#i have had zero inspiration for the past several days

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

#media recs #the flower that bloomed nowhere

[girlactionfigure]

Me: I don’t deny your identity. I acknowledge Palestinians exist today.

Them: Jesus was a Palestinian, not a Jew!

Me: Well, no - he was a Jewish rabbi. He had a bris, kept Shabbat, kept kosher, & his “Last Supper” was a Passover Seder. Besides, nobody would be called “Palestinian” for ~1,900 years after #Jesus died.

Them: Jews are #Khazars with no history in Palestine!

Me: Well, no - millions of DNA samples have now scientifically proven that Ashkenazi Jews (like their Sephardi & Mizrahi brothers & sisters) originate from the Levant (Israel).

Ashkenazi Jews migrated to the Rhineland (western #Germany) between 800-900 CE. 

#Yiddish - the language spoken by #Ashkenazi Jews for a millennia - is a mixture of Jews’ original Hebrew & adopted #German.

Meanwhile, there is no evidence of any Khazar influence on Ashkenazi customs, language, or culture.

The #Khazar tale (claiming some or many Turkic Khazars converted to #Judaism), while interesting, is not supported by any archeological evidence, and can be considered nothing more than a story.

Besides, it’s unassailable that the Ashkenazim were living ~1,500 miles from the Khazars, which may as well have been on the moon in the Middle Ages.

Them: Palestinians are Canaanites, the original inhabitants of the Land!

Me: Well, no - there’s zero evidence the Palestinians are Canaanites. This theory followed other similarly false claims over the past several decades that the Palestinians descend from the Philistines (an ancient Aegean Greek “sea people”) and even the Jebusites - a people for whom there is no evidence outside of the Bible of their having ever existed (if they did, they have been gone for at least 3,000 years).

One thing is clear, all of these recent tall tales about Palestinians’ ancient roots in “Palestine” were created in an attempt to delegitimize the State of Israel & not as some academic attempt to find Palestinian roots.

The #Canaanites (who spoke a language similar to #Hebrew, not #Arabic) have been extinct for more than 3,000 years; and there are no #Canaanite influences in any modern Palestinian language, culture, cuisine, customs, or religion.

Furthermore, DNA studies now prove Canaanites are closest in descension to modern-day Armenians & Western Iranians - but, culturally, there has not been a “Canaanite” people in ~3,000 years.

Meanwhile, there is a practically infinite amount of archeological, biblical & non-biblical text, and architectural evidence proving beyond any doubt that Jews lived in the Land of Israel continuously for more than 3,200 years.

Arabs only started arriving in Eretz Israel in significant numbers during the Arab Imperial conquest out of the deserts of the Arabian Peninsula in the mid 7th century CE when the Land was still majority-occupied by ~350,000 Jews.

Arab conquerers #colonized the Land of Israel & subjugated the Jewish majority.

That’s right, the Arabs were the #colonizers - this is historical fact no matter how much that might make your head hurt.

Them: The Jews are foreigners who stole Palestinian land!

Me: Ok, now you’ve officially ticked me off by repeatedly denying MY identity - one that was OBVIOUS to everyone before the last ~55 years when KGB-inspired propaganda went into mass effect in an effort to delegitimize Israel.

Can’t say the same about your identity … even though I keep trying to offer to respect it!

The Arabs only ruled Eretz Israel after conquering it in the 7th century & until they were kicked out by the Seljuks ~400 years later. Never during that time, did they even attempt to establish an Arab or #Muslim state or capital anywhere in Eretz Israel (Jerusalem is never mentioned in the Koran, and while the city is holy to Sunni Muslims, it is not holy to Shia Muslims).

And during the time of Arab rule, there was obviously no state or country called “Palestine.”

Then, during the 400 years before the start of the British Mandate around 1920, the Land was a distant & severely neglected province of the Ottoman #Turkish Empire.

In fact, in the late 19th century, as Jews began moving back to their homeland in larger numbers, there were only ~200,000 people living there (mostly a sparse, nomadic population), and Jews were the majority in #Jerusalem.

Post-WWI, the League of Nations (the precursor to the UN) legally granted Britain a "sacred trust" called the Mandate for Palestine (a name given to the land by Roman Emperor Hadrian in 135 CE).

The Mandate for Palestine was the least controversial of the 15 post-WWI mandates because everyone KNEW Jews were from “Palestine.”

So the Mandate for Palestine, which included the legal requirement for Britain to aid in the establishment of a Jewish National Home, passed unanimously by the League of Nations.

Among other things, the unanimously passed & legally-binding Mandate recognized “the historical connection of the Jewish people with Palestine and to the grounds for reconstituting their national home in that country.”

Besides, before the Jews started returning to the Land in large numbers in the late 19th century, it had become almost entirely war-torn ruins, arid desert & malarial swamps.

But the returning Jews were determined to rebuild their homeland; and the evidence is undeniable that Jewish labor & the Western technology they brought along helped to make the desert bloom again.

The result of a new booming economy in the midst of mostly rural, undeveloped land is no surprise; and hundreds of thousands of Arabs from neighboring lands immigrated to Mandate Palestine in the early to mid 20th century.

In fact, once Arabs began to rebel against the Jews (with pogroms & full-blown barbaric massacres on a particularly wide scale in 1920, 1921, 1929, and in 1936-1939), they made extremely clear to the British that they resented the name “Palestine,” which they claimed (incorrectly) was a modern Zionist invention.

For example, at the British Peel Commission in 1937 (looking into Arab riots from the year before), local Arab leader Audi Bey Abdul-Hadi testified that “[t]here is no such country [as Palestine]! Palestine is a term the Zionists invented!”

Again, during the 1946 Anglo-American Committee of Inquiry that was set-up to make recommendations for the territory, Arab-American historian Philip Hitti testified, “There is no such thing as Palestine in [Arab] history, absolutely not.”

The Arab position was not particularly surprising, as "Palestine” is not an Arab word (Arabic does not even have a letter “P” or a sound for “P,” which is why you often hear Arabs today pronounce it with a “B” as “Balastine”).

The Arabs in the Land at that time mostly identified with their local clan & otherwise considered themselves “Arabs” of “Southern Syria.”

In fact, just about anyone who was called a “Palestinian” pre-1948 was a #Jew.

This is why nobody made any attempt to create a “Palestinian state” during the 19 years between 1948 and 1967 in which #Egypt occupied #Gaza & #Jordan occupied the “#WestBank.”

The hard truth - even though I’m still acknowledging a #Palestinian people exists today - is that an Arab “Palestinian” identity was created for the first time in any signifiant way at the height of the Cold War in the mid-1960s & at the behest of the #Soviet#KGB, which wanted to expand its influence in the region, undermine the only democracy in the Middle East, and which had been repeatedly embarrassed by Israeli victories over invading Soviet-backed & Soviet-armed Arab states.

So the KGB wrote the ridiculous “Palestine Liberation Organization” (PLO) charter & molded Yasser Arafat at what was known as “KGB U” in #Moscow to use #terror & #propaganda to destabilize Israel.

Over the decades since then, many Arabs in the Land have come to self-identify as “Palestinians.”

Even among Palestinians today, however, many still identify with their clan over a separate “Palestinian” nationality (e.g., the clans do not intermarry & many are constantly engaged in some degree of violent conflict).

And the 2 million+ Arabs citizens of the State of Israel (who have equal protection under the law & more rights & privileges than they would have in any Arab and/or Muslim country on Earth) almost exclusively identify as either #Israeli-#Arabs or as simply #Israelis - not as #Palestinians.

Them: #Jews … I mean #Zionists … are bad, ok? Just ask the UN.

Me: Right. Just ask the #UN 

Captain Allen

@CptAllenHistory

#🙄 #Education #Israel #Palestine

[writingquestionsanswered]

How Much World Building is Too Much?

Anonymous asked: This question is on behalf of my cousin who came to me for advice. When he has an idea, he writes the most detailed worldbuilding EVER, designs the characters and has a general idea of how the story will go, but then when he starts writing he does maybe 2 chapters and it dies. I, on the other hand, do ZERO worldbuilding ahead of time (I don't need much) and end up finishing 80% of what I start out to write. How do you know how much worldbuilding is enough? How do you keep from spending so much time planning that by the time you get to writing, you don't know where you're going with the actual story? I want to help him but our styles are so different, I don't know where to start.💔

(Ask edited for length...)

I identify with your cousin a lot, because this is often how my stories go. I'm first inspired by a place, or the idea of a place, and everything sort of grows out from there. In my early days, I would also pour everything into world building and character creation, only to find myself falling flat with the story. And a big part of that, I learned, was that I didn't really understand how stories worked. It was easy to build a world and set up characters, but since I didn't understand story structure, I didn't understand how to flesh out the nugget of a story idea I had to go with that setting.

So, one thing you might do is try to get a feel for where your cousin is in that respect. You can start by asking pointed questions about the potential plot, and if he doesn't have answers already, it will help guide him in that direction. Some questions I would ask:

1 - Who is your protagonist? What is their "normal world" life like before things are turned upside down with the inciting incident?

2 - Who and what is important to your protagonist? (Stakes)

3 - What past experiences have led to them being who they are now?

4 - What needs to change about your protagonist's life, beliefs, or values?

5 - What happens to turn your protagonist's world upside down? (Inciting incident) Who (or what) causes this to happen? (Antagonistic force)

6 - How does this affect your protagonist specifically, and what goal do they decide to pursue in order to resolve the problem?

7 - What steps does your protagonist plan to take in order to reach their goal? What knowledge, skills, resources, or help must they acquire in order to achieve their goal?

8 - What obstacles does the antagonistic force create that the protagonist must overcome on their way to the goal?

9 - How do the events of the story help to change your protagonist's life circumstances, beliefs, or values for better or worse? How will they change by the end of the story?

10 - How does your protagonist face off against the antagonistic force, attempting to defeat them once and for all in order to reach their goal? Are they successful? What is the aftermath and how is the character's world/life changed--for better or worse--as a result of these events?

If your cousin can answer these questions, they'll have a reasonably well fleshed out plot that should help carry them through the story. How little or much planning of the plot ahead of time they need is something they'll need to discover over time, but if the above isn't enough to help them get through the story, they might want to go back and flesh out the specific plot points. You can point them in the direction of my post Creating a Detailed Story Outline, which suggest several different story structure templates they can look at to help them coax out the specific plot points of their story. And, bear in mind that story structure templates do not have to be followed exactly. They're just a guide to help you flesh out the story. Many writers like to combine different elements of different plot structures as a loose guide as they write their stories.

I hope this helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

[marlynnofmany]

Scary Stories in Space

If you’ve ever wanted to experience the rapt attention of bodybuilder-shaped swamp monster/goldfish crosses, who are equal parts muscles, fins, and floaty silk clothes with absolutely zero interest in blinking, then I can’t speak highly enough of telling ghosts stories to a pair of Frillians.

That hadn’t been the plan; it just came up in conversation while we tidied the storage hold. Our ship was going to take on a lot of cargo soon. There were things on the floor that needing picking up, which was boring, so we passed the time with stories.

As it turns out, Frillians love ghost stories.

“Then what happened??” asked Blip when I paused for effect. She’d frozen in place holding a wrench and a heat sensor, wide-eyed in a cloud of fluttering silks and fins, all electric blue and bright red and deeply invested in my story. Her brother Blop was her mirror in aqua and lavender.

“Then,” I said, picking up a crowbar, “When he went to let her out of the car, he found a hook on the door handle!” I caught the crowbar on my hand dramatically.

“Ohhh!” they chorused with a gratifying flinch, for all the world like frat bros watching someone get hit in the nuts. “Near miss! Oh, wow!”

I grinned and put the crowbar in a cabinet while they rehashed the very simple story to each other. I’d already told them a few others, and I was going to run out of stories before they ran out of enthusiasm.

Blip asked, “What do you think they did when they found that?”

With a shudder like a bird fluffing feathers, Blop suggested, “Throw it as far away as possible? Run into the house?”

Blip nodded, fins still flared slightly. “Maybe both. Then call the authorities.”

I walked past to collect a stray cable. “I don’t know about the authorities where you’re from, but mine wouldn’t have been much help.”

The twins discussed this some more, then agreed that the best response would be to run screaming into the house and lock every door they could find. Only then did they remember that they were supposed to be cleaning, and resume putting stuff away.

After three seconds of silence, Blop asked, “Know any more?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Lemme think.” I shelved a box and looked around the room for inspiration. No ghosts hid in this storage hold, though it had been home to many an animal cargo. The reinforced clear pen was still empty, and had been for a while — our cargos were mostly boxes these days. The door to the hallway stood open, and I almost had a thought about some doorway-based haunting, but couldn’t pin it down. I moved to stack a few stale tubs of animal food while I thought.

Then my cat Telly walked in, recently free to roam the ship on a provisional basis, and I had an idea. The fact that Telly had made a beeline for Blip’s spare overcoat helped. She burrowed right under, sniffing out the shrimp sticks that were undoubtedly hidden in several pockets.

Neither Frillian noticed.

“There was one story,” I said, watching them both perk up like meerkats. Fishy, musclebound meerkats. “The legend of the Pants With Nobody Inside Them.”

“Pants With Nobody Inside Them?” they dutifully asked.

I tugged at my own pant leg. “People where I’m from wear a lot of clothes that are shaped to fit our bodies, and have the same silhouette when they’re empty. Just imagine how creepy and unsettling it must have been for the first person to venture into a dark forest at night, and see the shape of another human — but only the bottom half. Walking … steadily … towards them.” I took slow and deliberate strides toward the far side of the animal pen, drawing their gaze away from the shrimp stick excavation.

