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thenamesblurrito · 8 months

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assorted Transformers fics to rec (part two!)

first list here! have more fics i missed the first time or discovered since then or were recommended to me by others! if you decide to read these, i recommend leaving a comment if you can to encourage the writers and show some love! 🥰 note: the ones marked with * were ones i read a long time ago and did not reread before adding them to this list, so i am going off the good vibes in my memory

An Act of Revenge for Crimes Uncommitted

canon soup, incomplete, AO3. young Orion Pax wakes up mutilated, empurata'd, and his assailants punished him for the crimes of one Optimus Prime. ooooo this is kind of heartwrenching, truly intriguing and unjust and mmmmm drama. time travel, gore, mind the tags here, a fascinating look at a bad timeline! some of the functionism stuff in here actually helped inspire my own functionist setup in SNAP

Blackout and Reboot

canon soup, complete multichap, AO3. amnesia was not on the table when Thundercracker agreed to go undercover as a human. giant robot aliens weren't on the table when Marissa took it upon herself to help the weirdest guy she'd ever met. it's a match made in heaven. i love this fic okay it's got some fantastic wth moments and TC being TC and Marissa being awesome and just. i like it. the writing could use some technical polish but the action and plot concept are good, and the fun alien/human interactions are my jam. has a sequel i haven't read

Canonfodder*

TFP, incomplete, Spacebattles. a series of harrowing updates from a poor hapless nobody isekai'd into the body of a Vehicon on dead Cybertron, and all the nonsense that spirals from there. i like this one, the pacing can get a lil jagged and the technical skill of the writing is a bit off but that's often the nature of these forum fics, i didn't mind it. definitely love the inclusion of Kup, and space video games, and the limited but interesting choices the protag can make when presented with such a dismal situation makes for a very compelling, journal-style story. if you don't know how to navigate forum fics like this, just use the links in the first post to skip to each snippet

Catching Feelings

TFA, oneshot with sequel, AO3. Bumblebee and Charlie are clearly a Thing, so what's Optimus doing thinking about her so much? honestly i just like this ship concept especially in a TFA context, it's very cute and awwwww poor Op, sorry you're experiencing emotions!

Commonality and Misunderstandings

canon soup, incomplete, AO3. a collection of scenes showing just how humans and mecha can figure each other out, no matter how wide the cross-cultural divide. this is cute! i like the human OCs and the shenanigans. talks about gender perceptions, has some mech-preg mentions, and hits some good emotional moments

the consequences of being a vehicle on Earth - even if only as a part-timer

TFA, oneshot, AO3. out of everyone who has to deal with the legality of autonomous sentient vehicles, it's Fanzone. dear god, save him. a very funny little read that honestly addresses some things i constantly wonder about re: driving laws and the bots. nothing more tortuous than the DMV!

Curious Thing, Isn't It?

vaguely G1, oneshot, AO3. the Ark crew, freshly crashed on Earth and uncomprehending of English, discover one of the tiny squishy native inhabitants. a very cute little scene, i love the variety of reactions and how they treat the kid they found

A Fourth to Remember

G1, oneshot, AO3. it's the 4th of July, and Wheeljack has taken it upon himself to make a fireworks show. lovely little story of his typical nonsense taken large-scale, and some interesting culture collision too!

The Great Space Opera

IDW/TFP crossover, incomplete, AO3. Brainstorm does a whoopsie and uh oh, is that Team Prime in the Lost Light? only a little bit written but VERY fun and i love the mindbending reactions of Ratchet meeting Ratchet. the whole premise is just. mwah

Introduction to Cybertronian Biomechanics

canon soup, incomplete, AO3. a small collection of medical essays and articles detailing a breakdown of anatomy. really fascinating, very coherent explanation that manages to condense canon and fanon into something understandable, perhaps even plausible!

Liberty Island's Decisive Battle: Godzilla vs Trypticon!

Aligned/Godzilla crossover, oneshot, AO3. when Trypticon is resurrected by dark energon and heads towards New York, Fowler remembers a certain other giant lizard monster that might be able to help. Rescue Bots cameo, Miko gets to speak Japanese, Godzilla is awesome, this is just the fic ever

Malto Family Search & Rescue

ES, oneshot, AO3. a Decepticon named Thundercracker shows up at the Malto home in the middle of the night to beg a vital favor: help find his lost dog! SUCH a cute and good and wonderful little fic that fits right in to canon!! i love TC and i love the Malto family interactions and just. oogh lovely little fic. has sequels that i am saving for a rainy day pick me up

marriages of convenience (and the inconvenience of explaining them)

IDW, oneshot, AO3. Minimus is a widower. this fun fact is dropped rather unceremoniously. the painful awkwardness is marvelously in character, there are feelings and funnies and an uncomfortably heartfelt discussion about this matter-of-fact revelation that manages to characterize each of them so well, especially Minimus

Murder Mystery Night

IDW, oneshot, AO3. it's NIGHTBEAT'S NIGHT, BABY! lovely little mystery following around the Lost Light's greatest detective when a fun game night is abruptly shut down by a real actual murder! can Nightbeat find the killer in time?

nothing is more sacred than any other thing

vaguely G1, oneshot, AO3. Skyfire is a nerdy scientist with nerdy friends, which means most shenanigans surrounding him are nerdy. very cute and fun little fic about friends and mushrooms and Starscream being duped! first in a series of oneshots that i haven't gotten around to reading yet but look equally lovely

Objectification

G1, oneshot, AO3. a human and a Cybertronian have very different opinions on who exactly the victim is in an oversexualized music video. stupid funny and good, just the way i like it! last line kills me

Optimus Prime is Destined to Die!!

canon soup AU, incomplete, AO3. poor little Orion is isekai'd into a Cybertronian fantasy light novel as one of the soon-to-die forgettable side characters: the cold prince Optimus Prime. supposed to be MegOp but that hasn't really shown up yet. fantastic premise i leapt at immediately, with interesting royal politics and classic isekai tropey vibes. it's a little slow in places from a lot of (warranted!) purple prose introspection, but i find it cool enough to read through and follow poor Orion adjusting to his new existence!

Return Me to the Stars

TFA AU, incomplete, AO3. when a near-dead little Prime is picked up by the Nemesis, it sparks a lot of shenanigans, mysteries, and interesting political developments, all thanks to Optimus being Optimus. i really love the way this fic is developing, with a terrified Autobot in enemy territory doing the best he can, an expanded cast of Decepticons, a lot of fun worldbuilding, and very engaging and dynamic interactions. features a good bit of whump for our tough lil Prime. tagged as MegOP which is still slowly developing, pretty realistically taking their time to find some kind of even footing without breaking their characterization which i greatly appreciate! the writing itself could use some spellchecking but the plot and pacing are very engaging nonetheless

Scaredy-Car

G1, oneshot, AO3. i love a good comedic misunderstanding and boy the assumptions people are making about Breakdown are WHOOF. kinda cracky, a smidgeon dirty, and just the right amount of loserness that is the entirety of the Decepticon army

The Season of the Smallest Stars

sorta IDW/Stardew Valley crossover?, incomplete, AO3. you weren't expecting a small troop of adorable little robots to help you with your farmwork. a very soft cute little fic, i love it!!! never played SV but it's easy enough to follow along anyway, and i love the cute beeping Lost Light bots helping out our farmer

Second Star From Morning

technically IDW, incomplete, AO3. only a little bit written but SELF INSERT BABYYYYYYYYY gotta love it when your protagonists are aware that this is in fact a fictional character! the panic, the questions, the wahuh?? captivating premise, i hope the author comes back to it someday

Skywarp And The Wonders Of The Unnatural World

G1, oneshot, AO3. their summary sums it up best: "The Elite Trine have a very serious and mature debate on the existence of mythical creatures." extremely funny to me, i LOVE when they're stupid and petty and catty and silly!! Skywarp is so dumb i love him so much

Small Problems*

G1, ongoing series, AO3. average human Crystal finds some shrunken Autobots lost in the big city, and her life only gets weirder from there. an OC-centric series that--spoilers for later in the series--may have been one of the original "human turned into Transformer" fics! the whole series goes from sweet and funny to heartwrenching and angsty, with a lot of in between. i love the OC and sympathize with the horrible things she ends up going through, and also the heights to which she rises! slowburn Prowl/OC, with a bit of love triangle with Jazz in there too (funfact this was the second ever piece of media in which i encountered Blurr)

Sparkless

TFP, incomplete, AO3. a Vehicon left behind finds itself fixed up by a human, and might just gain some personhood along the way. a VERY sweet little story oogh i love this Vehicon!! poor thing i want to give them hot chocolate and a blankie. it's a lovely story with an intriguing premise

Stop Me*

TFP, incomplete (but with over 200 chapters), FFN. Starscream nearly dies at the claws of the Predacons... and then he's alive again, in the past, as if none of that ever happened. a rather (in?)famous fic in the fandom, i've found, although when i first read it i didn't know that. a very interesting take on a Starscream redemption AU, paired with some fascinating outlier power moments! a little bit wooby about Screamer (maybe a lot wooby?), a lot of whump, a lot of emotion, maybe some hints of StarOP idk if that's become an actual ship since i last checked. ymmv on this one depending on your Starscream opinions but i was hooked for the whole time for sure! i need to catch up, it's technically still updating. also the author has another, shorter, complete Starscream redemption fic which i also enjoyed, check that out too

A Streetcar Named Traitor

G1, oneshot, AO3. Megatron doesn't take Starscream's defection well and Optimus has had enough. very stupid, very funny, makes me cackle as Megsy gets dunked on

Sudden Active Development... I certainly feel SAD at the moment*

TFP, incomplete, Spacebattles. another isekai forum fic, this time somebody gets dropped into the body of Nemesis Prime and has to deal with running around as an Optimus lookalike! i like the misunderstandings and the process of adapting to a strange new body. some stilted dialogue, and it gets a little weird about gender perception but i can gloss over that. ramps up with more canon characters, a sprinkling of OCs, and completely taking canon off the rails within the last few posts! this one has threadmarks for easy navigation

Turning Points*

vaguely G1 AU, incomplete, FFN. Prowl was one of the most brilliant tacticians among the Decepticons, and then they destroyed his home. it's gonna be a long climb into the good graces of the Autobots for this defector. an absolutely fantastic character driven piece with a brilliant premise, i love how Prowl is written. and the politics of defecting and dealing with a security hazard, mmmmm good!

An Uneasy Partnership*

sorta G1/Armada/canon soup?, ongoing series, FFN. Alexis keeps an unruly Starscream in her barn. this can only go well. this series is WILD, it escalates and gets worse and then better and then worse again, you root for Screamer and then you hate him, poor Alexis is on a constant horrid rollercoaster but hey, (spoilers), she gets a cool robot body and also a tyrant king boyfriend out of it??? but man is it a long, manipulative, whumpy road to get there. the powerplays and emotional turmoil in their dynamic just keep going and it's fascinating, although probably not for you if you don't like bad power imbalances. it's the end of the world as we know it and whatever comes on the other end is going to be only as good as you make of it. i think this series may also be sort of (in)famous in the fandom? idk i don't pay attention that well

Untitled

IDW, drabble, tumblr. in an unexpected meetcute, Minimus finds himself rescuing Rung. honestly it's just a quick little concept of a conversation but it has captivated me and i'm obsessed with it

#transformers #fic rec #rec list #macaddam #transformers fanfiction #long post #ive got a list of to-read/to-finish fics too and ill make another one when i work my way thru all of those...#most of them are long multichaps tho so uhhh who knows when

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unsettledink · 2 years

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Gotcha and Meta

So here's the thing.

There's Gotcha, the fic.

And there's … stuff? Accessories? DVD Extras?

And there's the rambles I do about plot and character and such

Right now, the second category just isn't anywhere and I'd like it to be – I think some of it could go directly in the fic, for media, but I'd like to have a place just for it.

The third category is everywhere. Tumblr and comment replies and chats and docs and just. Everywhere. In a way that makes things hit or miss to find and is probably annoying to those that do not want it.

Tumblr is a horrible place for archive or searching things, or freaking commenting/interacting. AO3 is basically designed for this sort of thing, so I should really take advantage of that instead of feeling weird about it? There's... something something self important? Feeling? about it, like ok cool talk about yourself more sure. But on the other hand, I freaking LOVE it when I come across a fic that has scads of meta, so some other people probably do?

So I'd love to hear, here or AO3 or email or discord or email or wherever, any thoughts you have! Is it something you would even be interested in? Does one aspect sound more interesting? Should they be separate things or put together? Are there things/topics you really want to see?

(Is anyone good with those like... fake instagram/text/media templates? I have so many ideas and I am so hopeless with them lol.)

Possible content for the Extras?? work:

Text messaging as images

Other assorted media (instagram esp? Yes Peter uses one a lot at some point heh)

Stuff on their phones (possibly including a selection of the dirty pics Quentin's taken...)

Picsets?

Playlists? (or does that feel more like it would belong in the metaish one?)

Alternate POV Scenes

Deleted Scenes

AU Versions of Scenes

...scenes from the universe where 833 Quentin Beck is real?? Look I don't even know what my brain does sometimes.

Possible content for Commentary??? work:

Collected things from comments and tumblr and ask games

Talking about tags

Writing process stuff

Characterization stuff

Thematic stuff

Assorted backstory or details that will never be really featured in Gotcha

Sex meta stuff?

Commentary/directors cut on assorted bits?

Inspiration bits and bobs?

Just a place where questions could be asked easier in comments?

#Gotcha

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mari-writes · 3 years

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🧺🌳☀️

“Bokuto-san, please tell me where we’re going. I’m getting nervous.”

Akaashi winces as the car they are in bounces over uneven ground. Are they potholes? He can only guess, since his eyes are covered by a thick bandana.

“Calm down Aaashi! It’s fine!”

“I’m literally being driven blindfolded in a car with no idea of our destination.”

Bokuto laughs. “But it’s me, your boyfriend behind the wheel!”

“That is hardly a consolation.” Akaashi reaches to open a window. Fresh air rushes into the car; he smells earth and pine. Are they in a forest?

The car lurches to the right and Akaashi grips the roof handle for dear life.

After five more harrowing minutes, the car finally slows, gradually coming to a stop. Akaashi releases the breath he’d been holding.

“We’re here!” Bokuto pats his thigh. “Just give me one minute to set up. Hang tight.”

“What-no-hey!” Akaashi stutters, but the man has already hopped out and is now rummaging through the trunk. Akaashi huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking into his seat.

Two hours ago Bokuto had announced they were going on a surprise day trip. He’d barely given Akaashi time to prepare, only saying he should dress in layers and wear comfortable shoes, and insisted he’d take care of the rest.

Deep down Akaashi knows everything will be fine. He just really hates surprises. He hates not knowing what is happening. He hates feeling out of control.

But he hasn’t seen Bokuto in so long—their schedules kept them apart for weeks—so he’s willing to be a bit uncomfortable.

“Okay, babe, it’s ready!” Bokuto is back, opening the door and taking Akaashi lightly by the arm. Akaashi, still blindfolded, stumbles slightly as he gets out. He falls forward into his boyfriend’s sturdy chest.

“Mmm,” he mutters into Bokuto’s shirt. “This better be good, Bokuto-san.”

Again, Bokuto laughs as he guides Akaashi away from the car. Akaashi feels his shoes hit soft dirt and then grass, leaves crunching. Sun rays hit his face. A mockingbird chirps in the distance.

Finally Bokuto stops. Calloused hands gently remove Akaashi’s bandana; his fingers get caught in Akaashi’s curls briefly. “Surprise, Keiji.”

Akaashi blinks, his eyes adjusting after being closed for so long. Then his gaze lands on the scene before him and he gasps.

A large blanket is laid out over a small patch of grass, under a grove of ancient-looking trees. On the blanket sits a large whicker basket, open and displaying containers of varying sizes, including a small cooler pack and an insulated thermos.

Small patterned plates with chopsticks sit nearby, as well as a pair of tin mugs. At the end of the blanket is a smaller basket with matching cloth napkins. “B-Bokuto-san,” he breathes. “It’s a picnic.”

HIs boyfriend giggles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Umm, yeah. It is.” He reaches out and Akaashi lets him pull him down onto the blanket.

Akaashi feels his mouth twitching upwards. He nods. “You did this all yourself?”

Bokuto grins. “Yeah! I bought the basket from that little shop in Osaka—remember we saw it, when you visited last month?”

“I knew it looked familiar.” Akaashi touched the basket gently. He turns to his boyfriend, pecking him on the cheek. “Thank you, Bokuto-san. This is lovely. I’m sorry I was rude earlier.”

Bokuto shrugs and reaches for the thermos. “That’s okay. I guess I went overboard with the ‘surprise’ thing, eh?” He pours and then hands Akaashi a cup of tea.

“The blindfold was a bit much.” Akaashi raises one eyebrow as he takes a sip, and Bokuto winces.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Akaashi sighs. They are still figuring things out about each other, even two years into their relationship. Bokuto had known he liked picnics—and now he also knows that Akaashi doesn’t like kidnapping-style surprises.

For the next hour they devour their lunch: homemade bentos crafted by Bokuto himself, with extra sides of fruit and sugar snap peas. Conversation flows easily, and silences are punctured only by the sound of the forest around them.

Eventually Bokuto reaches to the bottom of the basket for a small container. “Dessert!” He beams, opening the box to reveal an assortment of tea cookies doused in powdered sugar. Gingerly he takes one and holds it out.

Instinctively Akaashi grabs his wrist, leaning forward to eat the delicacy from Bokuto’s fingers. He smirks as his boyfriend’s ears go red. “Not fair,” Bokuto whines, and Akaashi only has a moment to giggle before his boyfriend is tackling him back onto the grass, kissing his face all over, licking the sugar from his lips.

They stay out until the sun starts to dip below the treetops. The colors and sounds around them start to shift, signaling the end of the day. They pack up, slowly as if in a daze. Akaashi has not felt this light and content in ages.

Akaashi volunteers to drive them home. At one point, he looks over to see that Bokuto has fallen asleep, head lolling against the headrest. He’d obviously been working hard the whole morning to prepare the picnic. Akaashi smiles.

“Thank you,” he whispers even though he knows Bokuto can’t hear. “You’re amazing, Koutarou.”

I went on a picnic with family today and it inspired me to write this. Hope you enjoyed! :)

#bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #my writing #drabble #ficlet #fanfiction #fanfic

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

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Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part Fourteen is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time, usually. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 3,000

“You look tired,” Dean was still too chipper. It was throwing you off in the worst way. Doesn't he feel it?

