#･ﾟ ✩ ⠀ ⠀ caught in your own creation always projecting out the light. ⠀ 、 ⠀ development ⠀ ! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

art · 2 years

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @fourbrickstall

I’m a photographer who likes to shoot portraits, acro, and toys. My favorite themes are medieval fantasy, steampunk, and apocalypse. I manage a fan community about LEGO photography called BrickCentral, and I am its LEGO ambassador.

Check out our full interview below!

How did you get your start in photography?

I think I have always really liked looking at things through a lens—I had plenty of microscopes and telescopes growing up—so photography was a natural progression. I started out taking photos of nature, architecture, and travel but really became a photographer in my mind when I learned studio photography. I love creating interesting light on people in particular.

What inspired you to work with LEGO specifically?

Several years ago, a couple of photography blogs I followed featured a 365-day phone photography project by Andrew Whyte about a miniature traveling LEGO photographer. It was the first time I had ever seen toy photography. And LEGO! It had been years since I had ever even looked at LEGO, but it brought back memories of smiley-faced space explorers on lunar bases. I was surprised by how modern LEGO minifigures had become: this LEGO photographer was so urban with a beanie hat on its head and a cute camera in its hand. I immediately wanted to create a little LEGO version of myself, too (called a “sigfig” or signature figure, I later learned.) Around that time, I had my hands full with a toddler and was looking for a way to keep shooting creatively. But I only had space for one bag at a time—a diaper bag or a camera bag—so a phone and a minifig seemed like a fantastic way to keep taking photos.

Once I got my LEGO minifigure in the mail, I started shooting and became instantly hooked. Not only on the photography but on the collecting aspect too. I now have hundreds of minifigures and even more LEGO minifigure parts to create custom characters with. So it was the LEGO that caught my attention right away, but the photography workflow is what sealed the deal for me.

What is your favorite piece of all time? Why?

I really love this photo for lots of reasons. It’s the kind of photographer I want to be: someone who doesn’t let weather or terrain or whatever become an excuse for not doing what they love. I also like that this shot looks like I found this great location in the forest, but the reality is that I shot this on my window sill with just some bark, twigs, and moss that I collected from around Brooklyn. It doesn’t get more metropolitan than NYC, but with just an idea and a few materials, I created a completely different environment. Atmospheric effects are another thing I like to add to my photos, so the “rain” hits the spot. It’s just spray from a water bottle.

From idea to final piece, how long does it take for you to create something?

The great thing about shooting LEGO is that it can be as easy or as complex as you want it to be: from subject to gear, to lighting, to location. As a portrait photographer, shooting an unusual or interesting character is part of the thrill, so I spend about an hour creating one custom minifig from my hundreds of loose parts.

Sometimes I use official LEGO models as a subject or as a background, and these take some time to build, depending on the size of the set. I build my own models and scenes, too—known as My Own Creations (MOCs) in LEGO lingo. These take me forever because I’m not a great MOC builder, and I don’t have thousands of LEGO parts at my disposal. It’s not unusual for MOCs to take days or weeks for me to finish.

This tiny red house on wheels took me about 5 days to build:

This Japanese alley took me a month:

When shooting outdoors, I look for locations that scale well to LEGO minifigs and models and also have beautiful light. I seek out pockets of light through trees to put my subjects in, but I also make sure to have patches of shadow throughout the scene to give it some depth.

I already have some favorite locations, so it’s really just a matter of getting to them or waiting for the right time of day. Indoors, I can get shooting rather quickly at any time of day in my studio nook, which is an alcove I’ve set up with lighting and supports just for my LEGO photography. Having that dedicated space and grip really accelerates getting into a flow state. Negentropy is my friend.

A custom minifig in a MOC photographed in my studio nook is my favorite kind of work to do, but that also takes the longest because of the build time and more complex lighting.

What are 3 things you can’t live without as a creator?

My camera, my lenses, and Lightroom are three things I can’t live without as a creator. I love the whole process of shooting—seeing how different settings and gear change an image—and then taking that image and making it truer to what I feel in post.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating content that you know now?

I wish I knew that it’s easier to find your tribe when you figure out who you are as an artist first. I think it’s tempting to try to belong immediately because it’s exciting to find other people who share the same interests as you. But doing that too quickly and investing too deeply can influence your art or trap you in a style that isn’t really you.

What are your file name conventions?

FBT-desc-of-lego-subject.jpg I’m not as organized as I would like to be, but I have my folders set up descriptively and by date in Lightroom. It’s great for managing thousands of photos.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

I love the DnD artists on Tumblr! I’m so inspired by their beautiful illustrations, character creations, and storytelling. I played a few campaigns with my Dungeon Master brother as a teenager, so I know and love that world. I guess my affinity for custom LEGO characters is rooted in the character creation part of DnD.

My favorite characters these days are artificers and tieflings, so I follow those tags on Tumblr to see all the stunning artwork by the community.

Check out more amazing LEGO photography over at @fourbrickstall!

#creator spotlight #lego #photographers on tumblr #lego community #fourbrickstall

1K notes · View notes

kanzakurawrites · 9 months

Note

Hi just read your descendant's book A different tale and I love Mal and hadie relationship.

Do you have any headcanons on it ?

Aw, I'm glad you love them!

I do have some headcanons! I can't share all due to spoilers, but here are some.

Hadie is always talking about his little sister at school, but he never mentions who her mother is for her protection. His friends just know her as "Mali"

When Mal was three, after Hadie finally got back home, she would not leave him alone. It was to the point where she was pretty much attached to his back like a koala for a week straight. (Thankfully, Mal was a pretty light three year old) He didn't mind, since he had missed her just as much, and Maleficent and Hades helped him make a sling to keep Mal in place.

They send each other letters. Hadie always had, and until Mal could learn to read her parents, Borra, or Persephone would read them to her. Then they'd write letters for her, up until she knew how to write.

Even though Apollo is the one that carries their letters (so no one else reads them), Mal and Hadie still write in a mix of Greek, French, Latin and English. Some words are entirely their own creation, which confuses their parents as well.

And as Hadie is fascinated by phoenix's, Mal draws them on the envelopes she sends him. He returns the favor by sending her pictures of dragons. He even once sent a picture of Mushu after meeting him. Mushu had no problem posing for it.

Hadie sometimes patches Mal up when she doesn't want her parents to know how bad she's been hurt. He's caught by the VK code on not telling. (Uma also uses this to her advantage)

Hadie is an honorary member of the Never Lost

Since Hadie is on Auradon for most of the year due to school, he spends his breaks on the Isle. During those weeks and months, the other VK's (such as Cedric Frollo's crew) are a lot more cautious when it comes to threatening Mal as Hadie can't be hurt the same way the others on the Isle can, and no one wants to have him after them for hurting his little sister.

Hadie taught Mal how to braid, but no matter how much she bugs him about it, he won't tell her where he learned to braid.

Since seasons aren't exactly normal on the Isle (always going towards extremes, for some reason), Hadie brings back photos of the seasons to Mal so she can accurately draw them. One the flip side, she helps him get pictures of the Isle for a long term project he's working on.

Hadie flamed up around Mal once when she was five, and it scared him more than it did her, leading to him locking himself up in his room so he wouldn't accidentally hurt her since they still weren't sure how she'd react to fire. She didn't let him hide and stubbornly sat at his door for hours until he finally came out.

Whenever he's on the Isle, Hadie goes looking for sea glass. So throughout the year when he's at Auradon, Mal collects some for him.

#disney descendants #descendants: a different tale #my fic #mal bertha #hadie descendants #descendants hadie #mal and hadie #my asks #answered

19 notes · View notes

wildwcst · 1 month

Text

APPLICATION.

( idris elba, cis man, he/him ). welcome to westworld, RONAN RIGBY. your employee card states that you are 51 years old, and that you have been working for delos as a(n) PARK DIRECTOR for FOUR YEARS. you have a bit of a reputation as the EMPEROR, and your fellow employees know you to be AMBITIOUS and INTELLIGENT, but also ARROGANT and CALLOUS. sometimes, people say you remind them of LEX LUTHOR (SMALLVILLE), MALCOLM MERLYN (ARROW), AND LIGHT YAGAMI (DEATH NOTE). if you had to describe yourself in a few words, it would be YOU DANGLE ON THE LEASH OF YOUR OWN LONGING; YOUR NEED GROWS TEETH. here’s hoping you enjoy your time here!

FILE.

full name: ronan rigby

age: fifty-one

gender / pronouns: cis man, he/him

orientation: demisexual

affiliation: employee

occupation: park director

family: Theodore rigby (father, alive), cordelia rigby (mother, alive)

faceclaim: idris elba

inspiration: lex luthor (smallville), malcolm merlyn (arrow), light yagami (death note)

BIOGRAPHY.

Your childhood felt like the beginning of stages of creating a host--- cold, lifeless, and longing for a sense of purpose in the world. The only child of two CEOs, you grew up in the shadows of their successes. You spent your formative years striving to get their attention, to coax a smile from their lips, or even just a hint of acknowledgment that you're their son, but their businesses were always their first priority. You were nothing more than a way to ensure their businesses survived past their lifetimes, and that knowledge stayed with you as you grew older.

When your parents failed to give you attention, you'd shift your gaze to other hobbies to fill that ache in your chest. Your most notable hobby was tinkering with the toys your parents bought you as a way to substitute for their love and affection. You'd often take apart and reinvite the toys in your idle time, and after a while, you realized you had a skillset that might be useful for the future.

Years passed, and you found yourself graduating from college with a degree in electrical engineering. You were a wide-eyed thing, desperate to prove yourself to the world like your childhood self fought to impress your parents, and you found yourself getting involved with the Argos Initiative. The concept of sentient hosts was unheard of to you, but you knew it had great potential from a business perspective. It didn't matter that you didn't fully care about the hosts and the concept of humanity and consciousness, for you came from a family of businessmen and women, and you knew it was a project to latch onto.

