1 - 20 of 30 Works by SquirrelWriter
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A headache throbbed at his temples.
Damn it. It was one of those nights.
Erin groped for the lonely lacrima on the bedside table; his fingertips found cool, finely engraved stone, and he tapped it. A pale light suffused his room. Shadows lurked in the corners, but his simple cot and the writing desk across from it were thrown into sharp relief. Erin considered his journal, awaiting him patiently on the desk, but a pang of pain lanced through his temples, and he balked at the prospect of trying to focus on writing. No, tonight was not a journaling night.Or: it's insomnia o'clock, and Erin can't sleep for the life of him. For better or for worse, he discovers that he's not the only one awake.
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The coffee guy looked tired, but he smiled kindly as he proffered the drink. Falst could only see one eye—a single, beautiful, carnelian iris—because he wore a black eyepatch over the other. Hints of scar tissue spiderwebbed out from under that eyepatch, like maybe something had happened to him, something painful and terrible, something most college students would never have to deal with. As Falst took the drink, their hands brushed, just for a moment. The coffee guy's felt warm. Like, heated-blanket warm. Snuggling-haven warm.
Or: All Falst wanted was a mocha from the student rec center, but he winds up with far more than he bargained for.
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Tess raced toward Ironhill with lightning dancing on her skin and excitement sparking her heart.
She'd forgotten a lot about this place; she'd been taken so long ago. But she thought she recognized it. The broad strokes of it, at least. The hill swelled in front of her, enormous and rocky and ribboned with iron ore. Yep, that was the right geology. If it'd had a pointy peak instead of a flat plateau top, Tess would've called it a mountain! And the houses, she kind of remembered the houses. Stony and sturdy with holes for windows to let the fresh, free air in, and with wood-fed hearths.Or: after finally getting Sparked and leaving Asera, Tess reaches Ironhill and reunites with her family. Ironhill is welcoming and warm and everything a good home should be.
But her bed is kind of small. She loves her family, but not the daily toil of the family trades, and she struggles with attention span. She has an itch and a restlessness that’s hard to explain. She wants… something else. She just can't put her finger on what.
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The Hunter felt more than saw Nata settle beside her; the cot dipped beneath his slight frame, and his boot-clad foot accidentally bumped hers. Kid didn't seem to notice, or, at least, he didn't make note of it. He pulled out his own whetstone and his dagger. The dagger was comically dwarfed by the Hunter's own weapons, as Nata was by her, but it was a decent size for a child and held the gleam and sharpness of well-tempered steel. He watched her sharpening technique, then mimicked it, his whetstone rasping over the blade.
The Hunter smiled to herself and carried on with her task. Comfortable silence hung between them for several minutes.
Eventually, Nata broke it. "Can I help with one of your hunts?"
The Hunter's hand stilled. "Pardon?"
"I want to hunt a monster with you," said Nata clearly. "Not just watch or be background support."
Or: Nata wants to tag along for a hunt--for real this time, as a hunter, not just to watch or assist from the back. The Hunter, meanwhile, wants to make damn sure this kid makes it home in one piece, no matter what complications arise.
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Vash was still too weakened from his ordeal with the Collector to form a new physical incarnation on his own, and Kendal... well, Kendal just felt like he needed to be here. Needed to help. Needed to see this through.
So they did this together.
Or: After their adventure, Kendal helps Vash the god perform the funeral rites to finally release the souls of the city, and he struggles with the weight of grief afterward. Fortunately, Kendal's friends are there for him.
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Dainix's grip tightened. Falst expected the guy to put him down any second--they were on solid ground, he didn't have to hold Falst anymore--but he held on, for some reason. Falst was tucked up against Dainix's chest, Dainix's heartbeat echoing faintly in his ear.
Or: after rescuing Falst from a fiery doom, Dainix is extremely reluctant to put him down.
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"NO!"
The yell ripped out of Falst as Dainix's core plummeted toward the lava. Falst made a wild grab for it, but all he caught was a scrap of fabric, torn and flaming, disintegrating in his grip. For a moment, Falst felt like he was suspended--weightless, floating over a blazing expanse, while his heart dropped like a stone.
Or: a dip into Falst's point of view when Dainix's core falls into the caldera, and an exploration of what might happen next.
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"Hey," said Dainix. "I have an idea."
"Oh?"
"Kind of... a talking game? I've played it before to get to know friends and squadmates better. Basically, we'd take turns telling each other things that we want or would like. It can be anything, but if it's something the other person can grant, like, say, 'I want to keep holding your hand'--" Dainix squeezed Falst's again--"they can say yes or no based on if they want it too. So you can say 'sure', or if you don't feel like it, you can say 'no' or 'not right now'. And if you say 'sure', I'll keep holding it, and if you say 'no', I'll let go."
Falst stared down at their intertwined fingers. "Um. Sure."
Or: on a sleepless night in the soulshapers' monastery, Dainix has an idea to help him and Falst communicate more. Falst decides to play along and see where it leads.
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Magic thrummed through her, vibrant, electric, glowing green. Her mind expanded, fractals upon fractals, growth that felt out of control, and plunged into the watery depths. Past the churning waves. Past the currents. Past where sunlight could reach, if any had been able to pierce through the storm.
Something stirred down there--something tremendous.