“And you actually look chipper,” You grumbled back, trying to hold up the grudge. It was nearly impossible with the toothy grin you received. “Let me chug this coffee and I'll be good to go.”

You'd gone hunting in the dark for two separate places to dispose of the candles before you'd been able to take a shower and crawl into your own bed. You'd only gotten a hunter's night of sleep in the end. Leaving you further baffled by the boys' stamina.

“You're okay...right?” Suddenly serious, Dean brushed his finger against the healed skin. Drawing forth a small shiver as he inspected you. “I should have asked last night. But, you were out grounding yourself, or whatever, when I tried to find you. Kid said it was to help calm you down or something. Real important, anyway.” So, that's what Jack came up with. You mentally made note to thank him.

“I don't want to lie to you, Dean.” Your eyes closed as you forced yourself to resist leaning into his touch. Body still craving his. Demanding that he reaffirm the bond you were trying to dissolve. A step back was managed, losing the contact in the process. “Don't make me, okay?”

“How bad was it?” His lips pushed out as he demanded that you give it to him straight. No more bullshit.

The worst pain you'd ever felt had been at his hands. You'd be damned if you threw that in his face. Not when he was on the up.

“It doesn't matter.” You forced the words out. It really didn't. Able to resist him in the moment. The mark was still there. Though you told yourself it looked and felt lighter. That spells took time when they involved something that complex. The thought soothed you. “It's over.”

The finality in your tone made something inside of his chest clench. As if he knew that you weren't just talking about what you'd gone through. Dean rubbed his hand over his own mark, then. Watching as you retreated behind a smile filled with secrets. Guilt eating away at his insides once the high of finding Cas had worn down.

“I didn't think,” He spoke up as you turned to walk away. Every piece of him demanded that he explain. “Not until I was in there. Then, I told myself that you didn't have time to feel it.”

“Most people wouldn't have,” You allowed, hoping that would be the end of it as you hunted down the sugar. It wasn't.

“Most people wouldn't have felt their mate's leg injury across state lines, Y/N,” Dean pointed out, desperately. Remembering the way you'd clung to him afterward. Why isn't she doing that now? “Nothing's ever been ordinary in my life. So, why would this be any different? I should have known better.” You didn't even turn to look at him. Didn't say a word. The lack of action more telling than anything you could have said. “I'm sorry.” His voice cracked a bit, then. He'd ignored it until he'd rested alone in his bed. His mind trailing over every detail of the day. Right to the stained gauze across your throat. “I'm so fucking sorry, 'mega.”

“You did what you had to, Dean.” The words were like acid in your throat. “You freed all of those souls.” You turned then, letting him look in your eyes. His pain was palpable. “We all do what we have to do in the end.” There was an aloofness in as you spoke. Enough to make his skin crawl. “When the bond's gone, it won't matter.” A sad smile crossed your lips, then. His blood chilled at that. You'd known. He'd never mentioned it to you. Not once after you'd brought it up. Yet there you were. Talking about the end as if it was a forgone conclusion. “We won't hurt each other, anymore.”

“You mean I won't hurt you,” His face tightened. Looking every bit the pain ridden warrior as he turned his head away. Wondering just how long you'd known he'd planned on breaking away from you. “Sam tell you, or Jody?”

“Let's be honest, Dean... You'll feel a little safer not being attached to a witch.” His jaw worked, then. You wouldn't give away your source. “That way, if I need put down? You can safely pull the trigger.” His breath stopped at the acidic words. “I didn't need anyone to tell me. It's been there since the night you found out what I was.”

“You really think that I could kill you?” There was that rare vulnerability there in his eyes. Shining bright as he wondered just how evil the world had begun to see him. How awful he had to be to inspire something so dark to fester in his own mate's mind.

“I think you'd do whatever you needed to save the world, Dean.” Even with the straight forward words, you couldn't stand the hurt that he was feeling. You reached up, rubbing his cheek with your hand. His skin was smooth from the fresh shave as he leaned in. Offering the only comfort you safely could. “Being with someone- something- that you can't completely trust? Makes it damn hard to do that.” You pressed a kiss to his other cheek before stepping back. Just as he turned to meet your touch with his own lips. “Chin up. You have your win, Winchester. It's going to get better. Mate or none.”

“I'm going to make it right, Y/N.” His words rang hollow. There were too many pieces inside of him that despised the idea. You'd recognized it before, but it was crystal clear in that moment. He was fighting his inner beast. And losing. “I'll snap the bond without all that fancy doctor crap. Make sure you get your second chance, down the road.”

“Don't worry about it, Dean.” The way you said the words sent an ominous shiver through him. “It'll be taken care of. For now? We have some zombies to hunt.” With that, you left the kitchen to go load up your bag. Making him wonder just what was going through that head of yours when he realized that he couldn't get a grip on what you were feeling.

–

“All right,” Dean led the charge down the hallway, carrying his suit in hand. The drive was over and he was done thinking for the day about anything other than what was surrounding him. “This is supposed to be the best room in the joint.”

“That doesn't say much,” You muttered, looking around. Jack smiled a bit beside you. The angel didn't seem too amused, though. Sending you another unreadable look over his shoulder.

“Oh, ho!” Your mate was a little too excited at the scene before you as the light switched on. “The Wild Bill suite.”

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Your eyes peered into the room. Nose curling in disgust.

Horns decorated the wall, but that wasn't all. Not even close. A cardboard cowboy stood tall, near a set of saloon doors. Staking claim to the room. He could have it as far as you were concerned.

The walls were covered with wanted posters and just about everything else that could be considered “cowboy”. Including an assortment of dead animals. You didn't need a closer inspection to know that they were real. Dean was chuckling in glee as he looked around; happier than a kid at Christmas.

“Wow,” Sam seemed to mirror your thoughts. Unimpressed with the décor.

“Pretty cool, right?” Instantly, the older Winchester found all the old images. Inspecting them with a sense of joy that you couldn't quite bring yourself to find. “Dude! Check it out.” The last phrase repeated another two times. You were quickly discovering that your mate was an old western dweeb. “Clay Allison.” He turned your way, beaming all the while, “Gun fighter extraordinary, right?” Then he was right back to those pictures, “And, uh.” His fingers pointed out another man with a hooked mustache and a small, square goatee, “Curly Bill Brocius.” He looked nothing like the cowboys you'd expected to see. “Which,” The enthusiasm was contagious, “now, now, now,” the pointed finger waved dramatically. “Little fun fact, here- was killed by Wyatt Earp, himself.” All eyes watched Dean. A mixture of confusion, disbelief, and mild entertainment filled the room. “Not kidding.” Another laugh left him as he walked. “Johnny Ringo, Billy The Kid...Oh, look!”

“He really likes cowboys,” Jack finally spoke. Watching the man he'd idolized act like a fool. He wasn't quite sure how to take the sudden switch in Dean. That much was obvious. You'd be lying if you said that you did, either.

“Hey, big guy,” Dean spoke to an image as if it could talk back. “How you doin'? That's...” His voice lowered as he kept talking to himself. Going a mile a minute. “What's going on Calamity Jane?”

“Yes.” Castiel answered his adopted child. “Yes, he does.” His voice was so dead panned that it almost sounded pained.

Another laugh emitted, making it a record in your presence, “Doc Holliday!” He whipped around, that damned grin on his face growing even bigger. You bit back a laugh, trying to look fascinated. “Hey-o!” A snort made its way out of your nose, but he didn't hear it.

“He's worse than me in a metaphysical shop,” You muttered, earning a twitch of the lips from Sam. Castiel didn't seem to find that amusing, either.

“This is awesome.” Dean spun in a little circle, taking in the room once again. “All right,” He got down to business. Kind of. “I say quick shower, steak dinner, and then tomorrow we hit up the cemetery.” His footsteps were brisk as he moved past the group of loved ones, all of which were still staring at him. No one moving a muscle right away.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam managed as his brother hit the saloon doors. He sent a little grin your way, happy at his brother's glee, before turning to follow. Jack and Castiel simply turned to each other. Before they could speak, it continued.

“Oh, yes!” Dean grunted out loudly. “Stirrup hangers!” You winced at the thought. Didn't need to see it to imagine what he was excited about.

“You can have the couch,” Jack stated, monotone compared to the older Winchester. His comments were slightly lower, but still present. “I don't sleep very much.”

“I don't sleep at all.” Castiel turned to Jack, then. Both men then began looking around the room, again. Awkwardness hanging in the air.

“Okay...well, I'll just take the couch if no one else is willing.” You slid over to the red, offending furniture. “Split it with anyone who needs a catnap, or whatever. We can make this work.”

“Aren't you going to sleep with Dean?” The angel's voice sounded almost accusing. He didn't like you. Or, at the least, didn't trust you. Being a witch and all of that.

“Look,” Your hand found your hip. “Unless you want this already inconvenient trip to get even more disturbing? Having to listen to Dean get off- repeatedly- in the middle of the night? I think it's best that I sleep out here.” Your eyes fluttered innocently.

The worst part was that you weren't lying. You didn't trust either of your bodies after his temporary fatality. You had little doubt that someone would roll over. Then next thing you know 'P' meets 'V' in front of the entire family. No way in hell you were chancing that one.

“Yeah, no....” Jack trailed off, shaking his head. Shuddering at the very idea.

“You bring up a fair point,” Castiel allowed, cringing a bit at the thought as your mate and Sam discussed having a hat in the back room.

“I thought so,” With that, your bag was dropped on it before your body followed. Castiel's eyes landed on your mark as you bent down to make work of your shoes so that you could nab the shower first. Anything to chase away the bit of car sickness you'd felt. “If you wanna know something, feel free to ask.”

Jack turned to his father figure, then, “Cas?”

“Nothing. I just was lost in my thoughts.” You didn't buy it for a second. However, you weren't about to start a disagreement with Dean's win- the very thing he was discussing in the next room, over. Not then, anyway.

Later that night- or rather, early morning, you were wrapped up on the couch. Shrouded in the darkness. In a sleep light enough that you could still hear Jack asking all the questions he'd missed out on with Castiel gone over Dean's deep snoring in the back. Too much whiskey with dinner had led to the resounding noise.

When they got to Kelly, you told yourself not to listen. To give Jack his privacy. However, it never worked quite like that. Your heart was tugged at the way the angel described the woman. The same woman who's shoes you'd stumbled into. Then, there was a beep on the computer.

“Oh, wow!” Jack's voice pulled you the rest of the way out of your sleep. You blinked awake as he got to his feet. “I'll go tell them!”

“Jack!” Castiel hissed, following after him. You didn't get a chance to fully motivate before you joined the crowd. Opening the saloon doors as Jack poked the sleeping bear- literally- while whispering his name. “Jack, I wouldn't do that!”

The sound of a gun cocking and a deep cry filled the air as the weapon was aimed at the boy, “No!” Jack's hands were instantly in the air. Sam jerked awake in the next bed to see what the hell was going on. “No, no, Dean! It's me! It's me.”

“Dean!” You hissed out, your hand over your heart. The angel didn't look too worried, though. In fact, he looked downright done with life.

Your mate seemed to freeze, then. One eye was open, while the other was still squeezed tight. His mouth agape as he processed what was happening. His head turned to you and Castiel after a moment.

“Ah,” The gun was lowered, “hey.” Sleepy green eyes closed as the weapon made its way to the bedside table. “Who's making me coffee?”

He snuggled back into the bed. Looking more peaceful than any man had the right to be. Much less one that could've killed someone in a single second. Jack was breathing awfully hard when he turned back to you and Castiel, wide eyed. His short life had, no doubt, flashed before his eyes.

Jack was still watching Dean with a wary, shell shocked gaze when the coffee was ready. As if the sniffling, bleary eyed man was still a threat. You weren't much better, yourself. All eyes followed him as he sat onto your “bed” with a groan; rubbing his eyes.

“I told you,” Castiel leaned forward to Jack. “He's an angry sleeper.” You didn't argue that point, sipping at your own coffee. “Like a bear.” He'd let that last bit out as you inhaled, leaving you coughing and snorting up coffee in the process. The sound earning a sleepy glare from your mate before you gathered yourself back together. Clearing your throat with a muffled apology. You'd thought the same thing, yourself.

“Okay,” Sam got back to business, looking at the laptop screen. “So, code three means an officer down.” Your eyes kept drifting over to the man in the background, sipping at his black drink as if it was the only thing that mattered. You tuned out the case, letting your eyes trail over the way his t-shirt pulled over the swells of his bicep. Fucking hormones.

“Like, from a zombie.” The phrase pulled your attention back to Jack and away from your body's craving.

“Or anything else that has teeth.” There was the cranky Dean that had started slipping under your skin. Your lips twisted at the familiarity of it.

“Drink your coffee,” You waved him away, shooting Jack a little wink that made him smile.

“Alright,” Sam pulled attention back to where it belonged. “Change of plans. Jack, Y/N, and I will hit the grave yard. You and Cas hit up the crime scene.” The laptop was shut with more force than you cared to dwell on as Sam got to his feet.

“Works for me.” Dean managed as everyone got to their feet.

As soon as the party broke up? Dean raised his index finger at Cas, halting the angel in his steps. He pointed at his coffee before raising his palm. Cueing the supernatural being to sit until the coffee was gone. To your amazement, it worked. Castiel sat back with a small sigh, while Dean slurped away.

“No man should have all that power,” You muttered with a small laugh. With that, you received a silent middle finger. You only shook your head as you moved to grab your clothes from the bag beside his feet. When you looked back over your shoulder, you found Cas tsking away with a disapproving frown. Initially, you'd thought it to be at you. Then, you followed the gaze properly. Dean's eyes had landed on your ass; coffee still resting against his lips, but going nowhere. “Pervert,” You grumbled, pushing his cheek away. Trying not to focus too strongly on the feeling of his five o'clock shadow before you walked away.

“Dean-” Castiel's scolding as he moved back to his feet only earned a glare, and another point at the coffee. Zero remorse residing in the sleepy alpha. With another drawn out sigh, the angel sat. Waiting for the beast to be tamed by the caffeine...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

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thechembow · 3 years

Text

To the woman who assaulted me at Ace Hardware today,

Jan. 15, 2021

I am your neighbor in Frazier Park. I love this mountain and feel so blessed to live here. You must enjoy its beauty as much as I do, because it is unsurpassed. The woods and wildlife give me solace. I have also always had good experiences among the humans of the mountain, shopping locally, where we all know each other and everyone is friendly. I like supporting our community and keeping everyone working and happy. I’ve never had a bad time shopping in Frazier Park, so it was somewhat of a shock to meet you this way today.

My husband and I were picking up some bird seed at Ace Hardware. If you live in Frazier Park and not in Pine Mountain Club, it’s still legal to feed the birds! We love our feathered friends. They have also been giving me nice brass shavings from their key machine which I use to make orgonite, an energy device which promotes rainfall, clears air pollution, and makes living with EMF safer. My husband, Gabe, and I have been making and gifting orgonite for almost seven years now, and we have covered all of California and much of the US west to end the drought. You might be interested to know that we have put orgonite all over this mountain too. It sure has been snowing more and more every year since we got here and the forests are alive with new baby trees, far outnumbering the trees that die of old age. There were awesome wildflower blooms out in the Antelope Valley and Gorman these past few years. It might also comfort you to know that there are Earth pipes along San Andreas Fault here and at the top of Mt. Pinos, healing the damage that was done here by your ancestors, who stole the land from the Chumash Indians and clear-cut the forests. This will help prevent earthquakes. We have gifted somewhere around 200 orgonite pieces to these mountains, from the Grapevine to the Central Coast. I wrote a book about it too. Our life and most of our resources have gone into planetary healing.

Now that you know a little more about me, I would like to know more about you. I wasn’t covering my face today like you were because I am not a member of your religion. We should be tolerant of other peoples’ beliefs. I am tolerant of your choice to hide your face from your Creator, although I don’t agree with it. I would never hit you and insult you for wearing a mask or for any other reason. What told you that I was to be deplored because of my exposed nose and mouth? When you called me a “f-ing b-tch” and punched me in the ribs, it didn’t hurt physically because you’re old and weak. But I was wondering if it was your mom or dad who taught you to do that? Did you learn it in school or in church? I’ve never been cursed at and hit by an old woman before.

I put on the mask in order not to offend you, although I didn’t have to. You continued to yell, and you were very close to me when you yelled that I would infect you. If I’m so disgusting and disease-ridden, it would be a good idea to stand a few feet away from me when you insult me. I think about 6 feet should do it. It’s also not a good idea to punch a sick person because you could get my germs on your hand. How come you disappeared out the back door when I called out, “She assaulted me!” If you’re right, you should stick around.

Incidentally, soon after we met, I tried to run into the grocery store to grab some garlic. Like at the hardware store, the employees there never get on my case for my need to breathe and show the face God gave me. I got verbally assaulted there by a customer again, which wasn’t as bad as being hit and verbally assaulted at the same time. But the woman there was much younger than you, so you may want to give her some pointers on how to really hurt your neighbor. She said, “You’re killing my family.” She also blamed me for her sick dog. It was more likely a combination of pinworms, Ascaris, a variety of liver and intestinal flukes, some tapeworms, solvents and heavy metals that killed them, along with the ventilators they pop peoples’ lungs with if they come into the hospital with a cold. I’m reading a fascinating book right now called The Cure for All Diseases by Dr. Hulda Clark. It explains all of these diseases you think are infectious and how to cure them. You need to zap your parasites and stop sharing your worms! Stop putting filth in your mouth and reinfecting yourself, says Dr. Clark. Germs are not jumping around in the air. You can learn to heal anything that’s wrong with you with this book.

In your case, you’re definitely watching too much news. I would venture to guess you’re also taking an assortment of pharmaceutical drugs which are masking symptoms of your own worms and the bacteria and viruses they carry. You probably use a smart phone. Lots of old people who don’t even understand the technology do. I wish you would be more like my grandma, who never hit a lady in the store nor uttered an obscenity. She never would have used a smart phone either. She was beautiful, strong, dignified, spoke several languages, loved fine art, cooked great meals and enjoyed life. It’s sad what a shriveled lump of fear you’re become. My grandma survived the very oppression you are doling out today by a miracle of God. Goodness knows, her life was in danger every moment for being Jewish and from Germany at the wrong time. Now I also feel like I’m in danger. If you’ll physically assault a stranger for having a different belief, then what if someone stronger or armed would do it? This is not something I want to find out. Fortunately I have a relationship with God who protects me and am saved by Messiah Yeshua. He reconciled me back to God who forgave my sin of falling into pagan culture like you have. Your world is a fantasy land, but it’s really more like a nightmare, and it is dying like you have died.