As the company grew and the concept of West World came to life, you found yourself getting more involved in the creation of this park. You found yourself involved in the Behavioral aspect of the hosts, creating emotions and reactions to their surroundings. It was strange to program feelings to beings you didn't quite believe in, but you weren't one to question your role, especially when you knew your company was cutting edge.

As you further integrated yourself into the company, you managed to catch the eye of ROBERT FORD, one of the company's co-founders and the park director. You became his mentee, the one he chose to let into his inner world.

You admired the man for his bright mind and ability to create the unthinkable, but as years went by, you began to have doubts about his abilities. You'd catch him hanging out with previously decommissioned hosts in the corner of the world, or rewriting mass narratives in a way that disrupted the current storylines. You began to wonder if he was truly cut out for the job, or if the hosts were turning him soft. The whisperings of retirement slipped past your lips every time you caught Ford's ears, and though he often refuted your words, you still found yourself replacing him like you planned.

With the disappearance of Ford still fresh on everyone's mind, you know you have to prove yourself capable of running the park. You're determined to have a firm grip on any inconsistencies in the hosts and decommission or fire any problematic characters. You've felt the taste of rejection before, and you swore never to endure that feeling again.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Coworkers/employees who suspect he had something to do with Ford's disappearance

Coworkers/employees who wanted Ford's role and are mad Ronan got the position

Hosts he's programmed during his role as Park Director, or hosts he worked on when he was in the behavioral department

Guests he's personally invited to West World

Disgruntled employee who wants to get revenge on him

#ten thousand years later pls #intro: ronan

1 note · View note

bluemoonfantasiesiii · 2 years

Text

Albedo had been acting differently for the past few weeks. He was much jumpier, more alert. Everyone figured something had happened on Dragonspine. After all, strange things always seemed to happen on that Archon-forsaken mountain. However, the fact that it was enough to shake the stoic Chief Alchemist had the people of Mondstadt whispering amongst themselves.

No inch of Albedo’s field of vision was left unchecked as he walked briskly through the square toward the Knights of Favonius headquarters. It was late enough that all the shop owners had closed their businesses for the night and most everyone had gone home. Only the street lamps and the light of the moon illuminated his hurried stroll, leaving him in a state of vulnerability he hadn’t felt since the first day he woke up alone with nothing but a note from his master.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of himself. Just to his right, barely in his peripheral, and his heart pounded against his chest as he whirled his whole body around to face his double with a gasp, Cinnabar Spindle halfway summoned into his hand, when he realized that his doppelgänger was doing the same.

He was staring at his own reflection in a darkened window.

He forced his posture to relax as he sent his sword away, but he could do nothing to quell the trembling in his hands or the racing of his heart. In the window, he saw the panic in his own widened eyes, his shoulders heaving with his labored breath. Most importantly, he could just make out the golden star on his throat. He knew he needed to stop reacting to his own reflected image like this before he caused a public hysteria, but each time he stared into his own eyes, he was reminded that his imposter - his older brother - was still out there somewhere.

He couldn’t bring himself to kill Subject Two. How could he even consider it, now that he knew Subject Two was a fully-fledged person. The more Albedo thought about it, the more he realized that Subject Two was even better at being human than he was.

Albedo had always lived by what his master told him. He had no desires of his own. He existed to follow her orders, to complete her assignments. He was hers. Even now that she was no longer here to oversee him, he was still chasing the answers she’d asked him to find. While Albedo did want to blend in with his human companions, he had never envied them. He had never envied anyone.

Subject Two very much had a will of his own. He had his own desires separate from Rhinedottir, and his envy was his driving force ever since he first laid eyes on what Albedo had. He was more human than Albedo could ever hope to be, and perhaps the Chief Alchemist felt a bit disheartened by that. After all, he was meant to be the golden child of Gold, the successful product of the Primordial Human Project. He should know how to be human, but he didn’t. Not truly. Everything he knew about humanity came from what he observed of his friends and colleagues. In a way, he, too, was a result of mere mimicry.

He often found himself wondering whether or not he regretted killing the Fellflower. He regretted destroying such a complex creation, but did he truly feel remorse for taking the life of something that so seamlessly blended in with human beings because of how human the creature felt?

The fact that he couldn’t form a solid answer to that terrified him.

A cold hand on his shoulder threw him back into a panic, teal eyes wild with fear as he stumbled to put distance between himself and—

“C-Captain Eula,” he stammered. The blue-haired woman crossed her arms, sunset-colored eyes narrowing at the usually reserved alchemist’s reaction.

“Captain Albedo,” she greeted curtly. “I tried getting your attention several times, but you were so rudely ignoring me in favor of your own thoughts. I will be exacting vengeance for this.”

The Reconnaissance Captain pulling her usual antics soothed Albedo’s nerves a bit. “Apologies, Eula,” he said. “I’ve just…had more on my mind than usual lately. It’s nothing to worry about, though.”

The Spindrift Knight huffed. “How simple-minded do you think I am, Albedo?” she chided. “You’re still shaken up about the incident with the imposter, aren’t you?”

The man jolted, not used to being seen through so easily. “I…” He wasn’t sure how to respond.

“It’s been plaguing my mind, as well,” Eula admitted. “Like you, I’m no stranger to Dragonspine and its anomalies. But that… A whopperflower with the ability to mimic a human is unusual even for Dragonspine.”

The more Albedo bit his lip, the more danger his friends would be in. He knew this. In allowing his brother to live, he opened the door to another attack. He had no idea what Subject Two was capable of, how long he could hold onto his resentment, nor how far he was willing to go to achieve his goals. But he also couldn’t risk revealing his true origins, not when he knew there were people in Mondstadt who were already wary of him, including its Archon. Although there was no one else in the area, Albedo knew there was a Knight making their rounds, so he took Eula by the wrist and pulled her into a more secluded alleyway between some shops and a stairwell.

“Albedo?! Unhand me!” she shouted. She yanked her arm out of the other’s grasp as he looked around to make sure they were alone. He was so used to being painfully aware that someone was listening on Dragonspine. Eula was quickly becoming unnerved by the alchemist’s paranoia. “Explain yourself!”

“Eula, you’re the only one I can trust with information right now,” Albedo said finally. “At least for now. Just until I can figure out the best way to make it public knowledge.” He sucked in a breath. “That mutated whopperflower didn’t happen by chance.”

“I had some suspicions,” Eula admitted. “Go on.”

“I’m not the only one who studied under my master. I tried to deny it for the longest time, but at some point, my master’s research took an extremely dangerous turn. I fear the Fellflower may have been the creation of another of her students.”

“So that’s why it appeared to be targeting you,” Eula concluded. “Did you and this other student have some sort of rivalry.”

“We weren’t studying under her at the same time,” Albedo said. “We’d never met in person before that incident on the mountain, but…without my knowledge, my master displayed an unhealthy amount of favoritism toward me. For whatever reason, she rejected him as a student and left him in order to teach me.”

“And this other student is still at large,” Eula said.

Albedo nodded. “I know how to find him, but I can’t bring myself to take him out,” he confessed. “It wouldn’t be right. He just wants to have a place in this world. If I can just talk to him—”

“Albedo.”

The alchemist jumped. “Y-yes?”

“What do you expect me to do with this information?”

“Just hold onto it for now,” Albedo said. “Let the other captains know if you feel you must, and be wary of any abnormal behavior from me. This other student has also figured out how to replicate my appearance,” he lifted a gloved hand to touch his birthmark, “and he’s figured out that this mark on my throat was the key to telling the difference.”

“You’re already behaving quite abnormally,” said the Spindrift Knight. “Perhaps a code word would be more efficient in telling you two apart.”

“Yes,” Albedo nodded in agreement, taking a moment to think. “For now, the others should start conversations with me by asking ‘What color is the isotoma at dusk?’ and if I answer anything other than ‘Gold,’ it isn’t me.”

Eula nodded. “Alright. I’ll pass this on to the others.” She placed a cold hand on his shoulder. “You should get some rest, Albedo. I’ll walk you to your quarters at HQ.”

“Thank you, Eula,” Albedo said with a small, grateful smile. As they left the alley, they failed to notice the shadow lurking out of the view of the stars.

“Of course you would use her name,” he scoffed, watching the two figures fade into the night. “You really should be more vigilant, baby brother. The mountain isn’t the only place with eyes and ears.”

With his younger brother none the wiser, the failed experiment slinked off into the night, back toward the frigid mountain where he emerged.

#moon writes shit #genshin impact #albedo #eula lawrence #subject two

12 notes · View notes

ashwzorth · 2 years

Photo

* QUESTÕES BÁSICAS DA PERSONAGEM ,

primeiro nome? mehri (se pronuncia mêu-rí). significa “alguém que é amável, doce e amigável”, assim como a própria. o nome foi escolhido pela mãe, ava, que viu em mehri uma oportunidade de olhar para a vida de uma maneira mais colorida e leve; o casamento não estava funcionando muito bem e imaginou que uma criança ajudaria a resolver os problemas — pura inocência, visto que é fruto de uma traição. o pai nunca soube que mehri, na verdade, era filha de outro homem.

sobrenome? ashworth. por não ter ciência de que mehri não era sua filha biológica, oliver a registrou com seu sobrenome. além dela, teve também mais três filhos, sendo duas mais velhas e um mais novo que a futura maga. isla, amelia e noah. só começou a se questionar sobre a origem de mehri quando ela descobriu a magia que corria pelas suas veias.

nome de aprendiz? aithne (se pronuncia ei-th-nê) e significa, literalmente, fogo. por ter sido regida pelas chamas desde o início de sua vida mágica, não foi uma grande surpresa para mehri adotar aithne como seu alter ego. inclusive se sente mais pertencente quando é chamada de aithne do que quando é chamada de mehri — tem se acostumado com o nome lhe dado ao nascimento hoje em dia, por causa da vida sem magia em storybrooke, mas não vê a hora de ser chamada e reconhecida como aithne novamente.

data de nascimento? nasceu às 6h49 da manhã do dia 17 de abril de 1731.

idade? acumula 290 anos de idade na floresta encantada, mas teve a aparência congelada em seus 35 anos de idade. em storybrooke, é quanto diz que tem quando questionada.

disclaimer: a maldição teve um grande efeito nas memórias de mehri (assim como em todos os outros moradores de storybrooke), mas devido a criança formada por magia de luz sendo gerada em seu ventre, seu processo atua um tanto diferente dos demais. só sabe do passado falso, interações e relacionamentos que tem atualmente por causa de sonhos e de comentários de pessoas ao redor — precisa agir como um tipo de atriz para se adaptar à nova realidade sem chamar muita atenção para si. por sorte, consegue passar despercebida pois o nome real nunca foi tão conhecido na floresta encantada e, por isso, não precisou mudá-lo.

