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Call for Shadowgast fics based on a Book/Movie/Television Show!
What if Shadowgast starred in your favorite novel? Or your favorite TV show (that's not the Mighty Nein)? It's always fun to combine two hyperfixations together, and plenty of authors have done it! This week, we're looking for your favorite fics that are based on a book, movie or television show.
For searching AO3, useful search terms for this week include fusion au , daemon au, pacific rim fusion, and honestly, just thinking of random books and movie fusions - and searching for them. There's a ton out there! (A Memory Called Empire? Imperial Radch? This is How You Lose the Time War? The Witcher? and that's just the books!). Additionally, looking at fics that are crossovers includes quite a lot of fics based on other media!
Sometimes you hear a song and a fic pops into your head full formed. This is a trap. The fic may be fully formed in your brain, but you still Have to write it down. This is an important step that most people forget about.
Soon everyone will lay down their brushes and palettes, but for now they are still fighting with paint and pixel⚔️ Creating beautiful masterpieces and epic scenes!🖌️
Join us on 29th June for our Showcase Day!
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Role for Initiative is our latest fan art project, based on scenes, people and more in or around battles in the worlds of Critical Role!
If you would like to join this or future fan art projects please check out our Carrd and send us a DM for more details!
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Ok adding to this though that even though it is extremely relatable, this is a KNOWN thing with professional writing. 10k is often referred to as "having a pot boiling" or "having a stew" - it's the point where you often see an idea coming together and it's exciting! But THEN... 30k-50k is the point where that fun has to start coming together. In theatre, it's usually week 3 of a 5 week rehearsal period where you have to stop talking about the play and really get it all up on its feet and cohesive. In art, it's committing to what are going to be the final visible layers of colour and texture, in sculpture the moment where you're truly at the point of no return with carving out the shape.
It usually feels really bad. Because this is the point it becomes real craft. It's so, so difficult to really be able to identify if it's truly not going to be anything or you're just in the hardest part of the process, and really the only way to know is to... write through it. Write it badly. Or, if you really can't, put it in a drawer and come back to it after a few months of breathing space. Remember, you can fix so much in the edit, but you can't fix nothing!
(I say, fully looking at my latest draft of my book and considering throwing it in the bin. But my editor said exactly this to me, so I'm passing it along.)
this is 100% true. I've written 6 complete novels at this point and every single time around the 40k mark I feel lost in the woods. Nothing seems to be working. I feel awful; I can't sleep. I keep going even though I'm convinced I'm going to fail. And then... It's like leaving a tunnel and getting back out in the sunshine. Stuff starts coalescing. Things that weren't working have obvious fixes. I "can write" again, except I was writing the whole time. It just felt hopeless in the moment. It's not. You just gotta get out of the woods.
Ok adding to this though that even though it is extremely relatable, this is a KNOWN thing with professional writing. 10k is often referred to as "having a pot boiling" or "having a stew" - it's the point where you often see an idea coming together and it's exciting! But THEN... 30k-50k is the point where that fun has to start coming together. In theatre, it's usually week 3 of a 5 week rehearsal period where you have to stop talking about the play and really get it all up on its feet and cohesive. In art, it's committing to what are going to be the final visible layers of colour and texture, in sculpture the moment where you're truly at the point of no return with carving out the shape.
It usually feels really bad. Because this is the point it becomes real craft. It's so, so difficult to really be able to identify if it's truly not going to be anything or you're just in the hardest part of the process, and really the only way to know is to... write through it. Write it badly. Or, if you really can't, put it in a drawer and come back to it after a few months of breathing space. Remember, you can fix so much in the edit, but you can't fix nothing!
(I say, fully looking at my latest draft of my book and considering throwing it in the bin. But my editor said exactly this to me, so I'm passing it along.)
this is 100% true. I've written 6 complete novels at this point and every single time around the 40k mark I feel lost in the woods. Nothing seems to be working. I feel awful; I can't sleep. I keep going even though I'm convinced I'm going to fail. And then... It's like leaving a tunnel and getting back out in the sunshine. Stuff starts coalescing. Things that weren't working have obvious fixes. I "can write" again, except I was writing the whole time. It just felt hopeless in the moment. It's not. You just gotta get out of the woods.
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“But no ah, no, I don’t know. Removed entirely from Den dynamics, I am unsure what this sort of arrangement would be intended as a trial for.”
“On my side of the Peaks, generally ‘trials’ point towards betrothal, marriage.”
“Potential facets of courtship.”
“And what if all parties are attempting to be surreptitious, Dens disregarded?”
The thought weighs odd. Essek’s current confidentiality is intended for privacy and entertainment; he is not denying consideration and community- or, well.