There were a few people in the store after you fled the scene who showed me sympathy. But I now know how bad things have gotten. You showed me that today. You made me feel physically sick, not just emotionally distressed, with a little help from your insane ally at the grocery store. Just last week I could go into most places in Frazier Park with my face showing. It seems your time is running out and your world is spiraling out of control. For now, I would rather not argue with you. I will cover my face in your presence and you won’t know I don’t worship your god. It gives me more inspiration to become more self-reliant and less dependent on the businesses of your world. I hate the mask with a passion. I hate what it represents and how you look in it. I think it’s very sad that you love your pathetic false god and believe this absolutely ridiculous narrative to the point that you would assault another woman. C0VID is a mental illness!

Well that’s all for now. I hope to hear from you soon. Maybe you will realize it was wrong to hit me and curse at me and I’ll forgive you. Then we can be friends and have a kosher barbeque when the weather warms up. I’m not holding my breath, no pun intended.

Your neighbor,

Sharon Daphna

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goatsandgangsters · 3 years

Note

do you have any writing tips pls 🥺🥺

Ohhh big question! I’m flattered that you want my writing thoughts, anon!

So. Are we talking about tips on getting through writer’s block/sitting down and actually writing? The mechanics of writing itself, the individual sentences and word choices? Developing a plot? Characters or dialogue? Drafting and revising? If there’s a specific part of the process that’s angsting you, let me know, I’m happy to say more on that. For now I’ll try and touch on as much as broadly as I can.

Writing is a process, a craft, a practice. A joy and a trial. The act of hitting some keys with your fingers but also making something out of nothing. Which is to say—it comes with practice, it can be frustrating, it can be rewarding, and however you’re feeling about writing, you’re not the only one.

Inspiration/actually sitting down to write:

I find that writing is like exercise. Yes, in the sense that it takes practice to build up those muscles, but MORE IMPORTANTLY writing, like exercise, makes me groan and go “but that’s haaaaard I don’t wanna doooooo it, what if I just siiiit here insteaaaad.” And then I grudgingly get started. And I start to get into the rhythm. And then “oh goddammit. This DOES feel good.” I’ve still never experienced a runner’s high, but I have experienced “no I don’t wanna write. well I guess I’ll write. oh hey I’m writing. oH HEY!! I’M WRITING!!!” Sometimes you just need to push yourself through to start.

That said, sometimes you don’t need to push yourself to start. Sometimes it’s better to let something sit. It’s okay to pivot to another project if you’ve stalled out on one. I saw a post once that called this “crop rotation” and I think that’s true. Sometimes the challenge is getting started, but even when you can’t get started, the time away can be valuable, because it allows you to return with fresh ideas and fresh ideas.

I love using Fighter’s Block for when I can’t get started. It curbs my perfectionist tendency to write the same first sentence over and over again by forcing me to write consistently and quickly without refreshing tumblr between every sentence. Once I’ve got a paragraph, I’ve got enough of a rhythm going to keep writing on my own. You can use it for longer stretches of time, but I find a couple rounds of 200 word count goals is enough to get me through the inertia of getting started.

Read a lot:

Reading makes you a better writer. You will absorb aspects of the craft in the process—sentence structure, rhythm, plot beats.

Then think about what you read. Think about what works. Think about what doesn’t. Notice sentences that you love—not by meaning but by sound. Think about how the story is told, how the plot elements come together, how the themes operate, how the narrative is structured. Did the flashbacks works or were they superfluous? Did you love the metaphors and descriptive language, or did it feel vague and unhelpful? What parts grabbed you, what parts didn’t?

Being able to identify what does and doesn’t work in someone else’s writing will help you apply it to your own. It will also help you craft your own voice and style.

Use writing tips as a challenge, not a rule:

We’ve all seen those “writing rules” like don’t use adverbs, don’t say feels or thinks, don’t say said. Never listen to writing “rules”; instead, see them as a writing “challenge.” You don’t need to jettison every single adverb or permanently strike certain words from your writing. Sometimes, an adverb is the best word. And sometimes it isn’t.

These tips are useful, but not as hard-and-fast rules that must be obeyed every time under every circumstance. Instead, use them as tools to challenge you to think about your writing in new ways, to see if there’s a better way to say something (and maybe there is and maybe there isn’t), and to bring a freshness to the process.

I actually do really like to challenge myself to minimize feels and thinks. “He feels sick to his stomach” will pretty much always be less powerful than “His stomach lurches.” But sometimes feels and thinks work better, either because I need quick exposition or because it specifically emphasizes a thought or a feeling as perception. Again, it’s not about rules. It’s about challenging your habits to breathe new life into your writing.

Revising tools:

if you’re a tactile person and you own a printer (which I am but I don’t), I like to print out a draft and sit on the floor with a pen and a highlighter and highlight anything that sounds clunky or that doesn’t quite fit. Then I massage those specific sentences, looking for other ways to say them, and narrow in on those parts rather than trying to edit everything overall.

The hemingway app method (as long as you know you’re allowed to disagree with it) can be good to catch certain things. Sometimes I use it and think “yeah that sentences IS too long and awkward, I should rephrase it” and sometimes I think “nah, that sentence is long but it’s controlled and it works.” Sometimes it’s useful in pointing out that I used the word just way too many times; sometimes I’ll keep my adverbs thanks.

Retyping the entire thing in another word document is another revising trick. So is reading the entire think out loud to yourself (your actual ear will catch awkward rhythms or typos that your inner voice glossed over).

(Note: I don’t do all of these all the time. I revise with whichever method I happen to be feeling at the moment)

Character interactions:

Overly expository character interactions are probably my #1 writing pet peeve. People don’t say what they mean. They don’t calmly and carefully and eloquently articulate exactly what they feel. If your characters are conversing in well-practiced monologues where they’re able to objectively analyze and express their exact feelings, it’s not believable. It’s also not fun for the reader, because Explanations of Emotions are being used as a stand-in for actual emotions.

Example: You don’t have a breakdown because you’re stressed about losing your job and you had a fight with your sister and you’re also the protagonist who has to save the entire world. You have a breakdown because you can’t find your fucking pen. It was here a moment ago, you know it was, you put it THERE because that’s where you PUT things but now it’s gone and the pen is gone and you can’t even find the fucking pen so how are you going to save the world and everything is going to SHIT because you can’t FIND your goddamn pEN.

Your character is probably not even an expert on their own feelings, let alone able to objectively explain them to someone else. There are things we can’t make ourselves say out loud. We deflect. We put all the big feelings into small things. We squeeze someone’s hand and say come on, let’s make dinner because you can’t say everything is going to be okay I promise you and I love you so much and one day you’ll see that it’ll all work out.

What are your characters saying with their body? What are they saying with what’s left unsaid? And when are they saying something Else that’s really about Them? (“You did what you had to do,” character A assures character B, because character A’s own guilt weighs on them. They’ll never say this out loud. They don’t even need to specifically think “just like my own guilt, which weighs on me.” We know it by what they say, about other people and about other things, because these are the times when you’re really talking about yourself)

Also, the size of the emotion displayed does not translate into the size of the emotional impact on the reader. A big sweeping declaration of I love you shouldn’t be used as a stand-in for real chemistry or a moment of love that is specific to those characters. An absolute sobbing breakdown isn’t inherently more tragic for its size. You don’t need torture porn to evoke angst. Emotions are a lot more subtle than that. Using a caricature of emotion in the extreme often cheapens the emotion for the reader, rather than enhancing it.

Other assorted tips:

Write notes! Sit up at 3 AM and write down a snippet of dialogue in a note on your phone! Jot down the plot idea for later! Note the phrase you heard someone say that sounds like it would be a good title.

If you can’t figure out how to end your story or your section or your chapter, it might be because it’s already over and the story has finished telling itself. If the beginning doesn’t feel right, if it feels slow and clunky, it might be because your starting place is too early. If the character interaction feels wrong or the scene isn’t going right or you can’t make that line of dialogue work, the problem is probably about 5 or 10 lines up where you took a wrong turn.

An em dash—like the one I used here—separates out a part of the sentence that couldn’t be a sentence on its own. Semicolons join two independent sentences together; this is an example.

The dialogue tag is part of the sentence. Correct: “I love dogs,” he said. or “I love dogs.” Incorrect: “I love dogs.” he said. or “I love dogs,” He said.

That’s everything that comes to mind immediately. If there’s another part of the process that you want me to focus on, let me know! I’m happy to go more in-depth on specifics!

#writing #me??? you want tips from MMmee???#a n o n 💖#writeblr #anon tag

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”

#queen fanfic #queen #queen fic #roger taylor #roger taylor fic #john deacon fic #john deacon #borhap #but you can never leave #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave fic

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talietikasero · 3 years

Text

Aria of the Sol

So, this is a preview (with brief context before each scene) for something I’ve been working on for a while. This is a “what if" scenario following the "Aria was revived” ending (/ original implication?). Set in the three-week gap between Revelator and Strive.

[Check it out on AO3]

Scene 1 (Chapter 1): Aria wakes up in the hospital and meets her daughter and son-in-law. [Inspired by “Ch’io mi scordi di te?” by rex101111]

[November 25. Illyrian Royal Medical Center, Patient Room 107. 11:02 am] Approximately five days had passed since she was checked in as a patient. If only she knew the collective shock from the medical staff and those who were waiting to visit their family members when they saw her unconscious form being brought into the facility by Sol nearly kicking the doors off, who had Ky and Sin trailing right behind. Those standing outside were treated to the sight of the Gullinkambi Dark acting as the group's transport, with Daryl's fleet right behind as they were all returning to Eastern Illyria.

“She gonna be alright?”

“Let’s hope so.”

“You’re good to go, Johnny. Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime.”

“Daryl, drop the girls at my home. Dizzy will be waiting outside.”

“Understood.”

Inside her head, memories of who she was started flooding in from two clashing sources. Source A had recent memories about her days figuring out what it’s like to be human. People tracking her down, one annoyed she got away, another insisting she take off the mask so he could see her face. Source B saw nothing but death and destruction, whether it was from her hands or not. Humanity hated her for this, but she didn’t care. Those foolish “knights" who dared oppose her. That grumpy old man who, against all odds, survived fighting her on seventeen different occasions. Out of those eleven brave souls who participated in the tournament that led to her release, one stood above the rest. When she saw him, it was then that she remembered herself —who they were – before taking her final breath.

“H… How could I have forgotten you? If only we could have talked one last time… Just the three of us…”

“…Justice…? That’s right… The man who created us… our boss! I won’t rest until you lie writhing in agony before me!!”

Vision hazy, she stood alone in a void that seemed all too familiar before seeing two others in front of her. This strange woman with a halo and a pumpkin motif who mirrored her in physical appearance down to the face simply smiled, where the armored monster who she admittedly was frightened by stood idly and stared before nodding. They faced each other, joining their hands before merging as one. She saw her own reflection, still dressed in her researcher clothes. Her identity became clear.

She is Aria Hale, one of the key researchers assigned to the Gear Project.

Various figures and faces she couldn’t put names to appear one by one, two of which appeared to be her old colleagues still dressed in their white lab coats. She wanted to call out to them before refraining as they changed into strange attire. One was covered from head to toe in a hooded robe that looked more like a straitjacket than anything, where the other was clad in red, black, and white, and was the reason for her demise seven years prior. Was this truly how they were in her absence? Everything suddenly went blinding white.

Aria had regained consciousness. Nose crinkling at the sterile "lemon" scent, her eyes slowly opened to see the dimmed fluorescent light above. "Nnnngh, where am I?" Her sudden awakening startled the nurse who was doing her hourly check-in, causing her to rush out the door and call for one of the main physicians. Whoops. Curious about her surroundings, she saw that she was dressed in a light blue hospital gown and had been hooked up to a system that tracked her life signs. This wasn’t the project complex infirmary. Where exactly was she?

When the nurse returned following a doctor, Aria apologized for the unintended scare, to which the latter understood and said she overreacted. After a series of questions regarding any possible issues and if she had any dietary restrictions, the doctor had another staff member bring her something to eat and drink. She wasn’t listening to what they were discussing but did catch “well now that she’s up, please contact his majesty.”

[1:15 pm]

“That was unexpected.” The breakfast she ate wasn’t the subpar hospital food she recalled from back then. Rather, she was given a bowl of freshly chopped fruits, some toast and berry cream cheese, and a mug of coffee with sweet cinnamon cream and sugar mixed in. As an afternoon treat, she was also left a fruit tart, along with a kettle of hot water, a small assortment of tea, and two cups.

Aria was passing time with a copy of the local newspaper in hand while the radio played music, trying to wrap her head around what she was reading. The main story reported that there was this worldwide battle ranging from Illyria to the Japanese Colony. The article detailed various heroes fighting against someone named Ariels's forces; assassins, pirates, a doctor (with a paper bag on his head? What in the hell), some soldiers (oh my god just how large is that man with the helm?), and... is that a girl with wings? What exactly did she miss? Despite not knowing who this blue-haired girl was, she couldn't help but feel a little proud of her, reading the positive things the people were saying. "She saved my life!"

"She refused to abandon us."

"She's like an angel! No, a goddess!”

“If she were Queen, she’d make a perfect match for King Ky.” The hospital's usual noise of medical staff chatting or yelling life-saving orders, wheels on carts and beds rolling, and footsteps were present, but she heard what sounded like a group of people headed towards her room. She folded the paper and placed it on the table next to her bedside, figuring she'd finish reading it later. If there was something that caught her attention, it was the weekly news recap radio broadcast stating that the Gear Maker has turned himself in.

“The ‘Gear Maker’… Asuka’s been arrested?”

"Ah, here we are."

"Thank you."

"Thanks, doc."

"This is exciting! I can't wait to meet her." Was her head playing tricks on her? Those muffled voices on the other side of the door sound familiar yet entirely foreign. Still listening, she saw herself in the mirror the nurse had left earlier. "Well, if they come in here, I can't look disheveled." She lowly muttered as she touched up her appearance; it wasn't too bad, just a light sign of tiredness (she wanted a haircut too.) “…When did my hair become… two-tone…?”

First, she heard a soft, feminine voice. "I think it'd be best if she saw you first. I don't want to scare her. D-don't give me that look, Dad!" Scare her? How could that happen when she'd already seen the worst horrors imaginable?

"Dizzy, look at me. You're not scary. But I see what you're getting at." Whoever the second person in this conversation was, she could sense they were reassuring her of something. It sounded like they were together in some way. "I think she'd be happy to see you." Her eyes widened as the third voice caught her off guard. Is that who she thinks it is? Is it really ---? "Incredible, Sol. Your soft side is showing." "Shut it, Ky." Dizzy? Sol? Ky? Who are these people? "I'd say it's normal to forget someone from before, but you know all three of them. Or at least I did. ~" Who the hell was that? Now there's a voice in her head? Great. She just wanted to sleep again and tell those three to come back later. Now was not the time for having to get answers for every question that may pop up. "Heh. Doctor, could you do the honor?" "Oh, of course." There was a gentle knock on the door. "Ma'am?" "Y-yes?" Aria put the mirror away and adjusted her blanket. "You have a couple of visitors. Is it okay to come in?" "Yes. Please enter." The sound of the door slowly creaking open was harsh compared to the steady beeps of her vitals monitors. She wondered who would step in first but kept her hopes at bay. A blond young man dressed in blue and white was the first to enter. Had she seen him somewhere before? He was older now but lacked the fierce and determined gaze she remembered. Neutral bordering on welcoming, this man bowed as he introduced himself. "Good afternoon, madam. My name is Ky Kiske. I'm the King of Illyria." Oh god, what did she do? How was she supposed to greet royalty, let alone the man who's in charge of everything? Unsure of how to do so, she politely nodded and smiled. "Pleased to meet you, your highness. To what do I owe the honor of a visit?" "It's been a few days but what a relief it is to see you're awake. I hope you don’t mind as my wife wanted to come along, and we brought an old ‘friend’ of yours." "I appreciate the concern." "We're sorry to show up unannounced, but we came as soon as we could." Dizzy was the second to enter the room, taking a seat close to her. "I know this may come off as a shock, but it's nice to finally meet you, Mom." Aria took a moment to study Dizzy's appearance. Features remarkably like her own, mainly in the eyes and face shape. Long blue hair tied with yellow ribbons, a tail, red eyes, and wings. The realization hit her like a freight train as this was who she had just read about. This heroine, the queen, was her daughter. How the child of two stressed-out scientists from over one hundred and seventy years ago ended up as one of the most powerful women on Earth is an answer for another time. For now, she was trying to think of a conversation starter. “Nice to meet you too.”

“It wasn’t until our college years that I met your father.”

“You two weren’t high school sweethearts?”

“If we knew each other back then, something might’ve come out of it. He is two years older than I am.”

“Oh. So, with that if you were a sophomore, he was a senior?” Dizzy may have the mind of a woman in her mid- to late-twenties, but she never had the chance to attend an actual school. She did have an idea about how education systems worked.

“Precisely, though I might’ve been bumped up to the same student standing now that I think about it. Though that would’ve been unlikely as I earned my PhD in my late teens. Our studies differed, with my focus on cytology, and his in magic particle physics, but the two of us were recruited to work for the same project group after graduating. He was confused as to how I could be interested in someone like him – an extrovert and an introvert, respectively. Aside from me and our mutual colleague, he didn’t have very many friends – if any at all.” Aria noticed the expression on Ky’s face, indicating that he already knew about her partner’s lack of social skills. “I guess he wanted to be around me so much that he asked to be transferred to the team I was with, rather than work on his original assignment. All jokes aside, it was really because of how much significance the project held. I think he was tasked on researching some powerful spell. Saint Oratorio, I believe it was called.”

Dizzy turned to Ky, asking something that popped into her head. “Isn’t that what they fired that day?” Ky nodded, remembering the argument on if another energy blast should’ve been used or not. Aria noticed the couple sneaking in a quick glance at the door, then exchanging a knowing look at each other.

“Excuse me for a second.” Ky rose from his seat and headed out the door. “Get in here and talk to her, you moron!”

“I told you I’d go in when I was ready!”

“And when would that be, huh?”

“When you and Dizzy left! Let go of me! AGH!”