#･ﾟ ✩ ⠀ ⠀ caught in your own creation always projecting out the light. ⠀ 、 ⠀ development ⠀ !

12 notes · View notes

silvermarmoset · 3 years

Note

Oh, I would read the heck out of an essay about RTD era Doctor as a refugee.

It’s not fully put together in my head yet but it starts somewhere during the End of the World.

JABE: And what about your ancestry, Doctor? Perhaps you could tell a story or two. Perhaps a man only enjoys trouble when there's nothing else left. (...) I know where you're from. Forgive me for intruding, but it's remarkable that you even exist. I just wanted to say how sorry I am.

Doctor Who post-revival loves to lean on this “last of his kind” language, but it often lends itself to different meanings—it can imply extinction, with the doctor as the last of his biological species, or it implies mythos, with the Doctor as the grand survivor of an epic fantasy. But in Davies’ Who, the closest connotation is that of someone fleeing from war. Jabe is not looking at the final surviving member of a species the way we would look at the last white rhinoceros or the last tiger. She is absolutely not looking at a hero. She focuses on his personhood, and with that a recognition of his deep sense of loss: how sorry I am…there’s nothing else left.

And again at the end of the episode, when the Doctor says there was a war and we lost. Those aren’t words that put the Doctor in the slightest role of victor, or soldier, or warrior—all descriptions later attached to the Time War as its role in the series got rewritten and reframed. From the get-go, Davies puts minimal emphasis on what the Doctor did in the time war. he puts all his emphasis on the Doctor as the one who left, with all the complexity that entails: the leaving, the homesickness, the deep grief, the guilt, the fear of cowardice. the hireath. These aren’t the emotions of a cunning warrior; these are the emotions of a refugee.

In Gridlock, Martha sits down and refuses to leave until the Doctor tells her what he is. He doesn’t explain a thing about what he did in the Time War or how he solved it. He focuses solely on loss.

DOCTOR: There was a war. A Time War. The last Great Time War. My people fought a race called the Daleks, for the sake of all creation. And they lost. They lost. Everyone lost. They're all gone now. My family, my friends, even that sky. Oh, you should have seen it, that old planet. The second sun would rise in the south, and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver, and when they caught the light every morning, it looked like a forest on fire. When the autumn came, the breeze would blow through the branches like a song.

Notice particularly how as he talks, he drifts totally away from the war Itself. His mind goes to his homeland, the literal land that shaped his childhood. The weight in his own telling of the war is entirely on what it took away.

And then, in Voyage of the Damned, we get—

ASTRID: How come you know it so well?

DOCTOR: I was sort of, a few years ago, I was sort of made, well, sort of homeless, and, er, there was the Earth.

the simplest, smallest exchange, but it throws off entirely common assumptions about the Doctor and his relationship to Earth. He isn’t here protecting us, or because he likes our small human ways—though those may be factors. He came because he was homeless, and we let him in.

does it get more crystal clear?

i think that refugee metaphor became muddied over the years, partly in good ways (it’s fun that other writers got to play with the idea of the Time War!), but also ways that weaken the deep compassion of that original concept (does it really add anything to have the masterful Doctor also be the top soldier in an unwinnable war?). the Doctor is always a winner, but by giving him a backstory where he was ordinary, at a loss, and on the run, Davies both gave him the balance he deeply needs from the in-show universe and also projected a deep sense of social justice into the show from its roots. He made the most amazing character on the show into the type of person most ignored on this Earth, and presented that story again and again—here is what it’s like to lose a home, here is what it’s like to find one. it’s empathetic storytelling at its finest, and a core of the new show that I wish it would wander back to.

#rtd telling emotional humanitarian stories with a core of social justice? more likely than you think #Anyway the Afghan refugee crisis is disastrous and yes the Syrians still need our help too! Donate today #doctor who #rtd era

261 notes · View notes

yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

Note

If you're plate isn't too full, can I request a couple of fluffy hc's about Albedo with a photographer! s/o? Like, his s/o enjoys taking pictures of the environment and etc, and even take pictures of Albedo whenever he just does stuff, and Albedo enjoys sketching then whenever they just do a whole picture spree- they even exchange pictures too

Yes, my plate is too full and I'm confused why you guys don't see the request closed thingy in my description. But does it look like I care? No, I miss writing for Albedo and you're getting Albedo NOW-

Sepia Times

Albedo with a Photographer!S/O headcanons/scenarios... (event masterlist)

Ever since Fontaine released their newest device called Kamera, you had been so adamant in getting ahold of one that you ended up going on a travel spree to the said nation. Not even waiting for the shipment to Mondstadt, you left a quickly written note of your whereabouts before you left.

Spontaneous as ever, Albedo thought to himself as his grip on the note tightens with worry.

Luckily, three days later, you hailed from the Hydro Archon's land with your newest prized possession in hand. Triumphant and giddy, both of your lives changed drastically from there.

Albedo first and foremost, almost dismantled your Kamera. Actually he may have already done so behind your back, he was just caught the last time. He was really curious of its machinations and wanted to reverse engineer it.

He only ever lived because he was fast enough to reassemble it and show you that it still works. If not, you were already charging at him to throw hands. You did not travel for three days just for the Kamera to be broken. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, he's not allowed to touch it until he gets his own when the supply reaches Mondstadt.

Knowing your excitement, Albedo takes a sudden day off to accompany you in your Kamera spree, his own canvas and easel under his arm to also channel his artistic energy.

In just a day you managed to take 20 pictures, about to run out of film in just a day. Everytime you snap a picture, you gravitate to where Albedo is stationed to show off what you got like a crow and its shiny rocks. He finds it very endearing, stating his honest honey-covered opinion that makes you overjoyed enough to energize you to snap another, better picture.

The Alchemist sees the appeal of the Kamera and how immediate the replication of the image is. But he still glorifies the art of painting. He may not be able to capture constantly moving subjects but he can capture any detail he wants emphasized unlike the limited rasterization of a photo like that.

He watches you from afar as you skip over to different places and objects, face blooming with wonder as you position your device to snap. He dons a smile when you pull out the photo and wait for the image to materialize, and produce a chuckle when you sprint over to him to show the product. It's like your routine you developed in just a day.

So at times when he needs it the most, he will steal borrow your Kamera to snap a quick picture of something fast moving that he needs to observe immediately or wish to sketch/paint in detail in the future. One of the photos he had hidden for himself had a picture of you in your natural photographer environment as you dash around to look for a scene to capture while you wait.

What's it for? Well he made it into a more intricate painting during his spare time, presenting it to you with the little image taped at the top right corner. It was so beautiful that when outsiders were to see it after they were granted to access his office/laboratory, they always ask for the price for it. Something he adamantly refuses with the coldest glare the Alchemist can make. The negotiations usually end there.

Whenever he was far and you couldn't follow, like Dragonspine for example (the Kamera was still in development so cold temperatures might risk both the device and the processing), you always send him a picture for his thoughts. Either by asking Sucrose, Timaeus or the Traveler if they were en route to his camp, of course.

As you send one to him daily, Albedo started to look forward to your little mail every time. They range from very beautiful sights he hasn't seen before, images of the people of Mond who looks to be greeting him, or of you and the things that would remind him of you.

He keeps a haphazardly strewn journal for it, and in his camp was a board of his favorite picks, and all images of you are tacked on it. The Traveler enjoys watching his cold teal eyes light up whenever he brings the daily image, watching the picture board grow as Albedo tacks the latest one in with obvious pride and joy.

When he comes back to Mond, he brings with him his most beautiful piece from Dragonspine. You'd know it's special because everything is painted in detail, even the most unimportant parts of it. It's his gift for your little photo exchange and you have it put up on wall somewhere in your house.

When he gets his own Kamera, it was his turn to drag you to his photography spree. A little one-sided competition happens between you two where you try to one up the quality of his pictures, sometimes successful and sometimes you don't really... understand what he's doing, as he captures the strangest images.

Albedo uses his solar isotoma when you want to use it for better angles. Very supportive, as you'd hear a snap from beneath as you position your own Kamera.

The whole of Mond muses at both of your antics; as you two would most likely do the finger frame thingy impulsively when seeing something worth the attention, the people around you would chuckle at how cute you two looked, focused on your own little world.

He always gifts you extra films or anything related to photography when he can. Since he barely has time to go out sometimes, he has many backup gifts in bulk to whip out if ever he wants to pamper you with his material affection. Albedo is hyperaware of your hyperfixation and will always bring films the moment you run out, like foresight.

You can barely understand Albedo, despite the closeness you two had, he was still an enigma in most occasions. This was one of them. He had been binging on photography lately and everytime you look through the photos he captured, it didn't really make sense. The most random pictures that you wouldn't even dare use a film on strewn here and there, sometimes the photo is even cut off, and you'd think it was a mistake until he started organizing them in a system only he knows.

When you finally gathered up the courage to ask what all of it was about for, you were given a smile as cryptic as his album.