“That sounds terrifying,” Blip declared. “Did they run?”

“Oh, you bet they did!” I said, jogging slowly in place, then speeding up. “But the pants ran after.”

Blop squeaked in fear, muscly arms bent to bring his hands to his mouth.

They had no idea how hard I was working not to laugh. “That first person got away, and so did the next. But it kept happening, and the pants got faster each time. People started to worry about going outside, and wonder about their own clothes — they’d look at a pair of pants on the floor, and imagine it starting to get up on its own. Then OH JEEZ WHAT’S THAT?!” I pointed through the clear walls of the pen.

Both Frillians whirled and screamed at the sight of — as promised — an item of clothing moving around.

Telly bolted in panic, with one shrimp stick in her mouth and several others scattering in all directions. I heard someone down the hall yelp, though it was hard to make out over the Frillians screaming.

“WHAT WAS THAT?”

“WAS THAT AN ANIMAL?”

“WAIT, THAT WAS YOUR ANIMAL, WASN’T IT?”

“WHAT WAS IT DOING IN MY COAT??”

I leaned against a wall, laughing. I couldn’t hold it back any more. “Stealing your shrimp sticks,” I managed. “Sorry.”

After a little more yelling and hyperventilating, during which three other crew members came to see what the emergency was, they finally calmed down. The rest of the crew was waved away.

“So,” Blip said, clearly determined to speak evenly, “How does the story end?”

I was still grinning. “Somebody makes friends with the pants. They were chasing after people because they were lonely.”

“What!” Blip exclaimed, fins spread and eyes wide, which just made me burst into laughter again. Blop echoed her.

“It’s a children’s story,” I explained. “I think the pants wanted to dance with other people. Or they wanted someone to wear them; I honestly don’t remember the details. But they were lonely.”

Blop shook his head. “Lonely haunted clothing,” he said. “Your planet sure has some memorable ones.”

Blip picked up her coat at arm’s length, and I couldn’t tell if she was looking for damage or ghosts. “Maybe it was hungry,” she suggested.

“I’m sure many ghosts like shrimp sticks,” I said, picking one up from the floor. “I’ll bet we could think up a new story about that. Maybe they’re haunted by the ghosts of the shrimp, mad about being eaten?”

Their dismayed expressions told me that such a story might ruin their favorite snack for them.

“Or,” I said, turning on my heel, “We could think up a story about a haunted… stun gun! Maybe it keeps a ghostly copy of all the people it’s stunned. How do you think a story like that would work?”

To my delight, Blip and Blop proved just as interested in composing new stories as listening to old ones. The rest of the tidying session passed quickly.

I take no responsibility for the nightmares they inflicted on the rest of the crew.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

(And yes that’s a reference to the Dr Seuss story.)

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #humans are storytellers #ghost stories #featuring the return of everybody's favorite space himbos #even though one's a girl #their species handles gender differently anyway #they definitely qualify #writeblr #writers on Tumblr

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Parabellum 🪙 | Top Gun Maverick Imagine/John Wick AU

Set in an alternate universe where Top Gun is actually part of an underground assassins bureau in NYC

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Parings: Dagger Squad x Wick!reader (platonic/work relationship), John Wick x adoptive cousin!reader (platonic), The Bowery King (platonic), The Adjudicator (platonic) Zero + students (platonic)

Content Warnings: angst, profanity, banter, blood, violence, graphic depiction of injury, mentions of death and murder. AU set in the JW universe where Top Gun is a tactical assassination squad for The High Table. Set during JW: Chapter 3–Parabellum, but everyone is the age they were in TGM (so the year 2013 since all the movies are set within days of each other despite released years apart) | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 8k

Premise: There are two rules everyone who works for the Table must follow: 1. No business on company grounds, 2. All Markers must be fulfilled. For John Wick, there are several debts he is owed as he battles against the whole world after breaking rule number one. And two of them fall under rule number two. John’s in for quite the treat when he heads to the Top Gun hangar to cash on of his debts from none other than his cousin, who happens to be the leader Top Gun’s infamous tactical assassin squad.

Note: Y’all I am so hype for John Wick Chapter 4. JW is one of my fav franchises and Keanu Reeves is my baby daddy 🥵 Maybe once Chapter 4 comes out I’ll do a part two to this since I have no idea what’s gonna happen to John and also if you’ve seen John Wick 3, do y’all think Winston is part of the BK’s plan or did he really betray John for his own selfish needs? like the Parent Trap imagine I did, I basically rewatched all the JW movies cause there was a marathon and got inspired. I really need to focus on my school work though cause I didn’t do so hot on my first writing assignment (it was research methods and my professor didn’t have the instructions very clear 😭) but I had to get this done and out first before taking a small few days of break to do my homework. — Bee 🐝

I do not own any of the characters from TGM or JW, this is for fictional purposes and entertainment. Read over CW before reading and reblogs , likes, and comments are welcomed but please do not steal or repost onto other platforms.

——————————

The phone was on the edge of breaking by how hard she was gripping it, cursing and flinching each time Halo strung a thread through her skin to seal the gaping wound that nearly sliced her face off. She couldn’t see out of her left eye and her lips were split in diagonal from the direction of the blade. Never had she experienced being cut by a katana in all her years of service….but there was always a first for everything.

“What do you want?” She winced again, glaring at the wall with hatred. While the Bowery King, who was experiencing his own hell with seven cuts to him, relayed to her the most recent update of their mutual ‘friend’, Y/n ‘Domino’ Wick thought back to the past last week. As much as she wanted to avoid it, she knew what was coming the second the message appeared on her phone: ‘John Wick—Excommunicado in effect in 1 hour. All services closed. Open Contract set at $14m.’

Seven Days Earlier….

The message was just sent out, everyone in the hangar appearing confused when the cell phones beeped at the same time causing them all to withdraw theirs from their pocket. Upon reading the words, multiple eyes turned to the woman seated at her desk. An opened bottle of whiskey was beside her, a stack of papers to be sorted through in a basket. She appeared emotionless as she read the message once before sliding the phone back in its place and storing it away.

“What’s up with Domino?” Omaha looked at Fanboy and Coyote when the woman rose from her chair before kicking it across the room and disappearing.

Fanboy shook his head, sighing in apparent distress, “You’ve heard of John Wick?” Of course he wasn’t talking about the fact his name was on the message they all got, he meant if Omaha knew who he was.”

“Only from stories. Ain’t he like the best there is.”

“The best and even more,” Coyote commented, already checking to make sure his gun was armed. “Man’s a beast. People call him the Boogeyman—or Baba Yaga to be more exact.”

“Anway,” Fanboy brought the attention back to him, noticing Domino called over Fritz, Rooster, Payback, and Hangman. They all were deep in discussion. “Domino and John were both orphans in Belarus, growing up together at the Ruska Roma.” Knowing what the Ruska Roma was combined with the fact Domino and John knew each other, Omaha made a face of shock. “They’re kinda like cousins—not sure if they are blood related, adoptive, or just grew close enough that they see each other as such. She doesn’t say a lot about her past, but before she became Domino her name was Y/n Wick. Now that Mav and Cyclone retired she’s been in service longer than any of us.”

“Just don’t ask questions, alright,” Coyote warned with a glance, “I know you’re new to the whole thing but keep quiet and you’ll live longer.”

If only Omaha had asked what John Wick looked like. Would’ve saved him a broken arm had he done so because when the poor guy went to do his surveillance, he was shocked to find a bloody man in their parking lot who immediately got in a tousle with when Omaha charged him.

The private hangar was located just a few miles from downtown at a very small private airstrip surrounded by a chain link electric fence, far enough and secluded that nobody in their right mind—unless of course, they were in need of service—migrated to. And unfortunately for Omaha he’d never seen John Wick before…so how was he supposed to know the intruder was the infamous assassin.

The two were going at it for a good three minutes until it ended with Omaha’s arm breaking and John’s belt around his neck. His air was constricted, the man fighting back against the hold in hopes of freeing himself. Before John could do the final twist to end Omaha for good, the sound of a gunshot followed by a speeding bullet against his face had John tripping back, releasing Omaha who took gasps of breath.

“That’s enough you two,” a stern voice said, multiple footsteps approaching. Looking up, John's eyes landed on his cousin flanked by members of her Dagger Squad on either side of her, guns trained on him as a warning for John to not make a sudden move. “We don't want things to get messy now do we?”

It had been years since the cousins had seen each other, well before John retired to marry Helen. They were roughly ten years apart in age, making Y/n around 40 now that John just turned 50. He was her mentor and protector during their time in the Ruska Roma, having been brought to the U.S from Belarus when John was 11 and Y/n was barely a year old. It’s unsure if they were even related but considering John looked after her like a family member people just assumed they were. Then when she got older she ditched her birth name and started going by Y/n Wick.

When John had heard several years before he retired that Y/n became a member of the Top Gun tactical execution squad, part of him felt he had failed her. Of course it was likely for her to join the underground world they were pretty much forced into by being a part of the Ruska Roma, but he hoped she’d not dive too deep. She was only 22 when she joined, becoming one of the best associates in the organization. Then just before he retired she was promoted to second in command, now four years later she was the leader after her predecessors decided to step down.

Looking at her now before him, he could tell Y/n had become the hardened contract killer she was destined to be. Reputation nearly rivaling that of his own. As a member of the Top Gun Tactical Dagger Squad Y/n earned the callsign ‘Domino,’ learning how to fly a plane due to the fact Top Gun provided services to associates by transporting them to and from locations. As highly skilled assassins the team are often hired by mobs, including the High Table when they don’t feel like sending their personal squads, to take out private contracts. Sometimes Y/n was directly offered contracts especially by those who wanted to keep their dirty work as hidden as possible.

Taking in the current Dagger Squad, John recognized most of them: Rooster, Payback, Fritz, Hangman, Coyote, Yale and Phoenix. When they last saw each other eight years before they’d all been recent recruits. Now they were molded killers. The other bunch were new faces—including the one he just broke the arm of. They had to have joined within the last several years. All wearing flight suits with their patches on the left breast, John read: Harvard, Bob, Fanboy, Halo, and lastly Omaha.

“You good, Omaha?” Y/n asked, not taking her gaze off of John. The man moaned in response.

“I think my arm is broken, boss.”

“Halo, Bob,” she simply said, the woman next to her and the man on the end dropping their guns to move over to the fallen man. When Halo walked off, Rooster took a step to the right so he was now directly next to Domino. On the opposite side to her left was Payback.

The two haul Omaha off, disappearing into the hangar. “Well,” Y/n puts her hands on her hips. “You sure know how to make an entrance. Hello, John.”

“Hello, Y/n.” She glared at the name, but made no move to correct it.

“Did you really have to break my guy’s arm?”

John gave a light shrug, putting his hand to his injured shoulder that was bleeding from a stab wound. “He came after me.”

Y/n gave an unhumorous laugh, shaking her head, “John, you got a fourteen million dollar bounty on your head. Can’t really blame him for trying—If I didn’t have a sense of why you’re here I’d give my crew the word and let them light you up before finishing you off myself.” It was harsh coming from a family member, but John couldn’t blame her. They’d been estranged for years now with their last encounters anything but friendly.

What John didn’t know though was Omaha had no idea what he looked like. Y/n was just trying to get under his skin.

“Go ahead and pull it out,” she challenged, eyes narrowing at the man. The squad kept their weapons raised, but relaxed their stance at her order.

Slowly John reaches into his jacket pocket, removing one of two Markers, making sure it was the right one before presenting it to the group. He saw the woman immediately stiffen, face tightening as the anger never left her eyes. In fact it looked like it increased by the sight of the object.

A debt she had to pay.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here, John. Some. Fucking. Nerve.”

“Y/n—.”

She cuts him off with a harsh tone, “You’re excommunicado, John. Services are now closed to you. As of five minutes ago that marker is void.” That last statement was actually on the fence.

There were two big rules in their world: 1. No business on company grounds. 2. All Markers must be fulfilled.

Given John broke rule #1 he was labeled excommunicado with the original contract of $7m by Santino D’Antonio doubled to $14m. Any and all services were now closed to him, even as simple as receiving medical treatment by a company doctor.

But what of the Markers?

John had two. One from Y/n and one from Sofia Al-Azwar, both given to John at different times, both where John had to transport and hide their children. In Y/n’s case she had gotten pregnant just shortly after leaving the Ruska Roma and was on her way to becoming a contract killer. She was barely 19 and in no way able to raise a child. So she called John and swore the blood oath to him that she would return the favor no matter the price or cost when the time came. Over 20 years later she still didn’t know what happened to her son. Sofia had originally come to Y/n to help her out when she needed to get her daughter away, but Y/n assured her John was better for the job, confessing he had done the same for her.

Would the Markers still have to be completed although he was banished and being hunted by the High Table? The same ones who order hits on those who don’t fulfill the Markers when presented by the person they owe? It was a tough situation.

It was Domino’s current situation.

John pleaded to her, opening the object to reveal her bloody fingerprint, “This is your blood. Your bond. When you needed help, Y/n, I was there. Now I need your help. You owe it to me, please.”

Y/n inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling, “Top Gun works for the Table, John. We have been in service to them for decades. They will come for us—for me, for helping you.” In the corner of her eye she saw some of the crew stiffen, hands gripping their weapons tighter at the fear of facing the Table.

John gave her a look, “They will come for you if you don’t.” That had her nearly falter, seeing a look of angst overtake her.

“Some family you are, John. Bringing death to my door. Risking the lives of my team!” She couldn’t help but shout, no longer holding back her anger. All she could think about was the fact the Table likely already knew he was there. They had spies all over the city. Once he leaves they’ll be sending someone even if she didn’t help him. “What the fuck do you want anyway? What’s the favor you so desperately need after all these years that’s made you put me and my crew in danger.”