The door swung open with Ky dragging a familiar face into the room by the lapel of his jacket. Dark brown hair, olive skin, and those bold rectangular eyes she vividly remembers. The world knew him by a nom de guerre – Sol Badguy. His real identity wasn’t common knowledge, only being known by a handful of individuals – Asuka, Paradigm, presumably Ky, Leo, and the Valentines, and her. He displayed no significant signs of aging despite the time that passed since she last saw him, still appearing to be in his mid-twenties. Aria’s grip on the blanket tightened as she murmured his name. “…Frederick?”

____________________________________

Scene 2: After being discharged from the hospital, Dizzy takes Aria out on a shopping trip. Aria meets a friendly time traveler.

[December 2. Downtown Shopping District. 12:15 pm]

“Let’s get going. There’s more shops to browse."

Although the public started to trust her, Dizzy and Aria went out with two members of the Convict Hammer team as their escort. Thankfully, the citizens were nice enough to give the Queen her space and greeted her whenever she passed by. There were some who gave her “thank you” gifts, ranging from goody baskets filled with sweets and teas to flowers and handmade trinkets, all of which were given to their escorts to carry.

Weather today was a cool 60 degrees Fahrenheit, slightly overcast with scattered clouds. Aria recalled something regarding her accessory choice on a past date. “You gotta be some kind of eccentric to wear a hat on a day like today.” The promenade was bustling with the usual crowds, some people were getting ideas for what gifts to buy for those special in their lives as Christmas was approaching. Aria noticed a family of three walking past a toy store, seeing the child point out what was in the window to their parents. Glancing at Dizzy, who was busy meeting and greeting the people she protected during the recent attacks, she thought to herself “if only I – no, we were there for you back then. That could’ve been the three of us.” It made her chuckle that their escort had to explain everyone needed to wait their turn to speak with her daughter – she is technically a celebrity.

Aria couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She stood still, noticing everything froze similarly to that fateful day. Out of nowhere, a man with long blond hair, wearing a blue shirt, black pants, a varsity jacket, and a black bandana appeared next to her. His sudden presence nearly made her jump out of her skin. Just like Ky, Aria vaguely remembers seeing him before too. He simply smiled and waved in a friendly manner. “You have nothin’ to worry about. Name’s Axl. I’m a friend of Fre—I mean, Sol’s.” One more person to add to the list of who knows his real name. “He asked me to check on you today. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

Aria blinked at him owlishly. “I’m sorry but did you just say check on me?”

“Yeah, he’s got other business to attend to – can’t say exactly what it is either.” He shrugged, giving her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “He told me to tell you he’s sorry for being gone, but he did add something about making it up to you. We’ll meet again sometime.” Axl raised his right hand, making a peace sign. “See ya ‘round, Ari.”

“W-wait!” Time resumed, leaving her standing in the middle of the sidewalk confused about what she just heard. She tried to find Axl, her head turning to all possible directions, and no trace of him was to be seen as if he vanished into thin air. Her motions bordered on frantic as some passersby gave her puzzled looks. “He doesn’t have the decency to see me in person, yet he sends a friend to say hi and watch over me. Sometimes, I just don’t understand you, Frederick…”

“Madam Hale, is everything alright?” One Convict Hammer asked regarding her wellbeing. “You seem like something's troubling you.”

“I’m fine, really. I spaced out for a bit.” Aria rubbed the back of her neck in attempt to brush aside what just happened. “Sorry.”

____________________________________

Scene 3: Ky takes Aria to the castle. She meets the other Kings and has something to ask one of them.

[December 3. Illyria Castle War Room, 9:45 am]

“The last time I saw this many people staring at screens and tapping away at keys was during a project crunch.” Coffee cup in hand, Aria commented on the operator crew stationed around what looked like a throne on the lower floor. “It was either from a sooner deadline or everyone just decided to make last minute changes on their data. It wasn’t odd to see at least one or two people running down the complex’s halls with a sizeable stack of papers.”

“Not too different from the crew here, but what can you do? We’re only human. Normally, civilians aren’t allowed in here, but I’ll make an exception.”

“He’s right about the ‘no civilian' policy.” A boisterous voice came from the burly man that approached them. “Ky, who is this?”

“Aria, this is Leo Whitefang, the Second King. Leo, this is Aria Hale. You know, my mother-in-law and you-know-who’s partner.”

She nervously smiled at him. “Hi?” Fitting name considering he has a hairstyle reminiscent of a lion’s mane. He towered over them, standing with a sturdy frame at six feet and five inches. She noticed the difference in the two kings’ fashion choices; Ky wore lighter clothes with his jacket placed over his shoulders, where Leo had a heavy coat with a furry lining.

“Oh, my apologies.” Leo apologizing wasn’t something anyone saw often. He gave Ky a side-eyed glare. “A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“One of the few times I decide to drop by, and the God of War's better half is here.” A man who looked to be exactly the midpoint of Ky and Leo's age gap approached the three, briefly bowing as he stood near them. “Good morning, Ms. Hale.”

"Daryl?" Kiske and Whitefang asked in unison. “What are you doing here?”

“With the G4 summit next week, I thought I’d at least consult with you two in person before I go. It’d be a terrible idea if all three of us went, wouldn’t you agree?”

Aria wondered what the Three Kings had for a planned course of action regarding the conference. At the moment, she remembered what she and Ky had discussed on the trip to the castle. She tapped his shoulder and leaned in to whisper “did you forget my idea?”

“Ah, right. That’s one of the reasons why I brought you here. Leo, Aria has something to ask.”

“And that would be?” She didn’t speak, only bumping her fists together. “You want us to do what now?" Leo asked as he crossed his arms. He had an idea of what she meant but would rather hear it from her. "Teach me how to fight. I can't be reliant on others to defend me." "Okay." Ky chimed in. "Okay!?! You're telling me that the woman who used to be Just--- OW!" Aria punched Leo in the stomach as hard as she could. "Don't call me that."

“AUGH! Was that necessary!?” Ky couldn't help but laugh at Leo's expense. "And we're off to a good start. Look at it this way, it's not like we’re placing her in a big role like Ramlethal."

"Dammit, bambino! You have a point. Fine. Report back here at 0900 tomorrow. Your training will begin then." Leo’s communicator went active. Holding a finger up to his ear, he answered and looked towards the hallway. “Hm? Yeah. Alright, I’ll be right there. I’ll get you access.” Click. “That was Ram. Did you not authorize her entry to the armory?” Ky shook his head – the task referred to was Leo’s job. “Before I go, what’s your preferred style? Sword? Shield? Bare hands?”

“You’ll find out when you start teaching me.” Aria replied with a hint of playful snark.

“You really are Sol’s girlfriend.” As Leo walked away, Aria turned to see what looked to be a girl wearing a white body-length cape with red bandages on her left limbs waiting for him. The mysterious girl seemed to be hovering a few inches off the ground and was accompanied by two small flying creatures.

“He’s a bit of a hardass, but you learn to tolerate it.”

“I heard that! There’s a multitude of reasons you’re not as popular as us and that’s one of them!”

“See what I mean. Also, this is for you.“ Daryl handed Aria a medium sized gift bag with pink and purple tissue paper sticking out. Printed with an art nouveau floral pattern, there was a sun emblem on the lower right corner, not-so subtly hinting at who dropped it off. “I didn’t know which flavor you’d like, so I put both chocolate and strawberry desserts inside, on top of your actual gift. Don’t worry, I didn’t look.”

[Kiske Residence, Aria’s room. 5:15 pm]

“If you ever stop by, I hope you like what I picked out…” Aria placed the folded bag in the drawer and slid it shut. She looked to the closet where the other clothing she bought was stored, including a dress and hat like what she owned in the past. Hopefully, she’ll be able to wear it sometime.

“Ram, are you sure about this? We haven’t introduced ourselves yet! She might think we’re being rude.”

“I’m certain, El. At least let me try and speak with her. I’m only the messenger here.”

“Hey, are ya talking about Sol’s gal? Ya know, I was the first Valentine’s companion.”

“Ugh, stay out of this, you big balloon creep!”

“Lucifero. Self-destruct. Why must you follow me everywhere?”

“You’re getting better at this whole showing emotion thing, but you’re terrible at small talk! …okay. I’ll be waiting in our room until you’re done.”

Following the fading footsteps, a rhythmic knock-knock-knock preceded a monotone voice. “Miss Aria? May I come in?”

“It's unlocked.” Her attention was turned to the same young girl from this morning standing in the doorway. She wore a dark blue and white sailor dress with a mint green bow, had amber eyes, brown skin, and cream white hair. “I don’t think we’ve met before, but you’re Ramlethal, right?”

“Of course you two have met! Just not like this! ~”

“Correct. As you may have learned, I am a Valentine, and as such my sister and I were created from you.”

“’Valentine'? Created… from… me?”

“Mother used you as a template for our existence. I can see why now but telling you this isn’t why I’m here.”

“Then why are you? Do you… want to chat? You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

Ramlethal's blank expression shifted to a soft smile. “Perhaps another time, but there’s something I have to do first.” She walked up to Aria and hugged her. “This is from him. Thank you for returning. Sol is much happier than he was before.” She let go and left, gently closing the door behind her.

Aria stood there dumbfounded at what had just occurred. “He’s… happier?”

She took a seat at the desk where she placed her gift from earlier. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she decided to open it. “I know it’s from you, but what exactly did you get me?” Removing the tissue paper and the extra gift desserts, she pulled out a black box. Placed inside was a brown teddy bear dressed as Sol – removable headband included – holding a heart and rose, along with a card that had “to Aria” written on it. Opening it, she read the message.

“Cute plushie, isn’t he? I got this custom made just for you. Even comes with a change of clothes: a purple shirt, black slacks, and a lab coat. Hope you’re not too worried about me. I promise I’ll see you soon. Okay? 🖤”

Aria finally has friends and family, yet without Frederick, she felt alone. Opening the container with the strawberry pudding, she picked up a spoon, and placed a scoop of the sweet in her mouth. “I’ll hold you to that… Really wanted to share this with you too.”

____________________________________

Scene 4: Aria meets her other genetic copy and her grandson. Song used: “Pirates” by Caravan Palace.

[December 5. 6:30 pm]

Reorganizing her belongings, the soft melody from the song currently playing on the phonograph filled the room.

Do me, beauty. Rock me up, yup go once again. Hug me, beauty. Oop, the way this life is clearing into my brains. Fool me, beauty. Let me think of home once again. Hear me, beauty. You gotta hide away the secret of your low bone this man.

“Miss Aria. It’s me, Ram. Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

“I hope I’m not intruding on anything.” Ramlethal was carrying her puppy in her arms to keep it from barging in.

“You weren’t. I was just cleaning up. What brings you to my room?”

“I, uh, wanted to tell you I think your skills are developing nicely.” She chose her words carefully, trying not to sound off-putting. Holding a conversation is something she’s still working on. “I had some downtime and observed again.”

Aria's training today consisted of testing her agility and competence to read and react to opponents. During a brief cooldown period, she did notice the small group of people watching included more. “Who were those two standing next to you, Dizzy, and the others?”

“My younger sister and your grandson. They’re,” Ram paused for a second, “actually waiting outside because they would like to talk to you as well.”

Aria's attention went to the open door, seeing a grey-haired girl and a blond boy with an eyepatch sticking their heads in. “Come on in, you two.”

Elphelt and Sin entered, both taking note of how grand the royal residence's guest room was designed. The younger Valentine was nowhere near as reserved as her sister when it came to talking about something – the first thing that came out of her mouth after seeing Hale was “oh, she’s even prettier in person! I see where Miss Dizzy got her looks from! And by extension, me!”

“Like looking into a mirror, isn’t it? Even more so since you got a new hairdo. ~”

“Weirdly familiar, like I’ve seen you before.” Sin poked his chin, trying to recall. “I remember now, there was the first one with the winged hat who tried to kill the Old Man! She had a freaky Gear form and managed to brainwash me for a bit too. But I can tell you aren’t her since she’s gone.” He was jabbed in the arms by the sisters. “Ouch, what was that for!?”

“You had a brain to begin with, you dope?!”

“El, don’t be rude!”

As the three were fighting amongst themselves, Aria found herself thinking “what in the hell happened.”

[7:43 pm]

“I’m glad I had the chance to speak with you. Is this what is referred to as ‘therapy'?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that, but let’s say yes for the time being. Hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“N-no. It wasn’t. You just seem more like a mother to me than my ‘actual' one. I am aware I’m not human, and she created me as an emotionless doll she threw away when I had no further use.” Ramlethal tried to soothe herself by smoothing out her bandages. Part of her wanted to tell Aria about what happened in Scandiva, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Her magehound started snuggling next to her, sensing the mood drop. “She… she called me a failure.”

Aria grabbed a tissue and wiped the tear that ran down Ram's cheek. After disposing of it – and picking up the Sol bear – she kneeled in front of the Valentine, holding the plush in front of her own face. Using one of the bear's limbs to tap her knee, she had her attention. “Listen to me. She’s the failure, not you.”

Peeking up from behind the toy, Aria was treated to the sight of her genetic copy struggling to keep herself from giggling.

____________________________________

Scene 5 (Chapter 2): Day trip date. Aria brings up a very sensitive subject later that night. (Note: this was written with the game’s implication of a pregnancy. Also, I did some level of research and figured the stage I picked is approximately where Italy's Amalfi Coast is.)

[December 9. L'oro di Illyria. 5:45 pm]

A few hours later, they went for a leisurely trip down south, dressed in their best attempts at incognito clothing. Emphasis on attempt as the suppressor was a dead giveaway (it was worth a shot). Aria was wearing that dress and hat she purchased a week prior, paired with leggings, fuzzy boots, and a warm winter coat. A callback to how he dressed himself in the past, Frederick was wearing a black button-up shirt with a tank top underneath, dark blue jeans, and a pair of Chelsea boots. He also had a mid-long jacket that she brought along just in case, placed under the sidecar’s seat.

“Oh, I remember this place! Heaven’s Edge! It’s where we met for the first time after I left the Sanctuary to get some fresh air. Ah, memories. ~ Or am I remembering wrong? Those sword monoliths look very familiar.”

There’s that childlike voice again. It changed to a mature tone mid-sentence.

“Just who are you? And how can your voice change like that!?”

“Oops, I’m sorry. You see, I’m the previous owner of your current body. My name is J—”

Before this disembodied voice could say her name, Aria’s attention went elsewhere. “You alright?”

“Uh, yeah. This isn’t what I thought you meant by going out, but at least the trip here was fun.” The highway they took was through inner Italy and had passed through numerous towns, of which contained convenience shops to obtain refreshments here and there. “Built that bike yourself, didn’t you?”

“Designed for one so that’s why I made a sidecar for you.”

“Can it turn into a minibike if I wanted it to?”

“What? You’re psychic now? I’m still working on that part.”

“Hey, chief! Ari!”

“Axl? What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area. Thought I’d drop by and say ‘ello. Almost didn’t recognize the two of ya.” He wasn’t used to seeing Frederick, let alone anybody, in anything so casual. Aria, on the other hand, wore that dress nicely. He couldn’t help but feel a slight hint of sadness, as the last woman he saw in a similar clothing article was M— he mentally shook his head and put on a smile. “That outfit looks lovely. Ain’t you a lucky guy?”

“Thank you. Nice to see you in real time and not during a time freeze.”

“Ah, yeah. I wanted to avoid trying to talk in a crowd. My bad if you were annoyed by my choice.” Axl had the power to jump to any point in time and any dimension, yet he’s been frequently visiting for some reason only he knows. “I got something to tell you.”

“I could use a quick snack.” Aria wasn’t paying attention to Low and spotted the outdoor marketplace, noticing the large ship cruising by. “I’ll be over by that fruit vendor. Don’t be too long, alright?”

As Aria left, the two men watched her reach into her purse, taking out a few W$ to purchase an apple. It amused them as she tried to fight the kind vendor about giving her a free apple, insisting that she pay for it as it’s only fair for business. Not only did she end up with a free fruit, but she was also given a bag containing two additional and a bottle of cream soda with a straw. She didn’t look back at them; her attention went to admiring the colorful cliffside residential buildings.

“Do you think I could get a free piece of fruit and a drink too or is she a special case?”

“You might scare the living daylight out of him.”

[9:15 pm]

"So, um, about Dizzy." Aria clasped her hands together and twiddled her thumbs, avoiding eye contact while staring at the paved stone walkway. "I was trying not to bring her up, but what about her?" "I..." She took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. "I didn't know how to tell you." She didn't hear a response, worrying her about what Frederick was thinking. A moment later, she felt a hand rubbing her back, taking this as a sign that he's listening while trying to soothe her. "I already experienced how you reacted when I told you I was sick with that infection, but I didn't want to make that worse by telling you you're going to be a father. I don’t recall how far along I was, but you shouldn’t have had to live with knowing you’ll never see your unborn after I was gone either." He remained quiet a bit longer before reaching to wrap his arm around and pull her closer. Not too suddenly as he didn't want to give off the wrong idea, but once he saw her ease into him, he placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Do you remember your birthday where I showed you that programming ‘error'?”

“You mean the ring? Of course I do. I didn’t mind that you didn’t have the real one because your method was so cute. It was so… you. If neither of us killed the mood, I would’ve told you I was looking forward to changing my name to Aria Bulsara.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn't occasionally think of some alternate time where we truly settled down. We were still scientists and met under the same circumstances, but there was no Gear project or magic, and you didn't have an illness. Or at least one you didn't tell me about near your last days." "Wha--... really?" "Yeah. Then all this shit happened." His voice was deceptively calm, yet she could sense the rage beneath it all. "My conversion and the resulting amnesia, your conveniently timed 'disappearance', and the destruction of the complex with countless deaths were the beginning." "Then decades later I lost control of my mind and body and waged war against the world. That stubborn geezer never quit, but then Ky and you showed up to seal 'me' away. I don't think I felt it, but during my imprisonment, that's when I gave birth?" "Sounds about right. We're living in one of those stories I used to read when I was bored. The reader turns out to be the hero, where someone very close to them was used as a twist villain."

____________________________________

Scene 6 (Chapter 3): Aria takes up the offer of becoming a bounty hunter, taking up the alias “Luna". Her new outfit is a blue, black, and white version of Sol's, with a pair of blue goggles in place of a headband. Song used: “Seven Seas of Rhye” by Queen.

[December 10. Somewhere in the Illyrian outskirts. Midday.]

“No targets today, so do you wanna just relax? I think there’s a beach just up ahead.”

“We’ve been on the road for a few hours, so a rest period at a beach sounds perfect right now.” She noticed what song was currently playing, having already passed the bridge. “Oh, I know this one! It’s one of my favorites.” Clearing her throat, she began singing along. “Storm the master-marathon, I’ll fly through.”

