#I logically know I should wait to post a wip until it's more complete | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

afoolforatook · 4 years

Text

Thank you, Wellies

So. I’ve been trying to do both class work and working on wips and just nothing is clicking. So, I thought I should go ahead and do this post, that I’ve been putting off, because.....it’s next week y’all.... So here goes.

Here’s my original post, that explains what this comic meant to me four years ago.

And here’s what it means to me now. (this is really long, sorry)

Man, I don’t really even know where to start this. How to start to say thank you. To Ngozi, to all of you.... It’s not possible to fully express what all of you have been for me the past four years. What this story has been for me.

So many things have changed since I made this post almost four years ago.

So many things haven’t.

I’ve been way less active in the fandom since starting at SCAD, and I really was never that incredibly active to begin with, outside of my small group of friends on a discord server.

And at times I feel bad about that.

But it’s not because I don’t care about or need this community anymore.

Rather it’s because this community, this story, gave me the strength to keep moving, and now I want to keep doing so, and make something that might one day even barely begin to show my gratitude.

So until then, all I can do is say thank you over and over. I can never possibly say it enough.

But still I wanted to thank you now, and try to explain to you what this comic about hockey and pies has meant to me, one last time before it ends. So that’s what I’ll try to do.

It was surreal rereading this old post earlier this week. Reading

“I think I could write a book just of our history and everything leading up to now and the details of this whole event”

When I wrote this post four years ago, I honestly couldn’t imagine a future where I’d be anything other than incomplete.Or even a future at all. Everyday was just getting up and making myself keep breathing, keep trying to push towards something, even though I had no idea what that could ever be.

For the first year I wrote daily journal entries, telling Emma about what happened that day, screaming at the universe for doing this, trying to help my future self remember little things, because everything was so hard to hold on to.

Update days were always something nearly sacred to me. And really not even from a fan point of view. I don’t read them around other people. I sit somewhere quiet, by myself, and read slowly. Because they are little moments I try to share with her still. The only person I want with me when I read them that first time is her, in whatever capacity I can bring myself to imagine.

A few months after the crash, I found one of Emma’s Spotify playlists. She made playlists for everything; birthday and Christmas presents, mood playlists, friend playlists, monthly playlists.

This was her May 2016 playlist. Last updated May 16th. Two days before the crash.

That playlist was literally the only thing I listened to for months on end. 38 songs.Over and over.

And as I listened I started to think that, just maybe, some of these songs she put there for me.

West Coast; the song me and Emma would send to each other after high school whenever we wanted to let the other know how much we missed them.

All I Want is to Be Your Girl. I mean??

Slowly I found lyrics in every song that even if just in my own fantasy, were little messages from Emma, telling me to keep going, how to stay strong.

I was always looking for stories, books, movies, songs, anything about someone grieving the kind of loss I was. Nothing I found felt like it really represented me. If it was about someone young, it was due to suicide or violence or illness. If it was a car crash, it was about a parent or child. If it somehow fit my other demographics, it was never queer.

I felt totally alone in the exact manifestation of my grief. Like no one else could understand all the tiny details that seemed, to me, to make this all more and more cartoonishly cruel.

(though one of the most touching moments of my life will always be when Emma’s step mom, the only person in her family who knows about us, sent me a book about grieving a spouse. I cried for hours when I opened that.)

I didn’t have outside representation, support. But I had journals. I had Emma’s songs. I had poems and a handful of inktober drawings. I had my little update moments of connection. And I had so much to say.

Months, years, of isolation gives you a lot of time to examine your feelings, to question the meaning of things, to think about what exactly grief looked like to you and about how you wanted to live the rest of your life, as someone grieving a love.

And slowly I began to connect those thoughts to individual lyrics from Emma’s playlist and that helped me actually write all those thoughts out, organize them.

And that’s how The Mixtape Project started (I still hate using the word memoir. I had to find something else to call it). A book about us. About Emma. About all those thoughts I’d had so long to sit with. Structured around the songs from her playlist.

I remember the exact moment that I realized that Check Please was going to actively change my life. I was talking to my dad about it, about why I loved the storytelling, the characters, the art, so much.

I’d told him many times before. But it was always tied to Emma in a way, or to the reasons that I identified with Jack. It was always a little sad in some way.

But this time. This time it was just excitement. It was just a kid who has always loved words, gushing about a story that fascinated them.

And I realized. It was the first time I had been just happy, excited, in the months since losing Emma. I remembered all those ideas Emma helped me with in high school, how we gushed over stories like that. I remembered what it was like to just love something and want to create, just because it made you happy.

I knew I couldn’t go back to UNCA, and none of the other creative writing programs I had looked at seemed like they would fit the new person I was.

So, for the hell of it, looking for some idea at how to start my life over, I looked at Ngozi’s personal story. And there was SCAD. There was sequential art.

Now. I’d never ever considered myself an artist. I went to an art high school, I knew art kids. I was never one of them. But that sequential part? That. THAT was what I wanted. That was what I could still be excited about.

That was how I could pull the Mixtape Project together. The writing, the poems, the art, the music. Comics. Sequential art. A graphic memoir that played with the format. That was the project that kept me going. That was what I was working for. That was the first future I was able to see now that Emma was gone.

So, for the first time since literally elementary school, I took an art class (also took a mythology class at the same time, which really helped keep my art and storytelling tied).

I loved it. I was actually happy with my work, surprised by my work and how quickly I felt like I improved (I wouldn’t learn about aphantasia until I got to SCAD, and understand that that drawing 1 class had been so fun, and in a way, easy, because it was all direct observation, and that drawing from memory and imagination would be a much steeper learning curve for me.)

So, when the class ended I thought ‘you know, maybe some kind of art school could be a good idea.’

And then one of my life long best friends, a SCAD animation student, encouraged me to apply, to just go for it.

And I did. It was a long shot, I was sure. We couldn’t afford it. Why would I get that in that kind of commitment, debt, after 1 art class? It wasn’t logical. But it felt good. So I did.

And then I got accepted, and the initial excitement soon fell away, to me and my parents knowing that it really wasn’t doable.

But we went to admitted students day, just to see. And when we got home, both of my parents cried for a long time. The first happy cry in our house for over two years.

Because they had decided that they had to figure out a way to make it work.

Because standing in Haymans hall was the first time they had seen me excited about the future since Emma died. It was the first time they’d seen me feel like there was somewhere I was meant to be, that there was somewhere I could fit again.

So we made it happen. I’ll still be in debt for years, and it’s not necessarily something I’d wholeheartedly recommend to kids getting out of high school, that debt isn’t worth it for many people.

For me it wasn’t really even worth it exactly for SCAD itself, and you’ll have plenty of professors tell you here that really what you pay for isn’t the education but the networking.

But for me. For me it was worth it.

Because I wasn’t wasting away in my basement.

And I really wasn’t where I’d have liked to have been, ideally, before starting. I was a BRAND new artist. My portfolio for my application was solely my writing work. I hadn’t ever done anything more than scribbled fan comics in my sketchbook. I was coming in wayyyyy behind where most other people were. But I couldn’t wait to feel like I was good enough to be there. There was a strong chance that it was quite literally, a matter of survival. I was reaching a breaking point after nearly three years of isolation and grief with no outlet. The future debt was less of a concern than making sure I didn’t have a complete mental breakdown or worse.

Now, of course, it hasn’t all been easy or fun or happy once I got here. I’ve doubted myself, I’ve had awful weeks, months, been stressed, unmotivated, in pain, near burnout.

The first quarter I was absolutely miserable because I had literally no social life.

Because I was an agoraphobic 23 yr old, living with 17/18 yr olds fresh out of high school. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d dissociate so easily. I’d let myself believe that I was still a teenager fresh from high school. That the past three years of agony hadn’t happened. That I could call Emma and it would ring again. She would answer again. And that illusion was a dangerous pit to fall into.

And it wasn’t until this fall that my social life really started to improve, beyond one or two close friends. And even still, while it’s much better, it’s nothing like UNCA, like the tight knit family I had that made me identify with SMH and the Haus atmosphere so much.

But I was moving forward. Agonizingly slowly sometimes. But still forward.

And then last Spring quarter, just about a year ago, I was in Survey for SEQA. Basically comic book history class. And our final was a 4 page research comic on a comic artist we admired. So of course, I was going to do mine on Ngozi.

The comic was due at the end of the quarter, the end of May.

Now, that quarter was the first time I was actually in SEQA classes; Survey, and Intro.

And those four pages would be the first fully colored, refined comic pages I had EVER done. It was intimidating. I didn’t want to mess it up. Especially because this wasn’t some big name of some far off artist you would never have any connection to. This was someone who all my professors knew.

I ended up getting extremely lucky and had the chance to email Ngozi and ask if she’d be able to give for a quote for the project, advice for current SCAD students.

She replied to my email the weekend of the 3rd anniversary. (I then spent hours on a thank you email - because that’s who I am, I can’t not over analyze anything I’m sending to someone important - and then I managed to save it to drafts instead of actually sending it...something I would not notice until literally months later and be absolutely mortified about my apparent rudeness of never thanking her.)

I still am not really happy with how that project came out. I still had (and have) a lot to learn, and it shows. I have, in no way, become an amazing comic artist overnight. I wasn’t expecting to.

But that short email exchange, falling on that weekend; it felt special. It felt like some speck of proof that I was doing the right thing. That things could actually go well in my life again. That if I kept going, I might actually get somewhere that I wanted to be. That maybe I really could make The Mixtape Project happen, if I just kept at it here.

And then I found out that in the fall, Ngozi would be the SEQA mentor.

Unfortunately by the time I had all the details about how to apply, the quarter had started and there were only a couple of weeks before it was due, and the only pages I had even anywhere close to being portfolio ready were either my research comic or a few older Check Please fan comics, none of which I would even have considered putting in that portfolio (I’m not 100% certain it would actually have come across as sucking up but it sure felt like it would have). And despite my best efforts, it just wasn’t possible, with how slow I work and having to keep up with classwork, for me to get a portfolio ready in time.

That hurt for a while. I felt like I had this clear sign of perfect timing. How could I pass up that chance? How could I forgive myself for not doing everything I could to earn that experience? How was I not letting Emma down if I ruined this opportunity?

It took a while to get out of that negative thought spiral. But I did, and it’s still a bummer, but it’s okay.

And something that really helped?

In October, Ngozi still came to campus to give a lecture. And that would have been good enough; just sitting in on that helped me feel excited, encouraged again. But then, after the lecture (with my amazing roommate waiting patiently behind with me, to make sure I didn’t actually have a panic attack on the way home) I got to talk to her.

We all hope to one day get to talk to the people who inspired us, whose work we love, to tell them how much they mean to us. And yes, I was a little version of starstruck.

But that wasn’t why I was shaking. That wasn’t why I told her I was going to do my best to get this out without crying (and I did, I’m proud to say).

It was because I had the opportunity, while at the school that had given me a chance to start my life again, to thank the woman who was in all likelihood, one of the main reasons I was even still alive. If it had not been for Check Please I wouldn’t have had that good thing to keep sharing with Emma. I wouldn’t have found sequential art, at least not for a while longer probably. I wouldn’t have been able to finally picture a future I wanted to get to.

And I’ll be honest, I don’t remember 90% of what I actually said that night to Ngozi.

But I told her my story. I told her about Emma. About how Check Please was the last thing we got to share. I thanked her. And she was wonderful and kind and emotional and hugged me a couple of times, and even though I don’t remember a lot of what I actually said; it was something that will be one of the most important, affirming moments of my life.

I didn’t have a panic attack on the way home. I somehow managed to not cry until we were back to our dorm. But I was stunned.

Not even because of the amazing moment I had been able to have with Ngozi.

But because it hit me.

I was doing it. I was there. I had actually made it this far.

Somewhere that just over a year ago I never would have believed was possible.

A time when, two years before, I hadn’t even been sure I could make it to alive.

That weekend was my 24th birthday. And it was the first birthday since I left UNCA at 19, that I didn’t just hate the fact that I was getting older. That I was moving away from the happiest parts of my life so far.

Yes it still hurt getting further from Emma, putting another tick on the years that I got that she didn’t.

But I was actually finally excited at the idea of even having a future, let alone having an idea of what it could be.

February was a difficult month for me. I have another (entirely way too long) post about why everything that happened with RWBY and Fairgame was so difficult for me, but to put it simply; my hope for the future was shaken.

I was back in the toxic negative thought spirals I had fought for years to train myself out of.

I was seeing Emma, or her brother, or her mom, in crowds; something I hadn’t experienced since the first few months after the crash. I was in one of the biggest crisis moments I’d had since Emma’s death.

But I was more experienced than when I was 20.

It wasn’t fun, a lot of it probably wasn’t the ideal way to cope, but I did it. And I kept up with my work. I isolated more, but not completely. I made myself vent on snapchat or tumblr, and not worry about oversharing or annoying people, because it was either get it out or let it fester in my head. And I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

In mid March, I made a pitch packet for my comic scripting final.

It was for The Mixtape Project. It was hard, and nerve-wracking, and there’s still mountains of work to be done.

But after my initial synopsis (first of like seven versions, cause trying to put this thing in a good synopsis format is a nightmare) my professor told me that he thought my story had potential.

That he could see it being published. He suggested, knowing that I was planning on taking his advanced scripting course this quarter (hey remember how mid march was only a few weeks ago?? Huh?? wild), that I keep working on it, and see about taking it to Editor’s day (SEQA students’ opportunity to basically pitch themselves and their ideas to publishers).

Now, my professor is by no means an overly harsh critic, and is plenty supportive in general.

But I also knew that that was not just something he said to students all the time. That he meant it.

Editor’s Day (now online) is in mid May. The week of the 4th anniversary of Emma’s death, to be exact.

Everything is a mess right now, and I’m stressed and tired and scared and heartbroken (this will be the first time since I was 9 that I have not had Merlefest; the highlight of my year, and since Emma’s death; the last big happy thing before I plunge into the nightmare that is May).

Tuesday will come. Check Please will end. I will continue to support Ngozi and her work after Bitty’s story ends.

But it will be sad. It won’t be easy.

This thing that has been my tether to the most important person in my life, will still be there, but it will be over.

It will have a concrete end. It will no longer be part of the future I am pushing towards.

But I am a different person than the shattered kid who wrote this post four years ago.

I’m not who I was before Emma died. I never will be. I’d never try to be. I want Emma back more than anything. But that won’t happen. And as long as this is all real, I never want to pretend this didn’t happen.

That I didn’t shatter in a way that will never heal like people expect.

I’m still all those shattered pieces that wrote this post. Maybe a few have had the edges dulled, maybe I’ve lost a few, glued a few together perfectly, maybe picked up a few stray pieces that didn’t come from the me from before.

But I will be those shattered pieces for the rest of my life.

They won’t magically fuse back together. I work every day to hold them, to keep myself in some shape that resembles a functioning person.

Some days I fail. Some days, I am too tired to even try. Some days, I am so angry, I’d rather hurl the pieces at whatever power or fate or god or chaos decided that I got to live and she didn’t.

But those days pass.

And I learn how to hold the pieces better, how to avoid the sharpest edges, how to take care of the wounds when I inevitably cut myself on one, how to allow other people to help me hold them, how to accept that some pieces may feel safe and smooth and comforting but they are traps, illusions that are the easy way to do things, but not the healthy way, not the way that will help me achieve my goals.