“My ticket,” he simply tells her, watching her face become ashen. “I know you still have it. I need it now, Y/n. That’s all I ask for.”

A long time ago John gave Y/n his ticket every orphan of the Ruska Roma receives upon ‘graduation’. A symbol of the favor the organization owes them after spending years under them. Y/n had cashed in on hers a long time ago, but John had her keep his safe. Believing he’d never have to use it.

It was kinda ironic when she started thinking about it.

“You could’ve had it all you know,” she dryly laughs, gazing hard at the man she saw as a cousin. “You got out—away from this. Tell me, Jordani, was it worth it?” She waits for a reply but it doesn’t come. Of course it wouldn’t. She could see it in his eyes it wasn’t. “What were you hoping to gain by hunting down the Tarasov punk? You should’ve fucking known it wouldn’t have ended once you finished the job. You opened the damn door, John. You gave Santino everything he needed to check in on his favor that you owed him. It honestly baffles me that you, John Wick, thought it was a good idea to give that man a marker. You’re reasoning? I'll never know.”

She has to pause to cool down a bit before continuing, “You could’ve asked anybody else to help you that night—you could’ve asked me, John. You had the marker all this time. Why the fuck didn’t you use it then?” She raises a hand as a signal for him to keep quiet all while ordering the squad to stand down. “Don’t answer that. I honestly don’t wanna know. It’s your fucking karma at the end of the day.” Again she gives a dry laugh, “I just find it hilarious honestly. The reason you’re in this shit show to begin with is because you owed Santino—which would’ve never happened if you didn’t let your impulses take over and go after Iosef Tarasov. You let some punk ass kid bring you back. A domino effect at its finest,” she has to laugh at her own joke, but nothing about it was funny. “Now here you are, cashing in on all the favors you’re owed. Me….The Director…I take it Sofia is next on your list?”

No answer. Y/n tightens her lips, nodding slowly, “I thought so. She’s over across the sea. You think she’s gonna just let you waltz in, John?” Y/n smirks, “but first you gotta survive getting out of New York. And unlike the other night when it was just the city after your ass, you got the whole world wanting a piece of you now. Fourteen million dollars,” she hums, tilting her head like she’s deep in thought. “Saying it out loud…it’s tempting.”

“Fifteen,” Fanboy says, making all eyes turn to him. “The contract just went up.” Y/n nods, turning back to John with a shrug.

“You hear that, John? I wonder who’s responsible for adding the bonus.”

“You’re not gonna kill me, Y/n,” he says unfazed, making her narrow her eyes a tad.

“And what makes you so confident I won't? Pretty bold of you to assume when you got ten guns on you.”

John tells her like it is, “Because you would’ve already done it by now.” He got her there. She would’ve given the signal the moment they surrounded him if she truly wanted him dead. And as much as Y/n was pissed off with John, he was the last person she had who she considered family. And she was indebted to him.

Hating the fact he was right, Y/n just nods, “Fair enough, John.”

“Look,” he holds up the Marker, “you do this for me and we’re done. You and I are even and the Table can’t fault you for following their rules.” His reasoning makes her scoff.

“You don’t really know if that’s true, John. But thanks for trying to lighten the situation,” she was being sarcastic, having had enough of the ordeal. “I’ll be sure to tell whoever they send exactly what you said. Maybe I'll live to see the next day.” They just stare at each other, letting the reality set in.

“Fritz,” the man beside Payback responds with a look at her, “bring me the blue book with gold trimming in the safe. The one on the top shelf—you know the one.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he holsters his gun and walks toward the hangar.

“Coyote, go get the keys for the Ducati Diavel,” when he goes Y/n then calls to the woman beside Rooster, “and Phoenix, grab me a 9mm from one of the units.”

“On it.”

“Fanboy, and Harvard,” the two snap to attention awaiting orders, “Go check on Halo and Bob, see if they need help dealing with Omaha and call the Continental doctor if need be.” She sees John falter at the mention of the doctor, remembering he was just there and had to shoot him in a non-fatal area on the docs insistent to cover for the face he helped John. “Actually scratch that…take him to the urgent care that’s off the road past the gate. Tell them Domino sent you.”

“Yes ma’am,” they both say and head out, leaving Payback, Yale, Hangman and Rooster on either side of Y/n, the woman standing in the middle between the four.

“What are you doing?” John asks.

“Paying my debt,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Ensuring the bargain has been fulfilled. You may have given me the impression all you want is your ticket, but I know you were hoping for something a little more. Consider it done.”

John shakes his head with a frown, “I wasn’t gonna—.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” she tightens her lips. “Sure you weren’t. How the hell else are you gonna get to The Director from all the way out here with nothing but a belt to defend you, John? I’m surprised you even managed to make it here within the hour.” Holding out her hand, Phoenix places the 9mm in the open palm. At that moment Coyote pulls up the motorcycle, keeping the keys in the ignition when he puts it on its stand. Then Fritz arrives with the book, handing it over to Y/n’s other open palm.

Approaching John, Y/n extends both hands to pass the gun and book to him. He holsters the gun first then opens the book to remove the fake page revealing the compartment with his ticket, aka the rosary, and a wad of gold coins. He pockets both the rosary and coins, before handing back the book and Y/n holds it out for Fritz to take back.

“You’re going to war, John,” she watches him open the Marker, pricking his thumb on the needle before placing his bloody fingerprint onto the open space beside her own. “With the whole damn world. Even if you make it to where you’re going…it won't end there. This is only the beginning.”

“I know,” he sighs, handing her the now complete Marker. “Consequences.” She gives a tight smile, fingers encasing around the object.

“Consequences. You should’ve thought about those before blowing a hole into Santino’s head. Would’ve saved you all the trouble.” He doesn’t react with the exception of a curt nod, knowing she was right. But he made his bed, now he has to lie in it. “Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye, Y/n.”

They all watch as he mounts the bike and takes off into the darkness, becoming smaller with each minute until finally he’s out of their sights. Finally Y/n lets out the breath she had been holding, angry tears stinging her eyes that she refuses to let the team see. They’d never seen her scared before, she wasn’t gonna let them see now. Even though they had every right to be just as scared.

Gathering herself, she cranks her neck to the sky and closes her eyes for a brief moment before turning back to the remaining Squad members, the one who were coming up on ten years whereas all the others she sent away were only a couple years in. “Prepare the bunker,” she watched all their eyes widen, glancing at each other hesitantly.

“Are you sure, Dom?” Rooster questions, looking a bit unease. They hadn’t used the bunker in so long, it was gonna take time to prepare it. Not even the Table knew about it. Top Gun predecessors from when the underground crime world started built it for caution in case they were to have troubles with the Table. It was basically a whole level floor underneath the hangar equipped with everything they needed from food, water, bedding, clothing, and of course weapons and arsenal. They could survive weeks underground and no one would know. They had security surrounding the premises that they could access from below ground.

Domino was confident the Table had already been tipped off by an associate. They were gonna have to act quick.

“Very,” she walked a few steps, stopping so she was directly in front of the group. “Expect us to have company when the sun rises—maybe in a few days if we’re lucky. I’ll deal with the Table,” she assures, looking them each in the eyes. “When that happens I need you all to be in the bunker where you’re safe. And you will not come out until they have left the premises—regardless of what happens to me.” Immediately there were sounds of protest.

“Dom, that’s suicide,” Rooster states the obvious. Phoenix pitches in, “You’re not serious, boss.”

“There’s no way in hell we’re leaving you alone with them,” Hangman voices, going as far as taking a step closer to the woman. Fritz and Yale back him up while Payback comments, “You don’t even know if they’re coming.”

“I didn't ask for your input. From any of you,” she shuts them up. Rubbing a hand over her face, Y/n gives a tired sigh. “You don’t think I don’t know what they’re capable of? I have been in this life longer than any of you—I’ve seen everything you can imagine when it comes to the business we’re in. Or at least I thought until John Wick decided to cause hell two weeks ago,” she mutters the last part under breath. No one could’ve predicted that when John exterminated the Tarasov crime family that he’d be the Table’s #1 target. Where the rules were no longer black and white.

“My point is,” she calms down the raging thoughts in her head. “I’m the one who helped him. They are gonna come after me, but that doesn’t mean you all have to be in the crossfire. If they see you here, even if you’re not doing anything, they’ll kill you,” her tone turns harsher, to get it through their heads the seriousness of it. “I don’t want any of you going against the Table, not when I’m gonna need you all if I survive the meeting.”

“What do you think is gonna happen?” Yale is the one to ask the question.

“I don’t know,” she speaks truthfully. “But if John is going where I think he is…then tonight was just the beginning.”

Seven Days Later….

She honestly expected them earlier. Rumors spread in the days after John’s excommunication. An Adjudicator of the Table visiting those who assisted him. At the Ruska Roma, the Director had her hands sliced through with her entourage slaughtered just the day after John cashed in his ticket. Then the Bowery King was set to pay a price for refusing to step down after a warning of seven days to get his affairs in order. Many of his men dead within minutes. That morning he received seven cuts for the seven bullets he gave John the night he executed Santino, and was left for dead. Was he alive? Y/n wasn’t even sure. All she knew was Winston had until nightfall to step down from the Continental before they paid him a visit.

Right now though, in the early evening of the seventh day, Y/n sat in her chair in the middle of the hangar. Around her were Zero’s students, the man himself closest to her while the Adjudicator stood before her. Unbeknownst to the group the team of assassins they expected to have seen were down below watching the scene unfold through the monitors mounted on the concrete wall. They’d been underground for the whole week, Y/n not risking them being out in the open when she knew the Table would arrive at some point.

After the first day she was confident it was to spook her. Especially after discovering the Director was punished for her role in transporting John across the Atlantic. Yes, they were trying to scare her alright. They damn well knew she aided John Wick. They were just waiting for the right time to make their presence known.

“Where is the Dagger Squad, Domino?” The Adjudicator paced in front of her, eyes drifting over the empty hangar. It was too quiet for her liking.

“On a mission.”

“There were no recent contracts from my knowledge for your department. When did this happen?” She pressed, turning to the assassin. Y/n could tell she was examining her body language, hoping to catch her in a lie.

“A private one came in this morning. I sent them off just before you arrived.”

“From?”

“The Triads,” she answered confidently.

“Where to?”

“Out west. They requested the location to be confidential. You understand, right?”

The Adjudicator nodded slowly, not really sure if she believed the woman, but kept her gaze focused. Two planes were moved to make it look like they were gone. Domino hoped they would take the bait.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

“I have my suspicions,” Y/n replied, remaining calm and unthreatening. “It wasn’t hard to guess after whispers coming in from the city.” It was obvious she was referring to the Bowery King and Director.

“And do you have anything to say for yourself about why you broke the rules and aided John Wick in his escape from New York? I am well aware of your personal history with him.”

Y/n willed herself not to react to the last comment, focusing on the question. “I owed him a debt. Which you already know—it’s why you’re here. Maybe you can tell everyone at HQ to add more details on the fine print of what to do when the bearer of your Marker breaks the rules. As far as I’m concerned,” she dares to shrug, “I followed them.”

“So you have a point,” the tattooed woman gives a tight expression, not liking her attitude. “You may have upheld the rule of the Table but that doesn’t mean you didn't do more than what you had to. Especially due to the personal connection involved. John Wick was seen coming to this location on foot and leaving twenty minutes later on a motorcycle.”

Y/n tilts her head, now looking bored. “What are you getting at? That’s part of what he wanted.”

“Tell me what all he wanted, Domino, in order for the debt to be paid.”

Y/n kept eye contact, the two almost in a staring contest with neither wanting to blink as she listed off what all she provided. “The book containing his ticket, coins, and a 9mm that he had me store ages ago for ‘emergencies,’ and a mode of transportation.”

“You didn’t offer one of your pilots to escort him to Morocco?”

“He didn’t indicate Morocco was where he wanted to go,” she fired back. Now she was playing dumb. Of course she knew he was heading there since Sofia was now the manager of the Moroccan Continental. “He just wanted those things and then said he’d be on his way. And because I didn’t know if the Marker was invalid given his status, I delivered with his request. Fulfilling the Marker because that is your rule.”

The Adjudicator takes a moment to think before placing her hands behind her back. “I may not have proof you acted against the Table, Domino, but rest assured we will find out if you did. Until then, I will leave you with a warning of what is to come when that happens.”

Y/n’s heart kicks in pace, stiffening when Zero comes to stand in front of her. Before she could react a searing pain erupted in her face, head snapping to the side by the force causing the woman to fall from her chair. “GAHHH!!” She audibly reacted as she landed on the ground, hands going straight to her face only to be drenched in the blood pouring from the gaping cut. She couldn’t even open her left eye, her right one watery causing her vision to be blurry. Looking up she saw Zero wiping his katana with his sleeve.

He fucking sliced her face.

The iron taste in her mouth was due to the fact her lips were split. It was a diagonal direction of the blade against skin, going from the edge of her right jaw all the way to her left temple—completely cutting her lips and slicing her eye. Speaking of her eye it was on fire, figuratively speaking. Glancing around she silently thanked the fact her eyeball wasn’t staring back at her meaning it was still in its socket. But judging from the pain and the fact when she tried to open it she was met with darkness indicated the eye was long gone.

Underground, members of the Dagger Squad had to refrain from getting into the elevator and rush in guns blazing. They were given orders, and if the Adjudicator did not report back to the Table they would know something happened and send their full force against them.