He couldn’t help but smile and continue. “By flash and thunder-fire and I'll survive (I'll survive, I'll survive).”

“Then I'll defy the laws of nature and come out alive,” she pointed a finger at him. “Then I'll get you!”

“Be gone with you, you shod and shady senators.”

“Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries.”

He clenched his fist and held it up. “I challenge the mighty Titan and his troubadours.”

She placed her index fingers at the ends of her mouth. “And with a smile.”

He pointed towards the shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea as they sang the last line together. “I'll take you to the Seven Seas of Rhye!”

[Nighttime.]

A cool 55 degrees, the night sky was clear as the stars strewn throughout were in full display. They sat by a bonfire, sharing drinks and leaning back against the Firewheel Mk.2, enjoying the other's company. There was a brief squabble on whether they should find an actual motel room to stay in for the night, with Aria winning as she convinced Frederick to sleep in a bed as opposed to the ground.

Fire crackling paired with sounds from the nearby wildlife, she thought of a conversation topic. “Hey, do you wanna hear something weird?”

“Shoot.”

“Before I woke up, I saw myself, Justice, and someone else.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It was unnerving. She looked just like me but had a halo and her hair was the inverse of mine. My first day at Ky and Dizzy's, I scrounged around and found a cracked one that looked just like what I saw. Along with an iron mask, a crux ansata, black heels and gloves, and a white jumpsuit. It all fit me perfectly! I was considering wearing that instead of this.”

“Jack-O.”

“Huh?”

He took a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out before continuing. “To bring you back, a special Valentine was made that contained the other half of your soul. Her name was Jack-O.” He butted the cigarette before tossing it into the fire. “Ram, Sin, and I chased her down before any additional damage could've been done. Then a few days later, she reappeared with Asuka, and struck a deal with us. Said something like ‘if you can get me close enough, I can fuse with Justice to revive, well, you.’ I thought they were full of it. Turned out they were telling the truth.”

“He's right! ~ I took off my mask and told him I was literally half of you. Nearly lost his mind right there. Sorry about the forced mind override, but you refused to accept it, and he wasn’t going to back down. ~”

“That explains the voice in my head. I wonder how her stuff got into my room though.”

“She’s still in there?” He gently poked her forehead. “I can imagine when you wear these, she also sees life through blue tinted lenses.”

“You’ve got puns now? I knew I should’ve gone with a pink color scheme.”

“Blue’s more your color.”

#guilty gear #aria hale #only tagging her since she's the main character of this little project #i wasn't much of a fan of ggst's story so here's my idea #this is a sol / aria story but i tried including a good amount of supporting cast #it's not perfect but i've been trying to write while doing like five other things #nat's fanfics #wip #sorry if everyone sounds even slightly ooc #i tried to get everyone's speech patterns right #even asked one of my friends and he said i did a good job #criticism welcome #i dunno when this will be done to my liking #so i'll post this preview #i'll probably receive my ao3 invite before i'm done lmao

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lepus-arcticus · 5 years

Text

OMENS: CHAPTER FOUR one | two | three trigger warnings apply

KICKING HORSE B&B JULY 23 - 6:23 AM

Pale sunlight streamed into the room, warming Scully’s cheek, a peaceful change from last night’s storm. She grumbled and stretched underneath the covers, rotating a sore ankle on a cool patch of sheets before letting her eyes flutter open. No one could accuse her of being anything resembling a morning person, but she’d never had the ability to sleep in after a night of drinking.

She surveyed the room in the lavender dawn, sober now, and made mental notes for her own apartment before remembering that there wasn’t much point in redecorating when you had a rapidly approaching expiry date. Her nightmare bled back into her memory in snippets, skin and blood and sweetness and dread, tears and panic, Mulder at the door.

She winced and eased herself up on her elbows, and then the headache hit her, a bolt of pain behind her eyes. Oh, fuck. Jesus. Oh. She needed water, and coffee, stat. She hoped Rhiannon was up.

She fingered her wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting to look at the time. Early, but not so early that it was impolite to be up and about in the house. Gingerly, she rolled out of bed and felt around the footboard for her robe. She slipped it around her shoulders, and stiffly padded out into the hall. Her mouth tasted awful, so she dipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth and finger-comb her hair, and then felt inspired to check in on Mulder.

She shouldn’t have been so harsh with him last night. He was only making sure she was okay. But that dream…

The door to his room was slightly open, and she could hear the steady, muffled sway of his snore. She peered inside, careful not to make a sound. He was completely buried in blankets, save for one long, bare foot sticking off of the edge of the mattress, toes twitching. A swell of guilty affection washed over her, and she had the urge to creep over and run her fingernails down the curve of his arch, see if he was ticklish.

Instead, she turned and moved down the hall, descending the stairs as the Bishop women and their dogs looked on. The wood creaked under her feet, and the sound summoned Hypatia, probably the only creature in the house unafflicted with a hangover. She met Scully a few steps up, whimpering in pleasure, slapping her with her tail and blocking the way downstairs. “Hey, sweet girl…” Scully massaged one of the dog’s fleecy ears between her thumb and fingertips, and maneuvered her way around her massive wriggling body and into the kitchen.

There was no evidence of yesterday’s dinner to be found. The kitchen practically sparkled, and something enticingly yeasty scented the air. A large pot of coffee was percolating, black and seductive, on the tiled counter, and the room was suffused in sunrise, beaming in from the attached conservatory.

A bittersweet hum trickled through the air, a melody that Scully recognized. The water is wide, I cannot get o’er, she thought, and heard ghostly strains of her father’s tuneless Navy warble. The memory tugged at her ribs. She followed the sound and found Rhiannon in the lushness of the conservatory, her frizzy corkscrew hair loose around her waist, lovingly plucking mint leaves one by one from a large potted bush propped up on a wooden bench. The conservatory was packed full of plant life⁠—ficuses and string-of-pearls, roses and tomatoes, and an assortment of herbs that would rival an 18th-century apothecary.

“My father used to sing that song to my sister and I when he was home from sea,” Scully said in greeting.

Rhiannon looked up and smiled. “Oh, good morning, Dana. I hope I didn’t wake you.” An embroidered velvet robe in faded garnet hung off of Rhiannon’s shoulders. With the halo of sunlight around her, the scene resembled a Mucha panel, especially when Hypatia left Scully’s side to wrap herself around Rhiannon’s hips. Her hair was so long that a tendril caught in the crimpy fur of Hypatia’s backbone, dragging in an alluring loop.

“No, no, you didn’t wake me,” Scully said, a little entranced. She wondered if she’d ever seen such a pretty scene in her life.

“I’ve got biscuits in the oven, care to join me in the kitchen? How are you feeling?”

“You know, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

Rhiannon chuckled softly at that, pressing a few more mint leaves into the handful she’d collected. “Perhaps the whiskey wasn’t the brightest idea. But the bottle invited itself to the table, and that’s the story I’m sticking to.”

“It was a wonderful dinner, Rhiannon. Thank you. I really wish you’d have let me help you clean up, though.”

“Oh, hush,” Rhiannon said, as she traipsed neatly across the tile past Scully and into the kitchen, depositing the mint leaves into a copper pot on the stovetop. She rattled four mismatched mugs down from the hutch in the corner, picked up the coffee pot, and tilted it over the largest one, the black stream of steaming liquid making Scully’s mouth water. “Now, Dana, how do you take your coffee? Cream, sugar? Or if you’d like, I can make it my way.”

Hell, why not. “Well, usually I just have a little soy milk, but when in Rome…” Scully smiled politely, leaning up against the counter and trying to ignore the pulse in her temple. She watched as Rhiannon caught a curled shard of cinnamon from a corked ceramic jar, and grated a nugget of nutmeg over it into a rough stone mortar. She added a swift dash of some mysterious blend from another jar, and ground it all together, rotating the pestle and humming lightly as she worked. A mound of butter was produced from the old-fashioned icebox, and she slid a generous pat of it onto a knife and into the mug, adding a fat pinch of the powdered spices, catching Scully’s slight grimace and imploring her not to knock it until she tried it.

“Here,” Rhiannon handed her the resulting brew, and Scully dutifully took a sip. A flood of heat and life immediately moved through her head, through her chest, down into her belly. It was delicious. It might have been the best cup of coffee she’d ever had.

“Oh my God, this is incredible,” she gushed over the rim of the mug, amazed, taking another sip. “... I really might never go back to soy.” Rhiannon laughed, busying herself with making another cup. “You’re quite the cook, Rhiannon. You’ve never thought of doing it professionally?”

“No,” she said, at work at the mortar. “No, I love what I do. I’ve always felt so connected with animals. Cooking’s just a hobby of mine, that’s all. An obsessive hobby, I’ll admit, but a hobby.”

“You’re, um. A medical doctor as well as a veterinarian, is that correct?” Scully asked.

“Well, I’m only certified in veterinary medicine, but my mother was a healer of sorts, so I learned a lot from her. I can handle the basic first-aid stuff⁠—when a kid from town needs stitches, when there’s an uncomplicated homebirth over at the settlement and they need assistance, that sort of thing - and I find a lot of concepts and practical applications carry forward. Medicine is such an instinctual practice anyway.”

“Hmm.” Scully cringed internally, but fought back the urge to argue with her. “Rhiannon, you know that you can’t legally practice medicine without a license.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “Is helping a neighbour out in a pinch the same as practicing medicine? Nobody’s going to sue me, Dana. Horizon isn’t New York.”

“That it is not,” Scully agreed. When they’d driven in to the police station the previous afternoon, they’d found it nestled in the middle of all of seven interlocking streets. The rest of the town, in name, was a scattering of isolated farmhouses and homesteads. She took another sip of her coffee. “Mulder mentioned that you performed an autopsy on Hugh Daly’s horse?”

“I looked him over…” Rhiannon said carefully, stirring spices into her own cup. “It was strange… it was as if Ghost just… laid his head down in the river. There aren’t many examples of suicidal behaviour in animals, unless you’re counting that bridge in Scotland where all those dogs are always jumping to their deaths. He was such a beautiful horse, wasn’t he?”

“Mmm,” Scully agreed.

“Hugh, um. Hugh bought that horse for Anna as a wedding gift. Oh, you should have seen her, Dana. She was like a fairy. She rode up to the church bareback, and she… she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and you know, it’s funny… that day… all I can really remember clearly are the soles of her feet, how dirty they were…” Her eyes misted over, unexpectedly, and she blinked up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her face into one of her wide sleeves and trying to compose herself. Her grief suddenly filled the room like smoke, and Scully couldn’t help but ache for her.

“I never liked that man,” Rhiannon said. “He was trouble from the start.” Scully furrowed her brows, uncomfortable. “You’re, um...You’re taking a look at Anna today, is that right?”

“Yes,” Scully replied softly. Theo’d arranged for a cleared-out room in the police station and had borrowed the requested materials and tools from Rhiannon’s supplies. Better than a bathroom, she supposed, thinking of Home, but if the photographs were any indication, Anna’s body was so thoroughly wrecked that she wasn’t sure there was much she could determine from it.

“I was the one who… who identified her body. Out in that field. Hugh was raving, out of his mind, he wouldn’t even look at her, wouldn’t even come close. God, I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing her like that… Theo let Marion see her too, that stupid, thoughtless man. He shouldn’t have done that.” She gripped the counter ledge, coffee abandoned, her eyes still swimming.

Scully reached out and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rhiannon. I don’t know if I said it last night.”

“Those girls, Dana… they’re my daughters.” Rhiannon dashed a tear from her cheek. “And I failed. I failed to protect them.”

“This is not your fault,” Scully said. “You can’t take that on. But what you can do is tell us everything you know. About Anna, about Hugh, about anyone who might have wanted to hurt her. Beginning with how she came to live with you in the first place.”

Rhiannon sniffed, considering this. “It was that brother of hers. She had to get away.” Abel Stoesz, again. “Abel is… he’s controlling, he’s possessive… even after she made it clear she wasn’t ever going to go back to the colony, he’d come here, screaming at her from the driveway…” Rhiannon ran water from the sink into a blue-tinted Ball jar, and sipped at it, regaining her composure. “He’s been especially persistent with her since she married Hugh, though. It’s a good thing Fox is going to talk to him today, although I wish Marion wouldn’t go with him and subject herself to that. Sometimes I wonder why on earth she went into law enforcement. She’s such a sensitive spirit. But anything to impress Theo, I suppose. She worships the ground that man walks on.”

Scully turned this over in her mind. “If it’s any consolation… Mulder, he’s sensitive too, and it doesn’t negate his strength or his capability. I may not always agree with him, but he has this… incredible ability to get to the heart of an issue, to understand perspectives and motivations that other people might not consider. His compassion makes all the difference in our work. I’m sure it’ll prove to be the same with Marion as well.” She left out Mulder’s desperation, his obsessive nature, how wholly and intensely he took on the pain of the people left behind. How every unsolved case was a new gaping wound that would never scar over.

Rhiannon assessed her for a few moments as she sipped at the jar, leaning back on the wooden island across from her. “You two must be very close.”

“We’re partners,” Scully said. “We’ve been through a lot together.” Suddenly self-conscious, she drew deeply from her mug, draining it, willing her cheeks to cool. A timer sounded, and Rhiannon turned her attention to the oven, opening the ceramic door to reveal a tray of fluffy biscuits. The smell was incredible. Scully hadn’t had an appetite in months, but there was something about Rhiannon’s cooking that was just… different. It was nourishing, appealing in a way that her usual diner fare and dry green salads just weren’t.

Rhiannon retrieved a jar of preserves⁠—“Last year’s serviceberries were so prolific that I made fifty jars, can you believe that? And I’m pretty sure that Theo’s eaten forty of those”⁠—and plunked it on the worn kitchen table. She plucked the steaming biscuits from the tray and piled them onto a chipped blue china serving platter, setting it down on the table next to a bowl of oranges. Hypatia paced, looking for a handout.

Just as Scully was working up the energy to ask Rhiannon for a second cup of coffee, the front door was unlocked from the outside, and Marion, stately and clean in a freshly pressed uniform, strolled into the kitchen. “Morning, Dana,” she smiled at Scully, and gave Rhiannon a kiss on the cheek. Scully’s mind lingered on last night’s dream, the scent of cedar, the woman’s bow-shaped lips poised above her own, and she blinked down at the tile.

Rhiannon asked Marion if she’d like a cup of coffee, and Marion declined. “You’re on a real health kick lately, Mare,” Rhiannon complained, but Marion just shrugged and took a jam jar of water to the table.

Just then, Mulder bounded down the stairs in his running shoes and a Knicks tank, rattling the walls, his hair sticking up in every direction. “Morning, womenfolk,” he said, squinting in the sun. Scully pressed coffee-warm fingers to her pounding temple, and wondered how on earth it was possible for him to run with a hangover. Where did he get all of that energy? Hypatia whined excitedly at the sight of him and rushed to his legs, but he sidestepped her, patting her awkwardly on the head after a moment of hesitation, and made for the sink. He turned on the tap and stuck his mouth under the running water, sucking at the stream obscenely. “Mulder⁠—” Scully scolded him, embarrassed, but the other women just smirked.

Mulder leaned against the counter and wiped his mouth with the hem of his shirt. Scully found herself looking at the lines of his hipbones disappearing into his sweats, and ripped her eyes away, but Rhiannon caught her and smiled knowingly.

“I’m seriously outnumbered here without Theo,” he quipped. “Marion, you okay if I go for a run before we leave?”

“Of course. Take your time. I’m still waking up, and it’s not like they’re expecting us.” Marion scuffled her nails on the tabletop, eyeing him openly.

“Fox, do you mind taking Hypatia with you? She doesn’t need a leash. There’s a lake a little way along the path out back, she’ll take you right to it and bring you back,” Rhiannon said, clearly not expecting him to refuse. Scully glanced at Mulder and caught him looking at her, defeated.

“Save some breakfast for me, Scully,” Mulder squeezed her shoulder on his way past her, last night’s tense exchange wordlessly forgiven. He begrudgingly held the screen door open for the dog, who trotted happily past him and down into the front yard.

“Uh, yum, Dana,” Marion laughed, once he was out of earshot. “Fox is a hunk under all that trenchcoat. I think I was too distracted by that awful tie of his to notice last night.”

Scully felt a grin tug at her lips, despite her best intentions. She suddenly realized how much she missed having female friends; Ellen’s cupboard full of cheap, secret wine, her college roommate Andrea’s fresh flower habit. Melissa, of course, with her incense and her crystals and the way she insisted on carefully studying the full astrological chart of every person Scully slept with.

She leaned towards Marion conspiratorially, nostalgia thrumming. “You should see him in glasses.”

8:04 AM

Mulder’s feet pounded mercilessly into the wet, mulchy grass at a counter-rhythm to the ferocious throb in his head. The trail to the pond was a worn, crushed valley through a field of knee-high wilderness. Wildflowers bloomed, silvery wolfwillow spicing the air with a sour, soaked-fur smell. The dog ran gracefully in front of him, darting off into the distance before returning to circle around his feet, panting joyously. Mulder had the distinct impression she was making fun of him.

“You’ve got four legs and I’ve only got two, you foul hellbeast⁠—” he called to her on her next rocket away. “This whole thing is rigged!” She barked happily in response, and reared onto her hind legs before jolting back to him for another relay.

His thoughts turned to Scully. God, sitting in that bed with her… he’d gotten dangerously close to doing something he’d certainly regret. Whiskey always made him dumb as shit, impulsive.

And her nightmare. He’d only been dozing, and her scream through the wall had been like a wave of ice water over him. How he’d wanted to run in there, wrap her in his arms, chase the shadows away. But she was right. She didn’t need him. Not like that.

He smelled the lake before he saw it, a moist earthy fetor tossed over the land like a wet blanket. As he came upon the glittering water, spooking a few mallards into flight, he noticed a rotting boat in the reeds on the far bank, turquoise paint flaking off in sheets. Just for something to do, he circled the lake at a sprint until he was closer to it. The dog trotted behind him, nose to the ground.

“Don’t eat anything weird,” he warned her, almost tripping as he drummed his heels to a stop. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and his stinging eyes. The morning sun shattered off of the surface of the lake and warmed the back of his neck, and he took a moment to kick out his legs a little as he caught his breath, bending to massage his aching right knee. The dog began to whimper irritably, a low growl that crescendoed into a keening whine. She threaded her long snout under his elbow.