That person, made of all those unholdable pieces, four years ago, was staying alive for everyone else but themself.

And some days I still am.

For my parents. For Emma. For all the other queer, mentally ill, grieving kids and young adults and just people, who are looking for the same representation I was, who feel as alone as I still do so often.

But some days.

On those really good days.

I’m alive, carrying all those pieces, just because I want to be. For me.

I want to spin around in the morning, singing along to my bluegrass spotify. I want to get excited over finally figuring out how to write that line that was giving me so much trouble, or finish that sketch that I never thought I could manage. I want to hope that despite how awful everything seems, there’s still a good future out there. It’s still possible to be happy some days.

I want to cry because I get to see Jack and Bitty get the happy ending that me and Emma didn’t.

And now, unlike that version of me from four years ago, when it ends, I will have things still.

Things that I have worked everyday to reach, to deserve, to hold out to people and say

“Hey, sometimes everything hurts and you know that things will never be what they were, and parts of you will always miss that. But there are still things you can find that hurt less, that ease the hurt, that teach you how to better hold the hurt, to stop trying to say it doesn’t exist or trying to get rid of it completely and hating yourself when you can’t. You can still be hurt, be irreparably broken in so many places, and still find the happy things. You are still worthy of love, no matter how broken you are. Your worth is not tied to how much you are able to heal. You are worthy of so much love, just because you are still here, no matter how many tiny pieces you are in.”

The thing is, I will still always have a future that includes Emma. Because I couldn’t tell you exactly which of my pieces are from her, but so many of them are.

There is no version of me, from here on to the day I die, that does not have her influence embedded in every piece.

These days I try to be a little kinder to myself. It doesn’t always work, but I try.

Because, to Emma, I was Bitty. I radiated that “thing”.

Whether or not I saw it in myself, doesn’t matter, because she did.

But to me she was the one who radiated.

And she is a part of me. She can’t radiate that “thing” herself anymore.

But I can, at least I can try.

Because If this person I loved and trusted so immensely, saw something worth loving in me? There must be something there worth loving, right?

And if she is a part of me for the rest of my life, how can I hate myself? How can I do anything but keep going so that, even if just in my head, a part of her gets to keep going too.

My family and friends joke that every friend group I’ve ever had calls me something different. And really it’s not a joke. In middle school I was CB #4 (that’s a long, terribly embarrassing, story). In high school I was Pond (and many variations there of: Pondala, Pondy, Raindrop, Puddle, you get the picture). At UNCA, when I came out as nonbinary, I started going by Auden. When I went home it was back to Meagan; Meagan always felt right with my parents.

With Emma I was always Meagan. We were Meagan and Emma. Megma. Meagan and Emma have online adventures!

After she was gone, Meagan didn’t really feel like me anymore. I loved Meagan, I missed Meagan, I wished I could still really fully be Meagan, and I’m okay still being Meagan sometimes.

But that real Meagan. The Meagan that was Emma’s Meagan. Doesn’t exist anymore. I lost that Meagan somewhere in that first night of screaming and trying to break my hand against the wall, so I could just feel something other than the agony of Emma being gone.

When I joined a Check Please chat group, a few months after the crash, we gave each other hockey nicknames. I was Farley.

My second quarter at SCAD, I started going by Farley. It stuck.

That’s who this version of me is. This new artist, still figuring things out, but still going.

I may not always stay Farley (other than ya’know artist ‘branding’. We’ll see) but that’s okay. Farley is who I need to be right now.

Farley is who will finish The Mixtape Project.

(because of two people mishearing both my nickname and last name I will, at least once in my career, use the pseudonym Fartley McFarmland and no one will stop me).

I can’t imagine what, who, will come after Farley, if anything.

But Check Please will always be a part of making Farley, and every future version of me, exist.

I could go on and on about how beautiful this story and these characters are, how inspiring Ngozi is, how genius her storytelling is, how powerful and important her work is. I could go on for days about all of that. But this is already so long, and I know that so many of you can go on about that probably way better than I could currently.

But, as many of my professors tell us over and over, only I can tell this story. My story. Emma’s story. Our story. And it’s one I plan on telling for the rest of my life.

And Check Please, Ngozi, will forever be the thing that made that possible.

So thank you. Those two words that are way too small to say it all.

Thank you.

Every fic writer

Every artist

Every rper

Every chat friend

Every shitposter

Every theorist or meta poster

Every fan

Thank you.

B. “Shitty” Knight.

Larissa “Lardo” Duan

Adam “Holster” Birkholtz

Justin “Ransom” Oluransi

John Johnson

Ollie O'Meara

Pacer Wicks

Jenny and Mandy

Nicholas and Jean-Claude

Coach Hall

Coach Murray

Suzanne Bittle

Richard “Coach” Bittle

William “Dex” Poindexter

Derek “Nursey” Nurse

Chris “Chowder” Chow

Kent Parson

Alicia Zimmermann

“Bad” Bob Zimmermann

Tony “Tango” Tangredi

Connor “Whiskey” Whisk

Denice “Foxtrot” Ford

Fry Guy

Georgia “Georgie” Martin

Alexei “Tater” Mashkov

Sebastian “Marty” St. Martin

Dustin “Snowy” Snow

Poots

Randall “Thirdy” Robinson

Jonathan “Hops” Hopper

River “Bully” Bullard

Lukas “Louis” Landmann

(I’m almost certain I had to have missed someone)

Thank you.

Jack “Zimmboni” Laurent Zimmermann

Thank you.

Eric “Bitty” Richard Bittle

Thank you.

Ngozi Ukazu

Thank you. For everything.

For having my back. I’ll always have yours.

Always yours,

Farley M.

#Check Please #omgcp #my person #my writing #meagan and emma have online adventures #-slaps me- you can fit so many confused emotions in this thing

8 notes · View notes

muffinlance · 5 years

Note

I am in awe. You have three WIPs that you update on a regular basis AND each of them is just as engaging as the next AND you manage to keep everyone in-character, if not better (I will never be unable to unhear Engineer Hanako or unsee Flying Lemur Squad’s plausible deniability). How do you do it??

Real talk time!

I have no idea.

For real, this is significantly faster than I have ever written in my life. Like. By a considerable margin. And I'm going to just go ahead and attribute it to,

(wait for it)

~The Marvelous Power of Procrastination~

Because I am currently making the move from kind-of-amateur writer to serious-face-writer. And I should be editing up that short story I'm sitting on, 'cause I'd really like to get another mag credit before I send out the next round of queries on Novel J (which has gotten full requests, but no bites yet). And I have two other novels lined up to query if that one flops, pending fairly minor edits that I should really be doing. And I've got the outline for my next one all prettified, and that one's middle grade so it's super short, and I really need to work it into my writing rotation.

'Cause.

'Cause I've mentioned this to a few people, but I rationalized starting each of these fanfics as craft practice.

Little Zuko: full novel outline practice. Holy shit outlining is so much better than pantsing for me. But I need to level up my thinking-at-the-novel-level game.

Towards the Sun: series level outlining combined with freeform scenes. 'Cause I'm actually getting pretty confident at the novel-level thing, so this is the next logical step, and 350k-ish is a nice reasonable word count to sandbox in. (And can I just take a moment to scream internally that I feel confident in committing to that kind of word count? 'Cause like, two or three years ago, I'd have been hyperventilating even contemplating that.)

Cheating at Pai Sho: completely winging it. 'Cause I am a pantser at heart, and fanfic is delightfully low stress. I just have a checklist of things I want to do, like 'pick up Toph', but I'm not actively making an attempt to outline the steps in-between. Just seeing where the pai sho tiles fall (I did figure out the Toph thing while writing that last chapter, and will start the groundwork in chapter 5. Go me!) But yeah, this is why you got 10k of adorable Lovecraftian cats and Zuko-Katara semi-shirtless bonding. I make niether excuses nor apologies, shameless fluff is shameless. This story is hella relaxing to write, and I'm getting the impression it's also relaxing to read, and you all deserve some me-time after making it through the Towards the Sun prologue.

Most importantly, these are all daily writing practice. They're fun and low-stress and if I'm not feeling one, I can bounce to another for awhile. I always knew I was physically capable of writing this fast, 'cause my typing speed is ridiculous, but I'd hit a creative limit where I'd feel drained and have to walk away for an-hour-a-day and those kinds of breaks are dangerous, that's when you lose your writing momentum and a day turns into a week turns into six months and what are you even doing with your life you failure you said you wanted to be a writer. And that is not a good headspace, as I think pretty much every creative person ever is cripplingly familiar with.

So these fics are my no-pressure no-stakes daily writing exercises.

And I accidentally proved to myself that I am capable of so much more than I thought.

And I am feeling real good about it, thanks to the wonderfully supportive feedback from all you FF reviewers and AO3 commenters and Tumblr fan arters and those amazing human beings writing ficlets for my stories. Like. Real good, is how I'm feeling. Like I can do this, is how I'm feeling. Like maybe I'm ready to stop hiding from my serious-face writing, and I can write so damn fast now I-know-I-can, so. So even if I work my serious projects back into the writing rotation, y'all should barely notice a dip in my fanfic posting speed. 'Cause I can do this. I really can. <3

In conclusion I love you all, thank you so much for the overwhelming support as I continue catopus-paddling through figuring out this writing thing.

This got long and rambly and didn't even answer the original question. To which the answer would be: practice your craft intentfully. You want to write engaging stories? Study the stories that captivate you and tease out what elements are pulling you in. There's a fuckton of nitty-gritty technical details that go into making things dynamic and engaging at the level of a sentence, a paragraph, a scene, a chapter, an arc, a novel, a series (I consider myself fairly solid up until those last two--hence why I'm using these fics to actively work on them). Characterizations and how to write voices that sounds distinct from each other but unique to themselves, likewise. When you read, don't just read--tease apart the material. Why do you like what you like, why is something not working for you, what would have improved this, what would you have done differently if you were writing it.

Also, take the idea of a muse and shove it. Daily practice, or as near as you can make it. Runners have to build their stamina over time; same thing with writers. Just 'cause it's a mental stamina doesn't make the fatigue any less real. Build it up over time, celebrate your victories, try not to backslide with the mental equivalent of laying on the couch eating potato chips and letting your writing-brain get flabby again. Get out for a writing-walk, everyday, even if it's only a little.

#only... a Little Zuko #did I just write an essay to set up that joke #you be the judge #ask #writing advice #writing thoughts

75 notes · View notes

annerbhp · 5 years

Text

So, quite a long time ago, I had a WIP. It was called Down Here Among the Wreckage, an SG-1 Sam/Jack darkfic angst-overload story that I always had every intention of finishing, but am very sure now I never will. So I am liberating the partial, but nearly finished next part of the story as I promised I would to some people over on twitter. Very un-beta’d, very unfinished, and probably not the shippy resolution you were hoping for, but maybe some small smidges. There was to be a fifth part, but that is pretty much just a couple of sentences and one final ending scene. So maybe I’ll come back and post that too. For you, my wormhos and Jomantha fans. ;) As always, my inbox is open if people have specific questions about this fic or any of my fics. Yes, even the SG-1 ones.

Down Here Among the Wreckage – Part 4 – Aftermath

Kiras is going to die.

He sees the truth of it in every face he passes on his journey three levels up and two sectors over. People who would normally never give way to him seem to melt out of his path in deference, and to anyone ignorant of the situation, this might seem like a mark of Kiras’ status, that he is a fierce fighter no one would dare to waylay for even a moment. That couldn’t be further from the truth, Kiras thinks with the sort of wryness only a dead man walking can muster. To block his way would be to risk associating oneself with the taint of the doomed, or worse, open up the possibility of the death mark being passed off to them. Not that Kiras has the cards to play, the clout to work with to make that even a possibility. There is a reason, after all, that this task has fallen to him. But debts and bloodpacts have a way of appearing from the place least expected, and the others respect that enough to step out his way, to give him that one honor.

There isn’t a point in wishing things different, so Kiras just walks with whatever dignity he has and tries to pretend the message in his hand is anything other than what it is—a death sentence.

As he nears the upper chambers, the hallways rapidly depopulate until there are only two guards at the entrance doors. They don’t look at Kiras or the message in his hand, but merely open the door, their eyes carefully riveted to the ceiling.

Kiras summons whatever small cache of courage he has and enters the room.

Netan is not alone, twelve of his most powerful lieutenants sitting with an arrogant sort of ease around a heavily laden table as Kiras enters. They are smug in their conviction that Kiras will pay for their sins. Which he surely will.

Kiras doesn’t bother hating them. What was the point?

“Read it,” Netan commands.

It takes Kiras a few tries to start, to get the words out, the numbers of casualties, ships lost, the mere pittance that returned from the doomed run against Anubis.

Netan’s face darkens as Kiras reads, the lines of his face impossibly hard, but he does not bellow or rage. Like maybe he already knew the numbers. Perhaps the point is not the numbers, but what Netan will do to Kiras because of them. An example.

There are worse things to be.

“An explanation?” Netan asks.

The lieutenants rumble self-importantly about the Tau’ri and the Valedin, playing lip service to Netan’s prejudices until he lifts his hand for them to stop.

Netan holds out his cup to Kiras. “Would you hold this for me?” he asks, voice almost…gentle.

Kiras feels a shudder of revulsion travel down his spine, even as he reaches for the cup. “Yes, sir.”

There will probably be a little money. No large sum, but some form of payment to his family back on Yartan for his loss. It is the way of children traded to the Lucian. (He has long since learned not to use the word ‘stolen’, even in the privacy of his mind. Mind-words too easily become tongue-words, and death comes readily enough without thoughtless speech.)

With his hands now free, Netan reaches for his weapon.

Kiras squeezes his eyes shut.

There is a rapid succession of blasts, and Kiras only has enough thought to be thankful that death doesn’t hurt as much as he imagined it would. It’s only when he cracks one eye open in the succeeding silence that he realizes there were twelve shots.

Netan stands nearby, rubbing casually at his hands with a cloth, dabbing away the oil his blaster left on his skin, the burn of ozone still heavy in the air. After nearly a minute of careful, methodical grooming, he turns to Kiras and holds out a hand.

It takes Kiras a moment to realize what he wants, nearly stumbling with haste to hand back the cup.

“You may go,” Netan says.

Kiras nods, bowing almost to the waist like they did to the ancient kings centuries past, not letting his eyes stray towards the table and its damning bloody silence. “Yes, sir.”

Kiras is not the quickest or the smartest, but it occurs to him as he unashamedly flees the room of death that the only reason Netan let him live was for the story to be spread, growing larger and larger with each retelling.

Kiras dutifully complies, stopping to whisper the horrors into every ear he passes, but does not bother to exaggerate.

The original story is horrifying enough as it is.

* * *

Cam stares down at the dubiously smudged glass slammed down on the bar in front of him. The scent emanating from the slosh of liquid that follows makes his eyes water, but at least comforts him that whatever might have been living in that glass before certainly wouldn’t be anymore.

He can only hope the man who served him makes a better informant than he does a barkeep.

"Bottom's up," the scruffy guy says.

Cam glances down at the bar, noticing a distinct lack of a second glass. "None for you?"

The barkeep laughs. "Are you kidding? That crap'll rot you from the inside."

Cam frowns, but doesn't answer as another patron sidles up to the bar and is cheerfully poured a generous serving of the rotgut in question.