“She’s alive,” Rooster said in relief when Y/n moved, them all watching her hands go to her face. Phoenix changed the camera to a different angle and they saw the full extent of her injury. Everyone grimaced, some cursing at the sight of Domino’s bloodied face. It was literally sliced at an angle.

“Fuck,” Fanboy muttered, Halo already moving to gather medical supplies.

“She said to wait until they were gone,” Payback reminded them when a few started to move to the elevator. The Adjudicator, Zero, and his students had just left the hangar, but had yet to be fully off the premises. On the monitor it showed Y/n stumbling as she tried to locate the closet with towels and supplies. Blood trailed after her, leaving a line in its wake. It wasn’t until the cars passed the gate and were well off into the city that the squad rushed to the elevator.

“Domino!” Y/n heard someone shout, mind a bit hazy from the blood loss and beginning to feel numb.

“I got you, boss,” Fritz picked her up bridal style and rushed her to the makeshift medical room with Halo and Bob running behind him. Placing her on the bed they got to work. Halo started an IV while Bob did his best to apply pressure on the wound.

“She’s gonna need blood,” Bob said, cursing by the amount she was losing. “Who here shares her blood type?”

“Hangman, Phoenix, and Coyote,” Halo lists off, grabbing the syringe with a light sedative to help Y/n with the pain.

“We’re gonna need all three then. Fritz, can you—.”

“Already on it,” he doesn’t let him finish the sentence, yelling out their names who all appear within seconds. With Harvard the two begin setting up to remove a pint of blood from each.

“You with us, Dom?” Halo takes a light to shine in each of her eyes, apologizing when Y/n moans when her left eye is touched.

“As best as I can be. Just do what you have to do. If I die, I die.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Bob tells her. “You’re gonna be fine, Dom.”

For a good couple hours they were working on repairing the wound. Y/n was a little dozy from the drugs, but managed to stay away during the whole thing. When it came time for the stitches, Halo was about halfway done when Rooster came in with Y/n’s phone. “It’s the Bowery King.”

“Help me up please,” she motioned for them to help her sit up, Halo careful with the sting and needle in her hands. Bob and Fritz pulled to an upright position before she asked for the phone. Rooster handed it over, moving to stand with Phoenix and Payback against the wall. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Y/n placed the phone to ear. “What do you want?”

She received a chuckle, “You sound as bad as I feel.”

“Just fucking get to it. I can’t move my mouth without wanting to scream so let me hear what you have to say and let us be done with it.”

“Have you heard the latest on Mr Wick?”

“He’s the reason Berreda lost his balls.” She received another chuckle.

“Well our friend is stateside again. Lucky bastard cut a deal with the one who sits above the Table.”

Y/n stilled, blood running cold. “He found the Elder.” Those in the room who knew what she spoke of shared the same reaction.

“He did,” the King muses. “And the deal for him to remain breathing is to be forever bound to the Table. The first on his list of bidding is Winston.”

Y/n had to pull the phone away for a moment, in disbelief at the news. She almost wanted to laugh at how things seemed to turn out for John. “He’ll never do it. Winston knows how to manipulate him to get what he wants. I wouldn’t put it past the old man to betray him in the end.”

“I’m happy you and I are on the same page. I was thinking the same exact thing—which is why when the time comes, I’ll be there to pick John up.”

Right as he finishes his sentence all the phones beep, those in the room removing theirs to see the text. Domino looked at her own phone, shaking her head when she read: “The New York Continental status has been changed to Deconsecrated. In effect in thirty minutes.”

“Would you look at that,” the Kind hummed. “Just what I expected. I give it til dawn before they get tired.”

Y/n was starting to get annoyed, wanting him to cut to the chase. “So why are you calling me now?”

“Because I want us to be a step ahead of them, Domino.”

Y/n takes a moment before saying, “I’m listening.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking over the past week—and after this morning these cuts have sealed the deal,” he laughed at his own irony. “All this High Table bullshit….under the Table is where shit gets done and you know it. All of us are pawns in their game. I say it’s time we dethrone them once and for all.”

Y/n straightens her posture, processing what the King was implying. “You’re asking for war.” She noticed her team visibly reacting to the statement. “You’re wanting to go to war with the Table.”

“Quite so.”

“And you want me and my team to help you.” There was no need to say it like a question.

“Just think about it,” he tells her. “Wait the night out or wait for my call. We’ll discuss more then.” Before she could reply the constant beep filled her ears signaling he had hung up. Sliding the phone in place, Y/n stared ahead, this time not even flinching as Halo worked on her.

It was quiet for the remainder of the hour, the beeping of phones signifying the deconsecration of the Continental was in effect. When Halo cut the last bit of thread on Y/n, the woman downed the painkillers and gulped the water bottle in seconds.

“You’re all dismissed. Stay close to the hangar—I don’t trust that they’re not lurking by the gates.” When they all left she changed into a fully black outfit, ending with a leather trench coat. Then she shuffled through one of the cabinets to find an eyepatch, which was a fucking sight when she put it on.

“I look like that dude from those comics Fanboy reads,” she announced when she walked into the area everyone was in, many of them stopping what they were doing. Phoenix, Bob, and Payback were cleaning the blood off the floors while Hangman and Fritz watched the monitors. Halo was checking over Omaha. Yale, Harvard, and Coyote were going through inventory and finally Rooster and Fanboy had finished up calls with potential clients. All eyes turned to Domino, Fanboy having to hold back his comment of saying, “Nick Fury,” though he did have a small smile on his face.

“How you feeling, boss?” Payback questioned, taking a seat on a chair after discarding the bloody water from when he mopped the floors. His answer was a groan, followed by her saying, “Like I should’ve let y’all shoot John Wick and spare me from becoming a raggedy Ann doll.”

Falling into a chair, Y/n thanked the glass of whiskey from Fritz and accepted a cigarette, leaning forward to light it when he offered the lighter flame. Checking the time on the wall, it was approaching midnight. God did she blackout or something? Where the hell did the time go? By now the Continental was likely a graveyard.

“I’m sorry about this week guys,” she said softly, letting the smoke leave her lips, wincing from the sting as the stitches keeping them together served as a reminder of what happened. “I should’ve told you all about the Marker ages ago.”

“It wasn’t our business, Dom,” Hangman pulls up a stool, setting himself on it once it appeared the coast was clear. “Those things are between those involved.”

“Yeah,” Coyote pitched in. “None of us blame you. We probably would’ve done the same. We just hate that you were punished for upholding the deal.”

“It’s not completing the Marker they were upset about,” she taps the cigarette against the ashtray. “Had I not, it would’ve given them the excuse to kill me even though there is no official rule about Markers and those who bear one that are excommunicated. It was the fact they know I did more than what was needed. I could’ve just given John the ticket and sent him off, but instead I willingly armed him with the means to have better odds. That’s why they’re pissed.”

“But they have no proof,” Harvard said from the side. “How would they know you did?”

“They know our history,” she simply sighed. “That’s enough for them to have suspicion. Whether the Adjudicator did it on her own accords or the Table ordered her to give me a good warning that they’re onto me…what’s done is done.” She finished her cigarette, “Now we figure out how to keep them off our backs.”

Several of the daggers looked at each other, wondering how to ask the question they all wanted to know since her phone call. Rooster is the one to speak up, “What about the Bowery King?”

“What about him, Rooster?”

“He’s wanting war with the High Table,” he crosses his arms, ignoring the looks from those who were not present when Domino was on the phone. They appeared surprised, and a little uneasy.

“He’s out of his damn mind,” she told him harshly, trying to not show she was tempted at stepping down from her position to join the mission. Hatred at the Table was rising in her, the King making a fair point at how everything gets done under the Table but they get to reek the benefits of what they do.

Y/n wanted to fight back, she really did. But she wasn’t gonna take her team down with her. They still had lives and going against the Table would not be easy. If she were to take the Bowery King up on his offer she would do it alone and spare them all.

“You know he’s right,” Halo pitches in, surprising the woman. Then she remembered Halo was right next to her and probably heard the entire conversation. “Everyone of us, those in service and in management, are just pawns for the Table and those who sit above it. We’re the ones who keep this business alive while they get to sit back and relax.”

Catching onto that Halo was leaking what the Bowery King told Domino, Phoenix stands from her chair. “You’ve been in service longer than all of us, Domino. You said it yourself. Haven’t you realized things are starting to get out of hand? I mean look!” She gestures to Y/n’s face, “You followed their rules and they nearly took half your face off. Who gives a fuck if you did more than what you had to—John Wick is your family. How could they not expect you to want to help him?”

The others voice agreement, Fritz nudging Y/n lightly with his arm, “It’s not fair, Dom. It hasn’t been fair in years. I say we should do it.” He specifies when she gives a confused look, “Join the Bowery King.”

“No,” she shakes her head immediately, “No—if anyone is going against the Table, it’s gonna be me. I’ll step down and you guys continue what we’ve done here for decades. I will not have you all die because of my cousin's mess.”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Hangman politely grabbed her attention. “It’s not up to you. Even if you step down, we still can join him if we please. So why not do it together. Because we’re not letting you go alone.” Everyone agrees with murmurs and nods, causing Y/n to drop her head between her shoulders.

“We’re talking war. Against the High Table—not some single crime syndicate we’ve dealt with before, this is all twelve seat holders, the Elder, and all their subordinates. Which we—,” she gestures to all of them, “we are those subordinates. This goes past New York…it’s the whole fucking world.”

“We know,” Payback says with confidence. “We know the risk, Dom. We’re willing to take it.”

Y/n connects her gaze with each member, seeing the determination in their eyes causing an emotion she couldn’t describe to swarm through her. What she didn’t know was they each were on board the second Rooster and Halo revealed the Bowery King’s offer. Seeing their friend and comrade nearly die by following the rules they all swore to obey ignited a fire in them. They were after revenge. Who’s to say the Table wouldn’t come after them in the future. Better to stop them now before that could happen.

The assassin was having trouble grasping it all. This was her family. The people she trusted most in the world. John was once that person, and right now he has a lot to do to gain it back, but if he joins the cause then they could be unstoppable. And from what the King told her, he was confident by dawn John would be involved.

“Okay,” she says softly. “We do this as a team. The same way we’ve always done. But no one—,” she lifts a finger to emphasize her point, “no one steps out of line or goes rogue because an opportunity arises. We have to play this safe. We need to be tactical in our approach. Even if it takes weeks, months, hell, even a year or more before we see some action, then we will be patient. The Bowery King, John, maybe even Winston if the old man doesn't become a snake, all of us know the best thing to do is hit the Table when they are at their most vulnerable. When that happens….it will break before our eyes.”

Seven Hours Later….

John looked lifeless as he laid on the cold ground. Who could blame him really after he fell over ten stories while hitting obstacles that broke his fall. Not even five minutes after he landed a white van pulled up in the narrow alley, Harvard and Yale hopping out from the back to drag the man into the vehicle. Before they could close the doors a gray pit bull jumped in, licking John’s face. Recognizing the dog as the one Y/n warned them about, they shut the doors and yelled for Coyote to start driving.

When they got to meet up point, John was handed off to one of the Bowery King’s surviving men, wheeling John into the underground tunnel they had all taken up camp. Coyote ditched the van with all three sneaking into the tunnel, careful for prying eyes. Once in the tunnel they got to work with half of the Daggers while the other half accompanied Domino where the King was located. Like the Top Gun boss, the King had stitches on his face and neck. His cuts were smaller than the one she received, but enough to do damage.

“How you doing, John?” He asked from his throne. John’s dog made himself comfortable on the couch. Off to the side, barely seen with the limited light stood Rooster, Hangman, Payback, Fritz, and Phoenix. “You look as bad as I feel,” he started to laugh the same way he did over the phone, setting down his orange soda, “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. Raise a hand if you can hear me, John.”

With a tremor, John lifted his left hand to raise his index and middle fingers, making the King go, “Oh shit. They took a finger. Ain’t that a bitch?” His laugh increased in volume when John maneuvered the hand to show only his middle finger. The rumble of his chest from laughing made the King groan from the pain of his injuries there.

“Oh John. Fucking. Wick. So, the old boy keeps his hotel and you take the fall. Can’t say I blame him I would’ve done the same thing if I was in his shoes,” he pauses to inhale as he moves to stand from his throne, “But this High Table shit. Seven cuts. You should see what they did to your cousin. In fact, she’s right here.” A cane is in his hands when he begins to move closer to John.

The heels of Y/n’s boots echo, the light hitting her stitched face when she comes to stand beside the King. “Damn,” she mutters with a grimace. “That fall sure did a number on you, Johnny boy.” John doesn’t look at her, he keeps his head down the entire time. “Who would’ve thought we’d end up here? I was hoping to be rid of ya after last week. Funny how fate works.”

The Bowery King chuckles, focusing back on John. “Under the table is where shit gets done. And they about to find out if you cut a king, you better cut him to the quick. So,” he lowers himself to the ground, holding onto his cane. “Let me ask you, John, how you feel?” John pants, face still hidden by his raggedy hair. The King speaks with menace, “‘Cause I am really. Pissed. Off. Are you pissed off, Dom?”

Y/n crouches down, elbows resting on her hips as her one eye stares down on her bloodied cousin. Her tone is the same as the King’s, “I’m really fucking pissed off. You pissed, John?”

“Hmm?” The King awaits his answer, hands shaking from how angry he was. “Are you?”

The fallen man finally starts to move, the two watching closely as he holds himself up on his hands. When he turns to face them, they finally see his bruised face, but they are more drawn to his eyes. He’s absolutely pissed the fuck off.

“Yeah.”