But as he pulls your hand with an excitement you've only seen when his chemical solution produces the expected buff, you somehow deduced that today would be the day you'd find out what the heck he was up to.

"It took longer than I expected it to be," he says as he starts unlocking a room in the Knights of Favonius HQ that you've never been in before, "but the end result was worth it."

Your confusion only grows as you were met with a face full of hanging pictures, most of it you recognize. Leaning over some and looking up on the higher ones, the amount of string and the confusing way they were set up, amazes you still with the amount of effort he had been using on such a big project.

Your untrained eyes loosely guess around 1000 films used for this.

The glass double doors that makes it way to the balcony opens loudly behind you. "Come here," you turn to see Albedo's silhouette open his arms against the setting sun behind him. "You're supposed to look at it from this distance." His arms engulfs you gently when you moved over, sending a gentle squeeze before he turns you back around to see the hanging pictures.

You gasp.

The depth and the splash of colors from this distance, aided with the sun, turned the hanging collage into an expertly placed collage as it shows you the bigger picture: a mold of your face of the first sketch Albedo made when you first met each other. The angles and colors measured to the dot to capture and replicate your beauty.

You feel his lips kiss the back of your head as you stared in awe.

Impromptu Albedo fluff yey

@albaedhoe @struggljng @heisenwurst @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #Albedo x Reader #genshin impact Albedo #exile.goblet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #gender neutral #fluffyyyyy #genshin impact headcanons

444 notes · View notes

leiawritesstories · 3 years

Text

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair.

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job.

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth.

As if she knew anything her staff actually did.

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together.

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation.

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself.

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order.

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English.

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple.

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved.

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure.

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved.

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve.

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind.

“You broke both of your hearts”

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart.

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice.

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds.

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city.

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner.

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed.

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction.

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth.

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love. We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages.

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan.

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof.

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech.

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan.

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow.

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything.

She was worthy of him.

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified.

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

Present day.

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked.

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch.

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.”

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

60 notes · View notes

kylejsugarman · 3 years

Text

wow i wasn't expecting so much kind feedback from that post :’) below the cut is the fic, “love will not break your heart”. PLEASE remember this was written five years ago and i wasn't expecting to fall back into moral orel but here tf we are ❤️

i. idolatry

"Who does that cloud look like?"

"Umm…" The brunette tilted her head pensively, tracing the arbitrary peaks and valleys of the cloud in question with a critical eye. Her expression of solemn concentration buckled under a luminescent smile as she finally identified the cloud's likeness. "It's Joshua! See the beard?"

"Oh, wow, you're right!" He pointed to an adjacent puff of condensation on the verge of dissipating under the snowy glare of winter sun. "And there's the city of Jericho!"

She giggled in agreement and rolled onto her side; verdant streaks of earth branded her baptism-white cheek. A strand of sandy hair had escaped her new red headband (he had nervously presented it to her and promptly melted at the sight of her grateful beam) and now unfurled down the length of her pearly face. He brushed it back into place, then blushed.

"Uh, sorry."

"It's okay, Orel," she said with an adoring laugh. His timid eyes--coppery pools into which one's best qualities were inevitably reflected--found her own, then flicked downwards in humility. Though she appreciated his respect for her, the reverence with which he treated her was slightly disquieting. There was something to worship in both of them, something she felt she failed to adequately express. "Orel?"

The eyes, lit dreamily by a refulgent sky. "Yes, Christina?"

She touched a hesitant hand to his face and waited for the momentary tension of his form to abate as he recognized the tenderness of the gesture. There was the inexorable flutter of panic in her gut, as if her father were crouched behind one of Inspiration Peak's many bushes waiting to snatch her and drag her back into the study, but she quashed it readily. Her love for Orel was stronger than her fear of her father and with its pristine power she could have demolished that study with a single fiery glance.

But Christina had always favored creation over destruction, so she leaned over and pressed a soft, pink kiss to Orel's mouth. She tried to whisper "Happy Valentine's Day" to establish her motive, but was immediately silenced as he braced himself up on an elbow and shyly reciprocated the kiss. He tasted like candy heart chalk and mint.

"I love you," he said after he had bashfully withdrawn his head.

The world was shiny and new, the clouds morphing cheerfully behind him into benevolent figures who would shelter the tender bloom of their love. And Christina Posabule reached up to frame Orel's face in her gentle hands and said "I love you too" for the first time.

ii. respect

"Ugh. I never did understand the appeal of French toast."

Dottie scrutinized the buffet offerings, her angelically-proportioned visage contorted into a rictus of disgust. Her plate was sparsely garnished with a serving of greens and a mimosa, which she had already taken a drag from. As she eyed the decadent bricks of syrup-drenched toast, Florence calmly forked an omelet onto her own plate and waited for Dottie to make a decision. The Valentine's Day brunch was rarely an extravagant affair, but there were certainly enough dishes to satisfy even Dottie's impossibly high culinary standards.

"I think French toast is wonderful," Florence said. She expected this remark to be met with a haughty sniff or snide comment, but Dottie abstained. She even summoned a mordant grin.

"Well. I suppose the French are the superior culture for a reason." The blonde delicately pronged a lone slice of French toast onto her plate, taking care to select the most lightly-sugared piece on display. "Alright, I'm done. Quick, before I change my mind."

Florence led Dottie back to their booth, which had been denoted by the placement of their respective pocketbooks on the table (Florence's sturdy handbag looking markedly haggard next to Dottie's designer clutch). The two women supped here together after church, a tradition that had been inaugurated shortly after the Reverend's Easter sermon. Dottie had apologized to Florence in a rare fit of humility and promised to stop berating her roommate for her figure; Florence, ever the victim, dutifully accepted her apology. However, Dottie had surprised her by making a noticeable effort to curb her cruel commentary and even started contributing to the community by taking on sewing projects. Her lovely dresses soon filled the closets of every woman in Moralton--including Florence's. The rather flattering candy-pink wrap dress that Florence was wearing now was Dottie's handiwork, a fact the blonde managed to work into every conservation.

"Darling, that dress is absolutely divine on you," Dottie said, lighting a cigarette.

"Yes, thank you." Florence smoothed down the collar and smiled at the sight of her freckled hands. A modest diamonded band adorned her ring finger.

Dottie noticed her admiring of the piece of jewelry; she pursed her polished lips expectantly. "I really think you should've sprung for something bigger."

"Oh, I think this is just lovely the way it is," Florence insisted. She elevated her hand in order to demonstrate the diamond's iridescence. A slant of noon light caught the mineral and fissured apart into chromatic prisms; diamonded specks twinkled across the laminated tabletop. It was a rather appropriate expression of Florence's own appearance, something the ring's buyer had obviously taken into consideration. "Aren't you happy with your ring?"

"Me? Why I'd rather die than have this ring taken off my finger." Dottie inspected the arrangement of jewels gracing her own finger, which were independently lustrous and set into an ingot of platinum. The colors matched the sheen of her blonde curls perfectly.

An inexorable smile pressed dimples into either of Florence's cheeks. "You really like it?"

Dottie flicked her cigarette ash into the table's decorative vase with an insouciant tap of her manicured finger. Her expression was characteristically enigmatic ("you can't let them think you're interested," she had lectured Florence as she practiced looking jaded in the mirror), but the favor with which she regarded the ring was unmistakable. Finally, she said "I love it" in an emphatically decisive voice tempered with genuine affection. An affection that Florence reciprocated with an echoing of the sentiment before cutting into her omelet and watching Dottie slice willingly into a piece of French toast.

iii. requited

"Um, anything else, Steph?"

The tattooed, pierced, and freshly dyed vision of beauty glanced up from her book, eyes lightly glazed from an hour of reading. She had salvaged a rather intriguing volume of essays about evolution from a seedy bookshop in Sinville and was determined to complete the tome before it could be snatched and tossed on the literary pyre. Forghetty's wasn't exactly the ideal location for intellectual pursuits, but Stephanie had abandoned the shop at the mere notion of Karl and Kim Latchkey requesting some disgustingly romantic apparel for the holiday and decided that she deserved some discounted Valentine's vodka for soldiering through the week unscathed.

"Another vodka would be great."

Dolly smiled warmly. "Coming right up."

As the blonde scooped ice into a tumbler, Stephanie became suddenly and acutely aware of the candy-pink heart branding the small of Dolly's neck. Despite having stitched ink into countless arms and sides, she was shocked by the heart's symmetry. It was absolutely flawless.

"One vodka," Dolly said, sliding the glass across the condensation-varnished bar. Her fingers were impossibly long, slender--piano fingers. Stephanie could not fathom why these trivial details fascinated her so, but she was suddenly pressed to learn more about the daisy-pretty bartender who had dutifully refreshed her tumbler for the past hour. Starting with that immaculate tattoo.

"Thanks. Uh, Dolly? Where'd you get that ink on your neck?"

"Ink on my--?" She palpated her neck in befuddlement before remembering the previous night and giggling wanly. "Oh, it-it's just pen. My friends thought it would be funny if I actually got a tattoo, so they had the guy draw it on, but I… I chickened out, I guess."

"Oh."

"It's not that I don't want a tattoo," Dolly quickly amended, tipping Stephanie's colorful arms an appreciative nod. "I'm just kinda chicken about needles."

Stephanie quirked an amused eyebrow. "So you would get a tattoo?"

"Well." She sheepishly wrung a damp cloth out over the bar top and made a concentrated effort to appear occupied by the menial task. "Maybe."

"That heart's pretty cute. I think it would look nice back there."

Roses bloomed in Dolly's porcelain cheeks. Though her friends had never abstained from making passively nasty comments about Stephanie's unusual appearance and proud deviance from Moralton's constrictive status quo, Dolly had always fostered a secret respect for her. There was something alluring about Stephanie, something that begged back story: Dolly longed to read the text that accompanied the illustrations trellising her arms like ivy. "You think so?"