Can this really be the guy Reynolds sent him to collect intelligence from? He has the air of a burned out hippy to be completely honest. The only thing that makes Cam think this guy could have anything legitimate to offer are his eyes. They are dark and beady and make Cam think of cockroaches and that old saying about the end of the world. This guy seems like he would land on his feet every damn time.

Deep in his thoughts, Cam accidentally takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He sputters, nearly spitting it out before he remembers he's not supposed to be drawing attention to himself, especially here of all places. With great effort, he swallows it down, his eyes stinging. Hell, he supposes he should just be thankful he hasn't gone instantly blind.

Down at the other end of the bar, cockroach man throws back his head and laughs.

It's nearly dawn by the time the crowd empties out, making it safe for them to talk.

The bartender doesn’t even bother waiting for Cam to ask, just a slides a slim data device towards him. "Rumor has it that Netan finally lost his shit."

Cam raises an eyebrow, trying not to imagine just what the normally self-possessed-to-the-point-of-ice Netan would look like in a temper. The stuff of nightmares really.

The barkeep nods, leaning in as if to share salacious details. “Personally killed all twelve of his lieutenants if the stories can be believed. With a sword.”

Jesus. “Doesn’t like having his ships blown up much, does he,” Cam surmises. Like they hadn’t all equally strolled into a trap. Netan had lost ships, yes, but they were the ones to lose lives.

A lot of lives.

The informant shrugs. “Personally, I would have at least taken the time to interrogate them first,” he says, sounding as if torture is just the logical first step.

“Yeah?” Cam says.

The guy’s eyes narrow. “You understand that you were betrayed, right? How else could Anubis possibly have known?”

How indeed. But that is a worry that is far above Cam’s pay scale. If he were actually still getting paid. He’s got other things to worry about.

“Any final word on just how many ships made it back to the Lucian Alliance?” Cam tries to sound as casual as he can, like it doesn’t really matter. If Netan is losing his shit as much as this guy says, they’d be fools not to assume he will turn on them next. Knowing exactly how many ships he managed to snatch back from the fight with his hidden recall technology is vital.

“Enough that you should worry.”

“Yeah?” Cam asks.

The guy shoves the data device towards him again. “It’s all there.”

Cam palms the device, knowing it’s time to get up and walk away. He picks up the glass again. “Hypothetically, what would happen to someone taken prisoner by the Lucian?”

A bushy eyebrow lifts above a flinty eye. “You mean other than being tortured and killed for information?”

Cam fights back a wince. “Yes. Other than that.”

He shrugs. “Well, you know where most of the wealth driving the Alliance comes from.”

“Naquadah,” Cam says.

He nods. “Someone has to work the mines.”

Cam spins the glass between his palms. “You happen to know any of the locations of those mine?”

He laughs. “Now that is information worth more than both of our lives.”

Cam gets up to leave, the drive disappearing into his pocket.

“Hey.”

Cam turns back. The bartender seems to be struggling with something. “I hear Jack O’Neill is alive. Is that true?”

“You know O’Neill?”

“A couple of lifetimes ago,” he says with a wry grin that almost looks nostalgic. “So…it’s true?”

“It is,” Cam says. “Or it was.” Is being frozen in ice with a brain overloaded by Ancient knowledge more dead or more alive? Cam doesn’t know. “It’s complicated.”

The guy nods. “Things always were with him.”

Somehow, Cam thinks that’s the understatement of the century.

* * *

Jason Reynolds paces his office, the small victory they managed to wrest already fading in the face of the odds shifting against their favor yet again.

The Lucian Alliance aren’t quite the allies dreams are made of. They still need to neutralize Anubis once and for all, if the written ramblings of Jack O’Neill are to be believed, and now they get to look back over their shoulders, always wondering when the Lucian Alliance will make their move.

Earth is vulnerable. Prime for the picking. They need whatever intel they can get their hands on. A job he would dearly love to give to Jack O’Neill, if he weren’t locked away in a block of ice. Instead he sent Cam, whose restless energy since the battle has been only growing. Something about the battle rattled Cam in a way the loss of Earth had not. Or maybe, Reynolds thinks more likely, something was finally the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Netan believes we were betrayed,” Mitchell announces upon his return, sliding a slim data device across the table towards him.

Jason shakes his head. “There are a million ways Anubis could have discovered our plans.” Not to mention that he’s beginning to suspect that Anubis was moving the pieces towards that showdown for a lot longer than any of them realize. Netan can take his paranoia out on whomever he wishes. The past is past. Jason is more concerned with their rather shaky future.

“We need to focus on what Netan is planning next.”

Mitchell’s jaw clenches. “I think you were right. I think we have to assume that Netan knows.”

Jason wishes he could say he was surprised. “You’ll take care of it?”

Mitchell nods. “I can be on Earth in two days.” Jackson isn’t going to like it, but Jason has bigger concerns than the scientist’s pangs of conscience. He’s trying to save an entire race.

“There’s one more thing, sir,” Mitchell says, lingering in front of the desk.

Jason sighs internally, knowing what is coming and really not looking forward to it. He’s indulged Mitchell so far, but it’s time for that to end.

“If there were survivors, your contact seemed to think—”

“If there were survivors, Colonel,” Jason interrupts, voice hard. “That’s a giant if. And we have more pressing certainties ready to bite us in the ass.” None of them can afford to have Mitchell continue to be so distracted, to have his focus split. It’s going to get people killed. “You need to let this go.”

Mitchell stiffens, mouth open and face outraged, ready to push on forever if Jason gives him so much as an inch. So he doesn’t.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Jason barks.

Mitchell looks like he might fight for a moment, his face eventually smoothing to a sort of emotionless mask that may have disturbed Jason under any other circumstances. “No, sir,” he says, voice clipped.

Jason nods. “Then get gone.”

Mitchell turns on his heel and stalks out.

* * *

Daniel shivers, burrowing his face deeper into the furry lapel of his coat. Despite the obscene amount of gas generators they have down here, it is still an ice cave. He warily glances up at the ceiling, his mind calculating the sheer weight of ice and rock above their heads. He’s far too aware of what can happen when the slightest foundation shifts.

Shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, he shifts from foot to foot as the rings in front of him whine into life. Cam materializes out of the light, cursing roundly as he does.

“Goddamn, it’s colder than a—“

“Welcome to Antarctica,” Daniel interrupts what would no doubt be a colorful colloquialism. “You were expecting bikinis and tiny little umbrella drinks?”

“No,” Cam says, “but I also didn’t think I’d have to worry about my balls turning to ice.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “It’s a bit warmer back in the lab,” he says, canting his head.

“Wait,” Cam says, and Daniel feels his stomach clench, having some idea of the sort of thing that would bring Cam all this way.

Cam glances around, canting his head off to the side away from listening ears. “The Lucian are coming.”

Daniel grimaces. He wishes he could say that was a surprise, Netan turning on them. Vala always warned them that this was a terrible idea. But he also knows that Cam would never come all this way just to tell him that. “And?”

“We need Sam.”

Daniels sighs. “Reynolds sent you to get her?” He would wonder why Reynolds sent Cam to collect her, when her own father is already on the planet, except Jacob doesn’t want her going back to Omega. He won’t stop her, but he isn’t going to talk her into it either.

Cam shakes his head. “I need you to take her. I have a few other things to take care of.”

Daniel’s eyes narrow. “Other things?”

Cam’s face isn’t giving anything away, and that is disturbing enough in and of itself. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yeah. Like that is going to happen.

Cam slaps his hands against his thighs, probably trying to knock feeling back into them. “You’ll get her there?”

Daniel frowns, thinking of Sam back in the lab behind him, the way she’s been since they discovered her down here with nothing but a frozen body for company.

“Idun, Daniel,” she snaps, pacing around the small space, her breath bursting out in white puffs. “Where did he go?”

Daniel’s long since given up trying to get her to sit still long enough to get medical to look her over. He steps aside as another tech swarms through the space, taking readings. “Sam, he died. His body failed and he didn’t have the resources to make a new one.”

She looks like he may have well taken a sledgehammer to her, her face paling. “And the other Asgard?”

He shakes his head, refusing to look at the frozen visage of Jack O’Neill behind him. “There are no more Asgard, Sam.”

No more miracles.

Sam turns abruptly away from him, but not before he sees the stark bleakness of her expression.

He finds her later, her hand pressed over the ice covering Jack’s face, her voice low as she speaks. “Is this why? Because you knew I’d never be able to find a way?”

Jack has no answers to share.

“Jackson,” Cam says, his hard voice snapping Daniel back to the present. “Just get her there.”

He turns and walks back to the rings.

Daniel walks back into the main lab, the hastily installed set of heavy duty doors sliding back in place behind him. He lets out a sigh at the relative warmth of the space. Shrugging out of his thick parka, he drapes it over the back of his chair, glancing at the crumpled collection of papers strewn across his desk.

The papers are covered with writing, some much more legible than others, all written in a evolving dialect of Ancient that has kept Daniel struggling for weeks to decipher. Jack’s last words, scribbled on the back of anything he could get his hands on.

The longest piece of writing is a letter. About Anubis. To be honest either Daniel’s Ancient is rusty or Jack was more than a little gone when he wrote it. It’s full of strange phrases like ‘death is not the end’, ‘not human’, and some word Daniel can’t define at all that might have something to do with non-corporeal. Ascension?

He’ll build himself a new body. He always does. Unless you stop him.

Daniel can’t make sense of it.

The only thing that convinces him that they aren’t just the rantings of a delusional man is the careful note in the margin. “Tell Carter, tell her I, just thank her for me. Thank her for saving me in every way that a person can be saved. Take care of her.”

Daniel glances up at Sam on the other side of the lab, currently lying on her back with her head stuck in an Ancient console. He’s doing his best to do what Jack asked him, but Sam has always been like a force of nature.

They limit her to ten-hour shifts, forcing her back up to the orbiting Prometheus for rest and warmth. That still hasn’t stopped her from hacking her way back down here from time to time. Daniel still hasn’t decided what is worse, the listless hopelessness she was mired in at first, or this manic, focusless rush to solve a solution to an unsolvable problem that has obsessed her since. Endless lifelessness or a bright thing threatening to burn out far too fast?

Daniel takes a deep breath and crosses the space. “Sam.”

She’s muttering to herself, what sounds like the basic conjugation of simple Ancient verbs. She’s insisted on Daniel teaching her to read and speak the Ancient language, no matter how slow it is going or how much Sam clearly doesn’t have an aptitude for it.

“Sam,” he tries again. “I need to—”

She pops out, wagging a finger at him. “Ancient.”

Daniel sighs. She only wants him to speak to her in Ancient, even if it makes all of their conversations take ten times as long. They don’t have time for games. “They need you back at Omega.”

Sam seems to consider that for a moment before sticking her head back in the console. “Too bad.”

“Sam,” Daniel says, dragging a hand over his face.

“No, Daniel,” she says. “Do you honestly think anything would make me leave--?” She abruptly swallows the end of the sentence, just enough for Daniel to know there is a lot she isn’t saying.

“Dammit, Sam,” Daniel says. “Don’t you get it? If Netan obliterates us, then none of it meant anything. Not you coming back, not Jack sticking his head in that thing again. It’s all meaningless if we let this happen.”

Maybe it’s a low blow, but she needs to understand what is at stake.

She slides out of the computer, giving him a hard look. Pushing to her feet, she walks away from him.

He paces after her. “You don’t think they’ll take this place from us as well? That he won’t want to get his hands on the weapon that destroyed Anubis?”

She stops in front of her desk, leaning her palms against the surface. He knows she’s processing something, so lets her take the time, trying not to feel a beat of hope that he is finally reaching her.

Eventually she paws through one of the drawers, pulling out a small slip of paper. She holds it out to him. “Can you tell me what this means?”

Daniel sighs. He thought he could get her to understand just how high the stakes are, but she’s too damned wired into this. “Sam,” he says.

She thrusts the paper towards him again.

He takes it. “Unam sumis,” he reads out loud. At this point, he’s used to Sam asking him questions about translating Ancient, but there’s something odd about the phrase. Like maybe it’s a dialect?

Sam’s jaw tightens. “What does that mean?”

Daniel shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I’d really need to see it in context.”

Sam shakes her head, flapping her hand as if telling him to get on with it.

“Fine,” Daniel says, straightening his glasses. “I think it literally translates as ‘we are united’ or ‘we are one’, but it probably really means something more like, ‘We’re in this together’.”

Sam turns and takes a few steps away from him, the only sign that any of that meant anything to her the slight clenching of her fists by her sides.

“Sam?”

She turns back to him with a nod, looking more determined and focused than he’s ever seen her, not since…before. “If I help…when it’s done I get my own lab and complete access to Idun’s research for as long as I want it. No matter what else comes up.”

She’s bargaining with him. That should hurt except he never thought to see her like this again, eyes sharp and bright, her teeth dug deep into a project that is impossible by any standard of measurement.

“I’ll arrange it with Reynolds.”

“Your word,” she presses.

“I promise.”

Her shoulders lower and he supposes that should make him feel better, that his word still means something to her.

“Okay,” she says. “Then I know what to do.”

* * *

Jacob sighs, dragging a hand over his face. There was a riot in Alpha section today. One Jaffa and one human died, four more seriously wounded. All over an incident involving farm equipment if the reports can at all be believed.

He and Cassie have been trying to run things on Earth the last month. There are surveys to be done, populations to count, resources to be pooled. It will take lifetimes, but Cassie had only lifted her chin and said, “Then I guess we’d better start.”

A month in, it still feels an awful lot like nowhere.

Teal’c looks displeased, arms crossed over his chest. “I do not understand why this is happening.” The Earth survivors have been less than welcoming to the Jaffa, no matter how much they are trying to help, to throw in and create a future together.

Jacob sighs. “They’re afraid, Teal’c. Afraid and angry and looking for anything to blame.”

Teal’c nods. “Perhaps it would be better if we returned to Haktyl.”

“No.”

They turn to look at Cassie.

She looks up at them. “This is what their universe looks like now. Let the Jaffa teach the humans to defend themselves. Let the Tok’ra teach them to salvage their crops. Let every human know one Jaffa or one Tok’ra personally. Let them learn to be grateful for the help. It’s the kindest thing we can do for them.” She walks away, leaning down over the maps. “It’s time to go forward or just…let it all die.”

Jacob looks to Teal’c. He merely inclines his head. “I shall speak to the Jaffa.” He leaves the house.

Jacob comes to stand next to Cassie.

Cassie laughs under her breath, shaking her head.

“What?” Jacob asks.

“Nothing,” she says, waving a hand. “Just thinking about Earth’s future being decided by three aliens.”

Jacob gives her a wry smile. “We’ll let the history books have the last say on that one.”

If there’s anyone left to write it.

After a brisk knock, the two of them look up to see Cam enter.

“Hey, kid,” he says, ruffling Cassie’s hair.

She scowls, shoving him off. “You’re like, what? Two years older than me?”

“More like fifteen,” he says, “but nice try.”

“What’s up?” Jacob asks, surprised to see him back on Earth so soon.

“Vala,” he says.

Jacob’s jaw clenches. It was really only a matter of time. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Have someone watch her ship and the Stargate.”

Cassie sighs. “It’s a mistake.”

Maybe it all is.

* * *

Vala sees him coming, looking up from a few Haktyl women she is trading with.

Cam watches her take in the situation in an instant, her eyes tracking what he assumes are her escape routes, now so carefully cut off thanks to Jacob and a few Jaffa.