Or: a look into Alinua's mind during those visions of the leviathan, and an exploration of what might have become of her.
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Falst pressed his ear to the wood, listening intently. "Sounds pretty civil so far," he mused. "That tea might be a trap, though."
Suddenly, he caught a whiff of an overwhelming mix of odors. It was like someone had dumped an apothecary shop or a grocer's cart in a fire. And it sure as starfire wasn't coming from beyond the door.
Falst turned, irritation prickling at him.
Or: While Kendal's talking to Argist, Falst waits impatiently behind the door and has a conversation of his own.
A look into, and minor extension of, that scene in Arc 2 Chapter 1. Inspired by and written for the Crustables Fanart Week prompt Door.
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As they traveled together, Falst learned that Dainix had a wake-up routine of punching and kicking at empty air. It was incredibly weird.
Or: Falst joins Dainix for his morning exercises, and in the process, he gains a new perspective on martial training--namely, that it doesn't have to suck.
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He was a mess of rampaging emotions, barely aware, perceiving the world in fragments and flashes. Crumbling timber. Growing. Hunger. A sliver of metal attached to a thing that would not let go. Important thing, whispered a corner of what remained of his mind, don't hurt him, not him. But the metal. He craved it. If he could just--
Or: a brief character study that delves into Dainix's mind during Arc 2 Chapter 3.
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Nothing could have prepared Dainix for the snow.
Fat, sparkling flakes drifted down. They clung to everything in sight, blanketing the land of Helm in a thick, cotton-like whiteness and sticking stubbornly to Dainix and his friends.
Or: Dainix encounters snowfall for the first time as he and his friends approach Helm, and it drives them to take shelter in a cavern. There, Dainix must choose between feeling cold to the bone or letting his soulfire rise to the surface, and he has misgivings about the second option.
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"I need a new shirt," said Falst suddenly.
Kendal blinked. Yes, that was true. Falst had nothing to shield his upper body from the elements. Besides, even on a mild summer evening like this one, shirts seemed to be social convention. Dainix was an exception, but he still had his wyrmsilk cloak.Or: Kendal and Falst spend a day in Argist together, getting up to shenanigans. What exactly happened after Kendal and Falst went up to the rooftop? How did Falst get that shirt? Was it actually totally legal?
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Dainix clutched the railing and beseeched the gods for patience.
They'd been cooped up on this wood-and-metal death trap for three days, and Dainix was reaching his limit. Endless blue water surrounded them on all sides, glittering with power and menace. The boat's lacrima array kept a bubble of calm around them, sure, but the bubble felt so fragile, invisible and difficult to trust. Dainix's stomach churned perpetually with the back-and-forth rock of the ship, which made it hard to keep food down or be motivated to eat--which, in turn, shortened Dainix's fuse. So yes, as a whole, he felt awful and wanted off this ride.
Or: Dainix is having a rough time out on the ocean, and he hits his limit. Thankfully, Falst gets it.
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Vash rubs the back of his neck. "Let me try again: if I'm bothering you, I'll get out of your hair. If you want me to help fend off threats or do a bit of labor, though, I'm happy to do that."
Argist blinks.
Vash really is young, isn't he?
(Never mind that Argist himself is under a century old, still learning to bridge his varied and fractured domain, at times. Vash is younger.)
...A friendly hand wouldn't hurt.Or: the growth of an alliance, and a bond, between two vastly different city gods.
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Dainix first wielded a knife when he was seven.
"Be careful," said his dad seriously. "It's very, very sharp, which is good for control, but it can slice your fingers as easily as it can slice those vegetables. Understand?"
Dainix nodded solemnly. His fingers, so much smaller than his dad's, curled around the handle of a gleaming chopping knife.
Or: a character study of Dainix and his relationships with the rest of the cast through the lens of cooking.
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Dainix jackknifed up to sitting, his heart slamming against his ribs, frantically sucking air in. His hands shook. His stomach churned, nauseated. Soulfire coursed through his veins and traced coal-hot patterns on his skin.
There was no sludge in sight, no water, nothing attacking. Air was moving through his lungs even if it didn't feel like enough. And while his heartbeat was too fast, it was strong.
Panic attack, Dainix told himself firmly. Just a panic attack.
Or: Dainix contends with a series of panic attacks, triggered by both old and new fears. Luckily, the Floof Squad has his back.
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Dainix's smile faded. "Your worth to us isn't tied to what you can do or how much trouble you cause. I really, really hope you internalize that someday."
Falst had no idea what to say to that.
"Also," added Dainix, "thank you for saving my life. Please, never destroy yourself to save my life again."
"Says the guy who was ready to sacrifice himself so I could survive," Falst shot back. "Hypocrite much?"Or: after the battle with the sludge monster, Falst gets a heal, a conversation with Dainix, and, finally, some fricking rest.
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Constant Vigilance by SquirrelWriter
Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom
23 Aug 2023
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Link appeared again! Sidon's dear friend! It was wonderful to see him!
But alas, he did not bear the news Sidon had hoped for.
[I got sidetracked,] Link confessed. [Kept finding shrines. And people in trouble. I've made some progress though. I think I need the Zora armor.]
"Oh, of course," said Sidon, and hoped he'd successfully masked his despair.Or: hey, did Sidon *sleep* at all while Link went gallivanting across the countryside?