"Definitely. And if you're scared of needles, I've got an assistant who could probably distract you," Stephanie added with a playful smirk. Orel had curbed several customers' needle anxiety with breathless sermons about the incredibleness of Jesus and anecdotes about his occasionally distressing adventures ("and then I died! Three times! It was neat!")

"Would you really give me a tattoo?" Dolly asked, equally hopeful and horrified.

"If you're up for it."

Dolly twisted the cloth in her hands for a moment. The yearning to know Stephanie--to know every corner, every fold--was blossoming urgently in her chest. She wanted more than a tattoo. She wanted to familiarize herself with the inky mysticism enshrouding Stephanie Putty and if that meant romance, if that meant public scorn and disappointment and disgusted looks, so be it. She wanted Stephanie. She wanted all of her.

"Doll?"

"Y-Yes," Dolly sputtered, visibly flustered. Then she grinned cautiously and set down her hands on the bar top, allowing Stephanie to admire their delicate whorls and pearly nails at a closer proximity. "I'd love that."

iv. infatuation

"I know you think I'm stupid, Marionetta."

They had cloistered themselves away in a small clearing that provided some margin of protection from their schoolmates' scorn. A mild sky opened above them, achingly empty, painfully wide. As he stared into its doleful depths--oppressing himself not to betray the shame making dewy his eyes--he recalled the passages he had studied about the atmosphere. His old teachers had refused to teach the subject, citing the lack of a Heaven in the textbook's diagram of the Earth's atmosphere. He imagined it was sandwiched between the mesosphere and thermosphere, an impossible realm illuminated by auroras and burning space debris. But in the absence of substantial evidence that such a place existed, he was content to call the clearing Heaven, as long as Marionetta was there.

The girl smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her dotted skirt. Even

#syd squeaks #moral orel #me putting dolly and stephanie and florence and dottie together my MIND!!!#thank y'all for all the sweet messages though

38 notes · View notes

nights-legacy · 3 years

Text

Homesick Remedies-Denki

Main Masterlist MHA Masterlist

+As an American student in a Japanese high school, there is bound to be culture shock and homesickness. After being in Japan for a long while, you start to feel really home sick but keep it to yourself. You don’t notice that Denki has picked up on it and he decides to do something about it.

It was just before dinner time in the Heights Alliance. Iida, Hagakure, and Sato were in the kitchen making dinner. Some of us were waiting in the common room while other were still in their rooms or just getting back from training. I was messing around with my quirk while sitting on the floor near the windows.

“Crystallo.” I whispered in Latin. A long, thin yellow crystal formed from my palm. I held onto it before flipping it in the air. I stopped it midair. My quirk was crystal creation and manipulation. I can create crystals from most anywhere and into most anything than I have a telepathic connection with the crystals. Much like Hawks and his feathers.

“I always love to watch your quirk in action.” I heard Denki’s voice behind me. I looked off to my right and saw him lying on his stomach on the couch and draped over the arm of the furniture.

“You love a lot of things Denki.” I said before bringing the crystal back to my palm. Held it in my palm and used my other hand to manipulate the crystal. The crystal crackled and shattered before healing. I traced the edge of the crystal and a black line appeared with my path. “Here.”

“Wha..ah!” I tossed the crystal at him. He popped up and jumped with his knees to catch it before falling onto his back with an umph on the couch. He looked at the crystal in his hands. “Oh cool! You made a crystal to match my bolt.”

“Yep. Do you like it?” I got up and sat next to, sitting indian style.

“Yeah I do. I love it!” He paused as I gave him a look. He smiled before looking away. I swore I could see a blush for a minuet moment. “I going to take this up to my room. Be right back.” I nodded as he ran off.

“Dinner’s ready!” Hagakure called out. The few that were in the room went and got there food. I waited for Denki. He came out of the elevator.

“Food’s done.” I said.

“Oh, yay!” He said, rubbing his hands together. I chuckled and we went to get our food. I only got a small portion and picked at more than I actually ate. Denki looked at me a few times in wonder but I just shrugged.

“I would kill for good cheeseburger right now.” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” Denki said with a mouth full. I grimaced.

“Denks. Close your mouth!” I chided. He covered his mouth while chuckling.

“Sorry.” He said before finishing what was in his mouth. “Now what did you say, I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Oh it was nothing.” Suddenly feeling embarrassed. I guess my culture shock wasn’t completely over even though I have been here for a long time. Well it might be more of homesickness. I looked and he was staring at me intently. I darted my eyes back and forth before finally eating my food.

“Oookaaay.” He drew out the word. I left the table to wash my dishes and came back to the table. “So, any plans to go back to the US for a visit anytime soon?”

“Nope. My mom is working on a big project and my dad is in, ummm…I think he’s in Greece for the movie he’s working on right now. It’s hard to keep track now that I’m not with them most of the time.” I said shrugging. My family was well known on the West Coast for entertainment and media based jobs. My mother is a screenwriter for Hollywood while my father is an A-list actor. There were a few heroes or hero supports in the family but I have been the first to have a big chance to be a hero.

“Oh too bad.” He said. “But it has to be exciting to be the child of such celebrities. I mean you know of a different famous life other than Heroism fame. How does it compare?”

“Two completely different situations.” I said laughing. He laughed with me. “You have NO idea.” Denki seemed to forget all about my unheard comment.

Eventually, later than I think Iida liked, we all finally went to bed. I laid down and watched the swirl of the lights. I had a few light mounted crystals that I made that were on all time. Some were colored clear crystals that refracted soft rainbow lights while others were more mineral rock crystals. I turned over and laid on my stomach.

“Wonder what’s going on at home?” I thought out loud while I caught sight one of the crystals on my head board. It was one of the first crystals I ever made. My mom and dad there cheering me on as I did it. I smiled at the memory before setting my head down and falling asleep.

*Time Skip brought to you by Iida’s enthusiasm*

I groan, rolling my shoulder as I walked back to the dorms. Uraraka walked next to me, profusely apologizing. We had been training together alongside Tsuyu and Todoroki. Uraraka had used her quirk to make you float but had end up dropping you from a good height.

“It is okay, Uraraka. I’m okay. I am only a little bruised, nothing major okay?” I set my hand on her shoulder. “A good hot shower and I will be right as rain. I promise.”

“I just feel so bad.” She set her hands on her face. I smiled and hugged her.

“I am okay and we always know there is a chance of our quirks going haywire.” I pulled back. “Come on. Let’s get back to the dorms so we can get cleaned up and relax.”

“Okay.” She smiled and we walked the rest of the way. I was walking towards the showers when I heard someone calling my name. I turned to see Denki running up. He was really excited about something.

“Hey Denki. What’s up?” I said turning towards him.

“I got something planned! After your shower and you get finished. Meet me in the common room. I have somewhere I want to take you.”

“I don’t know Denks. I am really sore from training and kinda want to just relax. How about another…”

“Please!!! Pretty please! I promise this will be worth-while.” He begged. I just gave him an unconvinced stare. He slumped before folding his hands together and giving me puppy eyes. I groaned, knowing I couldn’t say no.

“Fine! Give me 20 minutes. Is that okay?”

“Perfect! I am so excited.” He cheered and fist bumped in triumphant.

“Don’t short circuit from excitement now.” I said walking away.

“Hey! See if I ever help you charge anything again!” He called after me. I laughed and threw my hand up in acknowledgement. I heard him make a gruff noise. I finally got done and got dressed before I ran down to meet Denki. I was giddy inside. I had always like Denki and I was extremely happy when he asked me to go somewhere. It may not have been a date but I was going to spend time with him.

“There you are!” Denki yelled as I came out of the elevator. I smiled at him. “I think you about 5 minutes late.”

“Okay Iida. I deeply apologize.” I said. He laughed before looking at me strange.

“Your hair is still wet.” He said. I reached up and felt my damp hair.

“Oh, yeah. I forget that Japanese do things different. At home, it doesn’t really hit us to dry our hair as much. Just let it do it naturally.” I scratched the back of my head. He smiled.

“Well I just don’t want you to get a cold. But it should be alright.” He said. I nodded before we walked out of the Heights Alliance.

“Wait, you got permission for us to go out right?” I asked.

“Yes, yes. I really don’t want to get in trouble with Aizawa sensei right now.” He said hurriedly. I sighed in relief. We walked off campus and Denki guided us. We walked for a bit before we got on a train.

“Where are we going?” I asked when we had been on the train for a few minutes. He looked at me with excitement but didn’t say anything. I humphed causing him to chuckle. Someone ran into him and he stumbled forward into me. “Ahh!”

“Shit.” We stumbled and he wrapped his arm around me while I gripped his shirt tight. He caught both of us before we fell. He quickly jerked back to straighten us. I fell into his chest, hand slipping up and over his shoulder. We were face to face when we regained our balance. My one arm was draped around his neck and the other was gripping his shirt while his were gripping tight to my hips.

“Um, uh.” I stuttered. He gulped before chuckling nervously and pulled away.

“Are you alright?” He asked. I nodded and looked away blushing. “Good, um. Oh this is our stop.” I followed him out the doors and he led us a little ways before he stopped. “Okay close your eyes. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Denki.” I said in warning.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise. Would I do that to one of my best friends. Now come on. Close ‘em.” I relented and closed my eyes. He grabbed my hand and began to lead me. I bit my lip, trying not to blush at the feeling of his hand in mine.

“Where are we going, Denki?” I asked again.

“Just a little further and you will find out.” He said giddy. It was only about a minute later that he stopped. “Okay, open them.” I did as I was told and saw a restaurant. But it wasn’t a normal restaurant. It was an American restaurant. I could smell the fryers from outside. I looked at Denki.

“What?” I asked with a smile.

“I heard you last night. ‘I would kill for a good cheeseburger right now’. So I spent the morning trying to find a good place in the city that was authentic American food. And this was the best place. I think it’s even owned by an American.” He said with a thinking face before facing me. I just stared at him. He looked worried. “Do you like it?”