“I have to say, I expected you sooner,” she says, eyes defiant under a theatrical pout.

Cam takes her arm. “I’m sure you did.”

He locks her in the back of his ship, not speaking to her again until they are under way.

He tries to resist, but eventually he gets up, walking back into the hold.

“Yes?” she asks.

“The Lucian naquadriah planets,” he says.

Her posture shifts, Vala pulling herself up further. “Yes?” she asks, nearly a purr.

“Do you know any of their locations? The ones any prisoners of war are most likely to be sent to?”

“Are you offering to let me go in exchange for the location? My, my. How you’ve changed.”

Cam gets up to leave.

“I much prefer you this way!”

Cam slams his fist on the controls, the door sliding shut behind him.

* * *

Rodney looks up as the door to his lab opens. Sam strides in, Daniel right on her heels looking a little unsettled.

“Sam?” Rodney says, stepping towards her.

She ignores him, walking straight up to her quilt still hanging on the wall. She reaches out, hand tracing faintly over the stitches before she turns for the boards. She picks up a pen.

“Sam?” Rodney tries again, but she ignores him, Daniel reaching out to stop him from pulling her aware from the board.

“Just let her try,” Daniel says.

For a while it looks like she’s just tugging threads, the whole thing threatening to pull apart. But then it happens.

“Oh my God,” Rodney breathes.

Daniel glances at him. “Genius or gibberish?” he asks.

Rodney rubs at the back of his head. “Genius,” he says, head nodding like it’s on a spring. “Definitely genius.”

Sam builds them a sliver of hope out of nowhere.

“It’ll still take a miracle,” Rodney feels the need to point out.

Daniel smiles. “That’s Sam’s specialty.”

* * *

Now that Sam is on Omega and working, everything has cleared enough in his head that Daniel can finally make sense of Cam and his additional task on Earth.

“Son of a bitch,” he says.

He barges into Reynolds’ office.

“Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” Reynolds says. “This is the way it has to be.”

If he’d accepted that, Earth never would have been freed.

Vala lies in the cell, one hand pressed to her ear as if listening intently to the crystal walls.

“Netan’s turned on us,” Daniel announces.

He tries to see any reaction, but he just can’t read her. Instead she shifts, swinging her feet to the ground.

“I told Jack this was a terrible, terrible idea.” Her hand lifts to the wall, nails dragging down across the crystal.

She doesn’t press for any information, and if she was really playing them, wouldn’t she?

She leans back against the wall, arms folded up behind her head. “Well. If Netan becomes your new overlord, at least your bosses won’t have to decide what to do with me.”

“You’re right,” Daniel says. “They won’t have to make that decision.”

Stepping to the side of the cell, Daniel swipes his card, punching in his code.

Vala pushes to her feet at the sound of the cell unlocking. She looks like she’s waiting for him to assassinate her.

He pulls the door open and steps out of her way.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought that might be obvious. I’m letting you go.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

He notices that even as she’s clearly wary of his motives, she still steadily heads for the open door. “I don’t,” he says. “But I gave you my word.”

She’s staring back at him as if he’s the most mystifying creature she’s ever met.

Daniel glances at his watch. “You’ve got a fifteen minute window. It was the best I could do.”

That seems to decide her. “It’s all I need.”

“Vala?” he asks as she glances up and down the hall.

She turns back.

“Even if we can protect ourselves, deflect Netan this time…that won’t stop him, will it?” Daniel says.

“No,” Vala says. “It won’t.”

She slips out the door.

* * *

Netan turns as the guards escort his visitor inside his chamber. “Vala. Welcome back.”

He looks for any sign that she resents being here, once again so carefully wrapped up in the world she spent a great deal of energy escaping once upon a time. She would have known the cost though, that day she walked back into his world with two Tau’ri in tow.

Her fingers trail along the edge of the desk. “They tried to lock me away.”

Netan smiles. It was inevitable that the Tau’ri would finally see Vala for what she really is. “And yet, here you are.”

Her lips curve. “Locks can be delicate things.”

Just like people.

“The Tau’ri?”

Her disdain for them is clear in the careless flick of her fingers. “Obsessed with rebuilding Earth.”

He’s long since stopped wondering where her information comes from. It always seems to bleed into her skin, breathing it in like most beings do with oxygen.

“The Ancient weapon they used to defeat Anubis?”

She picks at her nails as if bored. “Depleted.”

“And the rest? Do they know?”

She smiles, a sinuous gesture that sends a thrill of sensation up his spine. She’s truly magnificent. And once again all his.

She settles herself in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. “The poor darlings have no idea what’s coming.”

* * *

Netan’s fleet approaches Omega, their secret little base no longer secret.

“There’s a shield, sir.”

Netan glances at Vala.

She is still lounging sideways on her chair, hands languid and bored. “A pathetic last gasp.”

“She’s right, sir. The energy read out is very weak.”

“Full volley,” Netan orders. It is time the Tau’ri learn their place in the grand order of things. This new galaxy they have birthed together. The secrets of the Asgard will be his.

“Are they returning fire?”

“No. Nor have they launched any ships.”

They are no doubt still protecting fragile little Earth. Strange. But Netan did not come so far by being timid. “Increase power to forward weapons.”

There’s a pulse of light, the moon seeming to shrug, the shield flying outward. At first he thinks this is their feeble protection at last fizzling out, but then the three closest ships crumble in a shatter of light, the shock wave rolling through his own ship, consoles sparking and going dark.

He turns, but Vala is gone. He feels the knife slide into his back the same moment he catches the trace of her scent—spice and mystery, seduction and betrayal.

He should have killed her the first time he ever laid eyes on her.

Her lips are cool against his skin, one last poisoned kiss. “It’s a great, wild, beautiful galaxy out there, Netan,” she whispers like a caress against his cheek. “There’s no more room for tyrants.”

She twists the knife.

* * *

Cam and Daniel board the disabled ship. There is no one there but bodies, the knife still sticking out of Netan’s back.

Cam picks up a small piece of paper left stuck to the main view screen. There is a series of numbers.

Coordinates, he realizes.

Good luck, it says. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

The Lucian prison camp is in disarray, Netan’s death reverberating through the galaxy, and it only takes a small force to overrun the last remaining feeble overlords.

They free the slaves, help them set up a mining operation owned and operated by the slaves, not the Tau’ri.

After a month, Cam finally has to face the truth.

Kate is not here.

“She’d kick my ass if she were here.”

“Who?”

“Kate,” he says. “She’d kick my ass and she’d be right.”

She’s dead. She died doing what she believed in, what they all believed in. And he’s not going to dishonor that by getting himself killed for a ghost.

It’s time to start to rebuild.

* * *

Daniel looks up as the door to the lab opens. He has no idea how she made it in here, how Omega seems to be as porous to her, but he’s long since stopped bothering trying to figure it out. It’s just part of who she is.

“Netan’s dead,” Daniel says like this isn’t something she’s already certainly aware of.

“Is he?” Vala asks, eyes on her fingernails like they are the most fascinating things in the universe. “Did he finally turn his back on the wrong lieutenant?”

Netan was notorious for not allowing any lieutenant with the strength to challenge him to survive. He never would have been so foolish.

“Not likely,” Daniel says. “After all, no one has stepped in to fill the hole. No one strong enough to hold it all together. The Alliance is in chaos.”

She isn’t giving anything away. “I suppose people will have to start making decisions for themselves then. Unless the Tau’ri plan on…” Her eyes lift to his face.

“No,” Daniel says. “We learned this lesson long ago.”

“And yet…your good intentions will always lead you into another catastrophe. It’s your race’s curse.”

Some days he thinks he would do anything to get a straight answer out of her. But the rest of the time he’s smart enough to get that he’s better off not knowing.

“You should know that we aren’t looking for you. That we won’t.”

She smiles, and Daniel realizes it doesn’t actually matter to her, one way or the other. They can come after her or not. It doesn’t mean they would ever catch her. He tries to imagine her as ever defenseless, maybe as a small child, but he thinks even then she must have taken care of herself.

She steps forward up to the glass, looking down to where Sam is working below, the archive of Asgard knowledge she bargained for finally completely open to her.

“It all makes a lot more sense now,” Vala says.

“What does?”

She slides him a look, her head canting towards Sam. “Jack.”

Daniel’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

She considers him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he’s being deliberately obtuse or not. “As long as I’ve known Jack, he’s been searching for something,” she says. “A fix it, a cure, a magic remedy.”

That doesn’t sound like Jack, but then again, the way he used to be is hazier and hazier in Daniel’s mind. His skepticism must show because she tilts her head to one side and gives him a half-smile that makes her look bizarrely vulnerable. That’s not a word he ever thought to associate with her.

“When you’re desperate enough, you’ll take hope anywhere you can.” Her eyes harden. “It’s the reason conmen exist in the first place.”

He knows for a fact that Vala is every type of chameleon, that she isn’t above using every weapon in her arsenal to get what she needs. But he also understands in that moment that the one thing she never does is play people for their hope.

It makes sense now, why she didn’t betray them, not when it mattered most. No one breathes pure, unfounded, struggling hope quite like a Tau’ri. What hadn’t they been prepared to do, just on the merest whisper of hope?

What hadn’t Jack been prepared to do?

“The tattoo,” Daniel says, something clicking into place.

Vala nods, looking back over at Sam, leaning on the railing.

“It looked Maori,” he says, trying to think back and remember the details.

Vala shrugs. “If you say so.”

Something is whispering at the back of his mind that he’s on the right track. “The Maori believe that the human body is sacred, having come from the place of the gods,” Daniel explains. “So sacred, in fact, that a pure body is dangerous to other people, can cause physical and spiritual harm.”

Vala gives no sign that she’s listening.

“The tattoos are about rendering the body less pure, diluting the sacredness, making it benign.”

Vala turns then, looking up at him. “A way of rendering oneself impotent,” she says, and Daniel gets the feeling she knows way more about this than she’s letting on.

“To keep himself from harming anyone around him,” he surmises. The placement on the back of his neck is doubtlessly anything but accidental.

Vala nods, that fragile half-smile on her face again. She looks back over at Sam, watching her for a while. “Has he always loved her?”

It actually takes a moment for Daniel to work out the pronouns, to figure out what Vala is asking him, but then it’s like a ton of bricks dropping on him. “God,” he breathes. He’s never let himself notice it before, but looking back, it’s so damn clear. “I think he has.”

Vala nods. “She won’t give up, will she?”

“No,” he says, and the faith is so damn easy to find for once. Or maybe he never really let himself give up on her. “She’ll figure it out. She always does.”

“You know, Daniel,” Vala says, fingers trailing down his arm. “You’re not half bad.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at the sincerity in her voice, but her expression shifts so fast he thinks he must have imagined it, her eyes sparkling with that wicked gleam once more. “For a worn-out, cranky Tau’ri that is,” she amends.

He crosses his arms over his chest, giving her a wry glance. “That means a lot coming from a heartless thief.”

Her smile stretches even wider. “It’s almost enough to make me feel bad about the twenty credits I lifted off you the first time we met,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder and turning to leave the room. She pauses by the door, throwing a look back at him. “Almost.”

And then she’s gone.

Somehow, Daniel knows she’ll be back.

#sam/jack #annerbfic #sg-1 #down here among the wreckage #unfinished fic folder purge #i believe we used to call this #ficamnesty

39 notes · View notes

purplepatton · 6 years

Text

heading straight for the castle - one

summary: logan sanders is a prince who wants nothing to do with the responsibilities the throne gives him. roman prince is a civilian who would give anything to be royalty. when an odd twist of fate leads them to meet, the pair realize something remarkable: they look exactly alike. from there they decide to switch places, wanting to see how the other lives. but a simple switch quickly becomes something more as things spiral out of control in the kingdom

trigger warnings: none for this chapter, but if you need something tagged let me know!

artist: the stellar @keuwibird (find her amazing art here if you haven’t seen it yet,,, trust me it’s amazing)

beta: the amazing @logically-sided!! i want a give her a big shoutout because she helped me so much with this fic,, without her this fic would be shoved somewhere in the back of my wip folder lol. she was such a big help with everything, from fixing my grammer and giving me suggestions when i got stuck. she’s the real mvp,,, thank you again liz!!!

notes: so this is my big bang fic! i know i’m a little late posting (sorry about that) but better late than never! i’ve decided that instead of posting the story all at once, i’m just going to post a chapter every day (or every couple of days) because with school starting and work i don’t have much time to sit down and format everything properly lol (plus this gives me more time to make sure everything is ok lol) but, yeah! hope you enjoy it, because i had so much fun writing this story :))))

If there is one thing that Logan hates more than anything in the world, it would have to be sitting in on the council meetings.

Maybe it’s the way the members drone in pompous tones about issues that rarely hold value. Maybe it’s the way the members take ages to decide the proper course of action, when in reality it should only take them a few days. Or maybe it’s just because the meetings always seemed to happen when Logan was doing something he enjoyed, therefore taking away the precious moments he had to himself, which were few and far between these days.

Whatever the reason, Logan can feel his attention slipping as two of the council members begin an argument about taxes and the possibilities of raising them. It’s been the same argument all week; although this time the two decided to add insulting each other into the mix.

Logan can feel the disgust curling up in his stomach. He clenches his fist, and tries his best not to scowl outwardly because these people are supposed to be professionals. Yet here they are arguing like children. No wonder nothing ever gets done around here; everyone is too busy focusing on their own petty differences to make any significant changes.

Pushing himself to his feet, Logan storms out of the room and leaves the council to argue among themselves. Once he’s outside the doors, he leans against the wall and tries to bring his emotions under control. He needs to think clearly, and his emotions are only clouding his thoughts. He breathes out slowly and forces himself to relax.

“Wow.” A voice next to him says, sounding amused. “You lasted forty minutes in there. That’s got to be a new record or something.”

Logan has long gotten used to Joan’s habit of popping up out of nowhere, so this new appearance does little to phase him. Instead he turns towards his aide standing beside him and raises an eyebrow. “Only forty? I could have sworn it was longer.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Joan says, falling into step alongside of Logan. They head down the hall and away from the muffled voices of the council room. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Logan snorts, catching the sarcasm in their voice. Joan grins widely at Logan’s slip in composure, and Logan has to resist the urge to blame the council for his lapse in control. Instead, he rolls his shoulders back and asks, “Where to now?” Because even he can’t keep his schedule straight in his head; not when there is so much to do and so much is changed at least five times a day.

“It’s one in the afternoon.” Joan says in reply, not answering Logan’s question at all.

That means that whatever is on Logan’s schedule next is something he should remember, and is probably something he’s been looking forward to. He furrows his brow and tries to think.

It hits him a few moments later, as they’re walking down the hall that eventually makes its way to the back of the castle. “Oh!” He says a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of a maid who happens to be hurrying past. He flashes her his smile usually reserved for the reporters before lowering his voice and addressing Joan. “I nearly forgot. I guess I really do need a break.”

“The great Logan forgetting something? Looks like it’s the beginning of the end.” Joan says with a faux expression of pity. “Best get your affairs in order because it’s all downhill from here.”

This time Logan manages to school his expression into something more neutral, although his lip twitches and betrays his amusement.

The pair follows the hallway until they stop in front of a rather plain door. It’s nothing special, just wood with a simple design carved into it. It’s rather out of the way from the other places in the castle, in a region that’s only really used by servants. Which makes it the ideal location for Logan and Joan.