“Hey⁠—stop it⁠—” He brushed her nose away, and returned to pressing his fingers around his oft-tortured patella. Scully’d been trying to get him to wear a knee brace lately, but he didn’t think he was ready to admit that he needed one. Maybe he should just swallow his ego before he did permanent damage, and had to resort to pumping on the elliptical with the government trophy wives at the Planet Fitness down the street from his apartment.

The dog moaned low, insistent, and let loose a stream of discontented yips. He looked up at her to find her crouching, her ears plastered backwards on her skull. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He chuffed a knuckle on her muzzle, and when she didn’t look up at him, he followed her eyeline.

The bottom of the boat was pooled with lakewater and blood.

A dead fox was curled in the murk, his toothy maw twisted into a grimace, as if in pain. The kohl tips of his ears were ragged. His eyes were closed. The dog yowled and whimpered behind him, pacing.

The sweet, mushroomy smell of death furled up from the corpse as Mulder leaned over it, looking for a wound. A few flies buzzed in circles around the eyes, nose, and mouth of the creature. As he got closer, he noticed the wriggling white body of a maggot crawl from the fox’s black-rimmed lip. A cold chill pierced Mulder’s stomach, and he retched into the grass beside him as he whirled away from the scene, losing what was left of last night’s dinner. The dog wailed.

He spat, and looked back up in horror.

“Fucking Jesus fuck,” he swore, scrunching his eyes and scrubbing his face with his palms. The dog’s crouching body was a coil of tension behind him. He backed away, but she wouldn’t follow.

“C’mere, dog,” he called, his voice rusty with bile. “Get away from that.”

The dog dainted a wide berth around the boat, starting and stopping, and Mulder called her again. “C’mon girl. Let’s go. C’mon.” She finally worked up the courage to pass it, throwing back a fierce growl as she skittered along. Mulder spat again, wishing for some water, and launched into a punishing pace back to Kicking Horse.

The sense of unease swirled around him. The dog ran in front this time, leaving him in the dust, eager to get home to her mistress. The fox in the boat couldn’t be a coincidence. Not with his name. Not with Scully’s vulpine head of hair.

Two omens in two days. Shit. And this one was personal.

#I FORGOT I HAD A BANK APPT #and I'm an Old who can't figure out the queuueueu time system and whether it matches with the actual time #so it's here an hour early! sorry lol #omens #txf fic

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thisisthepartwhereyou · 4 years

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FILM REVIEW #2: A New Hope (1977)

To write a review for a movie which is now about 47 years old and has such great cultural status may seem a little pointless, but after seeing and reviewed Star Wars - Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker (2019), I felt motivated to to take another look at the rest of the series in the order that each part were released. And I figured, while I am going through them, I might as well share my thoughts on them, for fun.

Star Wars - Episode IV: A New Hope (or just Star Wars as it was originally known) is the very first installment of the entire franchise, which you can kind of tell. Written and directed by George Lucas himself, this is the first available chapter to one of the most iconic stories ever told, as well a the beginning of one of the most lucrative movie franchises of today. Though take things with a pinch of Crait-salt, as the version I am reviewing is the current Special Edition with all those infamous changes.

Most of you probably know the plot: "There is a war between the heroic rebels and the the tyrannical space-empire, and in the middle of it one of the rebel-leaders, princess Leia, gets captured by the merciless imperial lord, Darth Vader. Though before she is caught she manages to send away two androids holding imortant, military plas that could change the direction of the war. The two droids flee and crash-land on a nearby desertplanet and come across Luke Skywalker, a young farmboy of apparently simple beginnings, and Obi-wan Kenobi, a mysterious old warrior who has past connections with Vader. It is up to them to bring the droids to the rebel forces, and in order to do so they take help from the scallywag smuggler and pilot Han Solo and his lojal wookie-friend Chewbacca."

What can one say about a movie which has been reviewed and analysed thousands of times, and which I probably have seen at least a dozen times myself? Well, I am going to try and focus on what I thought about this time, which is this: It's not that great. For it's time it is certainly ambitious and impressive, but considering all the following installments, the very first one is not that strong. The main reasons for this? Simple: Its long and boring.

For diehard-Star Wars fans this might be a controversial thing to say, but that is how I feel. For a movie featuring ray guns, robots, aliens and laserswords, this movie goes at a surprisinlgy slow pace and has an overall dry tone that can be a little tiring. In a sense it is understandable, as the storytelling is very reminiscent of an old-time warfilm. An earlier critique I've had of the Star Wars-films in general is that they hardly ever feel like actual warfilms despite despite the title, but seeing this one again, I can't help but to notice a similarity to Kelly's Heroes (1970), a warfilm that I sadly am not much of a fan of either.

Though, also like Kelly's Heroes, this movies strenght lies in the memorable and entertaining characters.

Few bad guys i cinema has a stronger presence than Darth Vader, but it's also worth noting that the sidevillain Tarkin, as brilliantly play by Hammer Horror-veteran Peter Cushing, manages to be just as threathening, if not more so. The guy blew up an entire planet without batting an eye.... Talk about icecold! When it comes to the heroes it's more of a mixed bag.

Luke is not an especially interesting here in the beginning; he is goodhearted but young and naive, longs for adventure but has no clue of the dangers and is also a bit of a brat. If you count the whole trilogy it works pretty well since it illustrates the big character development, but by itself, his role in here is not really much to mention. Han Solo has a couple of cool moments but is otherwise very prone to nagging, and people will either love or hate the ineloquent Chewbacca. The two droids C-3PO and R2-D2 are a fun and heart-warming duo, but the hero I liked the most was definitely Leia, who if you look back is a pretty non-typical damsel in distress from a time when most fictional princesses followed the old Disney-standard. She has an ironic bite, but is not unneccesarily mean. She is tough, but also compassionate. And greatest of all, she is not afraid of taking charge in a chaotic situation.

While the story is pretty traditional for a fantasy, with the elements of oppressive evil, a young hero, an old and mysterious wizard, a princess that need saving and an odd assortment of allies, its spin on these traditional stuff is still distinctly its own. While a trained and nerdy eye can tell where inspiration from works such as Flash Gordon and Akira Kurosawa's samurai-films come in, it is done subtly and re-mixed enough so that one can't really call it stealing or even a noticeable tribute. What we see here is the first part of a then entirely new, fictional world with its own rules, its own history and its own environments. My favorite example of this is when Luke and Obi-wan go into a seedy bar in Mos Eisley: We bear witness to all kinds of weird creatures, assumably from every corner of the galaxy. While they don't have any bigger impact on the story later in the film, they do manage through visual storytelling paint up a picture of a wide and colorful universe, full of wonder and danger. At the same time we learn that androids are not welcome in the bar. It is not explained why, that's just how it works. This is just the right level of worldbuilding, establishing things without getting overly explanatory.

This scene, and plenty of others, display plenty of practical effects which are impressive considering the time they were made in. Though, while we are talking about the effects, I can't exactly ignore those controversal Special Edition-changes. This movie is probably biggest sufferer of them, especially in the addition of unneccesary scenes or edits that does match the rest of the movie. Although, while several of these stick out more han giraffes in a petstore, there are a couple of nice polishes that do the film som good, including improved key-ing, digitally added extras and touched up green-sceen effects.

This movie was a surprise hit when it came out. Though if it hadn't had some great follow-ups, I wonder if the franchise had managed to become as big as it is now. Plenty would argue that Return of the Jedi (1983) is the weak link in the original trilogy, but from my perspective, I think this is the one. Purists probably feel inclined to start with A New Hope when introducing Star Wars to those unfamiliar with it, which is understandable. But keep in mind that it might not be that succesful to show it for chilren, as the slow pace and the lenght might be a bad combination for kids who are into action-action-action.

In the end, I give this movie a rating of 6 out of 10. ---

#star wars #sw #luke skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #episode #4 #jcl #film review #1977 #c-3po #r2-d2 #princess leia #han solo #chewbacca #darth vader #tarkin #a new hope #IV #george lucas

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kierongillen · 5 years

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Writer Notes: The Wicked + the DIvine 42

Spoilers, obv.

Probably time for the periodic reminder that these notes are an assorted of random thoughts, and any attempt to take anything I describe herein as the sole reason we did anything is a mistake. I would hope by this stage of WicDiv we should recognise that, in that it's one of the book's major themes – as in, Be Careful When Jumping To Conclusions From Limited Information, but it's worth stressing. I was talking to a friend, and the idea came up that when the whole thing is over, to do a whole OTHER set of writer notes about the writer notes. As in, "Now this is all over, I can actually talk about some of the things I wasn't talking about at this stage." As we step towards the end, more of that big picture stuff is going to creep in. Not yet though – when thinking of this issue, I thought "Shall I write this?" and realised it still is too early.

I will be glad when this is done, for many reasons, but being able to just talk freely is one of them. I also suspect I won't be doing a huge amount of that. DIE has no writers notes per se, and that's the direction I'm heading.

Anyway - "Okay" is six issues, but the last issue is an epilogue. That means the arc is actually five issues, and this is its mid-point. It's also one of those issues where when after I wrote it I realised that the dovetailing material had created an unusually prominent thematic backbone. Last time I can think of one as strong would be issue 31, where the concept of Theft just percolated it. This is even strong.

This is an issue primarily about masculinity and the men in the story. Two of those men die. One man reaches the key turning point. Two other men have clearly key beats. This is rare in WicDiv, where the women tend to be at the centre of the plot.

Jamie/Matt's Cover: Which makes the cover being this somewhat pointed. Brunhilde, smeared in blood. All our covers are inspired by something inside the issue, and someone in it. This is in the tradition of issue 10's cover, which promises something obliquely.

Vanesa Del Rey's Cover: I love Vanesa's work – do read Redlands – so getting her to do a full-witchy Norns made a lot of sense.

Page 1

One page scene, which is telling. As the solicits put it "I just read the synopsis for this issue and gaped. We’re actually going to do all this in an issue? That AND that AND that? Honestly, this last arc really is going for it." When writing that, it was a question I clearly asked myself. How can I get all this in? Any one of the three set-pieces is probably enough drama for an issue, but they structurally speaking have to be here.

As each key scene is so big we give them as much space as possible, so everything else is crunched down. The scene structure is 1-5-1-6-1-4-3. And the last two scenes could really be read as 1-1-5 in terms of what the pages are doing – or maybe 1-1.5-4.5.. Each of the big stories actually get five pages – the 6 is actually 5 pages of page budget.

Anyway – TIGHT!

As the antagonists were missing from last issue, we catch up with them here, giving Baal a key baal image of standing on top of the shard. Look what Jamie does with the verticality of that first panel. Even on a five panel page, it feels big.

Matt's using a purple palette her – which is the Inanna palette that Baal turns to occasionally, for obvious reasons.

Still – even with a one page scene, we get two silent panels, plus the WicDivian use of mobile phone read out. I'll miss working with this team. It's easy to see what we do in the set-pieces, but it's the basic work which is a delight.

First of Jamie's strong expressions at the end of the page.

Christ. This much words on the first page. I'll cut down.

Page 2

Bible quote from John, subverted. I often think of these kind of truisms like that. The whole "What does not kill you only weakens you for final inevitable collapse" kind of thing.

Page 3-7

PoV shot to keep the reveal of the Creature for the page turn, leaving room for Jamie's quiet acting. I like trying to keep these kind of scenes quite low key, to ground the fantasy of it. What would you do when seeing something like the Creature? What would you do after five minutes of exposure?

The PoV hopefully reminds people of when we've seen this before – as in, Minerva. The Captions re-set the stakes, and adds more specific information. Clearly we could have said the "we need him on our side or not alive" at the end of last issue, but that would have complicated things, especially as it's a story route we're not going down here.

The heads thing is my biggest lampshading of the key thing in this arc – as in, not everyone knows everything, and the holes in the knowledge is significant. Trying to remember who knows what and when is one of the many challenges.

In terms of "this is everything I've ever loved" the visual reference I gave Jamie was the people entombed and dismembered in Aliens. The 2 panel reveal is a standard thing we've done since Phonogram. As I've said before, I quite like having a response next to an image rather than on the next page.

The catch up is a necessary paraphrase of the specials, including a little extra information. This arc features quite a bit of this (next issue especially) in terms of making concrete things which readers may not actually work out. There's stuff which I don't explain – but the 1831-Inanna-was-not-a-god would very much be among them. As I've also said before, I've always been interested in which things actually make people theorise and which don't, and I never saw anyone question that element of 1831 – I suspect a re-reading of 1831 the tells are clear.

(Her grasping that necklace in most of the scenes is one of the more subtle ones, but when you realise that she's not telling you a key fact, it's very much the sister issue to Woden's 14 in "When you know what the narrator is not telling you, it all changes." That her own transformation is completely skirted over is a huge absence.)

To state the obvious, the Why Some Bits Of 1921 Had To Be In Prose may also be clear now. If we'd shown the Zeitgeist, you'd have known who she was.

I love what Jamie did with the Metropolis-inspired element of the design on her on the wall.

Page 6 has another of "The characters know different stuff, so we have to be true to the characters, and then avert the derailment" captions.

Jamie has to work overtime in this whole sequence, of course – Baal's realisation of the awful horror of what he's done is happening at the same time as an information download. That the information download is what hits Baal ties it together, but does mean these are dense panel layouts. Jamie's choice of moments. The expression in the last page of 6 just kills me.

The last page of the sequence is just horrible. There is a lot of horrible in this issue.

Page 8

And the second of the one-page scenes. I originally had Mimir go up to the surface to make the call, but remembered I'd already established at least 3G coverage in the underground.

Let us applaud Jamie's design for the jury-rigged Mimir phone for a second, and the expression as he sends, and the shot as he walks back. There's a lot here.

Yes, I'm aware that it's a little strange that we get the heads free again (and three with bodies) and this is the only action by them in the next issue is this. They'll have their time soon enough.

This is another heartbreaker. Dominoes falling.

Page 9

Reference to Crisis on Infinite Earths, the 1980s DC event which basically formalised the modern crossover

Page 10-15

Another tightly packed scene, but also one I knew we needed space on. Abstractly the first two pages could be a single page. In fact, in terms of page budget, they are. We're using repeats (and tiny tweaks) on panels to extend a moment, so we give Woden the appropriate amount of time to actually think this through. Woden's mask has been a major boon for such trickery, and this scene wouldn't have played nearly as well. Note how we turn to a rigid grid to ensure this actually works.

There's a lot of great expressions in this issue, but Minerva's "It's a name as good as any" is an under-rated one. The soft change from "be"ing Mini to "be"ing Ananke.

Page 12 reveal of the Valk's teleporting in the sort of colouring rush I want to stand up and applaud for.

Minerva's explanation to Woden is another thing we're doing this arc – as in REALLY making explicit things which the reader has been 100% shown already, and may have missed. (We've seen Minerva appear out of nowhere twice. We see that she has the same memories – she knows the number to call to contact Ananke. We've seen they don't share a consciousness because she has to phone to tell Ananke where she is when she arrives in 2013, etc) but it's such key stuff to the understanding of the story that it's important to state it outright.

Anyway, Woden's fucked. It's been a long time coming, and he gets consumed by his hamartia. It's not the cleanest example of it, but it's there. He had several chances to back out of this, but at the end, he still is trying to treat other people like objects to further his own needs.

The Maened death sequence connected to the hive mind was set up all he way back in issue 8, of course. There is a lot that's horrible here – the revenge against Woden is hollow. The Valkyries are still being used as tools, after all.

Still... that at this late stage that Minerva, for all her obvious monstrosity, can still get a fist-pump moment from the readers for killing another character is a sign of how loathsome a certain other character is.

Minerva provides the back quote here too. "I am oh so bored of men like you." Rarely has a quote fit an issue as well, I suspect.

I do wonder how long I would have stretched out the death sequence given more space. Probably for the best- this is metronomic, clinical, and horrible. The use of the grid and the hard cuts sort of reminds me of some of the dance-beat stuff we did.

Page 16

Another one page scene, and definitely one I'd have given more time to in another issue... but that moment with Baal and his family and him being seen was absolutely essential. Once again, Jamie does a lot with six panels – the thing one of Baal's expression in panel 5 is a hell of a thing. Laura's captions also do the heavy lifting connecting the scenes. This is a mode I'm more using over in DIE.

The middle panel is interesting for Jamie's choices – very wide, to show the fight scene in almost scrolling fighter way, but still giving space to see Laura and Cass arrive. There is a LOT here. Compare and contrast with the previous panel, which gives the more traditional comics action shot, used in a stealth mode. Jamie is very good here.

Page 17-20

Back in the underworld. Panel swap from the blues and whites of the previous page to the warm reds. In some ways, 17 could be seen as one of those one page scenes. This is Baal and Inanna. What can I say? No more than Baal can, clearly.

18 is the last elements of set up for next issue, but is also clearly setting up the end of the issue. The "Ever" from Nergal is obviously loaded – it's a Now Or Never.

"Faces are remaining distinctly unkicked." Oh, Lucifer, I missed you so.

The "It's gone midnight" bit from Cass on 19 is something I suspect I'll cut for the trade – it's an artefact from me trying to overexplain something. Reminding people of the failsafe from Imperial Phase is enough.

19 also is one of my favourite beats, in that it's not part of WicDiv's planned structure, and just listening to the characters. Of course, Cass would say something inappropriate about Woden's death. Of course, Mimir would be heartbroken. And, of course, Cass would realise. Being better is hard. Cass's "I'm so sorry" is an amazing panel from Jamie. I've been there.

20 is tightly wound too – I could have given more space, at the expense of the next scene. In the end, I decided this was the right way to go. I haven't changed my mind.

In the original draft Cass's last line was "Oh fuck." After Baal's line, it seemed too much... and you always know things are going badly when Cass doesn't swear.

Page 23

Reference to Satre's perhaps most famous line.

Page 24-26

Nine panel grid, back again. It's taken a late period WicDiv life of its own, right?

There's little I can say about this – partially as I don't want to, partially because it's still too early. It's the sort of thing I may talk about in issue 44's notes.

It's a slow motion showcase of Jamie's acting. I'd never write this for almost anyone else. This is as real a sacrifice as we can get, and the longer we spend with the moment, the realer it is, but only if it's grounded visually.

Baph's own story was about his fear of death. He's the character who tried to kill other people to scramble out of this. He's come to a place where he does this. Normally WicDiv gods are consumed by their hamartia. I believe Baph is the first who actually overcome his. This scene breaks my heart.

(This Corrosion just turned up in shuffle, and the like a healing hand howl is a bit too close to the bone.)

Last page is astounding. Not a way I'd have pictured it in a million years.