“Denki.” I looked at the restaurant than back at him. “I love it. Thank you.” I said before I wrapped my arms around his neck hugging him. He froze for a second before hugging me back. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He said. I pulled back to look at him. “Let’s go inside.”

“Okay.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. I reveled in the smell. Cheeseburgers, steak, and so many other familiar foods. We sat down on a booth. I saw Denki looking around nervously. “What’s wrong?”

“I honestly know nothing about American food. I don’t know what I will like or what.”

“I can help you with that. Don’t worry, Denks.” He relaxed. We ordered and while were waiting he brought up a certain topic.

“It couldn’t have been easy to move from the US to Japan just like that. Major culture shock.” I nodded, stirring my straw through my glass of pop.

“It was. I adjust really well though, after a few months. It helped that I had you guys to help me. Even Bakugo helped in his own way. Just somethings are still hard or…foreign.”

“Like the food.” He concluded. I nodded and shrugged. “You’re homesick too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “It’s hard not being able to go home like everyone else on breaks. I just get to go to the condo and spend it with the house keeper. My parents have visited but I still miss them.” I leant back as the waitress set down our food. I saw Denki look at his burger nervously. “You’ve really never hand any American food?”

“Nope.” He chuckled.

“Well this will be a learning experience than.” I said picking up my burger and taking a bite. I moaned at the taste. I savored the first bite before swallowing. Denki followed me and took a bite. His eyes widened. “Good?”

“Yes.” He said after swallowing. I laughed as he took another bite quickly. I covered my mouth as he ate more and tried the French fries as well. We ate and made conversation. We left just as the sun was starting to set. “Come on we need to get back to UA.’

“Alright.” I said we walked back to the train station. On the way back, he asked about other American things that he wanted to try and what I would suggest. As we walked away from the station, I stopped him by grabbing his hand. “Thank you Denki. Tonight was really fun. It meant a lot.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” He said before he went to walk on. I gripped his hand tighter. He looked at me in question. I smiled before reaching up and setting my hand on his cheek before pecking his cheek.

“I really did.” I said. I went to back away but he grabby my wrist for the hand that was on his cheek. I stopped and stared into his eyes. Time froze for a second before we both moved forward and our lips connected. I shut my eyes and slipped my hand behind his neck. The kiss was short but not any less sweet.

“Woah.” He mumbled when we pulled away. I giggled but nodded in agreement. I blushed and looked away. I felt him grab my chin and turn me back. He smiled before pulling me into another sweet kiss. “Come on, we need to get back before it gets too late.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” We walked with our hands intertwined. It wasn’t until we were just a few minutes from the dorms that he spoke up.

“So does this qualify as our first date or…”

“Yes Denki. This can qualify as our first date.” I chuckled.

“Yes!” He fist bumped the air and danced a little in place. I laughed, shaking my head. I moved in front of him before walking backwards, pulling him along. He smiled following me.

“’Bout time you two got back. Kiri was on the verge of going out to look for you two.” We looked up as we made our way up the stairs. Bakugo was leaning against the door jam of the dorms. He had his arm crossed with a smirk on his face. “They’re back, Shitty hair.”

“Thank god.” Kiri popped into view. “I was getting worried. I know that restaurant was across the city a ways but damn. You two were gone a couple of hours.

“What can we say? We had a good time. Plus if anything happened you guys knew where were going as well as Aizawa knew. We would have been fine.” We walked up and I saw Kiri’s and Bakugo’s eyes darted to our connected hands.

“Well spark plug did it. Congrats, Pikachu.” Bakugo said before walking away.

“Dude, so manly. Finally!” Kiri high fived Denki. I raised an eyebrow at the boys. They clammed and I chuckled.

“How long have you been planning this exactly, Denks?” I asked.

“Well, I have been wanting to ask you out for a while but never had the guts.” He admitted as he pulled me inside and Kiri slinked away. “This just gave me an excuse too. Even if I really didn’t technically ask you.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet.” I said before pulling him down to peck the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, babe.”

“Goodnight, angel.” I walked away smiling. “Oh and angel?” I looked at him. “If you ever feel homesick, don’t hesitate to come to me. I’ll try to help the best I can.”

104 notes · View notes

lilydalexf · 3 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made. I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years. We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends. It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media. I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs! When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’ We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her. I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones. Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it? You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable. Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was. What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her. Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible). Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative. I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).

Really, RivkaT? A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy. I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either. It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued. I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic. Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.” And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #mustangsally

135 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

Text

HASO “The Best Outcome.”

Just wrapping up a few loose ends from the past few months stories. I hope you all like it. And feel free to give me some ideas on what you want to see, or who you want to see more of. I will try to do my best :)

Breaking News tonight from the Apollo 11 memorial landing site as Admiral Adam Vr and Captains Warren Richarards and Mary Chavez were rescued from the Pacific Ocean following a journey that was supposed to be historical, turned harrowing. Amy Grey comes to us this morning with the story.

Thank you Julie, it was only a week ago here on the historic Cape Canaveral launch site, that the reconstructed Saturn V rocket was launched by the UNSC International Space and Aeronautics Division on the two thousand and fifty first anniversary of the original Apollo 11 mission. On board The reconstructed rocket were astronauts Fleet Admiral Adam Vir head of the UNSC deep space exploration division, Captain Warren Richards five year veteran and historical aeronautics expert, and Mary Chavez six year shuttle pilot veteran, and communications specialist.

The reconstructed Saturn V rocket took off thirty minutes behind schedule at 10:03 GMTJuly 16 after delays attributed to engineering standbys. However, reports by UNSC investigation early this morning indicate that the delays were called for by engineering head Jade Clein who noticed something strange during her final checks of the Saturn V recreated rocket. In an interview early today, flight director, Aaliyah Seif of the Apollo re-creation mission informed outlets that there was evidence of attempted tampering on the hull of the Saturn V rocket. The tampering case in the shape of these small silver tape strips covering loosened bolts along one of the Saturn V side panels. Engineers stated that the tape was not heat resistant and would have burned off in time to rattle the bolts loose and, likely, cause a devastating spin that would destroy the rocket.

While this attempted tampering was thwarted, the mission would only become more dire. A sudden and shocking report by Mericanda News 5 showed an uncut image of an unknown alien hybrid woman claiming that the UN President had ordered th attempted assassination of Admiral Vir, in conjuncton with an audio recording by Admiral Colter Massie, Head of the Galactic intelligence division an known isolationist, that admitted to the attempted assasination of Admiral Vir, and the acquisition of twenty thunderhawks which were used to harry the Satern V on it’s way to the moon. Admiral Kelly, long time friend of Admiral Vir, corroborated the story, saying she caught General Massie just after he ordered the deployment of the twenty thunderhawks. During their conversion he attempted to kill her before being detained by two members of Admiral Vir’s crew, and was later seen being escorted into custody by Military Police.

Indeed footage has been captured from the hull of the Saturn V showing approximately twenty thunderhawks attempting to destroy the rocket while Rundi remote piloted drones and an unknown group of what appear to be racing jets, fought back to delay the attack while word was sent to the UNSC to deploy F-90 darkfire pilots to assist. This all after communications between Houston and the rocket were sabotaged shortly after leaving orbit. The F-90 darkfire pilots were able to arrive on time to rescue the rocket, though a hole was reportedly torn in the hull sucking Admiral Vir out into space, though he was later recovered and returned to his ship without any injuries. Patch teams were then able to repair the torn hull and the astronauts completed their mission landing to crowds on the moon and returning to earth on time on time landing in the Pacific ocean only nine miles away from the waiting ship.

All three astronauts were recovered and are reported to be in good health.

The investigation into the UN president’s involvement is still ongoing at this time, however preliminary reports from the Global Bureau of Investigation suggest evidence is both staggering and damning to the current UN president, who earlier today, attempted to cut all ties to the sabotage efforts saying she was framed. Political experts report that, even assuming her innocence, she will likely not last to the end of her term.

International News Network was able to interview Admiral Vir shortly after his landing while still on board the rescuing ship UNSS Victory.

Here is what the Admiral had to say.

“I find it…. Really very disheartening that someone we all trusted, and someone that we all should have looked up to could do something like this. It really is a heinous demonstration of what political corruption can lead people to do.”

“And how do you feel, personally about all of this.”

“Personally, I…. well to be honest I am hurt and appalled. Not to mention that I fear for the safety of my family and my friends. Every day I wonder if my involvement with them is going to get someone I love killed…. The thought haunts me, but I hope after all of this is over I… and all of us can breathe a little easier.”

“Were you scared?”

“I don’t think that even needs to be a question. Of course I was scared, getting sucked out of your spaceship isn’t ideal.”

“What do you hope will happen now?”

“I hope that justice can be upheld to those who deserve it.”

“What do you have to say to the UN president.”

…

“I have nothing to say. Wouldn’t want to waste the air.

****

What followed would be one of the largest scandals in recent political history. At some point an unknown number of classified government documents was leaked onto the internet, and after that it was all over for the Presidency. Thousands of enterprising humans, and aliens alike, viewed the documents to discover all the underhanded and dirty things which had been going on in the UN governmental body over the past few years. Forensic accounting experts (mostly Tesrtaki) uncovered plenty of fiscal tampering which shed light on plenty of isolationist related projects and bank accounts. There was even evidence that they had something to do with the original assassination attempt against Admiral Vir so many months ago. The drama had even managed to capture the attention of Rundi political experts and Vrul computer science geniuses, and together they unearthed a world of unfathomable, but not unexpected corruption. The process to remove the UN president from office was probably one of the fastest movements of human government ever seen by UN congressional leaders, who were likely trying their very best tro distance themselves from association with the president, who despite not being the only one involved, had become the political scapegoat for everyone else that had a supposed link with isolationism.

Even the VP fell under suspicion and was watched closely for the rest of his term.