………………

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @poppyalice2001, @americaarse, @elenavampire21, @back-tooo-black

#top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #dagger squad x reader #dagger squad imagine #dagger squad #top gun maverick crossover #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw imagine #natasha trace imagine #jake seresin #mickey garcia imagine #reuben payback fitch #robert bob floyd imagine #javy machado imagine #top gun maverick angst #john wick crossover #john wick imagine #john wick x reader #John wick x y/n #top gun fanfiction #neil omaha vikander #billy fritz avalone #callie halo bassett #dagger squad au #dagger squad x you

[mossywriting]

When road tripping last week I arrived way too late at a little seaside town and EVERYTHING was closed. Except this burger stand. The man working there was so friendly, and welp, it inspired this Kalluzeb drabble that I might just turn into a fic someday

It was late. Far too late to be trying to find dinner in a town you have never set foot in before. Kallus’ stomach was rather upset with him at this fact, and had for the last ten minutes been letting out a string of noises Kallus hadn’t even known it was capable of. 

The small seaside town was quiet, with the gentle brushing of waves the only sound filling the air. Kallus had thought he would find it eerie, being used to the bustle of the big city, but instead, he had found it surprisingly calming. At least it meant no one was around to hear the telltale signs of his day gone awry.

The plan had been simple: Take a flight to the small airport in The Middle of Nowhere, take a taxi to the even smaller town in The Middle of Nowhere, meet up with his boss and colleagues for dinner, and from there on spend the evening preparing for their presentation tomorrow. 

Simple enough, right? 

At least, it would have been if he hadn’t been the only one who had made it. Sure, his flight had been delayed, and the taxi had broken down on its way - but he had undoubtedly made it. Four hours later than anticipated, yes, but here he was. His boss and colleagues had been flying in from another town, and their plane had been canceled not two, but three times, so they weren’t anywhere close to joining him.

Why his boss had decided to have their conference in this little… quaint town of all places, Kallus couldn’t fathom. But never the less. Here he was. 

All alone. And starving. 

After having done two sweeps of the town center, Kallus had come to the conclusion that all restaurants had closed down for the night, and he believed it was time to give up. He would simply have to accept that his dinner would be nothing more than the two small sweets lying on his pillow in the Bed and Breakfast he was staying at. 

Why his boss had decided to stay in a Bed and Breakfast was beyond Kallus, as well, but he had yet to find anything to complain about so he supposed he would just have to enjoy the respite from the usually anonymous marble floors and walls of the suites normally reserved for them on trips like these. 

With a defeated sigh, Kallus turned around and began to head back. 

As he crossed a street an energetic breeze ruffled through his air, and the telltale scent of the ocean washed past him. Well. If he was going to starve, he might as well do it while taking the scenic route, and he steered his steps out from the small, yet crowded buildings. 

The ocean, darker than even the night sky, gently lapped against the shoreline, its waves illuminated by a soft, yellow glow coming from the streetlights lining the walkway. It was undoubtedly beautiful, and Kallus filled his lungs with fresh air.

…and grilled meat? 

Kallus blinked. Surely he wasn’t so hungry he would begin to hallucinate? 

But undeniably, there it was, another whiff of meat drifting through the air, causing Kallus’ mouth to water. And then, there was the sound of music playing. 

Kallus turned around, and had he been a religious man the low-lit burger stand on the other side of the street would have been nothing short of a miracle. It stood on a spot of land between two official-looking buildings, a string of neon lights lighting up a menu offering several kinds of burgers, all to the soundtrack of 80’s rock playing from a speaker standing somewhere hidden from view.

Most importantly, someone was still there, clearly moving around inside. 

Kallus’ stomach began to sing. 

He hurriedly made his way across the street, glancing at the menu as he did. Honestly, anything would do, but his eyes almost immediately zeroed in on a ridiculously large-looking burger on the menu, Zeb’s Best Friend, and he knew without a doubt that it would satiate his hunger. 

The man inside the stand didn’t seem to notice Kallus’approach as he had his back turned to him, busy wiping off a shelf. He was humming along to whatever song was on at the moment, and Kallus absently took note of the tattoos covering his arms as he moved his hands in rhythm to the music to get to the last bits of dirt. 

Kallus cleared his throat. 

The man didn’t show any signs of having heard him. Now his hips began swaying along to the music as well.

“Excuse me,” Kallus tried. 

Again, no response. 

His stomach growled. 

Kallus walked up to the counter and knocked hard on the wood two times. “Excuse me!” 

That caught the man’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder before taking a few quick steps to the right where a small, but obviously powerful, speaker was standing. A second later, heavenly silence filled the air. “Sorry, worry,” he said, turning around while wiping his hands on a towel. “Didn’t hear ya.”

Obviously, Kallus thought sourly, but he managed to swallow his attitude. It wouldn’t help him to chew out his one chance at dinner. He take a few steps back so that he was once again able to take a quick look at the menu. “I’ll have the… Zeb’s Best Friend.”

“Sorry, mate,” the man answered, an apologetic tone in his voice. “I’m closed. The grill’s cold.”

Kallus’ eyes darted over to a sign next to the stand. He groaned inwardly. The stand had closed 20 minutes ago - right when he had been searching for food on the other side of town. Just his luck. 

Kallus sighed. “Right. Do you-” he faltered, realizing he had already walked past two grocery stores on his way through town. Both had been quite closed.  “Nevermind.“ He dejectedly turned around, accepting his fate of having a pathetically small, sugary meal.

“Looking for dinner?” Came the man’s voice drifting through the air, but before Kallus had time to formulate a response, he continued. “You came here, so, uh, of course you did, I just thought I was gonna save you the trouble of trying to find anything else. Everything closed down an hour ago. I’m the last line of dinner defense.” He sent Kallus a grin, that, hadn’t Kallus been so weary, he might have found charming.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Kallus muttered, but tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. “I got here later than anticipated, and, well… I guess I should have done my homework before leaving the airport.”

The man shrugged. “Most city folks are taken by surprise out here.” He dipped below the counter and came back with a spray bottle with which he began to spray down the countertop. “Perhaps you can get something from your hotel?”

Kallus shook his head. “I’m staying at the Bed and Breakfast, my host has already gone to bed.”

Curious eyes turned to him. “Staying at Draven’s? Nice. I’ve heard he makes a killer toast.”

A surprised chuckle escaped Kallus at that. This really was a small town. “Well, at least I have breakfast to look forward to, then.” He grimaced at the thought of having to wait that long for proper food but still managed to offer up a polite smile. The man was… far friendlier than any burger stand personnel usually were at this time of night. 

“Yeah, sorry about your dinner, though, guess you- “ The man came to a stop, as if he suddenly had come to a realization. “Actually… Hang on!” He ducked down, away from view.  

Kallus took a curious step closer to the stand.

A few seconds later, the man popped back up, a triumphant grin on his face. He placed a large box of fries on the counter. “Someone forgot these about an hour ago. I can’t offer you a three-course meal, but hey, here’s some cold fries if you’d like?”

Immediately, Kallus’ mouth began to water. Who needed a three-course meal when there were fries right in front of him? It sounded absolutely perfect. 

“Please,” he said, stepping up the rest of the way up to the counter and into the burger stand’s light. He nodded gratefully to his personal savior. “How much do I owe you?” He began to pull out his wallet, eying the fries with far more bliss than he usually would.

When he received no answer, Kallus looked up at the man, his unanswered question still lingering in the air.

The man stood unmoving, looking down at Kallus as if he was seeing him properly for the first time. Kallus assumed that could very well be true, seeing as it was fairly dark around the stand and he hadn’t been standing all that close.

“How much do I owe you?” Kallus tried again. 

“Oh, uh,” the man said, seeming to break out of his stupor. “Nothing. We’re good. Just happy to know you won’t be starving” He nodded and after another second, his grin slid back in place.  

Kallus gave him a curious look. He wasn’t really used to this kind of… chivalry. And he definitely wasn’t used to accepting handouts. “No, seriously, let me repay you somehow.”

An intrigued look enter the man’s eyes, and he leaned on the countertop, looking down at Kallus. “How about a name?”

Kallus blinked. “What?”

“The name’s Zeb. What’s yours?” 

Kallus could tell how he, despite the slightly chilly breeze coming in from the ocean, grew just a little bit hotter under the gaze of the man apparently named Zeb. “Kallus,” he answered, just the fraction of a second too late to be considered casual. 

Zeb’s grin widened. “Well, Kallus, be sure to stop by some other time. I’ll make sure to get you a proper meal then.”

“I will,” Kallus found himself saying, and more surprisingly, meaning it. He believed that perhaps he wasn’t quite so resistant to Zeb’s grin after all. Kallus picked up the fries from the counter and took a step back. It was probably in his best interest to leave. 

At least, for now. 

“Thanks for these.” Kallus held up the fries and began to back away from the bright beacon of light that was Zeb’s burger stand. 

“Anytime, Kallus.” Zeb sent him another, far more casual grin before going back to wiping down the countertop, whistling a cheerful tune. 

Back in his room, Kallus realized he had forgotten to ask for any sauce to go with his fries. But as began to dig in, he realized he didn’t care. They were the best fries he had ever had. 

#kalluzeb #kalluzeb drabble #mossy writes #garazeb orrelios #alexandr kallus #star wars rebels #kind burger man zeb is a sight for sore eyes #flirty burger man zeb is top tier

[mappingthemoon]

For the past several years (can’t remember if this attitude predates the pandemic), I’ve been kinda “meh”/side-eye re: New Year’s Resolutions. I am a very goal-oriented person and feel existentially unmoored when I don’t have something that I’m working toward, be it a class, a trip, a concert, a zine or other artsy project. But I also tend to have very unrealistic expectations, namely of how much time it will actually take me to complete tasks and how much energy I will still possess after I get home from work every day. So I don’t want to put all this abstract pressure on myself for the new year and then get burned by my, idk, ENORMOUSLY OVERWHELMING CAPACITY FOR HOPES AND DREAMS (or inability to accept reality or whatever, I guess, depending on your viewpoint lol).

Last year, I got a faculty librarian job and I was able to finally quit doing part-time transcription work, a (second) job I’d held for over 11 years. I thought the sudden influx of “free time” would result in a flood of creative projects in 2023, but I didn’t get nearly as much done (or started) as I’d hoped. My new job duties brought increased stress – I supervise someone now and received zero training for this so I’m having to figure out all this soft skills work relationship stuff on my own, I’m one of only two special collections catalogers in a large academic institution and ofc our backlog is a million miles long, I have to deal with so many more dang emails and meetings as a faculty person than I did as a staff, our institution is grossly underfunded and understaffed and people keep leaving bc our wages are comparatively Bad; many of my colleagues and I are burnt out af. SO ANYWAY due to all that, instead of blossoming into a creative powerhouse now that I have only one day-job, I instead found myself sinking into the couch after work, watching youtube on the big tv screen and transforming into a sad amorphous blob.

BUT! One reason I am risking feeling slightly more hopeful about 2024 is that this year, I am scheduled to have two out of four credit card loans paid off! (I had five but already paid one off this year too :D) This will put like… nearly $400 back into my pocket each month. I hate complaining about my money situation bc I do make what would be a decent living wage for my ~lifestyle~ (2 very frugal working adults, no kids in the home), but nearly 25% of my income goes to debt (not including mortgage lol). (The reason I am carrying so much debt is because I didn’t make anything even remotely close to a living wage for the entirety of my working life until I got the librarian job last year and I had to use credit cards for things like groceries and travelling home for funerals and then I’d transfer the credit card balance onto a loan and then I’d be like “okay, as long as we have no more emergencies for 18 months, we’ll be good,” and then there’d be another emergency and I’d have to borrow more money again 🇺🇸) So the TL;DR is I strongly suspect that when I have a bit more of a financial cushion and don’t have to deprive myself of most material pleasures (such as the occasional deli sandwich or vinyl record! I have simple desires!) and white-knuckle it through the last week of every month, I might be a bit less exhausted and stressed out on a daily basis?

So based on that completely speculative hope, here are my goals/resolutions for 2024:

Start a monthly one-pager photozine (my intention is for this to be a simple project to keep me active in the zine community and more ~intentional~ with my photography). Finish writing Moonshot #3 (Summer 2024) and #4 (Fall 2024). Start outlining (at least) Phases of the Moon #7. Maybe: Think abt starting a new art/literary comp zine. [I used to do tons of comp zines when I was younger and I’ve been revisiting them in my zine digitization/archiving project and feeling inspired!! Love bringing a variety of people together to collectively work on an amazing goal! ♈]

Do something analog with photography – maybe cyanotypes? [I’m despondent that I’ve been dragging an enlarger around for over 10 years but still haven’t built a home darkroom. This can still happen someday, but in the meantime, I know there are other analog photographic processes I can do without a full darkroom!] I also want to get back into photographing concerts. [I was a little disappointed that my Quintron pics {still forthcoming sry} didn’t turn out fantastic but it was my own damn fault for falling out of practice with my DSLR, and also forgetting to turn on autofocus lmao.] AND, I think it would be fairly easy to turn my bedroom into a camera obscura, which would be TOTALLY AWESOME and SWEET.

Redesign my website/portfolio: selenographer.info. Try to actually post some newsletters once in a while?

Finish at least one cross-stitch!

Leave the house more often for social activities?????

Better daily health routine [I already do this stuff, but I’m not always consistent]: Meditate & do yoga, preferably in the morning. Teeth care at least twice a day [sry if it’s TMI gross but brushing before bed was never part of my childhood and it has been a constant struggle to solidify this habit as an adult, ugh] and actually use the dang waterpik & electric toothbrush that I bought. Wear the sleep apnea device every night. [This thing works. But I fucking hate wearing it and I skip nights which makes me feel like a big dummy since I borrowed an additional $3000 to treat this problem.] STOP TAKING GOODY’S POWDER. [This should follow if I am consistent in wearing the apnea device bc I won’t get morning headaches if I am not waking up in a state of oxygen deprivation!]