Page 27

I believe uniquely for WicDiv, this is a continuing interstitial. As in, a response to the previous one. Issue 43 is going to be late, for the health reasons I describe at the back of the issue. It's at the printers now.

Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading.

#WicDiv #the wicked and the divine #writer notes

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defmoon · 5 years

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First Impression

summary: a short story of crushing on a stranger inspired by impressionism art

more info: reader x mark (sort of lol)

word count: 1536

authors note: im bad at endings and this is really short lol it was also inspired by the behind the scenes photos of one of mark’s photo shoot

You sit on the bench that you always sit on to feed the birds. The bench looks out onto the trees that play with the light on the trickling river. The wind moves through the wheat like plants at your feet. You reach into your small clothed bag and let the seeds drop from your hand. The white birds that dwelled in the park flutter over to the scattered food. You spend a while watching the birds that surround you eat.

You lift your head up at some point and realize that you are not the only person in the park. A bit of to the distance you can outline the silhouette of a tall slender man. He was facing you so you could see the way the sun accentuated the brown in his dark hair and the lines that formed on his forehead as he looked deep in thought at his canvas. His coat was neatly folded on the ground and the sleeves to his white turtleneck were pulled up. Despite his attempt at being orderly you could see the splatters of green and blue on his delicate hands. Eventually, you see him pick up a brush and begin to paint. You continue to watch him, fascinated by the way he was so caught up in where to put what color. There is a moment in which he takes a longer pause and looks up. When he does so, he catches your eye.

You look away quickly and even more quickly collect your things and leave. You can’t figure out whether your cheeks are flushed due to being caught or from your brisk walking. Either way you can’t help but think that the way the sunlight shone in the stranger’s eyes was captivating.

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The following day you had no time to dwindle at the park. You had several errands to run in town. You move through the crowd going from shop to shop picking up things you need. More tea, fresh fruit, an assortment of cloth. You are on your way to the last shop you need to go to when you notice someone exiting one of the many shops. You stop in your tracks to watch how this person was hugging a canvas to their chest. Their figure seems familiar and so does what the long coat they are wearing. It then hits you that the brown coat you were looking at was the one you saw folded to the sided yesterday. Snapping out of your daze you follow the coat through the crowd. You’re not sure why you have the urge to go after this person or what you would say if you caught up to them. Luckily, you don’t because you feel someone grip your wrist. You turn to face you friend, your eyes are wide and your breathing is heavy.

“Are you alright y/n?”

“Y-yes”

“Where were you going?” Your friend asks smiling obliviously.

“Um” you say looking back in the direction you had been going in just to see that the man has disappeared from your sight.

“Nowhere, just going to buy some spices for my mother”

“Oh, isn’t the store for that in the opposite direction?”

“Yes, it is isn’t it?” you say, hoping your friend doesn’t catch your bluff.

“I’ll go with you.” your friend says as she intertwines her arm with yours.

While walking towards the spice shop you wonder if your friend might have some information about this fascinating stranger. She is always updated on who is who in town, “I’m not a gossip”,she’s told you. “I just like knowing as much as I possibly can.” You on the other hand don’t feel the need to know everyone, but just this once you consider using your friend’s so called knowledge.

Upon entering the store the two of you begin to browse through the spice racks. After finding all the things you need and then trying your best to approach your friend naturally.

“So, you know everyone in town right?”

She looks up at you inquisitively “Yes, why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if you knew a fellow in a light brown coat, I think he might also paint.”

She looks like she is searching in her head for the description you gave her. She smiles at you as she says “Oh right, I overheard from the lady who sells paint that his name is Mark and he is indeed an artist.” You hum and nod in response. Your friend asks you again “Why the intrigue? Has someone finally caught your eye? Why an artist at that? They don’t even make any money.” Was the prodding that just ensued worth a name and something you already knew? It didn’t matter, you suppose because you paid for what you needed and flew out the door before your friend could continue to ask you questions.

You walk home while evening was setting in. The entire walk you can’t stop thinking about how this stranger you just met finally had a name. You didn’t know what else to do with that information really except for relishing in your crush.

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The next morning when you wake up you are admittedly giddy to go back to the park. You tell yourself that neither you’re excitement or the pretty clothing you were wearing had anything to do with Mark. But those were obvious lies. You pick up your bag of seeds and a basket of peaches and head out the door.The day is wonderful,the air is light, and the sun is warm, but not scorching. You arrive at your usual spot and notice that Mark is not here today. You’re not disappointed though because you think he could show up later. Yet, you empty out your bag and the birds have dispersed and Mark is still not there. You leave downtrodden and a bit ashamed of having been so dressed up and having brought snacks. Snacks that you thought the two of you could have shared. It almost makes you consider not going back tomorrow.

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You find yourself once again at your bench. It’s been a while since you had seen Mark either at the park or in town. He seemed to not be anywhere at all. Your friend had suggested that, that was just the way artists were you would not see them days on end when they had something to work on. You assumed that was true, yet for some reason you longed to see this stranger once again. And today your yearning wish was granted. You looked up from the birds at your feet to see a long brown coat and Mark in the coat carrying an easel. You watch him set up his things in the same position that they had been in the last time you saw him. When he’s done he looks up and then at you. This time he’s the one who averts his gaze and looks somewhat nervous. He rubs his hands on his shirt before looking over at you again and making his way towards you. You’re shocked that he is walking over to you, so much so that you can’t jump up and run away like you did last time. Soon enough he is standing in front of you, blocking the little sunlight that had been hitting you.

Now that he is closer you can tell that he is indeed nervous. He has a sheepish smile and his hands are clasped together as he wrings them.

He breaks the silence first with an “um” before proceeding to say:

“My name is Mark, I’m a novice painter who just moved to town. I just finished my first piece and was wondering if you could take a look at it?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, well, you’re kind of the subject of it so…” he mutters everything else after “well” so all you hear is “yeah”. You follow him back to where his things are.

You’re finally able to see the painting he had been working on that first day you saw him. You realized that not only is he too good to be a novice, but also that the first day you saw him technically only applied to you. That is because the painting included you. You and your flock of birds were at the bottom of the painting, still visible, but not the centre of the painting. Yet the simple brown buildings in the background made your soft pastel clothing stand out a bit.

Before you could say anything Mark’s soft voice interrupted your thoughts when he says.

“I apologize if you think this is disturbing, it just seemed natural to add you into the painting. It needed something more than just buildings.”

“That’s alright, it’s a very pretty piece” You finally say.

“You can keep it” he tells you, smiling sweetly.

He scratches the back of his neck before saying “I was actually wondering if… possibly…. You’d like to get some coffee… with me”

Your heart was beating with excitement and you had no idea that so was his.

“I’d love to” you say.

#mark #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 mark tuan #got7 fluff #got7 #mark fluff #got7 mark fluff #mark tuan fanfic #firstimpression

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bluephoenixdruidicprincess · 5 years

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Hotel Del Luna Review

Alright, so I'm finished with Hotel Del Luna...and I'm very confused about my feelings regarding it. I both love it and am indifferent about it. A real strange assortment of emotions going on here. So let's see if I can sort my emotions out.

First of all, I really like the idea behind this show. It's a solid basis for a show and it was really enjoyable and kept me on my toes trying to figure everything out about 3/4 of the time. The individual ghost stories were also very interesting.

The characters were all extremely memorable and I greatly enjoyed the performances given. I really loved the whole reverse Beauty and the Beast aesthetic the show had going on here with the characters. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite stories so of course I was going to eat this aesthetic up. There was also a very clear character development thread throughout the story. When you look at all of the characters by the end and then go back to watch an earlier episode, the difference between who they are at the beginning and end is like night and day. We all know I'm a total whore for character development so this show in that regard was truly very fulfilling for me.

I also greatly adore the whole opposites attract dichotomy the show had with its relationships. All of the couples featured were quite different from eachother's respective partners and the show really works hard to showcase that despite the difference, you can still have a meaningful connection, and in those very same differences, you can find similarities. Plus, I thought how these couples were implemented was really cool. Like, the couple who were enemies in a past life but get together and fall in love in their current life? That's such an interesting idea. Sadly, we didn't get a lot of screen time with that couple but I really enjoyed the idea behind it.

This show also sends some really great messages about living life to the fullest, not holding on to grudges, and having the strength to let go. I do feel like this was an interesting show to really highlight the inevitability of death, to accept that inevitability, and still be able to live knowing that. Every second we have here is truly precious because we don't know when we're going to breath our last gasp of fresh air. It could happen at any moment, we're likely to not see it coming so I think this show is really interesting on how it deals with that theme.

Plus, the show was giving me some serious xxxHolic vibes so of course I was totally digging that. I wouldn't be surprised if the writers for Hotel Del Luna were largely inspired by Clamp's xxxHolic series. The shows aren't exactly the same but they definitely have some similarities.

And apart from just the story, cinematically, shot-for-shot, this show is gorgeous to look at. Everything is so vibrant and bright but also dark and gritty at the same time, I really have to commend the production crew for a job well done. The musical score was wonderful. Like I said, the show had a very Beauty and the Beast aesthetic and I feel like the musical composer took a lot of influence from the score from the Disney Beauty and the Beast. There were multiple times in this show where I would be listening to the background music and I would almost be fooled into thinking I was listening to the Beauty and the Beast score. Granted, the scores are very different from each other but Hotel Del Luna definitely took some inspiration from the Beauty and the Beast score. Hotel Del Luna has that very mystical, fantastical sound that Beauty and the Beast had. And can we talk about that song, Done For Me? What a beautiful, melodic, haunting song that is. And it is utilized perfectly within the episodes. I can't tell you how many times I would be watching a scene, that song would start to come on and I would just be chilled to the bone. How the song is utilized really does take you into the moment in the show and you feel like you're there feeling the things these characters are feeling.

I have so many good things to say about this show so why do I have a feeling of indifference towards it? And I think the issue lays with the show being too good. It was so good that by the end, it could never live up to it's own expectations. From the very beginning of the show, we hit the ground running, the writers are building up everything to such an extent that you can't seem to tear yourself away but in a way, they kind of wrote themselves into a corner. They built up the story so much that when we finally reached the climax, they ran out of ideas so they just kind of used the climax to end things and it was very lukewarm. Not exactly satisfying and not dissatisfying either. You feel like you should be getting something epic but you don't. It's just something that happens and because you had been exhausting so much energy within the build-up to this climax, when you finally reach it and are kind of let down by how it was resolved, you're just tired. There was nothing in the climax to give that energy back to you. So I think that's why I feel indifferent towards the show despite loving it so much. And I'm not knocking the ending of the show. I actually like how the show ended, I'm just not overly fond on what the few episodes before the final episode did to get me there. There was so much build-up in the beginning and then it fell flat and then expecting me to care about the story after it fell flat was really exhausting. I also think this show should've gone more into the backstory of the hotel owner. I just feel like the backstory created these really bland characters. And considering how interesting the characters are in the present, better writing could've fleshed out the past versions of these characters better.

All in all, despite my indifference at the end, I still thoroughly enjoyed this show. It gets a B+ from me. It really is a great show and I would definitely recommend it if you're into a more urban-fantasy setting k-drama.

This show was a real trip and I definitely want to thank @katishideout for posting about it on her blog because it really inspired me to check it out and I'm so glad I did. And now, thanks to that, I feel like I'm about to fall into the black hole again of Asian dramas. I forgot how addicting these shows can be.

#hotel del luna

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ahnheeyeonee · 5 years

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One layer, two layers, getting painted like watercolors (1/2)

Prompt by @exidprompts

One day, Hyelin comes across an emaciated beggar wearing a strange, colorful mask. Worried for his health, she shares part of her meal with him. As thanks, the masked man gives Hyelin his blessing and promises to help her achieve her dreams.

The girl is confused and doesn’t think much of his words, but upon returning to her art shop, she discovers that her favorite set of oil paints has somehow come alive, transformed into an assortment of tiny fairies. They seem to be in an animated discussion over which color is superior to all others - and look more than ready to throw hands.

The doorbell jingled and broke Hyelin out of her reverie; causing her to start and splash a large contour of dark blue across her painting. It contrasted starkly again the pastoral scene of a small hut with a large river passing next to it, nestled at the base of a snow-capped mountain. She stared at it, horrified for a moment as the colours began to bleed into each other, idyllic greens into muddy blues. A loud bang startled her out of her shock, and Hyelin grumbled as she tugged her paint-splattered apron off over her head, before marching across the messy room towards the foyer of her store, the long skirts of her dress swishing around her ankles.

The store had been a small addition her home a few years ago and matched the rest of the village nicely, not standing out too much but just enough for trading caravans and merchants to notice that gold could be made there. The village that she lived in, Yedang, was a small community where everyone knew everyone else. Usually, that meant that everyone knew everyone else’s business too. The Lord and Lady that looked over them all lived in a large stone castle that rested upon a nearby hill.

"Hello!" A customer called out to her as soon as she entered their vision. Hyelin greeted them back politely and pushed her unruly dark hair behind her ears, cringing when she felt a wet line drawn over her cheek. She quickly peeked at her hand and sighed when she saw a mess of green paint that she was now sure had transferred onto her cheek. Grabbing a rag that was left on the counter, she scrubbed her cheek before speaking.

“How can I help?” She asked the woman whose appearance didn’t quite seem to fit into her shops aesthetic. The woman’s luxurious white fur coat was wrapped snugly around her body with blonde hair tucked underneath an equally pristine white hat. Her lips were painted a startling shade of scarlet and slightly overlined. She appeared to take a moment to pause before speaking, glancing at Hyelin’s attire first; eyes hesitating over the patches that had been sown on. This woman definitely seemed as if she was out of her comfort zone here, most probably used to having her servants carry out these tasks. Perhaps she was from a nearby city. More than likely, the larger city of Yuehua which was currently a booming centre for trade.

“I’m searching for a specific colour of paint. I was hoping that you may be carrying it within this store as you’re the only one left in this town! You see, I’m just travelling through but my son at home just loves to paint and he needs this one colour to perfect his latest masterpiece.” The woman lamented, placing one hand on her forehead dramatically, pride injecting into her tone.

Hyelin tried not to let a giggle escape. No, you have to be serious for this. This was the first customer that had come through her doors for almost two days now and she desperately needed that sweet sweet cash.

“Okay, if you tell me what colour that he needs; I can check and see if I have it.” Hyelin told the woman. “However, there are some colours that we are sold out of, I’m afraid.”

Sold out was a bit of an emphasis when Hyelin hadn’t even ordered it in the first place. People rarely had time or money for arts and crafts in her small town; especially since the winters had become so harsh. They would rather save for firewood and food and Hyelin couldn’t blame them one bit.

The woman lifted her chin and looked at her through narrowed, kohl-rimmed eyes.

“It’s Mummy Brown.” She answered and Hyelin winced. That was an incredibly rare colour. Not even stores in the larger cities would be carrying that. It was almost always needed to be ordered from a speciality distributor, especially as excavations for the needed ingredient were becoming so risky recent years with more rumours of curses on those who decided to breach the ancient tombs.

Taking a deep breath, Hyelin delivered the unfortunate news to the lady.

The woman’s face instantly changed, morphing into something ugly as her face twisted and lips pursed.

“What sort of art shop are you to not be carrying paint?” She scoffed and Hyelin frowned.

“I’m sorry but Mummy Brown is such a rare colour that-.” She began but the woman slammed a hand down on the wooden counter causing her to jump in surprise.

“I don’t care!” The woman shrieked, “My son needs that colour and if you aren’t going to provide it for me then I am leaving.” With that, the woman spun and stalked towards the exit. “You call yourself an art shop but you will fail in this miserable little town.” The woman threw over her shoulder. “You should count yourself lucky that I even set foot in here.” And with a flounce, she was gone, leaving only the ringing of the bell perched above the door in her wake.

In all this, Hyelin stood frozen at the counter, eyes wide. She felt her eyes burn with the telltale feeling of angry tears building up and wiped at them roughly. She shouted out to the empty shop and stomped back into her living room before stopping at the sight of her painting. A blind rage took over as she witnessed the large mark that had disfigured the canvas; an otherworldly dark smudge against the calming setting of trees and a riverbank. Hyelin grabbed the painting and cracked it over one of her knees before throwing it into the fireplace which crackled wildly, the fire almost seeming pleased to be fed. A large bang sounded behind her as her easel and favourite set of oil paints fell to the ground and scattered across the floorboards. Breathing deeply, Hyelin placed her hands over her face and sank down to the floor.

She needed this shop. She needed the sales to keep going. She needed to reach her dreams of her art being shown in Yedang Castle. It was all she had ever wanted since she had inherited the shop from her parents two summers ago. She had to be successful. She had to. She had to. She had to.

Hyelin sat there for a few more minutes and allowed herself to wallow in her own misery.

“Right,” She grumbled as she pulled herself together and climbed to her feet. “Enough’s enough.”

As she muttered to herself, an acrid smell reached her nose which she scrunched delicately. Sniffing once more, she turned to identify the cause of the smell.

Her apron.

Her apron which currently sat in the middle of her fireplace on the smouldering canvas.

Her apron which currently sat in the middle of her fireplace on the smouldering canvas. And was on fire.

ON FIRE.

Hyelin shrieked loudly and scrambled over to the fireplace and whipped the offending object out of the fire by one of the ties, causing ruby embers to flutter into the chimney and past her face. She batted them away and stamped on the white fabric which was rapidly turning a myriad of shades of gray and black.

Chest heaving, she sat back with a thump into her armchair; her gaze fixed on the slightly smoking remains of her apron. Hyelin sighed loudly once more as she considered her predicament. She knew that she had a few hours before the sun began to set and the nightly blizzard engulfed the town. Looking at the logs next to the fireplace, she made a mental note to grab some more from the woodcutter whilst she was getting some food for dinner. Her stomach let a small wail as her attention was directed towards food and she considered what to make. Smacking her lips together, she rose from the armchair to grab her kettle to hang over the fire; she was feeling stew tonight.

Placing her last few logs gingerly on the fire, Hyelin filled the kettle with water and placed it above the embers; seasoning it with some herbs, and a dash salt and pepper. Her painting was still in the fireplace and Hyelin stuck her tongue out at it before huffing and turning to the counters. Good. Let it burn.

Perhaps the paint would give some extra power to the flames. Or cause her to go on a paint fume inspired trip. Hyelin chuckled to herself as she grabbed one of her knives and roughly began chopping vegetables to place into the stew. Either one would be good.