Admiral Massie and the UN President were placed under arrest and set up for court dates in the nearing future, though everyone saw a long and arduous litigation process ahead. Even Ramirez’s family had filed for damages against the government after the news came to light confirming that their son had been shot as collateral in one of the UN presidents plans to assassinate Admiral Vir. They settled out of court to the tune of an unknown, but impressive sum of money.

No one really knew how much, but a couple months later Ramirez’s younger sister was seen training at one of the most prestigious olympic academies on earth.

Ramirez himself was suddenly able to afford housing on the moon in a condo just next door to his best friend, though no one else inquired further.

The Rundi chairwoman came forward with her own investigation admitting to being suspicious for a long time though she feared accusations without proper proof. Admiral Vir was seen having lunch with her not so many months after the events took place, suggesting that the trust between the two of them had not been completely dissolved. With much of the isolationist element gone from government, public policy began to lean heavily towards integration with the alliance. The occasional isolationist demonstration or protest was held, but none of them managed to gain traction.

Admiral Vir was finding himself more important than ever, though it was to his chagrin that his ship was grounded for the intervening months while the investigation continued.

No one was entirely sure what the future held.

***

Admiral Vir stepped into Admiral Kelly’s office. The last time he had actually visited her here had been over a few years ago before his promotion to captain of the Harbinger. It seemed so distant now, and he never expected to walk into her office with a star on his shoulder. She stood as he entered, and the two of them shook hands, ignoring all the stuffy formalities that usually come with the meeting of two military officers.

The wall behind her was decorated with a myriad of metals and awards she had received over her career, and he couldn't help but note the slight tinge of grey he could see forming in her hair. He knew that feeling, he was going prematurely white much to his chagrin. She stood and the two of them shook hands.

“Vir.”

“Kelly.”

She motioned him to sit and he sat sighing lightly as he had been on his feet all day consulting with political figures and other members of the UNSC.

“A strange couple months wouldn’t you say.”

“Tell me about it.”{

Kelly reached under her desk and withdrew an amber bottle which she placed between them, “I always forget; Do you drink?”

“On occasion.”

“Well consider this an occasion.” She said popping off the top and pouring two glasses for them. She handed his across the desk and he leaned back in his seat cupping the cool glass in both hands.

She swirled the amber liquid around in her glass, “So what are your plans after all this.”

He took a sip of water warmed by the burning liquid, “Hoping things will go back to normal and I can go back to traveling the galaxy.”

Kelly grunted, “A simple man with simple motivations.”

He laughed , “Sometimes I think a stupid man with simple motivations.”

She chuckled then grew serious, “A lot of people make the mistake of assuming simple people don’[t have the intelligence to match. Some people assume that trusting means gullible means dumb. Just because we are trusting and expect others to do the right thing is not necessarily a fault. I believe there is a kind of beauty in assuming the fundamental goodness of humanity.”

\Admiral Vir shook his head, “How can you after seeing what we have seen.”

“How can you not?” She shrugged, “We always knew that politicians were corrupt, but think about everything else we have seen.”

Admiral Vir nodded slowly, “The enthusiasm for the Apollo 11 recreation mission, the people who flew up to help us. All of those people who went digging through years of information just to uncover the truth.”

SHe raised her glass, “Precisely. Goodness in humanity is all around us, but we tend to overlook the good in favor of the bad.” She placed her hat on the desk and sighed, “It is up to good people to keep their goodness going even when it might seem easier to give into the bad. I I have and will always believe in the fundamental good of humanity. Some may call it naeve, or even stupid. Others have said I have a romanticized view of a species that is fundamentally broken.” She turned her head to look out the window a contemplative expression on her face before turning back to look at Adam.

“You understand me, I think.”

He nodded slowly.

“People need to be believed in. You tell someone for long enough that they are fundamentally bad at their core and they will begin to believe you. For thousands of years pessimists have gotten it into our heads that we are no better than animals, worse even since animals don’t fight in wars. But I believe that is wrong, I have seen people, I have met people, and I have interacted with people who prove to me that humanity cannot just be fundamentally bad or else these people wouldn’t exist.” She tapped her nails against the glass, “I think it is easier to corrupt purity than wash away a stain,”

He listened quietly as she continued.

“Humans are born good, Adam, and life stains us. We aren’t born stained while some of us are wiped clean. “ She shook her head, “Doesn't make sense to me.” She caught him with a look pinning him to the spot with her intense stare, “People like you convince me of this every day.”

“Me….”

She held up a hand. “Adam Vir, I am convinced that the best outcome this universe ever had, was when a happy go lucky science fiction freak was lucky enough to be the first man to meet aliens. Any other way things would have gone horribly wrong.” She leaned across her desk, “The universe needs men and women like you, and not only that but the universe needs people who are going to support men and women like you.” She sat back, “Which is why I have made a decision.”

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity not entirely sure where this could be going.

She smiled, “I have decided to run for President.”

He nearly spit his mouthful of expensive scotch onto the table but managed to choke it mostly down.

Eyes wide he set his glass down, “Are you serious.”

She smiled, “Seriously serious.”

“Well shit, you have my vote for sure.” He raised his glass to her, “I couldn’t think of a better outcome.”

208 notes · View notes

casualpastelgay · 3 years

Text

Title: Good Ending?

Pairing: Zen(Hyun Ryu) x Cherry (OC of @darkta)

Rating: General

Word Count: 1704

Type: Angst

Notes: I wrote this piece for @nostringsdetached! It was a collaboration piece with the owner of Cherry, @darkta! I don’t write angst very often, it was a very nice change for me. You can get the entire zine for no cost [here]!

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m home.” Cherry sighed as she opened the door to her apartment. A small twitter was the only response to Cherry’s announcement, but it nonetheless turned her dreary expression into a small smile.

Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her way over to her parrotlet’s cage. “Hi, Skittles.” She cooed to the little, sky-colored bird. Cherry inserted a finger between the bars of his cage and stroked his neck, which Skittles leaned into happily. “Work was tough today.” She murmured, idly twirling her fingers in Skittles’ cage as he begged for more attention. “You know what that’s like, right?” Cherry asked, earning a small sneeze in response from her companion.

Cherry giggled at her bird’s antics as she removed her fingers from the cage to open the artfully crafted door. She then let Skittles hop onto her finger then flitter up to settle in one of her large hoop earrings. “The manager was hard on me today.” Cherry spoke softly as she squatted down to remove her heels, careful not to stir Skittles from his resting spot.

She placed her shoes on the rack by the door to her apartment as she continued to relay her day to Skittles. “All of my designs were declined today, and on such short notice.” Cherry placed a kettle on the stove and picked an English breakfast blend teabag out of a rather large selection. She was sure the powerful black tea would cure her conscience of any doubts in her own abilities.

“The building process of the costumes was supposed to start last week; I can’t believe they had the nerve to ask for a redesign!” Cherry fiddled with the purple ribbons in her light auburn hair. “This is going to be so stressful for the whole team.”

The kettle sang as the water boiled, Cherry quickly picked up the kettle and poured it into an ornate teacup. It was one she had painted herself, she was very proud of it.

“You think we can do it, Skittles?” Cherry asked her parrotlet as she stirred her tea with a little silver spoon. Skittles pecked softly at her earlobe in response, like he was scolding her for doubting her skills. “Thank you for your honesty.” Cherry chided the bird lightly, raising the teacup to her lips and taking a dainty sip.

Once Cherry had finished her tea and returned Skittles to his cage, she padded towards her workspace. Fabric swatches and sketches adorned the walls of the small area, some spilling onto the floor. She tried to keep it tidy, but when she stared at her muse she sometimes couldn’t help but let her ideas overflow.

In the center of the room, he stood proudly, her muse. Or at least, what Cherry could create of him. Donned in an elegant white and gold suit was her prince, Zen. In reality, it was a mere mannequin. But with how bold and beautiful her suit design stood, it breathed life into the figure. It started as a small project, just sketching and dreaming, but in Cherry’s heart there was so much love for this man that a magic seemed to take form.

“Zen…” Cherry sighed, running her fingers along the golden trim of the suit’s sleeves, imagining his hands and the warmth they would hold. Her eyes traced up and down the mannequin, fingers quickly following as she fixed any tiny imperfections she noticed. With how long she had been working on the suit, there were little things to change or fix, but it had to be perfect. He was perfect.

A buzzing sound startled Cherry. She fished through her pocket for her phone, smiling to herself. Cherry had installed the pockets on this dress herself after agonizing over it for what seemed like ages. On her phone screen was a single notification, one from the app Mystic Messenger. It was Zen.

Her love, yes, was sadly a fictional creation. However, Zen had helped her through so much in her life that she barely minded. It would be lovely to see him, to touch him, to be held by him. But some things couldn’t be helped.

Cherry tapped on the notification to open the app, seeing that she’d unlocked a new chatroom. As she read, tears budded in her eyes.

“I wish I could be there to help you, but I still can’t cross over dimensions…”

“Oh Zen, if only you could. If only you could be here, standing in front of me.”

“I want to get to know you better… but it’s sad that all your answers are already determined.”

“If I could, there’s so much I would tell you. There’s so much I would do with you. There’s just so much…”

“I’ll always be here so that you can come see me whenever you want… use me.”

“Don’t hesitate to come find me…”

Cherry choked back a sob, a stray tear curling down her chin as she continued to read.

“I realized that our thoughts and feelings…”

The stray tear glistened like a glass heart, falling so delicately to crash into the screen of Cherry’s phone.

Heat suddenly coursed through her hand, causing Cherry to gasp and drop the phone to the floor. She stared down at Zen, his hand pressed up against the screen as he smiled at her through the cracks in the screen. Lights blinded Cherry, almost causing her to stumble backwards into a workbench, but she caught herself just in time. Time seemed like it stopped but was racing forward at the same time, it was nothing she had ever felt before. What was this sensation?

“Transcend dimensions.”