He slides a hand into Caleb’s hair and wraps a finger with a lock.
Not quite so much, anymore.
Essek combs.
“There is a scandal. But I suppose they could do whatever they want. They are the ones who decided to forge the bond.”
“Ah, we have flings for pure fun too.”
“Never been much my sort.”
“Not even casually, for curiosity?”
Essek wrinkles his nose.
“What’s there to be curious about? How strangers make their messes? No, thank you.”
“Strangers.”
“Not friends.”
“Only friends?”
“Best I can tell.”
A snare realized too late, Caleb grins.
“Which?”
Essek ignores the heat in his face and tests his binds.
“In abstract, Caleb.”
Caleb’s smile tightens to a leer.
“I wouldn’t be able to name even one?”
Essek removes his hand from Caleb’s hair, guarding his blank cards.
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know, does it?”
“Why?”
Caleb’s stare quiets. His eyes flick.
Essek stares back. Prods.
“What?”
Caleb shuffles Essek into a hug, his arms slack as a trap dismantled.
Essek requites tighter, supplying Caleb the comfort he seems to be seeking.
“You think, my friend. And you find me interesting.”
“That is- different.”
“How so?”
“I don’t….”
While it’s true he doesn’t know exactly what is different, the fact is, difference remains. Unwilling to forfeit their game, Essek hands over a squirming truth.
“That is where I stop. I don’t- want.”
But that’s not the case always. Never always, historically. But ‘never’ itself? Near enough.
Caleb’s voice comes small but steady.
“You don’t want me, Essek?”
Twist in the chest- that’s untrue. Essek’s original misspeak encompassed the general term’s use, a want for Caleb’s state of being. Essek wants Caleb here. He wants Caleb happy and hale. What is this instead that Caleb seems to have heard? That he is not missed? Or not enjoyed? Does he think himself entirely undesired?
Some earnest connotation ripples beneath the skin of Caleb’s words. It burrows beyond Essek’s sight.
“What does that, to want you, mean?”
“To who?”
“To you, Caleb.”
“I thought you misspoke.”
“I did.”
“You want me, but you don’t want.”
“Usually.”
“I’m… confused.”
Essek sighs and slackens his hold.
“That makes us two.”
He curls a hand in Caleb’s hair and tugs, light and insistent.
“What is your definition?”
Caleb stays put.
“A… strong draw, for company. Like an itch unscratchable alone.”
“Towards?”
“How do you mean?”
“A vector is not simply pure magnitude.”
Essek tightens his fist, which elicits from Caleb a little pretty grunt.
Slowly and surely, Essek pulls Caleb away.
“It must have direction, no?”
Caleb follows with a long inhale.
“Potential, pointing between and double-ended.”
Well, if it’s a matter of gravity, then-
Essek stills his hand.
“As to a point drifting between heavy free bodies? At stable equilibria, there is no pull at all.”
He lets go.
“No point when alone, either.”
Caleb exhales.
“None?”
“A mass won’t exert upon nothing. Even if paired equal, without the nudge of a second body, where’s the point to go?”
“Can’t the first body nudge?”
“If the possibility occurs to it.”
“Happens, or thinks?”
“I would think thinking is more to your point.”
“Mine, hm.”
Essek tips his head.
“Is my being upsetting for you, Caleb?”
Caleb sighs, half laugh and half groan.
“Upsetting no, but I feel I’m going in a circle.”
Essek gently combs through Caleb’s hair and tucks it behind his short ear. It fits like a perfect jigsaw piece, but that doesn’t mean it won’t again come loose.
“Frustrating?”
“Yes.”
“Entertaining?”
“…Ja, a bit.”
“Only the one?”
Caleb chuckles.
“A few bits.”
Essek smiles.
“I think we’re on the same page.”
He embraces Caleb tight once again.
“But- this, ah. So I ask that you ask, Caleb. When you think.”
“Why?”
“Why to which part?”
“Of anyone, why me?”
Why Caleb. Essek does wonder. Why Caleb?
What is Caleb Widogast?
A personal puzzle box and a pleasant thorn in his side.
Essek chuckles.
“You frustrate me.”
Caleb’s voice smiles.
“Now, or always?”
Essek raises his shoulders and slowly shrugs his sigh.
As part of the ruling following Zeenoth's trial in 836 PD, the Cobalt Soul seized assets of his estate. The Valley Archive incorporated seized properties into itself and repurposed them into facilities for both the public and staff. One property, a tweihouse one block from the Valley Archive, serves as staff housing.
While based in Zadash, Beau moved out of the Valley Archive dorms and into the house in 837 PD along with Yasha, Caleb, and, less officially, Essek. They occupied the house until late 839 PD.
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