“Stupid posh woman.” She grumbled. “Who does she think she is?” Hyelin slammed the knife down and cleaved a carrot in two. “‘My son needs this colour because he’s a posh little brat who doesn’t understand the word no and deserves everything despite having the world’s bitchiest mom!’” Hyelin mocked, raising her voice into a screechy tone. Ugh. She scoffed and grumbled to herself quietly.

The woman continued to roughly chop an assortment of vegetables and place them into the bubbling water. The stew would be okay to be left alone whilst she popped out to get more firewood, she decided and placed the wooden board and knife into the sink nearby. Hyelin glanced out of the window and noted the slowly setting sun. Time to head out if she wanted to make it back before the blizzard hit.

Grabbing a small wicker basket, she shuffled through the shop and to the front door where her navy blue cloak and matching scarf were waiting. The dark haired girl slowly wound the woollen scarf around her neck and placed her cloak around her shoulders, making sure that she was completely covered. She opened the heavy wooden door and exited the building, securely locking it and shivering as an icy blast of wind hit her. Tucking the key back into one of her roughly sewn pockets in her dress, Hyelin turned on her heel and ambled down the street, now piled at the sides and discoloured from the many footsteps and carriage tracks that had traversed it during the day.

It was definitely colder than the day before, Hyelin decided as she noticed that her breath appeared in front of her in wispy white curls. The streets, which had once been bustling earlier in the day, were now empty, save for a few individuals with their heads down and hurrying to their destinations. Smoke curled from buildings on either side of her and the scent of wood fires tickled her nose. A large majority of those that lived in the town relied on the woodcutter and the wood that they provided, for a fee of course. Hyelin slowly trudged through the off-white sludge and felt her boots slowly dampening as she made her way to her destination; shivering as she went.

Within a few minutes, she had arrived at the Woodcutter’s shop and pushed her way inside sighing slightly as she hit a wall of warmth. She noticed that most of the wood that had been dotted around the shop had gone but, thankfully, there were still a few bundles that she could get and would keep her warm for the night. She called out a greeting to Yoongi, the Woodcutter’s assistant who greeted her back softly, his attention focused on his notebook

which he was known to furiously scribble in when inspiration struck. She quickly stomped the leftover snow from her boots whilst still stood at the entrance and strode through the shop to pick up some logs and kindling. She pursed her lips at the lack of choice but it was her own fault for not coming earlier; she had been so wrapped up in trying to paint her latest masterpiece that time had flown. Hyelin placed them onto the counter and Yoongi quickly counted them up and told her the total cost. She felt her purse shrivel up slightly as she hesitantly handed the money over.

“Will you be okay carrying these? I could go grab Hoseok or Jungkook to help you if you need it.” Yoongi asked whilst gesturing towards one of the back rooms. Hyelin shook her head in response.

“No thank you, I’ll be okay.” She replied and he nodded, turning back to his notebook and tapping a staccato rhythm with his pencil on the page. Hyelin quickly loaded up her basket and exited the shop; giving Yoongi a smile and a goodbye as she left.

Since the few minutes that she had been within the shop, the sky had turned from a dark grey to a myriad of reds and yellows, with oranges intertwining the soft white clouds that were slowly gathering. Another cold blast of wind rocked Hyelin’s frame as she remained still and stared up at the sky. This would be her next painting. Curls of smoke drifted from chimneys and she smiled slightly to herself at the picturesque image before checking the street for carriages; crossing quickly when nothing appeared.

Her walk home took very little time as the winds began to blow harder and the temperature dropped. Hyelin rounded a corner as fat snowflakes began to drift from the auburn sky which signalled the beginning of the oncoming nightly blizzard. She groaned, her breath coming out in a thick white mist that dissipated into nothingness. She wanted to get these logs on the fire as soon as.

Finally, her house was in her sights and Hyelin hurried her pace to get inside and out of the chilly wind. Just as she reached her front door and pulled the key out of her basket, her eyes noticed something in the reflection of the glass in the door. Hyelin turned. A small figure was crumpled across the street, against where the jeweller came to sell their goods. An occasional shiver wracked their frame as she stood with her gaze fixated on them; with their breath appearing in white gasps every few seconds. A flutter of concern began to bubble in Hyelin’s stomach. Or maybe that was last night's dinner.

In those few seconds of staring at the figure, Hyelin could almost have imagined two mini versions of her pop up onto her shoulders. Angel-Hyelin and Devil-Hyelin.

“Let them in. Give them food, Lord knows you've made enough.” Angel-Hyelin said serenely as she fiddled with her halo; finally happy as she placed it at a jaunty angle.

The Devil-Hyelin snorted and sneered at the angel. “And why would she do that? Invite a stranger in. Have tea. Get murdered. Sounds like an amazing idea.”

Angel-Hyelin frowned, her brows furrowed daintily as she peered around the back of Hyelin's head to glare at the devil.

“There's no way that could happen. Look at them. They're harmless! What happens if you come out in the morning and they're frozen solid!”

Devil-Hyelin shrugged. “At least it won't be you.”

Hyelin frowned at that statement and quickly brushed off her shoulder, starting with the one with the devil first.

“Hey!” She called out. The figure didn't acknowledge the shout and remained still. Hyelin tapped her basket absentmindedly and came to a decision. She hurriedly unlocked her door and rushed through the shop, placing her basket down next the fire and the bubbling stew. Hyelin gave it a quick stir and grabbed a fleece blanket from her sofa.

Hurrying back outside, she crossed the street and came to a stop just in front of the figure, clutching the blanket and wringing it nervously between her paint stained hands.

“Excuse me.” She said faintly, jumping as the strange figure moved slightly. Their brilliant maroon cloak shifted. “Excuse me?” She asked again and managed to contain a yelp as the figure’s head shot up; jumping only very slightly. She mentally patted herself on the back for not fleeing immediately.

“Hm?” The figure looked up at her. Their face was clad in a colourful, ornate mask. Golds and silvers intertwined along the edges and down the long nose of the mask. Hyelin faintly recalled that she had seen these before in one of her books; it was similar to a Venetian mask but was so different at the same time. Furthermore, the figures eyes were opposite colours; one bright emerald and the other dark as the oncoming night. A small shiver crept up Hyelin’s spine.

“Can I offer you some food? And maybe a warm place to sleep?” She asked meekly, still almost hiding behind her brave shield; the threadbare blanket. The individual smiled slowly and nodded. Hyelin smiled back. Then, she remembered about the blanket in her hands and offered it to the stranger.

“My name is Hyelin.” She said, wrapping the blanket around the stranger’s shivering frame. They reached up to securely hold the blanket around themselves and nodded to her.

“Not too much of a talker are you?” She joked with them. They smiled at her as they made their way across the road and into the warm shop. The stranger responded by shaking their head and gesturing to their throat and making and crossing their arms in the shape of an ‘x’.

Hyelin felt the embarrassment curl at her stomach and the tips of her ears begin to burn as she realised the individual was unable to speak or just simply didn’t want to. Devil-Hyelin popped back momentarily to cackle at her misfortune.

The two made their way across the shop and into the living area. Hyelin saw the stranger visibly relax as she went over to check on the stew; “Just take a seat anywhere!” She called over her shoulder. She took note that the stew would only take a little longer and moved some of her newly purchased logs onto the fire.

Hearing noises behind her, she turned and saw the stranger pick up her easel and paints and place them upright. Hyelin noticed their fingers dance over her paints as they looked through the assortment of colours. The stranger turned to her and tilted their head slightly, the question of how they ended up on the floor almost audible in the quiet room.

Hyelin laughed nervously. “That was me. I made a mistake and it ruined my painting. I just can’t seem to get what I want to be painted. It’s so clear in my head but when it comes to putting it on canvas I’m just not able to do it.” She trailed off.

The stranger nodded as if in agreement and brushed a small bit of fluff off of the easel and lowered themselves onto the chair once more. Hyelin felt her ears burn slightly in embarrassment and quickly busied herself with tidying the dishes that she had left in the sink.

“It shouldn’t take too much longer.” She called over her shoulder as she became elbow deep in warm water. “It’s stew, I hope that’s okay. It’s just vegetables though.

Time passed quickly as she wiped, rinsed and set her chipped dishes to dry and with a quick glance over at the rapidly bubbling meal, Hyelin decided it was ready. The Masked individual appeared to be slowly nodding off to sleep, basking in the warmth of the fire like a lazy cat; the long tip of their colourful mask’s nose tapping the centre of their chest.

Hyelin placed the final dish to dry and dried her hands on her skirt; once dry, she opened one of the many cabinets within her busy kitchen and pulled two wooden bowls down. Fetching two wooden spoons from a drawer, Hyelin made her way back over to the stew. Stifling a sigh as she felt the warmth of the fire, she filled the bowls and sat in the ragged armchair that she had patched up after finding it discarded on the street.

“Here you go.” Hyelin handed the second bowl of stew over to the Masked stranger who eyed it hungrily. Both with steaming meals in their hands, the strange duo dug into their meals with vicious ferocity. Hyelin was surprised when the Masked stranger finished first, as they let out a large, satisfied sigh and placed their bowl next to themselves on the floor. They pulled their faded leather boots off and curled up on the chair. It made an odd sight as their limbs almost seem to overflow from the creaky wooden chair.

Hyelin took her time finishing the rest of the stew; enjoying the warmth of the food and the sound of the fire crackling in the background. Glancing out of the window Hyelin noticed the snow was now falling faster and in plump drops, dancing in the night as they were whipped about in the winter wind. She felt her eyelids begin to dip and with a look at her odd companion begrudgingly removed herself from her comfy armchair and retrieved the other bowl from her now softly snoring companion. She padded quietly over to the sink and placed both bowls in, deciding to leave them for tomorrow.

With one final look at her companion, she headed into her bedroom; shivering slightly as the heat from the main room hadn’t reached the other room entirely. Hyelin quickly changed into her sleeping clothes and dove under the layers of thin cloth that made up her blankets and thought back on her day. It has been strange to say the least. From that horrible woman and her ruined painting to the stranger that was currently asleep in her main room.

Her eyes shot open and she scrambled out of bed, cursing as she knocked her knee on the hard wooden floor. Hyelin marvelled to herself that she was about to fall asleep so easily with a complete stranger in her house. She grabbed the end of her bed and pulled with all her might; dragging the object so that it blocked her door. Hyelin shakily climbed back into her bed and panted at the effort that it had taken. With her heart racing, she took a couple of deep breaths and slowly attempted to fall asleep.

#exid #exid hyelin #exid hyerin #seo hyelin #seo hyerin #exidprompts #exid fic

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velkynkarma · 5 years

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End of Year Meme 2018

@bosstoaster tagged me a while ago for this here so here I am late to the party as always. (Note: Failsafe was posted in 2018 but I counted it towards 2017 because it was written fully in that time period, so it doesn’t count this year). The Greatest Challenge ~ 49663 words (Shiro and Ryou centric, exchange fic with @bosstoaster ) A Long Night ~ 2359 words (Shiro and Ryou centric) The Red Bayard ~ 6914 words (Lance and Keith centric, for @platonicvldweek ) Color Theory ~ 7574 words (Ryou centric, for @platonicvldweek ) Innervate ~ 18503 words (Shiro and Ryou centric, for @platonicvldweek ) Break Even ~ 4312 words (Matt and Shiro centric) Window Shopping ~ 3391 words (Ryou, Lance and Hunk centric) Genesis ~ 32545 words (AU, ensemble, for @platonicvldweek ) Patience is a Virtue ~ 7349 words (Ryou and Slav centric) Paying Respects ~ 4967 words (Shiro centric, about Kuron) Talking in Tandem ~ 11559 words (Shiro and Ryou centric) 149136 The Best Lies ~ 13814 words (Shiro and Ryou centric) Need a Hand ~ 2923 words (Shiro centric) Target Practice ~ 3834 words (Ryou and Lance centric) Little Crystals ~ 24515 - 19627 = 4888 additional words (Assorted prompts & characters) Familiar Faces ~ 72730 words total written with @bosstoaster (Shiro and Ryou centric....times two lol). Of that, about 38,172 is mine. This thing that still doesn’t have a title ~ 3952 words (Keith-centric, set in Parallel by Proxy universe) Total Fics: 17 (counting Little Crystals prompts as 1) Total Words: 216,719 Ship/character breakdown: Ship breakdown: You’ve come to the wrong writer if you’re expecting anything here Character breakdown (all counts based on -centric or focus for a character, with or without the inclusion of other chars): 10 Ryou-centric or Ryou-focus 9 Shiro-centric or Shiro-focus 3 Lance-centric or Lance-focus 2 Keith-centric or Keith focus 1 Hunk-centric or Hunk-focus 1 Slav-centric or Slav-focus 1 Matt-centric or Mat-focus Plus 1 Ensemble fic and assorted prompts & characters

Characters that had the main focus: Shockingly Ryou actually pulled ahead of even Shiro in this....but only by 1, and only because Color Theory is really just about him, and not both of them.

Specifics:

Best/worst title? Best title: Break Even happened on a whim but I actually like that it works on multiple levels. To break even colloquially means to come out without gains or losses (which happens in the course of the fic when Shiro and Matt come to terms with each others’ part in their capture and escape, or lack of rescue). But it can also more literally mean to have been broken, but as cleanly as possible, meaning they may be damaged but it can be fixed if handled well. Worst title: The Greatest Challenge is kind of bland but I really struggled to find anything that would work. It ended up being too similar to its inspiration, The Most Dangerous Game, though.

Best/worst first line? Best first line: From Paying Respects, “Adjusting to being alive again is…difficult.” Because what a way to open (and also I feel a lot of people didn’t really give this part of Shiro-being-brought-back-to-life much consideration). Worst first line: From Color Theory: “Hey. Ryou. Got a second?” Because I just realized while looking for this that literally the fic prior to it I used the exact same opening line and now I’m kicking myself.

Best/worst last line? Best Last Line: Ooooh this is tough because there are a LOT of good last lines this year with some gut-punching impact. Here’s my faves: Need a Hand: “Excellent,” Commander Holt says, shaking his hand gently but firmly, sealing the deal. “I stand by what I said last year, Cadet Shirogane. You are going to be the greatest pilot this world has ever seen.” Paying Respects: But he was free. He was home. And Shiro, at least, will respect him and remember him for what he was and what he’d wanted to be. Because he’d known. And because nobody else will. A Long Night: He never does sleep again, that night. Worst Last Line: From Color Theory again (I swear I like this fic): “And they spar.” Just a generally weak ending. The good stuff was all in the middle and I wasn’t really sure how to close it, and it shows.

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted? More than I anticipated, considering. 2018 was a very stressful, very bad year for me for personal reasons. Stress means no writing. I’m genuinely shocked I kicked out even half as much as I did.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? I don’t think I intended for Parallel by Proxy to get as big as it did, so I guess ‘AU’ in a way? Or just...a series? What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. I’m with @bosstoaster on this one, my favorite was our collab fic Familiar Faces. It was super fun to figure it out together as well as a great challenge. Plus it was really nice to actually fic-ify the goofy chat ideas we’d talked about for ages if our respective renditions of Ryou and Shiro actually met. Plus we’d been working on it since June 2018 so it took up a great deal of the year, a lot of work, and a lot of focus, but it had a lot of reward.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. By kudos this is technically Failsafe and Little Crystals, but both counted for last year so I don’t think they qualify here. Sooo....looks like it’s Familiar Faces lol.

However if we’re going by bookmarks, Paying Respects took the unquestionable lead. Story most underappreciated by the universe? Genesis. Hands down. Something I completely expected, since it’s a self-indulgent AU/Crossover fic regarding one of my favorite Playstation 1 era games Legend of Legaia, which virtually nobody has heard of. I wrote it to be accessible to people even if they didn’t know the source material, but people generally aren’t willing to step into a crossover like that unless they A) know the source material already or B) really trust the author. Story that could have been better? I see a lot of edits that should be made or errors when I go back to every single one of these stories on the list, but none of them stand out as ‘I fucked up somewhere.’ Sexiest story?

Saddest story? Ahahaha there were....a lot. Probably Paying Respects since it was a response to Kuron essentially being murdered at the end of season 6 and nobody seemed to care. But A Long Night is also painfully bitter (only fixed somewhat by the fact that the reader knows by then Ryou will get better). Most fun? Familiar Faces was the most fun technically along all stages of the writing process since I was working with @bosstoaster for that. I was also in a no-motivation phase at the time we were actively writing this, but the fact that I was working on it with another person and I knew toaster was relying on me to finish my part really kept me excited about writing my parts. So I had a lot of fun just trading off and sharing pieces as we went. Without other people being involved, probably Genesis. Again, completely self-indulgent based on a favorite game. I had a lot of fun replaying the game to get details and a lot of fun playing with the universe. It practically wrote itself. I still want to go back to it. Story with single sweetest moment? This question is tricky because I do bittersweet more than actual sweet haha. I’m not really a cute/fluff writer. If going for pure good feels/charm though, I guess the scene in Color Theory when Allura gives Ryou (actual, decent) advice on how to choose his color (and subsequently, how to identify what he considers important about himself) was pretty sweet. It’s too long to post here though.

Hardest story to write? Target Practice. Guns scare the ever loving shit out of me, I know nothing about them, and I want nothing to do with them. But I wanted to write things accurately, which meant research. Research was watching police training and instructional videos for hours to try and get the accuracy right. I can only hope I did it justice.

Easiest/most fun story to write? Paying Respects. Not ‘fun’ exactly but it just...happened. It’s the only fic I’ve ever did as a ‘reaction’ fic within 24 hours of the source material posting, I never get things planned and worked out that fast. Kuron’s death hurt me and he needed justice ASAP, and a lot of friends out there needed some closure for him.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters? Not really. If I had to give an answer I guess I’d say Familiar Faces helped me learn @bosstoaster ‘s Ryou a little better, but he’s not a canon character.

Most overdue story? Parasite Knight sequel Also a fic I’m working on right now that I’d been working on since season...4? This one actually is guaranteed to make it though.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? Yes, with Familiar Faces. Working with another writer is tough but rewarding! I also stepped outside my area of expertise by tackling Parallel by Proxy to keep an ongoing series maintained.

What are your fic writing goals for next year? I have a lot of scattered ideas I’d like to hit. I definitely want to explore some little-used characters or side characters in actual plots. I also have a couple AU’s or more ambitious ideas that I’d like to try and buckle down to tackle, in part thanks to encouragement by @bosstoaster and @butteredonions

Whew! Okay. That was long. I won’t tag anyone but feel free to do this if you like :)

#Velkynkarma memes #Velkynkarma writes #fanfiction #fanfic #Voltron

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