
“Maybe something will happen tomorrow. Maybe he’ll come back.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
Clematis’ lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile. “What choice do I have? Do I have to think there’s no hope?”
“Is there any?”
She presses the paper into his hand. “If there isn’t any, then you might as well just give up. But if there is, you should contact this - this Romison, and tell them you accept.”
“There’s no point,” Luke says.
“You’re waiting for something to save you just as much as the rest of us are.” She tucks her hair behind one ear as she steps back. “Let me know what you end up deciding.”
*
There isn’t any hope in the world.
He considers tearing up the letter, just to prove his point, but that seems like far too much effort. He just leaves it on the floor where he dropped it, and sits back down.
Fuck Daniel for leaving. Fuck him for giving up and leaving everyone else to die slowly. Selfish fucking asshole.
If the city falls - no, when the city falls, there’ll be nothing left. If there is anyone outside, they won’t know what happened, won’t care enough to piece it together.
He snaps a pencil in half and then regrets it. They’re growing more and more expensive by the day. He won’t be able to replace it.
If he ever writes again, that is.
The room is too small to pace in. He pulls his coat over his shoulders and makes his way out of the building.
The rain still hasn’t stopped; it’s halfway to his knees now. If he’d been able to dry off, he might hesitate to go back out, but he’s practically still dripping. He might as well be out here.
There’s all sorts of detritus around him, and some smaller pieces bump into him as he wades through the streets. He’s not sure where he means to go - the park, maybe, or the city limits - but anywhere is better than trapped alone with his thoughts and the letter. He might try and take the easy way out, ha, and wouldn’t that be just what Daniel would have wanted.
The streetlamps flicker and go out. He shivers, but the moon is full and shining bright, illuminating the building where Daniel made his exit. It’s more than enough to see by.
He keeps moving forward.

 

It isn’t like he’d have done any better in a world where Daniel had lived. He’d been a mess then, too, and as the world had moved closer and closer to a point where things could have gotten better, he’d gotten more and more desperate to find a real place in it. Something that meant he didn’t have to rely on Daniel and on Clematis. Well, he’d failed, or at least he hadn’t succeeded, and then it was too late.
He’s not sure how late it is. It might be after midnight, now, or even closer to dawn...he should go home before everyone wakes up, before the mourning starts.
He keeps walking towards the building anyway - well, less like walking, and more like swimming. The water is up past his knees and only getting higher. If Clematis were here, she’d tell him to get out of the rain. If Daniel were here -
If Daniel were here, the rain would have stopped by now. If Daniel were here, the world could be saved.

Spoiler: romison green 3.0 part 4

At this rate, the city will be flooded before midnight comes around again. It makes sense, that it would drown on the day that Daniel abandoned it.
Luke trips, falls onto his hands and knees, curses. Standing back up is difficult, with the water as high as it is, and after a few moments he doesn’t see the point. Might as well just sit here and drown; he’d only be buying himself a few hours at most.
He wades awkwardly to the nearest bench, crawls up onto it, and waits.
*
He must have fallen asleep, because he can just barely see the sun between the buildings. No one else is in the street yet - or maybe ‘yet’ isn’t a necessary qualifier; the water is up to his waist now, and frankly it’s a miracle he didn’t fall over into it and drown.
The rain is still pouring, somehow. It might have stopped briefly while he was asleep, but he doubts it. This is the end of everything, after all, and it’s not like apocalypses take breaks.
How long until the city drowns? Too long. Not long enough.
Luke turns to look at the building where Daniel died.
Selfish, selfish Daniel. Couldn’t just take the easy way out on his own. Had to do it where they could see - where they had to see. Didn’t even deign to give a reason, a plan, a contingency. He knew he was dooming the city.
He had to have known.
The sun keeps rising. The glare keeps skipping off the posters of Daniel’s face, what few of them were durable enough to survive the rain that even now is still falling.
Oh chosen one, the people will shout soon. Come back and save us. Pathetic.
Luke closes his eyes and then opens them just as quickly - there’d been a bright flash of red, barely in view.
“Daniel,” he says without meaning to, and then “Daniel!” He trips getting up from the bench, stumbles his way towards where the red had been.
It’s Daniel, untouched, intact, it has to be, god, they’re saved, they’re finally saved, except he isn’t moving, isn’t…
Luke tries to find a pulse, and, sure, he’s not the best at it, but he knows how to do it, and there’s nothing, nothing, Daniel is dead all over again and the city is going to drown, and the world will end --
And then suddenly the body in his arms blinks, blinks, shoots up and grabs Luke by the arm, and says in a voice that is very much not Daniel’s, “Help me.”

and that's technically it for romison green. that's not where the story ends, but it stops being properly romison green.

 

an alternate universe appears, and i immediately write something that's probably better than anything i've written for the original universe yet.