Logan knocks on the door while Joan keeps an eye out for anybody who might happen to walk by. There is a slight pause before the door is swung open by a women with long brown hair and sparkling eyes.

She’s happy to see them, if not impatient. “It’s about time!” She huffs, dragging both Logan and Joan into the room and closing the door firmly behind them. “I was beginning to think the two of you would never show up!”

It is quite possible that Valerie Torres is an actual goddess.

She had worked in the palace as the head seamstress for many years, and had been with Logan for a good number of them. She was kind, hardworking and a rather good listener. Logan had spent so much time with her - what with all the suits and fittings he needed for the meetings and parties and interviews he needed to attend - that she quickly became one of the few people Logan actually trusted.

And when Logan had approached her with a half formed plan to gain some freedom, she had immediately offered her help.

Now she shoves a bundle of clothes into Logan’s arms and instructs him to change into them. He takes them and dutifully walks to the small corner of the room that’s sectioned off by a hanging sheet to change. He quickly swaps out his lavish clothes for the more ordinary polo shirt and jeans. He finishes adjusting his tie around his neck (an accessory he insisted on despite of Valerie's protests, because he is a serious person and serious people wear neckties) and steps back into the main section of the room where Joan and Valerie are waiting.

He stretches out his arms. “Well?” He asks. “How do I look?”

“Completely ordinary.” Joan drawls from where they are lounging on a chair.

Valerie frowns, walks over and musses up his hair out of it’s carefully styled position into a more casual and relaxed style. It’s not a complete change, but Logan knows from past experience that it’s enough of a change that people will need a second look to identify him. And the time it takes them to take a second look is just the amount of time he needs to slip away.

“There you go.” Valerie says, content with her work. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want Joan come? I’d feel a lot better if they were with you.”

Logan rolls his eyes. Every time he goes out of the castle it’s the same song and dance. He’s had this exact conversation with Valerie many times, and each time it goes the same way. He doesn’t understand why Valerie expects his answer to change.

“I just want an hour to myself.” He says, frustration creeping into his voice. “I understand your concerns, but I’ve been doing this for so long now that the odds of something going wrong are infinitesimal.”

Valerie frowns because it’s not the answer she wants to hear, but there’s really nothing she can do to stop him. “Fine. Be careful.”

“You know me.” Logan says with another one of his faked smiles. “I’m always careful.”

The afternoon rush was in full swing, but Logan doesn’t mind the way people are swarming around him and pushing to get to where they want to go. He lets the flow of traffic push him along with the crowd, not caring where he ends up.

It’s a nice sort of feeling, just wandering around and not worrying about where he has to be.

He’s visited this part of the city so many times that he could probably walk it blindfolded. As he rounds a corner in the crowd, he spies a small bookshop that’s a favorite of his. It looks rather empty, but Logan can’t remember a time when it had actually been full. It’s always half empty like this, which Logan likes because it means the store is quiet enough for him to focus on whatever he happens to be reading.

With his eyes locked onto the store’s sign Logan starts towards the store, not paying attention to where he’s actually walking.

Logan immediately regrets this decision as he proceeds to run headfirst into someone. It’s a painful collision, and Logan falls back onto the ground with a grunt. His glasses had fallen off in the process, and the world around him has melted into a blur of color and movement. He reaches around him, trying to find his glasses so he could see what was going on.

Someone is standing over him, and even though Logan can’t see a foot in front of his face, he assumes that this is the person he ran into because a steady stream of apologies is being directed at him.

“-wasn’t looking where I was going, are you okay?” A hand grabs his and hauls Logan to his feet. Logan was not ready for the sudden change of position and he wobbles slightly before regaining his balance.

Logan tries to assure the person that he’s fine, but he can’t get a word in edgewise as the person babbles on. “You don’t look hurt, that’s good. I swear I didn’t mean to run into you, I was just in a hurry and you just sort of appeared and I-”

The voice cuts off for a reason Logan isn’t exactly sure of and he takes the opportunity to say, “I’m fine, thank you. I just need my glasses. You wouldn’t happen to see them lying around, would you? I’m afraid I can’t see anything.”

His glasses are shoved into his hand rather roughly and he pushes them onto his nose, feeling the tension that had been building up in his shoulders relax as soon as he was able to see. He looks at the person in front of him and the first thing he notices is the person’s expression.

He’s looking at Logan in shock and alarm. For a moment Logan doesn’t understand what could possibly be so worrying to this boy (who on a second glance looked around Logan’s age). Then he sees what the boy sees and his jaw drops.

The boy looks exactly like him.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/taken off): @basilstorm@artistfromthestars@storytellerofuntoldlegends@romananalogicality@verymuchanidiot @istolelittleredshoodie @dont-cry-croft @speechless-angel@thefamouszombiebouquet @wolfwalker100 @datonerougecookeh@virgilient @virgil-is-verge@impatentpending@zaisling@trixie85592 @sillysandersides @hamster-corn @adventurousplatypus @unring-this-bell @mymiddlenameisunderscore

16 notes · View notes

toglidethroughlife · 6 years

Text

Special (A Choices Fanfic)

Pairing: Kenji x F!MC (Alex)

Summary: Kenji tries to propose to Alex, but the universe keeps standing in his way.

Words: 3,096 (HOLY FRIGGIN CRAP THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME)

A/N: So I'm still on a bit of a personal break this week (hence the lack of activity these last few days), but I found time to continue a WIP and considering it was a request, I didn't want to wait any longer to post it (since this is overdue already anyway).

This one goes out to my love, @kenkatsaros , who requested for a proposal gone wrong for Kenji x MC. Shoutout to @kenjkats too for this proposal HC (I borrowed a few ideas; you'll see them when you get there lol, no spoilers).

I hope this satisfies, my dears! I'm so sorry for the delay.

P.S. I use a random HC I saw somewhere that Blake (RoE) and Kenji are related btw. You'll see why.

"Alex. From the very first day, I'd known you were special."

Uh. No.

"Alex, you are the most amazing person I've ever met."

"Alex. You make every day of my life better than the last."

"Alex--"

"Kenji!"

Kenji startles to his senses.

"Babe, if you don't come out soon, we're going to lose our reservation."

Kenji tries his best to keep his composure, weeks of practice paying off as his voice comes out calm and collected.

"I'm coming!"

He lets out a puff of breath, fingers stroking the smooth silver band in his hand. A ray of light shines through the bathroom window, and Kenji smiles as it hits the diamond just right, a prism of colors dancing on its surface.

Today's the day, Katsaros. For real this time.

He slips the ring back into its case, giving the velvet lined box a gentle pat before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

He gives himself one last look in the mirror, and the smirk on his lips quickly turns into an embarrassing grin, the thought of finally proposing to the love of his life making him too damn happy.

He slaps his cheeks to calm himself before exiting the bathroom.

"Sorry, babe," he says to an impatient-looking Alex. "You know I love to look extra good for you. Gotta do you justice somehow, right?"

He straightens the lapels of his jacket in front of her, flashing her that classic Kenji Katsaros smirk.

Alex snorts, unable to keep up her annoyed front.

"Right," she says, rolling her eyes as she grabs her clutch. "Tell that to the restaurant manager when we’re eating outside."

He hooks his arm around her waist and presses a kiss to her forehead. "About how hot and sexy my girlfriend is? Gladly."

Alex just laughs as they close the apartment door behind them.

"Kiss ass."

---

One week ago.

"Kenji!"

"What? What?" he asks, his head raised from between her legs.

Alex guides him back down impatiently.

"Don't stop!"

And Kenji helps her find sweet release, her body now spent but sated underneath him.

Kenji continues to pepper sweet kisses along her neck and chest, Alex's fingers twining lazily in his hair.

"Mmm," she moans when he sucks on her pulse point, her legs tangling with his.

"Wish we didn't have to go to work today," she tells him, a soft gasp escaping when he kisses down her stomach.

"We don't have to..." he murmurs against her skin.

Her breathing hitches. "Grayson needs us."

He nips lightly on the skin over her hip. "I need you more."

Her lips twitch into a smirk and she pulls him up to meet her lips, and he responds eagerly, his hands roaming her body appreciatively, lips drawing out the kiss for as long as he can.

"You're terrible," she says, smiling.

"You love it," he retorts, pressing another kiss to her lips.

She chuckles softly. "I do."

And Kenji thinks about doing it right here, right now.

"Hey, uh, there's something I've been meaning to ask you--"

But they're cut off by the sound of Alex's phone vibrating on the nightstand, and Kenji thinks he's never hated anyone so much in his life.

"It's Grayson," Alex says, excusing herself, and Kenji gets off her, laying on his side, watching her as the two discuss their schedule for the morning.

Damn you, Prescott.

"We gotta go," she says after she hangs up, laughing when she sees him pout. "C'mon, bronze boy."

And Kenji groans and sinks back into his pillow, eyes rolling to the back of his head at Grayson Prescott's impeccable timing.

---

Present day.

So far, so good.

Kenji sighs with relief as they finally get to the restaurant after hours of unforeseen traffic, his hand jittery from the thought of being thrown off schedule. Again.

No, Kenji Katsaros. Do not psych yourself out.

You are proposing to Alex tonight. Complications be damned.

He's nervous when the receptionist asks for their reservation, but he looks at him with an easy smile.

"Right this way, Mr. Katsaros."

Kenji smiles smugly at Alex.

"You're lucky," she tells him, eyes amused.

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, bringing the back of it to his lips. "Don't question my methods, darling. I've got everything planned to a tee."

They're already sitted and browsing the menu when another sight catches Kenji's eye, his mind suddenly cursing his dumb luck.

No, no, no, no, NO!!

Because sitting at the end of their line of tables, sipping on wine and laughing with another man, was none other than Northbridge's district attorney -- Kenji's mother -- Meiko Katsaros.

---

Two weeks ago.

"Delicious gourmet-quality food, check. Alex's favorite wine, check. Flowers--"

Kenji pulls out a single rose from the giant bouquet he's hiding in the kitchen, a slow smile on his face as he reminisces on the first time he'd given Alex a rose.

"Check."

His hand flies to his jacket pocket, a calm sense of excitement rushing through him as he feels the outline of the velvet box holding his custom-made engagement ring.

Check.

He lets out a deep breath as he admires how he's transformed the dining room, rose petals lining the ends of the table, the candlelights casting a golden glow on the dimly lit room.

Alex should be home any minute now, and she wouldn't be expecting him to be home yet -- he told her he was going away on a business trip (but of course, he really wasn't).

His heart is pounding when he hears the jingling of her keys on the opposite side of the door, fingers fidgeting with the body of the long stemmed rose.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The door opens slowly to reveal...

"Eva?"

The person in question looks around the dimly lit apartment with a confused look, her head cocked to the side.

Eva’s eyes dart from her surroundings to meet Kenji's. "Uh... yo."

Kenji quickly flips on the lights. "What are you doing here? Where's Alex?"

And as if on cue, Alex appears at the doorway with a seemingly furious Poppy in tow, bags of groceries in their arms.

"I swear to god, Alex, if I have to hear one more 'just a few more minutes, dear', I am going to march down to Prescott Industries myself and drag his goggle-wearing ass home."

The two ladies come to an abrupt stop when they see Kenji.

"Hey!" Alex greets with surprise, walking over and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He instinctively wraps an arm around her in response. "What are you doing here?"

But he's completely unprepared for the extra pairs of eyes in the room, his thumb fidgeting with the rose in his hand.

"I, uh, my trip got cancelled..." he explains, handing her the rose and taking the groceries from her in exchange. "I got this on the way home."

Alex smiles, grateful but confused.

Meeting Eva and Poppy's gazes, Kenji asks, trying to keep his cool, "So, what are you ladies up to tonight?"

Eva smirks, a knowing glint in her eyes. "We were supposed to have a girls' night in, but it looks like you've got other things planned..."

She raises her eyebrows at Kenji and he tries to threaten her with a look of his own, but he knows Eva's got him... so he just pleads her to shut up instead.

Eva tries to bite back her smile. (But she fails.)

"Uh huh," Poppy says, observing their weird little exchange. "Anyway, we can do this another time," she tells Alex. "I don't want to ruin your night."

And Kenji is so tempted to just go with it, let the other two ladies leave so that he could keep Alex to himself, propose to her, hopefully have her say yes, and spend the rest of the evening kissing and making sweet love to her...

But he knows Alex would want to be there for her friend.

And he could tell Poppy was upset.

"Hey, no worries, Pops," he says, taking the bag from her hands too. "I was about to head out for dinner with my mom anyway."

He brings the bags of groceries to the kitchen and swipes the candles from the dining table, clearing out the rose petals as fast as he can. He hides the bouquet in the pantry, a reluctant smile on his lips.

"I made some food by the way," he tells them when he steps back out. "Feel free to dig in."

Alex raises an eyebrow in question and he shrugs casually.

"Eh, I got hungry."

Taking his jacket from the rack and his keys from the counter, he begins to walk towards the door, but not before Eva throws him another knowing look, to which he just rolls his eyes and smirks.

He's already out the door when he hears a pair of footsteps run after him, Alex's arms wrapping around him as she leans in for a kiss.

"I love you," she whispers against his lips, pressing another quick peck before she untangles herself and heads back to the apartment, her smile lingering on his mind.

He's grinning from ear to ear himself, fingers curled together as he shakes his head, entering the elevator when it comes.

Damn you, Poppy and Eva.

---

Present day.

See, Kenji had eliminated all possible interruptions from his plan.

Grayson, Eva, Poppy, Dax -- he'd talked to all of them at this point, and everyone knew the plan -- nobody calls Alex until he says so.

Leave it to his mother to be the one complication he had not expected, and she didn't even realize a damn thing.

"Kenj," Alex calls him, her hand coming over his clenched fist. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation behind this... Maybe they're just friends?"

Kenji can feel himself glaring before he even knows it, his stare burning into the back of the man's head. "They don't look like 'just friends.'"

He hears Alex sigh in defeat. "Okay, maybe not. But, would it really be so bad to see your mom dating again?"

"No, but not in front of me! Especially not when--"

He catches himself before he continues, Alex's eyes expectant on him.

He takes a nervous gulp of wine.

"You know what. You're right," he says, opening his palm to lace her fingers with his. "Let's just enjoy our night."

And they do just that for the next few hours, chatting, enjoying each other's company like they always do.

Seeing his mother in the far corner of his eye still distracts him sometimes, but Alex's laughter always pulls him back in, her easy smile brushing the unpleasant thoughts away.

You are so damn lucky, Kenji.

And he's ready to pop the question before dessert even rolls in, his hand inside his pocket.

"Alex, I--"

... but then Alex's phone vibrates with a notification, and Kenji's eyes widen with dread.

No.

"There's a break in at the Northbridge museum--" Alex reads from her phone. "Precious artifacts and jewels are the presumed targets... Kenji, that's two blocks from here!"

No.

She immediately pulls out her earpiece from her purse, feet ready to go.

"Why hasn't Dax called us about this?" she asks, unamused.

NO.

"Maybe Eva can handle this one--" he offers, but the determined look in her eyes tells him enough.

I'm not proposing tonight, am I?

"... I'll get the bill."

---

One month ago.

"Congrats, man!"

Kenji greets his older cousin with a warm hug, giving him a hearty pat on the back.

"Thanks, man," Blake grins, his gaze directed back at his wife and child.