Buy a new bed! [We got one of those cheapo internet mattresses in 2018 and man is it killing me. If I ever won the lottery the first thing I would do is completely redesign the bedroom into the ideal sleep environment.] Also need to buy 1 or 2 new bookcases bc I now have 3 storage bins full of unshelved books and it makes me anxious.

Work-related goals: Reclaim as much time as possible from the workweek. Try to have at least a half-day of work-from-home time per week. Actually use the professional development time I am privileged to have as faculty! Try to detach from the stressful sense of urgency other people (inexplicably) bring to the table and don’t let that shit get to you. Figure out a better way to handle emails? [My current modes are either complete avoidance so I can hyperfocus on a task, or checking my email every 30-60 mins and spiralling into the distraction zone for hours.] Hopefully take another class at Rare Book School. Help with more outreach events (aka teaching people about ZINES! :D)

GOOD LUCK EVERYBODY <3

#personal #hny #goals #iberry jaerb #zines #photography

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: I felt inspired after finishing the series this morning, so I bring you… whatever this is? I definitely wanna write a secondary part to it, but here’s a shorter drabble for now, which includes character dialogue that I’m nervous about. Hopefully it’s okay? There’s some language and fluffy content, but nothing that’s really too NSFW right at the moment. However, it is based off the handcuffs on Eddie’s wall, soooooo.

Have a good night/day! - Kristen <3

~*~

A crackling charge across your spine, pulled back into your world, Eddie’s stained sheets below your back, a wet tongue slicks around one parched mouth. He offers a calloused set of digits, ring pressing into your thumb-pad—the barest brush. He isn’t prepared for gravity, and neither are you, uncoordinated feet colliding, your sternum smashing into his ribcage. Is Eddie Munson really that much taller than you? You spare one last glance at your comrades behind you, that disgusting squelch coming from the gaping plaster above.

A delicious warmth is still keeping you flush to them, a devilish creature embroidered above, the letters Hellfire Club surrounding it in your eye-line.

Oh. Eddie.

Your cowardice dissipates, your gaze mustering a look-up, met with his chocolate brown irises. He’s watching you as if he’s been caught with both hands in the cookie jar. But there’s something—a certainty—that you’ve learned about Eddie Munson in all your observant years, it is that he’s rebellious. If he’s staring at you, it might not be so subtle. But then again, you’ve just fell back into his home from another dimension, covered in dirt and bat guts, trembling from exertion and nerves.

And a whole hell of a lot more, if I’m being honest here…

Something inside you shifts, your hands gripping Eddie’s leather jacket sleeves, the noise an echoing bunch. His brow crinkles, a sweat bead matting a strand of his shaggy hair to his forehead. The urge you fight to remove that is a colossal victory. Your throat is dry, speech lurking beneath the surface of your lungs, but unable to come to fruition. Dustin, Max, Lucas, Erica & Robin, they’re all standing in a circle, expectantly awaiting Steve and Nancy to follow you and Eddie.

He steers you to the side, not releasing his hold.

Eddie’s tone is raspy, question so fucking soft, like a damned honey butter coating his entire voice. “You okay?”

You are zeroed in on his plump lips, his earth smeared jugular, trying to remember that you’re in a life or death ordeal, people are tilting towards violent endings, two of your bestfriends are still in the Upside Down, but you are aching to kiss Eddie Munson. Whatever this is, shockingly, he is catching your wave and riding in on familiarity. A shared grin that breaks his mouth. You nod your answer, brows pinched together, head tilting. “Yeah, you?”

“Oh, you know, Y/N. Wanted man, hottest thing in Hawkins to hunt in over a decade, just came from another dimension that is apparently redecorating my ceiling right now,” He pauses, a cute little crinkling of his nose. “Could also use a beer… or six. But other than that—“

Steve’s loud shouting pleas break the moment, your blood runs cold, icing your flesh into prickling goosebumps, hands releasing Eddie immediately.

Nancy.

~*~

Everyone else is perched in their places, forging makeshift weapons, whilst you taste every last meal you’ve had in the past week, coming up.

This doesn’t feel okay.

You’ve finished your tasks, trash can lid and sharpened broom handle that is wrapped in barbed wire, discarded at your side. They pale in comparison to anything else your group has come up with, but you’re not exactly an expert in this shit, regardless of how long you’ve known everyone.

Except Eddie. You pinch and pull at several grass blades, staring off into the trees, thinking about these wasted years he would’ve fit in with everyone, but your paths didn’t cross, despite you both being seniors. Well, Eddie, a—is it his second or third time as a senior, you wonder?

“Listen,” Robin interjects over your internal monologue, suddenly dropping down beside you. “We can all relax out here—I mean, who can actually relax though, with a big evil that is threatening to swallow us all and burn our world to the ground, that’s one thing to consider, but—“

“Robin!” You break from your forest-focused reverie, eyes rolling in annoyance. “The point. Get to it.”

“Right, I’m doing it again, huh?”

You simply sigh, snapping your fingers together to rid them of grass fragments. “Mhm-hmm.”

“Like I was saying, we can all do what we’re doing out here and you and Eddie can go play footsie under the table inside our new ride.” That self-satisfying, non-judgmental, cute—albeit— annoying, Robin Buckley grin shelved into her lips.

Your heart lurches into your ass, body shifting in discomfort.

“I’ve been around enough heterosexual dilemmas all day, okay? Spare me the reassurance that you aren’t staring Eddie Munson down. Besides, if he knew what you took from his bedroom, he’d probably be totally on board.” She whispers that last part, patting your shoulder, before dusting herself off and standing.

Your cheeks are cherry red, Robin pressing a finger to her lips. “You know about my love life, or lack thereof, and I am all too aware that you, the ever-innocent Y/N, stole an item from the resident metalhead’s house.”

Robin likes girls, you and Steve are the only ones privy to that info, and apparently, she has been catching your unveiled vibes towards Eddie.

Great.

She gives you one last shoulder rub, her voice less teasing this time. “Seriously, Y/N. Consider my footsie proposition, because I’m pretty sure he’s feeling it too.”

And she retreats, back to Steve and their fiery cocktail ensembles.

Your jean pocket sways with a burn, the object nestled into fabrics and frayed threading.

She’s right…

“Looks like you’re all prepared, Lady Guinevere.” A deep voice accentuates your thoughts, Reeboks flooding your vision, ring clad hands reaching for the ground beside you to settle his body down. He reclines on his palms, shifting his head back to ease an invisible tension, one ankle crossing over the other, legs stretched out, that black denim encasing them. His chain rests at his thigh, and god help you, you can’t stop staring at him. Reminding yourself that you should probably say something, it comes a little easier than anticipated.

“Didn’t she just marry Arthur and have affairs or something? I’m not big on mythology.”

Eddie shrugs, opening one large doe eye as he looks your way. “I’d like to think she was poised in potential battle, unsuspecting, but just as deadly. Makes for a better story to tell the kids these days, huh?”

You can’t stop the chortle that escapes, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be real deadly with a broom handle and some wire.”

Eddie’s vision trickles to your weapon, a finger poking at the end. “Seems sharp enough to poke an otherworldly, dimensional creature’s eye out to me.”

“As is your invention.” You rave, knuckles rasping against the metal trashcan lid by your other side.

Eddie beams, a bravado attempting to keep. It’s a comfortable silence that neither of you fight, another metaphorical clock signaling how much longer it’ll be before you run out of time to do anything. Then the Spring air gives way to a shift, nudging Eddie’s spicy, cigarette smoke aroma your direction. Everyone’s voices sound far off, the atmosphere cut, sectioning you and Eddie into a beckoning privacy. Your fingers fiddle, dance around, finally dipping into your pocket, producing a vice grip that is cool and slick around the metal.

Your body’s expanse is flaming in shame, anxiousness chattering your bones to a brittle quaking. You give a mental ‘fuck it’, voice damp with a very molten heat. “Hey, Eddie?”

It’s terrifyingly addictive in how fast his attentions are gained by your two words. You don’t waste anymore time, lifting the metal handcuffs. They dangle in the air, swing in the breeze, sunlight glinting off them, reflecting your sin. Eddie doesn’t say anything, an eerily botching to your decision to let him in on the fact of your little petty crime. When it’s almost too fucking much, when your insides are charred to a searing, ears rustling with static—Eddie crowns you with a response.

“Did you swipe these from my room, Y/N?”

He isn’t oblivious to that answer, but his tone is suggestive in a satiated dedication to hearing you verbalize what he now knows. Two of Eddie’s fingers swipe up to grab the other cuffs’ end, pitching a clasp, his rings making a noise upon collusion, tongue pressing to his teeth—sucking. You can’t read him, eyes darting rapidly to gauge his stance.

“Eddie, I’m—“

He bull dozes your reasoning try, brows perching into a secretive settle.

“Don’t apologize for something we both know you’re not sorry for.”

~*~

Tagging:

@littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @lovelylangdonx

#kristenwrites #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson drabble #my work #my writing #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things drabble #stranger things 4

[digitalcactusblog]

Trick or treat! 🧛

TRICK OR TREAT!!!

okay so. not to bring up the elephant in the room that is my still as-of-yet unfinished Hades-inspired ff7, but when i first came up with the idea, i had a little idea-friend to it that also came with, that came out of the thought process of "huh, what other indie games could i crossover ff7 with?"

spiritfarer is a very pretty indie game where you play as a ship captain trying to help the spirits who come aboard your ship address their past and, eventually, cross over into the afterlife

with this idea in hand, my brain immediately derailed off the deep end, and so the snippet i have that i'm actually still really goddamn proud of has no boats or anything, because this is genesis' side of the story (angeal gets to have the actual spiritfarer side of things because he's dead as a fucking doornail)

under a readmore because it's about to get long XD

Genesis does not know where to go.

It’s not an altogether unfamiliar feeling, these days. Living in a world where Shinra is but a figment of a nightmare of the past, where the exclusive apartment allocated to him in Shinra Tower as part of the benefits of being a SOLDIER First has long been destroyed, first gutted out by perfunctory cleaners after his desertion, then thoroughly, utterly wiped out alongside Midgar during what the quaint survivors are now calling Advent Day. Genesis is, at this point, no stranger to directionless, purposeless wandering, of being at a loss as to what to do in the face of a reality that has no need of him anymore; a reality that he has never, in his wildest dreams, conceived of.

The circumstances now, however, are very, very new.

He does what most of the denizens of this broken-down, rebuilt city of Edge do, when faced with something beyond their normal ken.

He goes to find Cloud Strife.

Later, he will argue that he should be forgiven for forgetting the time of day; that most people don’t tend to be up and about at four in the morning.

The joke is on them; Genesis simply never sleeps.

He’s slept for long enough.

For now, he slams his fist against the door, over and over, just on this edge of not being strong enough to dent it. Again and again, especially when there’s no response. Because he knows Strife can hear him.

“Open up, you little–!” he cuts himself off, with a glance at his newfound cargo.

Then the door swings open.

“Usually when you’re asking for someone’s help,” Strife says, wearing an off-white, oversized t-shirt and faded chocobo boxers, “you don’t try to insult them right off the bat.”

“And usually when you knock on a door, you get a response,” Genesis replies.

“It’s four fucking AM, Genesis. What’s so important it can’t wait–”

Strife’s eyes zero in on his arms. At the small creature in his arms.

At the small, silver-haired creature in his arms.

Cloud Strife, hero of Gaia several times over, announces, “Nope,” and slams the door shut–

–on Genesis’ boot. He’ll kill the man himself if he finds scuff marks on them later. For now, he leads with his shoulder and forces the door open, and pretends that Strife is jumping back out of his way because the man holds at least some amount of respect for his superiors.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Strife continues, pointing a sword—where the fuck did that come from—at his arms. "Why did you come to me.”

Do I look like someone who knows what to do with children?” Genesis demands, half-hysterical because it’s four in the morning and his beloved Goddess has apparently seen fit to gift him with a baby, a baby he is far beyond woefully unprepared to deal with.

#ff7 #sephiroth #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #my writing #asks #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK AND ALSO FUCK I KINDA REALLY WANT TO KEEP WRITING THIS NOW???? WHY AM I LIKE THIS. WHY DID I STOP. I WANT MORE

[violetvelourr]

A little bit of whining venting

I’ve spent 3 hours today trying to draw something. Anything…. I have plenty of sketches and I tried linearting several but nothing worked out, they were just straight away hopelessly ugly.

At moments like these I feel like I’m a complete fraud because one week I’m totally fine and then the next one I can’t do shit.

But in fact it’s been like that for a while now - we are halfway through August and I’ve only managed to finish one artwork which was in line art stage already back in July. So strictly speaking I haven’t produced anything this month yet. ‘Melancholic Arina’ is stuck in the face/hair phase, I spent two evenings trying to draw her body and arms with no progress. And there should also be Kakashi in that artwork which is also not going to be easy.