Spoiler: The thing about being a plant

The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that everything seems so very far away. There isn’t much that it is easy to be aware of, save for the sunlight and the wind and the rain. It’s hard to see, when your eyes are closed over by leaves. Not impossible, but hard. Hard to hear. Hard to smell. Your mouth tastes of dirt, of rainwater, of the warm soft feel of the sun.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that you can’t react to the world around you. You must not be able to, or there would have been some sign by now.
She knows which plant is her sister - or she’s pretty sure, anyway; she’s kept inside most of the time, and her sister has been outside growing roots for a long, long time now. But there’s nothing, no response, not even a single movement, when she’s able to get out and go to her.
If her sister can’t get herself out, then it’s her job to. She’s older, after all, even if just by a few minutes, and so she’s in charge when there’s no one else around. She may not remember much, but she remembers that.
There are weak points to the garden. Others have gotten out. She just has to be careful, and watch, and not get caught.
She doesn’t look out the window, and instead paints a small X on the back of her hand. When it is day again, if the door is open, if she makes it outside, if she makes it to her sister, she will replace it with an O.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that you can’t remember your own name. All of you is roots and leaves, and there’s no room in you for something so human and lonely. There could be a thousand of you, a hundred thousand, all hiding under the same name that someone else chose for all hundred thousand of you. Being one of you is not something a plant has to worry about. It’s not something a plant gets to have.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that you are always alone.
The gardeners, the tenders of flowers and cutters of leaves, never linger longer than they absolutely have to. Even their leader, their ruler, the not-quite-a-person who stole them all here, rarely goes outside. It smiles at the plants, and takes cuttings, and moves on.
Its teeth are full of thorns, and she is afraid sometimes that the thorns around the garden are the very same ones, and that one day it will close them all up from the sky for good.
“The thing about being a plant,” someone says, “is that you can’t run away.”
He still remembers his name - it’s Rory - and he is slowly becoming a bird. Huge, and dark, and overlooking all things. He is meant to watch over the garden and call out if there are thieves, but she knows that this means anyone trying to escape. To steal themselves.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that everything slows to complacency. Bits and pieces of you are stolen, and you cannot do anything about it. If you could move - and she’s not quite sure she can’t - you can’t do it fast enough to change anything. You are too slow to protect yourself. You are too slow to be angry, then too slow to be sad. Too slow to care.
“The thing about being a plant,” some part of her says quietly, “is that you don’t notice when you are in danger.”
She tries to listen for approaching footsteps, the sounds of someone approaching with the intent to harm her, but all she hears is the wind.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that once you’ve been one, you might not ever be a person again.
It’s something she worries about a lot. If she can escape, and escape with her sister, will they be two sisters again? Or just a girl and a plant, all alone with nowhere to hide?
Rory flaps his wings and rests his beak on her shoulder. She runs a hand over his feathers as they look out the window at the garden.
“The thing about being a plant,” Rory says, “is that you cannot think.”
“The thing about being a plant,” she tells him, “is that you can think, but no one knows that you are thinking.”
“The thing about being a plant,” Rory says with more than a little finality, “is that it does not matter whether you can think or not.”
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that you do not have to be afraid. You cannot be afraid. You are too slow, too quiet, to be afraid.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that if someone pulls you from the ground, you die.
She cannot free her sister, not without killing her. Not without some way to carry her safely.
She paints herself a flowerpot, a childishly-decorated one with a smiling sun. She paints a rose growing in it, just in case the thing with the teeth of thorns is watching.
She steals glances in between brushstrokes at the rope around Rory’s leg. It is thick and tied tight, tethering him to the tower in the garden. He is as much trapped here as she is. He cannot fly away.
If she can untie the rope, he could fly all of them to safety, far, far from the garden and the thorns.
“The thing about being a plant,” she lies, “is that you need a garden to survive.”
She pulls the flowerpot from the painting, turns it over and lets the rose fall to the ground.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that if you are small enough, I can dig you up with my hands.
That is what she is doing now, as quickly as she can, before the thing with the thorns for teeth can notice. It’s not a perfect job, but it’s the best she can do, and the flowerpot is solid enough and big enough to hold the plant that is her sister, and small enough that she can hold it if she uses both hands.
She picks up the flowerpot and goes back, to untie Rory, so that they can all flee, and he will not have to stay and watch over the garden forever.
The thing with thorns for teeth stirs in the distance, and she freezes. Rory follows her gaze, and then looks at her.
“The thing about being a person,” he says quietly, “is that sometimes you cannot save everyone that you want to save.”
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that you don’t really notice you are one until suddenly you aren’t anymore.
*
The thing about being a plant, she thinks, is that you aren’t the one who has to decide who gets the chance to be free.
Rory closes his eyes and looks away from her.
She holds her sister in the flowerpot tightly against her chest, and runs.