It was Kenji's nephew's first birthday party, and everyone in the extended family was here, Alex somewhere in the party mingling with his relatives.

"It's surreal," Blake shares, "but I couldn't be happier. Everyday's been a blessing."

Kenji follows his line of sight to see Alex playing with Jess and his now one year old nephew, cooing and making silly faces at him to make him laugh.

The sight tugs at his heartstrings, an uncontrollable smile breaking across his face.

"You seem happy too," Blake teases, nudging him lightly as he takes a sip from his glass of wine. "Thinking about tying the knot soon?"

Kenji almost chokes on his wine, caught off guard by the sudden thought.

"What, me and Alex?" he laughs nervously. "Nah. It's too early to tie ourselves down."

He'd be lying though, if he said the thought hadn't entered his mind in the last few months of their two-year relationship.

But he's convinced himself out of it every time, perfectly content with how they are now.

Blake smirks, unconvinced. "I wouldn't call it tying yourselves down, Kenj. Think of it as starting an adventure with your favorite person, your best friend.

"Trust me. When the person's right for you, nothing's too early or too soon... It's just right."

And he lets his cousin's words ring in his head as he watches her, his nephew crying and puking onto her dress, her face an amusing mix of horror, shock, and embarrassment.

Kenji laughs.

"Thanks, man," he says, clapping Blake on the back. "Just, uh, for future reference, where did you say you got that ring made again?"

---

Present day.

Trust his superhero girlfriend to get alert notifications from the local news.

They finish off the job pretty quickly, Eva having already been at the scene before they arrived.

The police flock in a few minutes later to help clean up and take away the culprits, Meiko Katsaros following soon after.

"I was in the area," she tells Kenji/Talos when she walks over to them, "I figured I should come and have a look."

Kenji tries his best to hide his distaste.

"Oh, I know," he mutters under his breath, and Alex elbows him forcefully in the gut, turning to Meiko with a bright smile.

"You kids should go about your evenings now," she tells them. "We'll take care of everything here."

Eva thanks Meiko and they all begin to walk off, Eva throwing Kenji another one of her looks.

"Did she say yes?" she mouths to him.

"Haven't asked yet," he mouths back, earning him a punch in the arm from the brunette.

"You are too slow, Katsaros. And that means something coming from me."

She rolls her eyes at him and bids goodbye to Alex, shooting him one last glance that he thinks is supposed to be encouraging before she leaves.

They change back to their regular forms in a closed off alley, Alex's stomach grumbling in the silence of the night.

Kenji laughs.

"Hungry already?" he asks, and Alex brushes off her embarrassment easily, a defensive light in her eyes.

"Hey, those poached lobsters were tiny, okay?"

She slips her arm around his, her head resting on the top of his shoulder.

"What do you say we get some real food?" she asks, and he smiles at her, knowing exactly what she wants.

"Pizza?"

Alex beams. "Pizza."

They order a whole pie and buy a few cans of beer before settling on the top of their lookout hill, the evening sky glittering above them as they ate.

The pizza box lies on the grass beside them, halfway finished along with their cans of beer.

They sit together in comfortable silence, eyes up at the stars, randomly bursting into bits of stories here and there.

Kenji loves looking at her at times like these, when she's too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice him staring, whatever food she has on hand unintentionally smearing somewhere on her face.

And it surprises him how captivated he still gets, just drinking in the sight of her, and he realizes he wants this, everyday, for the rest of his life.

"Hey, marry me."

Alex chokes on her pizza.

"What?!" she asks, coughing, her free hand reaching for her can of beer.

And Kenji stays intentionally quiet until she gets over her coughing fit, her eyes wary on his as if afraid she'd ruined the moment.

Kenji takes her left hand in his, flashing her a warm smile as his thumb strokes the back of her hand.

"I've been figuring out how to say this for a month now... I even had this big crazy speech planned, which you would have loved, by the way."

Alex snorts.

"But none of that matters now.

"I love you, Alex. I want to spend the rest of my days loving you, laughing with you, eating pizza and choking on food with you."

Alex laughs and punches him lightly on the chest, tears welling in her eyes.

"I want to build a life with you, Alex." He pulls out the velvet box from his pocket, opening it and offering his promise to her.

"If you'll have me, of course."

And Alex is nodding before he even asks, a single tear falling down her cheek.

"Alex, darling." They both laugh at the nickname. "Will you marry me?"

"... Yes."

Uncontainable smiles spread on their faces and Alex pulls him in fiercely, Kenji's touch tender as they wrapped around her waist.

"You are way too eager for this," he jokes, "I haven't even put the ring on you yet."

And Alex slaps his back playfully, her super strength causing it to sting a little, but he doesn't care.

In this moment, nothing could make him happier.

---

They continue to sit in their spot until later, Kenji's arms around Alex as she rests against his chest.

"You're telling me you realized you wanted to marry me after seeing me covered in baby puke?" Alex remarks with disbelief, easy smiles on their faces as Kenji tells her about his failed attempts at proposing.

"Oh yeah. Baby puke is hella sexy," he teases, pressing a kiss to her temple as he laughs. "Besides, that just means you've already been marked by family. How was I supposed to not ask you to marry me?"

Alex chuckles against his chest, raising her left hand up to eye level, the diamond glistening under the moonlight.

"I can't believe we're getting married," she says, and Kenji's just looking at her again, a tender smile on his lips.

"I can't either."

And Alex sees what he means without him saying it -- and it never fails to catch him by surprise how lucky he is to have found her.

He doesn't think it ever will.

"I love you, Kenji Katsaros," she says, pressing her lips to his. "Never doubt that."

#playchoices #playchoices fanfic #kenji katsaros #kenji x mc #choices hero #LOOK AT ALL THE WORDS I BARFED OUT OMG #i am so invested in these dorks MY BBIES #this is probably my most indulgent fic to date??#holy wow somebody stop me #my fic

116 notes · View notes

jarienn972 · 7 years

Text

Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter Four

I’ve been trying to catch up on chapter updates and realized that I’d forgotten to add this new chapter that’s been up on AO3 and FF.net for a couple of weeks now. I’ve got to remember not to try to keep track of two WIPs at the same time again.

I’d seen a post by @killian-whump earlier tonight that she’d been in a mood so perhaps a new chapter featuring a semi-conscious pirate might help cheer her up. Again, my apologies for not getting this up on Tumblr sooner.

From the beginning: Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3

At some point, Emma lost track of how long she'd just been sitting there at the desk dividing her attention between the intriguing map displayed before her and monitoring Killian's fitful slumber. She listened to his pained moans and occasional gasps for breath amidst the rumble of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning. This tiny cabin might be small, but at least it appeared to be well constructed – a fact she was extremely thankful when she gazed through the front window, mesmerized by the rain pounding the gravel parking lot. She didn't even dare think how awful things would have been if they'd been caught without shelter in this weather.

Eventually, the downpour tapered off and the skies gradually began to brighten, the grey clouds pushing off to the east. She was feeling more optimistic now that the storm had passed, hopefully that either the phone service would be restored or that someone would come by to ensure that no hikers had been caught unprepared. It was a long shot that either would happen, but at least they were safe here for a while, even though she was being reminded by the displeasure of her growling stomach that they didn't have any food. She finished off one of the bottles of water, knowing it would do little to placate her hunger but she didn't want to become dehydrated. There wasn't much she could do for Killian though. If they could get him to a hospital, she knew he'd likely need intravenous fluids and probably a blood transfusion, but first he had to survive until help arrived.

Her sight drifted down to the map once again where a red square marked their current position, so she sort of knew where they were. A red box in the middle of a desolate wilderness. Nothing in her knowledge of how magical portals were supposed to work should have brought them here. Neither of them would have been thinking about such a foreign place so why did the portal dump them out here on the side of an arid mountain? That was the nagging question that still bothered her, as did the vaguely familiar names depicted on the map.

Salt River… Superstition… Lost Dutchman SP…

And just like that, something clicked.

They were all places she remembered from her time spent in Arizona… Time spent in Phoenix that she'd desperately wanted to forget.

Somehow, they were back in Arizona – somewhere deep in the Superstition mountains east of Phoenix but how the hell did a portal bring them here? Killian had never been here so this would never have been a location which would have crossed his mind and it certainly wouldn't have been in the forefront of hers. There must have been something unusual about this portal – something that only that crazy plum headed witch might be able to tell them, assuming that anyone could get her to spill her secrets. The only positive note was at least they'd been dropped in a place where getting home would be relatively easier unlike Neverland or some other far off realm. Granted, until Killian was healed enough to travel, even getting back home to Storybrooke from here was going to take a few days at least.

But first they had to get off this damned mountain. With the storm now a safe distance away, Emma tentatively reached for the telephone receiver once again, bringing it to her ear fully anticipating silence, but to her surprise, this time there was a dial tone. She started to dial 911, but stopped herself before pressing the second 1, reminding herself that they were in the middle of an isolated National Forest roughly an hour from the closest major city. 911 probably wouldn't work up here but while logic should have told her to dial 0 to reach an operator who could connect her to the closest emergency services, the only numbers she could find swirling around in her head were those of family and friends back in Storybrooke. Family and friends who were likely worried sick wondering where she and Killian had been transported to.

So, she punched in the digits for a more familiar number and waited – hoping that they'd answer even though it was going to be an unknown number displayed on the Caller ID.

"Hello?" came the confused yet desperately welcome sound of her father's voice.

"Dad!" she exclaimed. "It's me – Emma. I'm so glad I got through!"

"Emma?" David's voice still echoed with confusion, wondering how his daughter was managing to call him. What other realm could she have been sent to that had working telephones? "Emma, where are you?"

"It's a long story, but the portal apparently dropped us into the mountains of Central Arizona."

"Arizona? You mean like the state out west?" she could hear him relay some muffled information to someone else in the background. Probably telling her mother but she couldn't make out all of the voices until he put the call on speaker. "Emma, your mom, Henry and Regina are all here."

"Good," Emma stated, hoping that maybe with all four of them hearing their plight, perhaps they could come up with a group solution. "Maybe together we can all figure out how this happened…"

"How the hell did you end up in Arizona?" Regina asked bluntly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Emma replied. "You'll have to ask that cotton candy haired sorceress with the gold scepter how she managed to send us here. Maybe she'll shed some light on our current location. All I know is that we got dropped out of the portal onto the side of a mountain east of Phoenix. We managed to find what appears to be a Park Service way station at the end of one of the hiking trails. That's where I'm calling from but we're going to have to find a way off this mountain soon or Killian might not make it…" Her voice quivered with those last few words as her gaze drifted over to her wounded husband across the cabin.

"It looked like he got stabbed right before the portal opened," Snow spoke up. "How is he?"

"Pretty bad," Emma responded. "The wound is pretty deep and it hasn't completely stopped bleeding. He's asleep right now, but I'm honestly getting worried…"

"We found the dagger that our mystery man stabbed him with. Nasty looking thing that if I'm right might be older than Hook himself," David said.

"The guy dropped it after he stabbed Killian?"

"Yeah – right before he jumped through the portal behind you…," David continued.

"He jumped into the portal too?" she lamented. "If he ended up on this mountain, he didn't get dropped into the same place we were. We haven't encountered another person, but I swear, if I see that guy again, I might just shoot first and ask questions later…" Emma insisted.

"Glad you still have some sort of weapon since you don't have magic out there," Snow stated. "Be careful."

"I will be - especially now that I know we might not be alone up here," Emma assured her. "Have you learned anything about these two?"

"She's not talking yet – other than to express her anger over you stealing her gold," Regina stated, "but I'm working on that. Right now, she's locked up down in Zelena's old cell with the cuff curtailing her magic. I'll get her to open up one way or another…"

"Her gold?" Emma scoffed. "What did she mean by that? The thing only gold up here would be the color of the sand and the sun. If her portal was supposed to send her somewhere with gold, she must have miscalculated. Pretty sure this would count as a total failure."

"I don't know, but it's certainly an interesting development considering all her ranting about it," Regina said. "We'll find out what we can, I promise."

"Thanks," Emma responded, pausing momentarily to think. If the man who'd stabbed Killian followed them through the portal, where did he end up? He didn't land in the same clearing they had, but that didn't mean that he couldn't be lurking nearby. That fact was certainly going to complicate things. He knew Killian was wounded because he's the one who'd inflicted the injury so he'd naturally assume that they'd attempt to get medical attention so now, attempting to get him to a hospital might not be the safest option – but neither was staying here. "I might have to rethink a few things on this end…" Emma stated after a few seconds of silence.

"What do you think you're going to do?" her mother wondered. "At least you're still in this realm – could you fly back home?"

"That's probably not a good idea," Emma cringed. "A three hundred year old wounded pirate on an airplane? Even if we could get through TSA scrutiny, I'm not sure I could deal with that trip… I could probably rent a car and drive back but it would take days and right now, I don't think he's strong enough to manage that long of a road trip. We might be stuck here in Arizona for a while…" If she'd felt secure enough to leave Killian here in the cabin, she contemplated hunting down his assailant, but she felt safer staying here with him.

"We'll figure out a way to get you both home," her father insisted, ever the optimist.

"Well, like I said, our first priority is finding a way down this mountain. I'll call you when we're somewhere safer."

"Please keep us updated," Snow urged.

"I'll try – and please, see what you can get out of that witch," Emma reminded them. "Hopefully you'll have some answers when I call next time as to how we ended up in Arizona."

"Oh, I'll get her to talk," Regina insisted.

"I hope so. I'll be back in touch as soon as I can," Emma stated as she wrapped up the call then placed the receiver down onto its cradle, deciding it was time to check on her husband. Even from this distance, she could see beads of perspiration arching across his forehead and noticed his fingers trembling slightly. How long had it actually been since he'd been stabbed? An hour and a half? Maybe two hours? She wasn't naïve enough to deny he was getting worse, but the knowledge that the stranger who'd done this was somewhere on the same summit as them complicated matters, not to mention gave Emma an unnerving, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had to think of a way to get them out of here and find Killian some sort of proper medical attention that wouldn't draw too much attention. A helicopter would be far too visible even if it was the fastest and probably safest means. By the looks of the gravel parking lot and minimalist road heading away from the cabin, an ambulance, even without lights and siren, was probably out of the question too as this area was most likely accessible only to four-wheel drive vehicles.

The more she thought about it, the increasingly frustrated she found herself. Even with transportation, how could they go to an Emergency room? Hospitals would ask lots of questions – questions that she might not be able to answer and there was of course the concern that their mystery opponent might have ended up closer to the city. Maybe he was already stalking hospitals and urgent care centers… Emma was smart enough to know that a few dollars passed to the right person could provide all sorts of information and it wasn't like the treatment of a one handed man with a stab wound to the chest would be a daily occurrence so they'd likely garner a lot of unwanted scrutiny.

But for the moment, her concerns would have to be pushed aside as her astute hearing picked up the unmistakable sound of gravel being crunched under vehicle tires. Someone was in the parking lot. She listened keenly as the vehicle stopped and cut the engine, followed seconds later by a door opening, then slamming closed. Instantly tensing, she tried to get a look at the vehicle but couldn't make it out from her vantage point. Instinctively she drew her weapon and crouched down attempting to stay out of view as she tried to position herself between the doorway and her slumbering husband who was thankfully oblivious to the potential danger.

She hadn't heard the approaching footsteps but a rattle from the other side of the only door alerted her that someone was testing the latch once held closed by the ruined padlock that now hung uselessly there. The door began to inch open as she awaited the confrontation.