Today in one of the lineart attempts I couldn’t even draw Kakashi’s hair though I had zero issues with that part of him for a long time already 🤯 like it was always the easiest and most enjoyed part for the past 6 months or so…

I’m in mild despair because no matter how much I repeat to myself that it’s alright to not always be in the high (after all, July was rather productive with 7 artworks), I still think about it all the time, like I’m not doing anything and time goes on, and I am stressed because I feel like I have forgotten how to draw and even more stressed because I try to draw and just fail again and again. But I have to keep trying because I’m afraid that if I’ll stop now to give myself a break it will be again 10 years like the previous time. 🤦🏼‍♀️ and the cycle repeats. Trying. Stressing out. Trying. Stressing out…

I’ll change my screen protector tomorrow perhaps - could be the fact that it’s way too slippery - now that the ‘paperlike’ protector is completely worn off - is affecting my ability to control the line. I know that with writing the feel of the pen affects my writing a lot. Maybe here it’s a similar thing… Also I want to do something that always seemed to help me reset my artist anxiety a bit - redraw some anime scene in my style. Suggestions for the scene are welcome, by the way…

But if that doesn’t help, I don’t know anymore. I haven’t had it hit me that bad in a while, I even cried today because of it. 😖 I didn’t even cry that much when my previous artwork got corrupted 🤯

The problem is that my motivation is not as high as it used to be. Previously it helped me get through my tough times. I was driven by inspiration. I hardly have it left now, unfortunately… and the recent events killed the spirit off even more… 😔

Anyways, another day wasted, off to bed… 😖

#artist struggles #venting #just a phase I’m going through

[the-pale-goddess]

Hi hildee!! Missing you here. I was feeling angsty and thought, What would be the reason for Ethan and Tiffany to divorce (cheating can't be the answer). I know it is not possible, but let's imagine a parallel universe where they did. What is the plausible reason behind it? And how will they navigate their lives since they work at the same place? Will they find someone else and move on, or at some point in the future, will they give their marriage a second chance?

Ahhh, loveliest Anon, I miss you too—horribly so! Can’t thank you enough for still thinking of me and E&T ❤️❤️❤️ 

It’s common knowledge that I live for angsty AUs, but I must admit that your ask inspired a disgustingly fluffy fic idea first ksdjksjdksj Your power, hello?! I couldn’t be more grateful because you helped me settle on a quite important canon HC I couldn’t figure out for the longest time! I wish I had more space to pursue this tooth-rotting fluff…Sadly, with my poor health and everything going on in my life, it seems impossible at the moment. 

Still, you’re waiting for angst galore, and I’m here to deliver…

I received a similar ask in the past, and I still stand by my answer—I can’t think of any circumstance that would break them up. Canonverse E&T go through a pretty solid character development; both of them worked on their personal issues and unresolved past traumas, finding inner wisdom and integrity so crucial in overcoming any obstacles that could endanger their relationship. 

However…You made me ruminate on the topic again. What if...They would somehow...Skip this long and difficult process? I can picture (1) particularly heart-wrenching scenario in which divorce would certainly happen 👀 As you can imagine, anything that had the power to dissolve their bond and force them to separate must be huge and tragic. 

I feel terrible even thinking about this entire AU…So buckle up! I’ll try to paint the scene and address your questions. Please, don’t hate me ksdjfkdsjfksj

TW: neonatal death

Tiffany was 38 when she got pregnant for the third time. Though it was a dangerous gamble, E&T put their trust into medicine and hoped for some luck. Unfortunately, the nightmare possibility became a horrifying reality: she developed preeclampsia. At first, the danger seemed contained; both the mom and the baby were closely monitored and taken care of. But her condition suddenly worsened, the severity of disease calling for a premature delivery.

While Tiffany was fighting for her life, Ethan had no choice but to make an impossible decision—a decision he reached with zero hesitation. He wouldn’t risk losing the love of his life for a 60% survival rate a baby born at 24 weeks would have. Despite receiving the best possible treatment in the NICU, the little one didn’t survive the night.  

While canonverse E&T would certainly navigate through such a traumatic event with unwavering mutual support and dedication to recovery, AU E&T would spiral into the darkness. Instead of making an effort to communicate properly and listen to each other, trying to understand those conflicting emotions raging inside them, they would focus on the misery, fuelled by those underlying personal issues they failed to address back when it was expected.

Gravely depressed, Tiffany was furious with Ethan’s decision. She thought he should have tried to save the baby no matter the cost. It was obvious that the loss she suffered clouded her judgment. If given the choice, she would have to agree with Ethan. She studied the case obsessively every day, went through all the possible outcomes, and the baby truly stood no chance. But she could be saved; she had to fight for her two other children—the ones that already had a life, the ones counting on her, trying to grasp what happened. That was perhaps the essence of her anguish: she had no choice, no say in this, no chance to meet her tiny daughter, to say goodbye. She couldn't fix it. Grief poisoned her mind in ways she could never predict.

Ethan was too fixated on his own sorrow and the absurdity of his wife’s resentment to actually see past her pain and empathize with her extremely fragile state. The fact that she was so willing to leave him and orphan their children for a slim chance of saving a fetus? He couldn’t understand her reasoning. He wouldn’t understand her reasoning. Yes, the loss affected him too, it affected all of them. But there was no other choice. She had to see that, right? 

The tragedy struck them in separate bolts, and they landed on different paths, too consumed by their own agony to meet half-way and reconcile. Inevitably, the connection between them began to dim and they grew apart. With no emotional support from Ethan, Tiffany became distant as she struggled to get better. Ethan fell back into the old patterns and put his emotional defense back up high. He started spending the majority of days at work, neglecting not only Tiffany, but also NJ and Letty.

Every attempt to patch things up led to cruel arguments and blame-shifting. Eventually, Tiffany recognized it all went too far and saw only one solution to their problems: she filed for divorce and full child custody. After a short yet intense custody battle, they reached an agreement that allowed Ethan to have the kids for the weekend. 

As soon as the divorce became final, Tiffany and the children moved to NYC (no surprise here, I guess kdjfksfjksfj). Ethan would visit them most of the times, but on occasion Tiffany would fly the kids to Boston and spend the weekend there, strolling through the city with old friends. 

NJ was 9, and Letty was 6 when the divorce happened, so I imagine it was unbearably tough for them to process, especially with all the mess happening prior. But they’re the kind of troublemakers that would 100% come up with a genius plan to Parent Trap E&T and bring them back together lol Would they be successful? Well…Only if both Tiffany and Ethan went to therapy and dealt with their inner problems first. Then, I presume, they would be able to have a heart-to-heart with each other and see if there are still some remnants of trust and compassion left in the ashes of their relationship. Despite all the bitterness and trauma, the love between E&T remains intact, so it all boils down to whether they would allow themselves to open up to the frightening idea of reconnection and the risk the second chance carries. 

Ooof…That was extremely painful to conjure up and felt even worse as I was writing it down ksdfjksjgksj Nevertheless! Thank you for the ask, dear, I'm sending you lots of love ❤️

#i didn't proofread this #i wrote this with tears streaming down my cheeks kjfksfjs #angsty angst and AU shenanigans #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc

[fioras-resolve]

I beat Virtue's Last Reward, thoughts under the cut

-Huh?

-Okay, not huh as in "I don't understand," I get it fully, I mean "Why was this the ending?" I guess I'll have to play Zero Time Dilemma to find out huh.

-This is definitely the kinda thing I'm gonna have to spend several days processing, similar to 999

-I'm thinking a bit about how the ending of a thing can overshadow so much else in a story, like even though I've experienced the rest of the story, I'm struck by just the ending right now.

-I think all-in-all the main thing I'll say is that this game got me to feel things, it got me to love, to loathe, to betray and be betrayed. I don't think a game has done that this well for me in a good while. It's inspiring tbh. Did I mention I'm a game developer? This will definitely influence my work moving forward.

-I cannot fucking IMAGINE playing this game in 2012 and having to wait 4 years for Zero Time Dilemma to come out. Y'all were hanging on that cliff so long, and it was very possible you'd never get up. As an Ace Attorney fan living on hiatus brain, I know the feeling, but also GOD, at least Ace Attorney had a consistent flow of games when I was most into it.

-I am... mixed, on how this game handles returning characters from 999. The big thing right now is This Is Not My Akane. She's basically unrecognizable, even in her past state where she looks the same. I was thinking during that whole ending, "Okay, but why did it have to be AKANE? She's been through this so many times and probably has six layers of PTSD from the thing, so why would she ever agree to this?" And it feels like the answer is a kind of puzzle-box solution that I find really strange all things considered. Like, yes, 999's ending was a mindfuck, but it also genuinely pulled at the heartstrings because like. Yeah, you were saving Akane, and this is someone that we'd built a connection to both as a character and as a player.

-I guess the thing there is that like, that kind of heartstrings ending is a single route of 999, but it's all over VLR. The ending feels like an answer to the mystery, but not to the themes, or the question of "why does this game exist?"

-It feels like Uchikoshi wanted to follow up on the cult success of 999 by making something Bigger, an even more complex mystery with even more paths and even more moving parts. And he got so invested in making this puzzle box cohere that the game ends up sidelining emotional resonance even when it's trying not to.

-I've been talking to a friend of mine who played it a while ago and felt physically ill after the ending, and like. First of all, yeah, different people just have different tolerable levels of bullshit. But also, I feel like plural systems like myself innately have more of a resistance to it because our minds are already fucky enough. Legit, during the reveal of the swap I was thinking "Oh so he dissociated for 45 years."

-Sidenote, Zero Escape feels intensely gnostic, from what little I know of gnosticism. It feels like these games are trying to use science as a conduit/justification for a philosophy I'm not sure if I vibe with. But I can vibe with it for the purpose of storytelling.

-I think I like VLR more than 999? Like, VLR is definitely playing with bigger ideas and following up on 999 in ways I really appreciate. And in general th--

-Midway through typing the previous thing I realized, holy shit, I have a similar relationship to this game that I do to Final Fantasy XIII-2. They're both sequels that follow up on their previous games with blanket improvements to both story and gameplay, but both have endings that leave me confused as to what these games are actually doing besides filling in plot before the next game. And yes, both VLR and XIII-2 are doing amazing things in the beginning and the middle, but the answer to "what is this leading to" for both seems to be "play the next game, fucker."

-I think the thing I'm pissed about is the justification given for the AB game. Like, the mechanic inherently carries interesting themes about trust, self-interest, game theory, etc. The reveals of what everyone else voted are some of the most gripping moments I've experienced in video games. I was ready for this to be going somewhere with these ideas! And then the reveal is that the reason the game was constructed like this was to give you more moments of choice to time travel through. And like, okay, fine, this game's got its higher level stuff about choice and agency and all that, that all works! But for the Ambidex Game to be primarily about making the player make the exact right choices to lead to the perfect ending, it's... Ugh! I thought the point was to explore all these other possibilities, that's why all the different endings!

-I need more time to process this game, but right now my take is this: Virtue's Last Reward is an amazing game until you realize what it is. It's a game that can raise your emotions high and get you truly fucked up. But as you play more of it, it reveals its true focus is this almost mechanical construction of plot. This construction is beautiful in its own way, but it's not what I come to a game like this for. Despite being a game designer who talks a lot about game mechanics and systems, I care so much about story. I want to get attached to characters, I want to see a narrative unfold, I want to have my heartstrings pulled. And the game seems too sure of itself to remember to pull it off.

-Or maybe this is the wrong way of looking at it? Maybe I'm criticizing what it isn't, rather than appreciating what it is. This game isn't trying to be 999 and failing, it's trying to be Virtue's Last Reward and succeeding. And I'm still along for this ride.

#zero escape #virtue's last reward #zero escape virtue's last reward #vlr spoilers

[circa-specturgia]

Untitled WIP - Opening

The WIP idea I detailed in the reblogs of this post. Don’t know if I’ll continue it or how much of this I’ll expand on, though I felt inspired last night and felt like writing it! Hope you enjoy! ✨

- “Hmm?”

- “I asked, what do you think it was for?”

Someone nudged Nattjasmin in the shoulder again, harder this time, forcing the brunette to sit up and take the baseball cap off their face, blinking a few times to get the sand out of her eyes, wincing at the warm uncomfortable pain in her neck from having fallen asleep leaning against the car.

Indira had been pointing at the structure nearest to them, identical to several others that seemed laid out in a grid to their north and west. Their eyes gleamed with quizzical curiosity, evidently having spent the better half of the past hour attempting to surmise some purpose for them.

They reminded Jasmin of sunflowers back home, faces angled, pointed to the sky, the ones her dad used to grow on the roof in Nymoen, a pang of homesickness running through her as she promised herself she’d practice some guitar next time they’d stop, before focusing back on the view. Rising from fields of gold, the same they’d been driving through for the past three days now, they had made quite the impression when the four of them had first seen the giant constructs emerging from the wild wheat horizon. Ant had nearly choked, the nerd. The disks offered little shade at this hour, it was still before noon, though she doubted they would have done so even if the sun had been set at the opposite side of the sky, with how many panels were missing from them. The words once written on the outsides of their bases had faded long ago, and where the spindly legs still held them up, like the twig houses she used to build in the garden, the vines had grown, coating them in deep green, filling the missing gaps of construction. They made odd sounds, shrieking creaks and wails of old metal every so often, when the wind picked up, though they didn’t feel all too imposing… More as though they were singing their own melody, their memories of the days when their metal shone, and panels glinted like new.

When the people who cared for them had been around to do their job.

- “I think I read about these.” She finally spoke, stretching, groaning a bit at the pleasant sensation of stretching after having been asleep in one position for too long, before wincing, her leg having fallen asleep, the pins and needles, sick warmth being a feeling she was familiar with, with the time they’d spend in the car, but nonetheless not one you’d ever get used to. “Satellite dishes, I think. I’ll get you the book with them once Lore and Ant are back, if they haven’t found anything more interesting on ‘em for you to read.”

As though on cue, Lore called in on their comms, the connection decent with the distance being minimal.

- “White.”