Cherry gaped as she heard a familiar voice, though this time… It wasn’t coming from her phone.

Her eyes slowly raised from her phone, now shattered on the floor, to the mannequin that stood before her. Though now, it wasn’t merely a mannequin.

“Zen?!” Cherry let out a strangled noise, half way between a gasp and a cry.

“Jagiya~” Zen breathed, a smile stretching across the face that hadn’t existed there moments before. He took a step towards her like he had never been trapped in a lifeless prison. Like he was real.

“Zen…?” Cherry said again, incredulous. Had she gone mad?

“Cherry,” Zen wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him.

The tears that had been stunned into stopping spilled over with new fervency as Cherry was held by her love, something all logic told her was something that would never happen. Could never happen.

Zen pressed a loving kiss to her forehead, stroking Cherry’s hair as she sobbed. “Shh, Jagi, I’m here.” Zen cooed, allowing his love to press her face into the princely suit she had made for him.

His heart beat, she could feel the heat of life in him. It all made no sense, could she allow herself to be convinced this was real? But it all did feel… So real. “How did you get here? How…” Cherry choked out, deep blue eyes meeting shimmering red.

“I’ve always been here.” Zen spoke softly, peppering soft kisses down Cherry’s cheek to clean her of tears. “I’ll always be here.”

Cherry hiccupped as her mind continued to attempt to process what had happened. Even if this wasn’t real, she could still allow herself to enjoy it. Right?

Zen stopped short of pressing his lips to her. No, no, he was taking things much too quickly. They hadn’t even been on a proper date yet. “Cherry?” He asked, releasing her and taking a step back.

“Yes?” Cherry asked, a timid blush creeping across her features as the handsome man slipped down to one knee.

“Would you care to join me on a date?” Zen held a hand out to Cherry, hoping with all the light in his heart that she would take it and come with him.

Cherry balked, fingers trembling as magnets seemed to draw her hand to his without her mind needing to process his words. “Of… Of course, Zen.”

Zen smiled when Cherry took his hand, leaning forward to press a kiss to her fingers. “Jagiya, thank you.” He rose to his feet, his own fingers intertwining with hers. Should he abandon this pretense? Just sweep her off her feet like he had yearned to for so long? Or was that too much for right now?

The blush on Cherry’s face deepened as her prince stared down at her, he seemed to be considering something. “Where do you want-“ Her question was cut off by a surprised yelp as Zen lifted her off her feet into a princess hold.

Cherry averted her wide eyes when Zen’s face was once again, so suddenly close to hers. “Sorry, Cherry, I have waited so long for this day.” Zen chuckled, pink caressing his own features. “All men are wolves, you know.”

“I trust you.” Cherry murmured, meeting Zen’s eyes for a moment before looking away again.

Zen blinked, taken aback for a moment by the honesty in his love’s words. “Then what are we waiting for?” He spun to face the front door of the apartment, still easily holding Cherry’s small figure in his arms.

Cherry stared wistfully into the smiling man’s handsome face as he strode towards the doorway, a faint skip in his step. All true meaning slipped away, all that mattered was him and her. He was overdressed to be outside, she wore no shoes; but still the door opened to a new life, a new path.

A familiar warmth spun through Cherry, like the heat of her phone before she dropped it. It seemed to resonate from Zen. A sparkling light blinded her for a second time, though she stared through it to meet Zen’s gaze. A weightless feeling surrounded her, like Zen had let her go but she still floated in the light. She could still feel him against her.

The couple seemed to evaporate there in the doorway, the light encasing Zen brighter than ten suns but as gentle as a lamb. Were they here? Were they there? Were they anywhere? Neither could tell, but since they were together, no reality mattered anymore. To Cherry and Zen, this was perfection.

Good Ending?

~*~*~*~*~

Want more? Visit my [masterpost]!

If you enjoyed, please also consider donating to my [ko-fi]!

#mystic messenger #mysme #cheritz #fanfic #fanfiction #zen #hyun ryu #mm zen #mysme zen #mystic messenger zen #angst #my writing #zen x cherry #hyun ryu x cherry #zen x oc #hyun ryu x oc

22 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

I was curious what you thought of Icarus (from Greek mythology) as a yandere? If he and his darling are trapped the way he and his dad were in the myth, I could see him being the type to sabotage any escape attempt his darling may be planning. They may be trapped, but at least they're trapped *together*

I’ve always loved a good metaphor for hubris, even if the myth is more about his father’s downfall than his own. Still, I can’t hold that against him, not when he’ll be too busy projecting all that trauma onto his shiny new Darling.

Title: Icarus and The Sun.

TW: Imprisonment, Abandonment, Mentions of Fire/Burn Scars, Sabotage, Idolization, and Possessive Mindsets.

When Icarus was ten, he fell in love with the sun.

It was an odd thing for such a young boy to be fascinated by. He’d grown up in castles and palaces, playing with enchanted swords and the children of gods and contraptions so intricate, he’d often wondered if his father was as human as he claimed to be. Not much had changed when he was sent away for someone else’s crimes, when his father had countless hours to craft lutes that played themselves and friends of stone and marble. He hadn’t meant to get bored, he hadn’t meant to lose interest, but he was afraid Daedalus’ talents were lost, when it came to his son. He’d never been a terribly thankful child.

He missed the world outside their labyrinth, the world beyond their tower. He’d had just enough time to get a taste for freedom, and as the years ticked by, he couldn’t help but long for it. Above it all, he missed the sun. There was a window in the highest point of their tower, a spot where the stones lied in such a way, there was just enough room for a young boy to sit, perched in a crack in the wall, and stare at the sky from sunrise to sunset, watching Apollo’s chariot until his eyes burnt and he could imagine how it’d feel to be in its light. If he tried hard enough, he could forget where he was, where he’d been trapped. Forget the way the chill had permeated his skin, forget the callouses on his fingertips from helping with his father’s experiments, forget that’d he’d probably die - captive and alone - for a genius that hadn’t even been passed down.

He dreamt of it, sometimes. Sprouting a pair of wings and flying away from Crete, flying higher and higher and higher until the oxygen left his lungs and all he could feel was warmth. It troubled him, but confiding in Daedalus was like confiding in one of his creations. He had a way of hearing but never listening, taking in and spitting out just as quickly. Hearing the useful information, hearing what he wanted to, and providing a solution, consequences be damned. But, the all blame didn’t lie on his father.

When the method of their escape was revealed, he should’ve known better than to test the Fates. He was older, by then, a teenager. A young man who should’ve been smarter.

But, he hadn’t been, and…

Well, everyone knows how that story ends.

In all honesty, he was a little disappointed. Even washed up on some rocky, bleached shore, his skin blistered and every part of his body aching, the tide was cold enough to leach the heat from his soul, as sharp and unforgiving as any maze could ever be. He thought he would die there. Not of flame, not of water, but of exhaustion, of a hypothermia he couldn’t cure with a wayward star so far out of his reach. But, you were much too kind to give him such a peaceful ending. Too much of a guardian.

His guardian. His savior. The helpful hand that dragged him off of that beach and bandaged his wounds, that made him feel warm for the first time in years.

His Sun.

Your prison was more spacious than his, but it was a prison all the same. An island, too small and too isolated to ever hope to encounter a rouge visitor. There was fruit and fresh water, but you were alone, abandoned by a hero who couldn’t end his tale without an act of tragedy. You’d blushed as you told him, ran your fingers through your hair and taken your leave shortly after, as if it’d been your fault you’d been left for dead. As if you were the one to blame for someone else’s selfish deed.

As if your downfall was deserved, rather than a misdeed forced upon you for someone else’s mistakes.

For months, you tended to his wounds, helping him to walk, to eat, and talking to him all the while. He wasn’t very good company, unused to companions whose lips could move at all, let alone so quickly, but he made sure to nod and smile as you showed him the grooves, the springs you knew like the back of your hands after so long, the flow of the currents that made it impossible to come near your home without a proper ship. He loved it - the way your eyes lit up whenever you talked about your progress, your next plan, how if you just had one more nail, one more canvas, one more good day, you’d be able to sail away from your isolation with him in-tow, to Crete or Athens or any other city that would take you in. Icarus didn’t think he’d receive a warm welcome, but he couldn’t bring him to tell you that. He didn’t want to ruin your fun, see you fade into the lifeless creator his father had become.

Grow as dull and as cold as he used to be, before you.

He watched on and helped you mend lengths of worn cloth into sails, gave up the little knowledge he’d taken in, spent his days carving wooden planks from branches and rutters from trunks, if only to see how your smile grew whenever he laid his meager offerings at your feet. He healed slowly, confined to the shade more often than not, but you never complained, never bemoaned his limitations. You were too caught up in your freedom to care if he weighed you down, too distracted to notice how slowly he moved whenever you dragged him to the edge of the water, how his grin was always a little more forced when you took another step towards your inevitable flight. If you felt how tightly he held you at night, how hesitant he was to let go in the morning, you didn’t seem to care about his attachment.

You didn’t seem to care about him. He was a placeholder, a momentary necessity, a cloud so tiny and so distant, it’d only stand out in the clearest of skies. You didn’t say it, but you didn’t hide it, either. Why would you?

The Sun would never bother to explain itself. He should just be grateful he got to bask your rays for this long.

You didn’t wake when he slipped away from you, that night. You never opened your eyes, not as he fanned the embers of a long-forgotten fire back to life, nor as he dragged himself over your island, down to the bay where you kept your make-shift raft. He was insignificant, he was unremarkable, but all it took was a spark and a dip of his torch to set your creation ablaze, lingering at the scene of his sin just long enough to take in the warmth of the fire, the satisfaction that accompanied setting it.

The relief that came with turning your only escape into a blackened, charred pile of ash and soot, just as he should’ve done with his father’s accursed wings all those years ago.

When Icarus was nineteen, he fell in love with the Sun once again.

And this time, he wasn’t letting it get away.

454 notes · View notes