"Who's there?" a male voice called as she caught a glimpse of a law enforcement style service weapon leading through the slightly ajar door. "You're trespassing on Federal Government property…" the voice continued as the door opened further to reveal a tall, slim man in a tan and olive green uniform and wide brimmed hat who seemed somewhat startled to find an attractive blonde woman crouched on one knee beyond the door aiming a gun back at him. "Easy, lady…," he said calmly without lowering his own weapon. "I'm National Park Service Ranger Carlos Littlecreek and you've broken into one of our way stations…"

"Sorry," Emma replied, remaining taut and unrelenting. "Didn't have much of a choice. My husband's injured and we needed shelter from that storm that just went through here. I'll buy you a new padlock…"

"Okay, I don't blame you. If you'll put the weapon away, perhaps I can help?" He raised his open left palm, extending it toward her as he used his right hand to tuck his service weapon back into its holster. "See – not a threat…"

"I'm not trying to be either, but the person who wounded my husband may still be looking for us and I can't take any chances," Emma explained, exhaling deeply as she lowered her own gun and softened her stance.

"Okay then, let me help you. You said your husband is hurt?"

"He was stabbed. I'm having trouble getting the bleeding under control…"

"Well, I see you found our primitive first aid kit," he said seeing the white plastic case spread out on the floor behind her but she hadn't yet stepped aside to let him through to approach her husband. "I can go radio for a rescue chopper…"

"No – no helicopters," she insisted. "That would bring way too much attention."

"You sure? It's not like we can get an ambulance up here that easily…" He wondered if she was being a tad overprotective but her body language spoke for her – she absolutely wasn't taking any chances. "You're really worried about this person following you…," the Ranger said, trying to be as empathetic as possible despite his confusion. This woman was armed and quite obviously knew how to defend herself and yet she was worried about drawing attention to them? Just who the hell were they running from? "Okay, I'll be happy to drive you down to the city, but its gonna take longer that way."

"That's fine. My first concern is getting somewhere safe."

"Let me go radio back to base and let them know I'm aiding some stranded hikers…," he stated. "I'll be right back and then maybe on the way, you'll tell me how you got yourselves into this predicament? You definitely don't look like you were out for a hike…" He pointed at Emma's knee high leather boots with their two and a half inch block heels.

"I'll try, but I'm not promising much... Mainly because honestly, I don't know myself," she replied – and that wasn't even stretching the truth. "Let me see if I can wake him and find out if he's strong enough to walk out to your vehicle."

The Ranger smiled and gave a quick tip of his hat before returning to his vehicle to contact his dispatcher. Emma was a bit reluctant to accept his assistance, certain she was about to get bombarded with tons of questions but her super power insisted she could trust him. He had the authority to simply arrest them for breaking and entering or trespassing, but he hadn't – at least not yet. He had offered to help them even if he might have thought her insane for refusing a helicopter rescue.

She couldn't dwell on that thought right now though as her priority was ensuring that her husband was prepared for a long, likely bumpy trip down to the valley below. She knelt beside the cot and lifted her jacket off of him, tossing it for the moment onto the pile with his stained clothing. Before trying to wake him, she decided to check the bandages and upon peeling back the blanket, found blood was soaked through both layers of gauze so she hoped Ranger Littlecreek would be patient enough to allow her time to change them. She hurried to the bathroom to wash her hands, drying them on the last remaining clean hand towel before returning to the main room to pull the necessary supplies from the first aid kit.

It didn't take quite as long to swap out the gauze as the initial process of cleaning and dressing the wound had taken, but she grew worried when Killian didn't react to the sting of the alcohol. Was he so soundly asleep that he hadn't felt it or was he simply going numb to sensation?

"Killian?" she called as she gently wiped away the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the towel. "Killian – I need you to wake up. A park ranger found us and can give us a ride down to the city, but we need to get you on your feet to get to his car…" She felt him shift, grimacing and groaning from the pain as he stirred.

"Emma…?" his voice sounded deeper than normal as he woke. "How long was I asleep?"

"Half an hour? Maybe longer? I'm not really sure but the storm is gone so it's safe to go out…" She wasn't about to let him find out yet that his assailant had followed them through the portal. "Do you think you can walk outside to his car? I'll help you…"

"Aye," he replied, forcing himself to sit upright while wincing through his own agony. He let the blanket fall to the floor as he swung his feet over the side of the cot, but no sooner had his heels hit the floor, Emma stopped him before he even attempted to stand.

"Hang on – give me your hook before the Ranger gets back," she demanded, her tone rushed as she reached for his artificial appendage, giving the steel hook a brief twist to pop it free from the base. "We're going to face enough questions as it is. I don't want this to trigger any more than necessary…" He nodded in understanding as she tucked it away amongst the heap of leather before retrieving the plaid blanket from the floor and wrapping it about his shoulders to cover the rest of his brace. "We'll just keep you wrapped up in this, okay? I really don't want to fight with your blood soaked clothing right now…"

"This will do splendidly," he replied with a lazy grin but she knew he was deflecting, hiding his anguish behind a smirk. She positioned herself directly in front of him, extending her arms toward him as he stood. She quickly grasped his forearm with her right hand while slipping her left hand around his waist as he waivered trying to find his balance.

"Easy…," she instructed, urging him to lean into her as much as possible. "We'll take it slow…" Lightheaded from dehydration and blood loss, he had to check his balance with every tentative step, relying almost entirely on his wife's strength to keep him from falling by the time they reached Ranger Littlecreek's black SUV with the National Park Service emblem painted across the hood and front door on each side of the vehicle. The Ranger yanked open the rear passenger side door while Emma helped Killian climb inside, nearly having to lift him herself when he stumbled. Once he was safely inside the SUV, she closed the door and darted back inside the cabin to fetch the first aid kit in case they needed it and collect both of their leather jackets, although the air temperature had warmed considerably since they'd arrived here. She also picked up the last unopened bottle of water that she'd removed from the refrigerator earlier figuring as long as Killian was conscious, she'd try to get him to drink more.

"Ready?" Ranger Littlecreek asked her as she came back to the vehicle with arms laden. He was standing beside the front passenger door as she exited the cabin and for a moment, she might have thought he'd opened that door for her, but he reached into the glove compartment instead, withdrawing a combination padlock.

"Yes – I'm quite ready to get off this mountain," Emma replied as she strolled around to the driver's side of the SUV and climbed into the backseat. Once buckled in, she fought to fasten Killian's seatbelt as his head fell onto her shoulder.

"Okay – let me lock up here. You can replace our padlock later," the Ranger grinned as he swapped out the previous lock Emma had destroyed. It only took him a few seconds to secure the way station once again and as he climbed into the vehicle, he turned to face his passengers before starting the engine. "Alright – the closest medical facility is in Apache Junction, but I'd feel safer taking you into Mesa to an Emergency room."

"I'm not sure that would be safe. For all we know, the man who stabbed my husband is already staking out Emergency rooms or urgent care places… I'd rather go somewhere that's off the grid – maybe a private doctor if you know one…"

"Are you sure? I mean, I know someone who might be able to help, but we're not talking modern medical facilities…"

"Please – any place where we won't be asked a zillion questions," Emma insisted.

"Okay, I know a Native healer who can help you out. She's basically a Navajo pharmacist, but she does a lot more for the tribe."

"Kind of a medicine woman?"

"No – not really. She doesn't do all of the traditional rituals and chants. She an herbalist - she blends plants, flowers, spices and stuff to create natural remedies. She'll know what to do."

"Sounds like just the person we need right now."

"Well then sit back and buckle up. The storm washed out part of the road through the arroyo south of here. It'll be a little rough until we reach the main highway."

#cs ff #cs fan fic #cs fan fiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fan fiction #only a little superstitious

15 notes · View notes

rxbxlcaptain · 7 years

Text

I was tagged by @callioope at a time when I was conveniently attempting to avoid my own writing, so thank you for helping me procrastinate, lol!

+Where do you publish your work? "Publish” sounds a bit official, but I post my writing either here or on AO3 as Kobo! If I ever get around to publishing my original writing, I’ll probably publish it on my main blog @letthepeoplesay-oh!

+What medium/application/etc.? If I know I’m going to be sending my work to my beta, I’ll write it on Google Docs, since that’s how I’ll share it, but if I’m just going to be doing my own editing, I’ll write it on Microsoft Word since it never requires an internet connection and I can write wherever! One of my other favorite applications when it comes to editing is WritingAid, which will examine writing for overused words/phrases, find other filler words and the like. If you guys are looking for a quick editing tool, I would completely suggest it! (With the understanding that it is a machine and sometimes you have to roll your eyes at it and go “No, I want it to say that, thank you very much.”)

I’ve also some some random notes on my phone (since that’s always with me) whenever a really good line I want to remember runs through my head or if I come up with a good concept for a prompt! (The trick is remembering how I wanted to use that line when I finally get the chance to sit back down at my computer.)

+Do you collaborate with others? I can’t say that I have! I’m going to lean towards I simply wouldn’t collaborate and that has everything to do with me and little to do with other writers (because, believe me, I’ve met plenty of authors on this site that I would be honored to work with!) I’m just a bit... controlling when it comes to my work? Not the best quality, I realize, so I don’t want to subject other people to that!

+How much editing do you do before you publish? Depends on the fic, really. A lot of my prompts don’t get a lot of editing, especially if I’ve got several sitting in my inbox that I need to answer. Anything that’s a multi-chapter work (Luctor et Emergo, for example) gets literally so much editing before it’s published. I’ll hammer through chapters three or four times before they’ll see the light of AO3.

+Do you listen to music? Yep! I can’t listen to music I know well, because I’ll start dancing and/or singing along (only to find words from those songs in my writing later on) but I have about 12 hours worth of soundtracks/scores on my phone (Harry Potter, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Downton Abbey... A whole, wide range) that I’ll play in the background, or I listen to salsa music, since it’s upbeat and I don’t speak the language they’re singing in, so I won’t accidentally write some of it down! (Another fun bonus with listening to music in Spanish: if I listen to enough of it, I convince Spotify I speak Spanish, and then it’ll start playing me ads in Spanish and, again, since I don’t speak the language, it’s a lot easier for me to ignore those than English ones!)

+How do you decide what to write about? When it comes to fics, I normally pick out one detail that I’d like to play with (I’m currently attempting to write a “What if Galen survived?” AU that’s a perfect example of this!) or some scenario that I’d love to see the characters in. Often, I’ll choose a plot because I really just want two characters to interact (like Jyn and Han in Begin Again or Jyn and Luke in Faith) and attempt to manipulate the environment around them to figure out how that would be logical!

+When do you write? I wish I was organized enough to have a specific time that I wrote, in all honesty. A lot of the time it’s in the afternoons when I first get home from work or in the morning when I have downtime at work. I often tell myself I’m going to write before I go to bed, but then I’ll often start scrolling through Tumblr instead and, well, that idea goes out the window.

+How often do you write? Again, totally depends. Some weeks I’ll write every single day and then some weeks I won’t ever touch my keyboard in a creative sense. Ever since I started writing for Rebelcaptain, though, I don’t think I’ve let a full week go by without writing at least something for them.

+Do you take requests? I do! I love getting prompts because I always feel more motivated to get a fic out there if I know there’s a specific person waiting for it, rather than just “Oh, I’d like to publish this sometime” (Those stories sit in my drafts for quite awhile, in all honesty). I can’t promise I’ll fill all requests or how quickly I’ll fill them, but if you guys have any prompts, feel free to send them my way!!

+Is there a genre or type of story you want to write but are hesitant to? To be completely honest, I’m a little hesitant of starting a multi-chapter fic within the Star Wars universe. One of my favorite ideas for a fic I’ve got bouncing around in the back of my head is a story where Jyn is raised by the Organas rather than Saw Gerrera, but I feel like I’m not familiar enough with the interworkings of the SW universe to write that accurately. Though I’ve loved Star Wars for most of my life, I’ve only really dived into the fandom with the last year or so. Hopefully at some point I’ll get past this, because I’ve definitely got things I want to write!

+Any inspirational quotes, videos, tricks, articles, etc that help you stay motivated? So this might be a little out of left field, but the other week I was googling when the next Game of Thrones book would be out and I found this wonderful quote from George R.R. Martin: “[The next book is] not done yet, but I’ve made progress. Not as much as I hoped a year ago, when I thought to be done by now. I think it will be out this year (but, hey, I thought the same thing last year).” For some reason, that was just so comforting to me? Because if world renowned author George Martin gets behind on his projects, it makes me feel a bit better that I’m behind on mine as well!

+Go to page 7 of your WIP, skip to the 7th line, and share 7 sentences: As proof that I am not completely abandoning Luctor et Emergo, here’s a section of the next chapter, which is focusing on Cassian’s journey at Hogwarts:

“If you were one of my snarkier students, Andor, I’d worry you were giving me cheek with that question.”

Cassian attempted to smile at the professor, but found the motion difficult. If he had done the spell correctly, why did he need to demonstrate it again for the professor?

“Andor, you just performed that spell non-verbally,” Professor Draven told him, emphasizing the last word. “Which is a skill I don’t teach until after you’ve completed your O.W.L.s.”

“And here I’d just thought I’d lost my hearing,” Kay muttered, sending his own pillow flying with a “depulso” under his breath. When Cassian shot him a dirty look, he merely shrugged his shoulders. “What? You talk quietly enough on a daily basis.”

“One of us should,” Cassian shot back.

Tagging: @thenewleeland, @jynandcassianandor, @operaticspacetrash, @leralynne, @lyresandlasers and any other writers who want to do this!

#only if you want to of course!#Thank you for tagging me! :)#writing #about me #callioope

9 notes · View notes

solivar · 7 years

Text

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one in which Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate student of the Fine Arts, attending college in what he assumes to be a reasonably sedate corner of the American southwest. Jesse McCree is an occasionally leather-clad NPS ranger whose duties extend somewhat further than shooing lost tourists back onto the clearly marked hiking trails. Something weird is going on in the desert south of Santa Fe and their lives unexpectedly come together in the middle of it.

The update in which almost everybody knows what’s going on now and yet no one has yet fled screaming into the early morning.

Sweetwater’s Cafe and Dim Sum Palace was what happened when the owner of the hip young southwestern fusion cuisine cafe closest to the UNM main campus met the owner of the hip young Chinese small plates restaurant closest to the UNM main campus and, rather than engage in an increasingly rancorous culinary battle for the spare cash of every student in walking distance, they instead fell wildly in love and shortly thereafter into scrumptious and wholesome partnership. Strategically located catty-corner to the main campus residence halls, the post-merger restaurant became the place for broke ass college students attempting to top-load on calories for the day to turn up as soon as the doors opened, eat from carts pushed around three stories of public-to-semi-private dining space by an army of cheerful abuelitas for two hours straight, and still make a 9:30 lecture with time to spare. The joint Shimada-Tekhartha-Song-Correia household dined there frequently enough that the host waved them through despite the fact that Hanzo still looked like he had just committed a phthalo green and phthalocyanine blue shaded murder even after a thorough scrubbing. Fortunately, their usual table, a booth in the back corner of the semi-private floor, was unoccupied and he rather swiftly found himself tucked firmly between Genji on one side and Zenyatta on the other, with Lucio and Hana standing guard on the outside ends of the U-shaped seat. Hana had, in fact, only parted with her adopted hockey stick with extreme reluctance.