- “Over. Ignition on Faulkner, Vesper. 3 go”

Even in fresh air, the Captain couldn’t help but use their on-mission callouts. Jasmin couldn’t blame her though. They got the point across. She closed the comms, putting them back in her inner jacket pocket, and taking out a pair of blue and purple aviators.

- “Cap?” Indira got up, stretching as well, dusting off their pants.

- “Yeah. Pack your shit, and start up Vesper, I’ll get Faulkner ready, I told her we’ll be ready to go in 3 minutes.”

- “They find anything?” Indira asked, being greeted with a zero made by Jasmin by her finger and thumb.

- “Zip. You can ask em about it once we get a move-on. Cars have better comms anyways.”

The two got to work, checking on the tents, the filters, all the wiring and seals, finally getting behind the wheels and starting the cars up, both engines revving with their distinct roars, the ’69 Dodge Charger chassis of Faulkner shuddering, Vespers ’69 Corvette Stingray shaking off the dust as the spherical omni-wheels pulsed twice and started to glow gently, aligning on their own, ready to go.

Lore and Antris arrived not a minute later, their gear already doffed, and packed into their bags, getting in and closing the doors, the cars both auto-sealing.

- “Anything?”

- “Code white, nothing interesting, some random papers, logs with a ton of numbers in em. Found a neat coffee mug and some coasters though, barely chipped.” Lore answered, twisting in her seat to put the gear in its space behind them, brushing the black hair out of her face with a huff.

- “Hmm. Sounds like the usual. Where too now?”

- “There should be a rest stop some few hundred kilometers south-west from here, we’ll make it by sunset if we make good time. It’s bad territory, but the fastest route if we wanna deliver Vesper there on time to Novanc.” She explained, folding out an old paper map with some coffee stains and a few red triangles and other shapes drawn out here and there, pointing as she explained, before clicking a button on the dash and speaking into the comms. “You two lovebirds hear that? I want not a scratch on Vesper or the cut pay is coming out of your cut, got that?”

- “Yeah, rough territory, I got it.” Inidira chuckled before continuing what they were saying to Ant, flipping comms off as they did.

- “So, then, hotshot.” Lore said, taking out a pair of matching aviators, the left lens slightly fractured, smiling brightly, and taking out a stick of gum. “Onto the horizon.”

The radio buzzed, as music began to play, the engine rumbling as they set off. Onto the horizon.

Taglist for whatever I’m naming this! ✨ @jess-p-edits @magefaery Hope y’all enjoyed, and let me know if you want more of these I guess! (And if the formatting should be different to be more readable!)

#new wip #wip idea #snippet #Tiny Scene Sunday but it’s actually a Tuesday #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writing #writing inspiration #other writers! #post apocalyptic #post apocalypse #iyashikei #the world is healing

[youngpettyqueen]

also realizing despite all my posting I havent actually talked much about what the senior staff of the Athena are like?? tragic. some short write ups under the cut so that people who are interested can have some basic idea of what these guys are like-

Captain Mamotha: Mamotha is Half-Romulan, Half-Human, and is one of the first Romulans to join Starfleet. she is also one of the youngest captains in Starfleet's history, getting her first command- the USS Athena- at age 26. Mamotha is incredibly ambitious and driven, quick as a whip and brilliant, but also short-tempered and desperate to prove herself. she's been reaching for the stars since she can remember, and since she can't reach them from the ground, she'll take a ship and fly to them

First Officer Commander Quincey Griffin: Quincey passes himself off as a Human male, but he's actually a Q. fairly young by Q standards, Quincey is curious about and inspired by mortals, and seeks to understand them better. he's bright and eager, but also naive and oftentimes reckless. he's gone through Starfleet and risen through the ranks the mortal way, eventually making a First Officer of himself under Mamotha.

Chief of Operations Commander Ruven Vahl: Ruven is an experienced and respected officer, who has served Starfleet for many years. as a Trill, he's usually been a family man in his previous lifetimes, Ruven has had to spend much of this lifetime in various wars, the last being the Dominion War. his parental instincts have carried over, and he's very wise, but he tends to be a bit overbearing. he wants a family, but at his age, he wonders if it's maybe too late

Chief Medical Officer Doctor Tarea Ellok: Tarea came up as a doctor during the Occupation of Bajor, and was a Cardassian defector who fled to Bajor to assist them as a rebel. she was captured and detained for years by the Cardassian government, before being released and exiled after the Occupation ended. she took her skills to Starfleet, and became one of the first Cardassians to join their ranks. haunted by her past, she struggles with making connections. but she's very compassionate, with a fierce sense of justice. bringing her younger brother, Zeros, with her to the Athena, Tarea hopes this will be a new start for them both

Chief Science Officer Commander Pan Belrose: Pan has wanted to be a Starfleet scientist since they were very young, and now they're living their lifelong dream. Pan is full of hope and determined, and you'd be hard pressed to find a harder worker, but they're also pretty distant from people, and struggle with insecurity. Pan is autistic, and proud of this. them and Mamotha came up through the academy together and are best friends- Mamotha insisted they be her Chief Science Officer

Chief of Security Lieutenant Keyara Drok: Keyara is a legacy child, both her parents having been Starfleet. but her parents were killed when she was very young, leading to her being taken in by friends of theirs- a Klingon couple. Keyara is extremely loyal and bold, but overprotective and quick to aggression. she always cut a strange figure, a Betazoid among Klingons, but she's as Klingon as any of them. she's particularly overprotective of her younger brother- Counsellor Bewroth

Ship's Counsellor Counsellor Bewroth: Bewroth was a respected war hero in the Klingon Empire, who joined Starfleet after he was severely injured in battle and had to retire from combat. his legs are biosynthetic prosthetics, and he uses a walker in his day to day life. he's courageous and passionate, but struggles with his own reputation, and socializing beyond work. he's soft, for a Klingon, and he takes prides in this. he joined Starfleet to make the example that Starfleet is good and honourable, and to assist other traumatized, disabled veterans like himself, and to keep an eye on his big sister- Lieutenant Keyara Drok

Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander Larro: Larro was inspired to join Starfleet by her older sister, T'Strei. she was recently promoted, with the Athena being the first ship she's Chief Engineer for. she's eager to prove herself and endlessly curious, but she overestimates her own abilities, and has a hard time seeing past Vulcan logic when it comes to trying to make connections with her peers. as much as she was inspired by her sister, she also wants to step out from under her shadow, and prove she's something great, too

Helmsman Lieutenant Kovu Nalime: Kovu grew up in the Occupation of Bajor, and was a very young fighter in the Bajoran resistance the last few years of it. and then, only years later, she found herself in the Dominion War as a Starfleet cadet. Kovu is compassionate and fierce, but also suspicious and unable to relax. having spent most of her life at war, all she wants now is peace, but she can't stop looking over her shoulder, always preparing for the next fight

Navigator Ensign Wilos: Wilos is the odd one out, as he's not technically Starfleet, even though he wears the uniform. it was given to him as a courtesy- Wilos was sent to join the Athena's mission by the Changelings, as a symbol of good will towards Starfleet. Wilos didn't participate in the war himself, but he holds memories of his previous clones fighting in it, and it leaves him with a lot of conflicting emotions. being the first Vorta to truly work with Starfleet, Wilos is unsure of himself and insecure, but he's also curious, and eager to learn. he isn't sure what his place is, but he wants to find it, here among the stars

#queens originals #star trek oc #uss athena #mamotha #quincey griffin #ruven vahl #tarea ellok #pan belrose #keyara drok #bewroth #larro #kovu nalime #wilos #theyre an interesting group #lots of fresh faces and some with a lot more experience #I wanted a wide array of different species #but the main thing is the various ages and experiences #where even if some characters are close in age #they have very different experiences #though all of them did fight in the Dominion War #this story takes place not long after the events of DS9 #so its pretty fresh in everyone's heads #anyways yes! these are The Guys

[veliseraptor]

2022 Writing Stats

it's time for Fun With Numbers: Lise's Hobbies Edition, 2022!

So I keep a daily word count writing tracker so I can monitor my own writing pace/patterns, and sometimes it's fun to see what comes out of it at the end of a year. This data does not include writing I do on this blog answering asks/writing meta/etc.; it only includes any fiction I write (original or otherwise) and more serious/structured essay works. For the most part this tracker is meant to serve as a descriptive, not a prescriptive, tool - I use it to record rather than to set goals.

And now: the charts.

To start with, the basic graph of my daily word count in 2022:

This one looks pretty similar to graphs for previous years, though it did trend a little lower than historically. However, the big outlier there in October is the highest single-day word count I've had since 2019, apparently. I wrote 5.2k on October 24th, which (looking back), wasn't even a travel day, just a random Monday, so I have no idea what was happening there. My best guess was that I was hit with a whale of an inspiration boost for some reason, but I have no recollection of what it was about.

A quick look at data distribution shows that there were 56 days in 2022 with a word count of 0 (i.e. 56 days where I wrote literally nothing; actually fewer than I expected, and fewer than in 2021 when there were 67 zero word days). Altogether I wrote 388,095 words in 2022, an increase over 2021's historic annual word count low of 386,721. (I am making fun of myself here.) My average word count per day in 2022 was 1,063 words, which is roughly on par with last year's (more on comparative daily averages later).

Looking more broadly at the patterns month over month:

Obviously something happened in July and October where I lost my mind somehow, but I don't really know how to explain that. Neither beat out September 2021 as one of my most insane writing months on record (over 60k) or even approaching my all time high in November 2017 (63k), but still. They were probably the main factors in pulling the ultimate monthly average to just above 32,442 words, given the lows in June, November, and December. June was particularly dismal this year; it's the lowest word count in a month since I started tracking this in August 2016.

June was rough, you guys.

Now to compare 2022's final total word count to previous years overall...

While continuing to track lower than earlier data (2017 and 2018 in particular), the trend for 2022 held close to 2021 and within a reasonable range of 2019 and 2020. 2020's boost likely came from the several weeks of unemployment there in the middle, tbqh, so I think I'm looking at what's probably an approximate of my "typical" output in a year at this point in my life (hovering around the 370-420k mark). The overall yearly average for these past six years is 454,899 words in a year; for the past three it's 409,647 words. All told, between 2017-2022 I recorded having written 2,729,334 words.

To look at seasonality I graphed out the month-by-month word count total, graphed by year (this one's probably hard to read):

But I failed to note any significant deviation based on any particular month year over year. Total word count per month hovers around a median of 38,726 words per month.

Breaking it down more particularly to average daily word count per year, to see how my average pace day to day changed (or didn't) from year to year:

As seen with the overall totals for the year, the daily average roughly lines up, with 2019, 2021, and 2022 forming a cohort of similar range after the apparent outliers of 2017 and 2018. (It does make me curious what data would look like, had I been gathering it, for earlier years, particularly when I was in college.)

Finally, for a completely unreadable chart that shows the daily word count graphed for every year, including a line for the average across all years:

gorgeous. absolutely illegible, I love it. But it does arguably illustrate what I started this project to prove, which is the remarkably consistent up-and-down nature of my writing pace. Peaks and lows, at a slightly varying pace and with different levels for how high or how often those peaks show up, but it does tend to come back around.

You can see this more clearly when I cut the graph down to just show the line that averages out all six years:

Now if only I could internalize that better and stop panicking about how I've lost the ability to write every time I spend a few days feeling sticky and slow. It's a goal, anyway.

That's all I've got. Thank you and I'm sorry I'm like this.

#fun with numbers #periodically i do this #why? good question #it's fun i guess. i like spreadsheets. idk #confessions of a frustrated writer

[azrielgreen]

hi, i'm feeling really rather lost lately. i used to write ALL THE TIME. like, 10+ years ago we're talking about a one-shot a day, full fic several times a month etc. i loved it. i threw myself into writing and it always seemed like there were so many stories to tell. then life happened. some traumatic things happened. and now i want to write again and i feel like i've lost it. i'll sit down to write and nothing comes out of my brain. no story ideas. no inspiration. nothing. and it breaks my heart into a million pieces because i so!! desperately!! want!! to write!! again!! but i just can't :( and i have no idea what to do or how to fix this. how do you get inspiration? have you ever fallen into such a slump like this? how does one pull themselves from it? thank you <3

Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. First off, it's really common to experience this, way more than people realise. There is an evolution to our creative process and when we don't create/write for a while, sometimes we miss a key change needed, we go away and when we come back, things are different. Suddenly, the process we relied on before is yielding no results. It's very common, especially if you had a fairly big gap and even more so if that gap was caused by something unpleasant or traumatic.

I didn't write for 2 years when I had my first baby and when I started writing again, nothing whatsoever was happening and i assumed I'd lost it.

But I hadn't.

What i needed, and what worked, was to start completely from scratch. As if I'd never written before.

Approach the process as entirely new, not trying to pick up where I left off years ago because I wasn't the same PERSON I was years ago. I had different needs, I slept different, my priories had shifted, my empathy and inspiration were newly evolved.

So i started immersing myself with what inspired me. What made me happy and excited. I read a lot, i let myself relax and i started writing as if I never had before. No more writing on my lap in bed like in my 20s, I made myself an area. A little IKEA desk, some flowers, pretty rocks. I romanticised the HELL out of everything and I opened up a fresh page and fucked around with zero degree of expectations.

It came back slowly, better than it ever had been. Different, evolved and completely amazing.

Give yourself credit for what you've been through and approach the situation with AS MUCH novelty and whimsy as you possibly can. Engage your passion and let go of the past comparisons.

Energy is cyclical. It comes and it goes but it ALWAYS comes back again. You just need to be in the best possible mind set for when it does.

💜💜💜