“Is it too early to start drinking?” Hana asked brightly. “Because, between you and me, I have a feeling that today is going to be the sort of thing that demands Mimosas. Lots of Mimosas. And possibly a whole bottle of tequila before it’s all over.”

“Yes,” said Hanzo and Zenyatta, more or less simultaneously and in reasonably identical disapproving tones, to their mutual surprise.

“You two aren’t going to be a single bit of fun about any of this, are you? Okay, fine.” And when the drinks cart came around, she settled for a spiced hot chocolate and waited patiently for everyone else to adulterate their tea or coffee before demanding, “All right. Spill it. I want to know in excruciating detail why our security deposit probably just went down the toilet.”

Hanzo inhaled the steam rising off his cup of tea, took a fortifying sip, organized his thoughts, and began to speak, pausing only when the food carts paused next to their table. He told them about the trip itself, the breakdown, the walk through the desert, the ranger and their drive back to the car the next morning, and precisely how everything had gone horribly, hideously wrong from that point forward. He even copped to talking to Zenyatta first, which earned them both a half-startled, half-hurt look from Genji. When he finished, the table was covered in half-empty plates of huevos rancheros, honey-coated sopapillas, carne adovada burritos, pork xiao long bao, sesame buns, and a crock of hot and sour soup. He helped himself to a little bit of everything while the others digested what he told them.

“So...what you’re saying is…” Hana said in the tone of one musing idly aloud, “...your smoking hot park ranger has one hot vampire dad and one terrifying smog monster dad but, nonetheless, he has two dads, which means he won’t find it completely traumatic if you call him up and ask him if he wants to go get some hot chocolate and pumpkin empanadas once all this is over?”

“Really? That was your takeaway from his story?” Lucio asked.

“It was the takeaway that doesn’t make me want to run screaming back to Korea.” Hana replied, sweetly.

“Okay, there is that.” Lucio turned and leveled a deadly serious look at him, brown eyes intensely earnest. “Han, I love you man, you know that, right? So you know this is coming from a place of love when I say you could not be more obviously thirsty for this dude if you had a holoscreen floating over your head announcing in foot-tall flashing letters I am thirsty for Ranger Jesse McCree. Seriously, ask him out. The worst he can do is say he’s not interested.”

Hanzo buried his face in his soup bowl in an effort to disguise the fact that all the blood was rushing into his head with such violence he could hear it roaring in his ears like a gale-force wind. One one side, he could feel Zenyatta heroically controlling the urge to add his encouragement to the chorus; on the other, he suspected that Genji was restraining something considerably less supportive.

“Show of hands,” Genji asked, his tone positively glacial with the self-control it was taking him not to have a screaming freakout in the middle of breakfast, “Who thinks my brother being stalked by a soul-eating monstrosity from beyond reality as we know it is completely unacceptable and something we should all be working to change right now?”

Four hands went up; Hanzo abstained, since he felt his opinion on the matter should be fairly self-evident.

“Seriously, though.” Hana reached over and snagged a sopapilla. “I joke because otherwise I’d be rocking back and forth in a corner gibbering right now because, really, that was kinda the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen and my Dad collects vintage Junji Ito manga so I know from creepy.”

“I gotta agree with Hana on that one.” Lucio continued to look intensely earnest. “I get why you tried to keep us out of it and I appreciate that, I do, because this semester is trying to murder me even without the addition of horrible tentacle monsters -- “

“I am not entirely certain those are tentacles,” Hanzo murmured into the surface of his soup.

“-- or suspiciously tentacular not-tentacles, but seriously, man. Your life is like normal repellent right now. Anti-normal.” Lucio slumped back in his seat. “And your ranger dude thought sending you back to standard reality would help?”

“The principle is a sound one.” Zenyatta interjected quietly. “The purpose of returning him to us was to encourage his soul to anchor itself in the comforting rituals of the ordinary, of the life he led before it intersected with the unnatural. I suspected the medicine sent to aid that endeavor was dosed slightly too high and therefore overperforming in an unhelpful way -- reducing it, however, may have allowed for something even more dangerous. For that I am profoundly sorry.”

“I asked for your help -- you have nothing to apologize for, Zenyatta.” Hanzo drank the last of his bowl. “Perhaps I should -- “

“Take a leave of absence and put a couple thousand miles of ocean between you and whatever that thing is?” Genji suggested helpfully.

“I am not entirely certain that physical distance would actually constitute an encumbrance in this case.” Zenyatta interjected.

“Why not?” His brother replied, with the sort of maddening powers of logic he could marshal when circumstances demanded it. “The ranger suggested it would help if he stayed away from where it happened in the first place -- rationally, even further away would be safest, right?”

“The ranger sent me back here because you are my family,” Hanzo replied quietly. “And because being in your presence would constitute a form of healing. Would you like to contemplate the sort of convalescence I would enjoy if I crawled home and told our parents this story? I would spend the rest of my life contemplating the world through a heavy antipsychotic-colored haze from behind the unrelentingly beige walls and discreetly reinforced windows of a psychiatric institution that I would never be allowed leave again. I’m half amazed you don’t think I’m insane.”

“Admittedly, we kind of have the advantage of knowing you as the less freaky Shimada brother.” Lucio replied soothingly, flicking a glance at Genji as he did so. “No offense, G.”

“None taken.” Then, grudgingly, “I don’t think father would let that happen, but I see your point.”

Hanzo let the breath he’d been holding out in a shaky sigh. “Thank you.”

“In any case, I would suggest that our next course of action should be determining if that...painting...at the house is more than it appears to be -- “ Zenyatta looked up at the squeaks of dismay emanating from Hana.

“Could it be? Honestly?” She asked, eyes approximately twice their normal size. “Because, as it is, I’m not entirely sure I wanna sleep there with it still up as it is and if there’s, y’know, a chance it and its I-can’t-believe-those-aren’t-tentacles might come oozing off the walls I’m completely sacking out in your car for the foreseeable future, Zen, just warning you in advance.”

“Yes.” Simple and unadorned and, not for the first time that day, Hanzo felt as though he were trying to breathe around a red-hot spiky ball of panic.

“So. We call the ranger.” Genji said, firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, a whole lot of this is his damned fault in the first place and he can be doing more to help fix it.” Hanzo opened his mouth to object and found himself collecting a ferocious iridescent green glare for his troubles. “And, no, I don’t want to hear about how it isn’t because your judgment on this topic is completely impaired by your desire to climb him like a fire tower.”

“That is the worst analogy in the entire history of time.” Hanzo replied tersely. “And I am not -- “

“And Hana has a point, too, about staying at the condo not being the best idea until this gets figured out -- which, ideally, should happen today.” Genji continued doggedly on. “And you’re not going to be sleeping across from that no matter what.”

“Agreed.” There were days when it simply didn’t pay to fight, and this was clearly one of them. Hanzo fished the card containing the ranger’s contact information out of his pocket. “I’ll -- “

Genji snagged it in a single smooth motion. “I’ll call him. You’re supposed to be seeking normal, right? Go to class. Keep your studio slot. Hang out in well-lit areas preferably surrounded by hundreds of people. We’ll meet up at the Student Union at...five? How’s five for everybody?”

A general murmur of assent ran around the table and Hanzo nodded, reluctantly, in agreement.

Genji grinned. “Don’t look so worried, aniki. I’ll only chew on him a little bit.”

#WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66

8 notes · View notes

the-static-and-i · 5 years

Text

Aftermath (wip)

//This is gonna be a long one (because im like halfway through writing it i think? If even that?), and i was gonna hold off and keep it as a total surprise, but my brain literally wont shut off unless i share every last fucking writing apparently, so take this as it is, and ill post the completed and edited one later today probably, with a real summary :P

TWs: character death, grieving, mourning, suicidal thoughts, mentions of Lucky and Cam (disappearing), survivor’s guilt, general guilt. So much guilt.

Renee couldn't handle sleeping in the same room Sam had been in not 4 days ago. She had spent a lot of time with Eli and Sofia and Kat, trying to ignore the emptiness in her head. Sam was the more dominant of the two of them, and now with her gone, Ren didnt know what to do with herself; for being the more confident of the two, she didnt have the will to do much of anything.

By the fourth day though, she figured she couldnt sit and cry on Sofia's couch, finally dragging her ass back to her own cabin. She slowly looked around, remembering every blanket fort and hug that Sam had made and shared, every movie they had watched, and every bowl of popcorn she had eaten. The room felt.. empty now. Grey and dull and lifeless. Or maybe it was Ren feeling that way..? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.

She slowly idled around the room, eventually ending up in her room. She picked up Sam's teddy bear, her favorite that had gotten her through so many bad days. Ren hugged it tight, feeling almost as if she was hugging Sam. She found herself crying again, her knees giving out as a sob broke through her pursed lips. She clutched the bear -- Peter? -- to her chest, biting his ear to muffle herself.

She didnt know when exactly she had fallen asleep, but Ren found herself opening her eyes groggily, pushing herself up from the floor. As she stood, she saw the bag Sam had brought with them originally sitting next to the wardrobe, almost completely empty, save a sketchbook and a small fox plushie with a ribbon and a handmade tag that read "Auburn". Reading Sam's handwriting caused her to tear up further, so she set aside the small fox and grabbed the sketchbook.

She flipped through, seeing so many sketches, through various states of completion, the last two causing her breath to catch. On the left of the page was a half finished sketch of Sam holding her hand up to a mirror, her reflection clearly being Renee, smiling back so happily. She lifted a hand to her mouth, trying to hold back a dry sob, lowering her fingertips to the page after a moment. The right page was a half finished Renee in a dress, holding a blue rose, with a roughly-sketched Genesis in a beautiful black dress, almost holding Ren's hand. Across the top in Sam's best cursive was the phrase "For Good."

Ren found herself tearing up once again, the song immediately playing in her head. She couldnt remember all of the words, but the parts she could hear were distinctly in Sam's voice, "So now its up to you, for both of us.. i know im who i am today, because i knew you.. i do believe i have been changed for the better, and because i knew you, i have been changed for good..." Ren sobbed as the words repeated and replayed, what she thought Gen sounding like filling in some of the other half, "just to clear the air, i ask forgiveness, for the things ive done you blame me for.. whatever way our stories end, i know you have rewritten mine, by being my friend..."

She couldn’t hold back the tears, quickly setting the book aside so she didnt fuck with the pages further, bringing her hands up to her face so she didnt have to see anything but the darkness.

Finally, Ren had packed up her bag fully. She didnt know where she was going, but she knew she couldnt stay in the cabin anymore; there were so many memories everywhere here, and she couldnt stop replaying all of them. She left Auburn and Peter on the bed, with a short note saying that Eli and Jackie could have them respectively, before leaving out the front door. She considered just walking off the property until she collapsed somewhere, but decided that was a horrible train of thought that she didnt wanna follow, so instead she headed towards the road, caught between borrowing someone else's car and calling a ride.

She glanced up at the main house, briefly remembering the conversation about getting an apartment that Sam--.. that she was supposed to have with Ceph. She debated that too; it wasnt that she didnt want help, it was more that she didnt know if she could face an entire house of memories and people that might try to comfort or stop her, and she hadnt actually mentioned leaving to anyone. The fact that she left without Kat noticing was a miracle, and she couldnt handle explaining herself to anybody -- not when she was still explaining to herself.

"Renren..?" A quiet voice called behind her, causing Ren to tense up. She wanted to pretend she didnt hear him, wished she had made up her mind, wished she could disappear without hurting anybody, but.. She turned around to face Eli, not actually meeting his eyes. She doesnt speak, she hadnt since--..

Eli stepped closer, his hand coming into Ren's view. He reaches for her hand, her shoulder, before pulling away entirely. She wanted to hug him, but couldnt bring herself to move. She should explain, but she still didnt know why she was even gonna leave, and now he was going to blame himself no matter which she picks, and-

"Ren? Eli?" Another voice comes from the direction of the house, louder and more concerned than Eli's had been. Ren notices Eli turn to Jinx, sees Jinx's feet enter her field of view, can practically feel his worry rolling off of him. He had so much worry for someone so young.. "You two okay-?" Jinx sounded almost like he wanted to say more, but decided against it.

Ren nodded to his question, glancing down at the bag that was still clutched in her too-tight grip. This was a mistake. She shouldnt-- she couldnt leave all of this behind. This was.. well, she was happy here. Everyone she cared about was here, well.. almost everyone..

She lifts a shaky hand to run through her hair, habitually sticking her thumbnail in her mouth and gnawing at it afterwards.

"'m fine, but Renren..." Eli trailed off, and Ren felt a pang hit her chest; the first emotion to break her numbness, and it was guilt, how fitting.. These two shouldnt have to walk on eggshells, its not like she was a ticking time bomb..

But as she looked down at her white knuckles, as she chewed her nail down to the pink, as she remembered the voice telling her to join Sam and Cam and Lucky, she wasnt so sure of that anymore.

"Renren, stop," Eli pulled her hand from her mouth, and only then did she notice she had bitten down hard enough to draw blood. Her eyes followed Eli's hand back up to his face, tracing over every worried and distressed and upset mark, and she wished for nothing more than to hold him until they all faded.

Logically, she knew it wouldnt work like that, but she couldnt help but drop her bag and pull him into a hug anyway. It was the first one she had initiated and the first she had reciprocated, and that realization made her heart pang again. Eli was suffering and mourning just as much, and now it was like he lost both sisters.. She squeezed him a little, resting a hand on the back of his head.

Eli hugged her back quickly, his arms around her waist. She could feel the fabric of her shirt becoming damp near his face, but she didnt mind. It was just a shirt, and he was so much more important. She gently brushed through his hair with one hand, the other releasing him and holding a welcoming hand out to Jinx.

He stepped closer, his body tense, but he joined the hug anyway, one hand resting on Eli's shoulder and the other on Ren's back. She rested her hand on his back, just below his shoulder so he could easily duck out when he got uncomfortable.

Her legs were shaking by the time they all finally parted, Eli softly sniffling and Jinx looking a little awkward. Ren rubbed her arm, her hand feeling oddly empty without the bag, her arms feeling oddly empty without them, but her heart feeling a little more full. She pointed up to the house, waiting for both boys to acknowledge the gesture before she picked up her bag and stepped forward, wanting one of them to lead the way. In truth, she didnt want to be alone, and didnt know how to confidently lead anymore, even if it was just inside a big fucking house. She didnt know how to hold herself anymore, and her legs felt like weak cement, both too unstable but too heavy to move.

Eli grabbed Ren's hand, wrapping it round his shoulders, Jinx coming around to take her bag, and the three slowly made their way inside. They were so patient and understanding, and they were so strong.. they shouldnt have to be strong, and another guilty pang flashed through Ren's chest.

// Fin for now <3 Is gonna get worse before it gets better i think, so im sorry in advance? I promise im gonna write fluff soon, i need it so badly and these two assholes arent gonna stop me from giving them fluff, no matter how hard they’re apparently trying??

//Also, in case you couldnt tell, this is Post Cloak AU! Hopefully it stays an au! :)

#Renee #Eli #Jinx #Sofia #Kat #wip #Sam #Sam writes #angst #hurt/comfort #//so much guilt #tw// death #tw// character death #tw// grieving #tw// mourning #tw// suicidal thoughts #tw// survivor's guilt #tw// guilt

0 notes