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timble-tumble · 2 months ago

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RIN WANTS TO EAT YOUR MAINE COON (the title isn't as bad as it seems TRUST ME)

TAGS: gn!reader x rin, fluff, crack, the eating cat part is not racially motivated I promise, cat n shellfish (yk how that goes), headcanons

A/N: I wrote this bc I rlly want a Maine Coon and it would be pretty funny to see Rin beef with a damn cat

You just recently got a Maine Coon, after relentlessly tormenting your landlord with 5 page long essays slowly piling up in their email AND mail box, they finally agreed (probably more than half of the reason being they don��t want their inbox flooded rather than actually listening to your argument) to let you house your very own Maine Coon. Unfortunately, not everyone was as excited as you (your landlord certainly wasn’t), partly because this Maine Coon was stealing all the attention.

Rin absolutely DESPISES your Maine Coon. He keeps thinking about how he wants to eat it (you also want to eat your cat, but in a loveable cute way) to get rid of it. A bit extreme, but he will do what he has to do to get your focus on him and only him.

He talks to your cat. Tells it off likes it’s a little kid. Tells it to stop stealing your attention. Once, you managed to catch him and stiffled a giggle as blush reached the tips of his ears. He pouted the whole day.

Your cat has this big smug ass expression plastered on it’s face at all times. The only time its not smirking is when it eats. It even has a smug expression when it’s sleeping. Rin gets very pissed at that expression, especially when it’s looking directly at him. It’s like it’s taunting Rin. Rin hates it.

Rin especially hates it when you let it climb into your lap. Why the cat?? Why not him?? And you just smile sweetly, like you didn’t just betray and backstab him by letting some random feline into such a sacred and safe place.

Your cat has undying love for shrimp (don’t ask). You did some research before letting your cat back into the kitchen after it nearly swiped the packet of shrimp right off your hands, and made sure to properly cook it so your cat doesn’t perish and die a stupid death. Rin is very tempted to just feed the cat the shrimp raw after you asked him to help. He’s also very tempted to feed it copious amounts. I mean– the cat would be pretty happy, and Rin would be pretty happy because the cat’s dead. But he won’t because he knows he’s probably going to end up dead (by you) if he ever attempted murder upon your beloved feline friend.

Sometimes you ask Rin to look after him while you’ve gone for a few minutes to get some snacks from the nearby convenience store, which in response he groans and mumbles some probably threatening statements towards the cat. He doesn’t say no, though. He just stares at your cat. And then it stares back. So when you return, you just see both of them having a very intense staring competition. You think it’s hilarious. Rin takes these staring competitions very seriously. He cannot afford to lose to some smug bastard (his words, not mine).

You somehow managed to train your cat to pounce on Rin when he visits. First thing, as soon as he opens your apartment door is some big beast with too much fur leaping in the air towards him. He can’t do anything about it either, as much as he’s trained to have quick reaction time (being a soccer player and all), such a behemoth is no match for the great striker Itoshi Rin. So he just lies there, limbs spread out in defeat in front of the doorway with some smug cat lazily lying on top of him. You’ve managed to sneak a few photos without Rin noticing.

As a maine coon, your cat has a shit ton of fur, which will obviously result in mountains of fur being stuck to every fabric and floor. Rin’s convinced there’s a certain radius around your house that is contaminated. And since he sometimes keeps his clothes at your house, he finds fur dropping out of it like dandruff. It’s especially bad when it’s his jerseys– he’s just running around the field and fur is flying out. Rin is now buying lint rollers so extensively you’d think he’s a collector of some sorts.

When he’s taking a nap, you often plop your behemoth cat on top or next to him, because really, this is the only time Rin will ever let that cat get within 5 metres of him (excluding the times he’s been jumped by it). When he wakes up, he groggily (and unconsciously) pets it’s head, thinking that it’s you. Then when he comes to the realisation he immediately jumps out of bed then chucks the cat out the door. And then he also tells you off and complains that it should’ve been you.

Rin HATES to admit that your maine coon is slightly (and only slightly) growing on him, he’s been SLIGHTLY more gentle towards the way he speaks to it, and he’s been giving it head pats when you aren’t looking and petting it more, but remember- only slightly (this is what he keeps telling you and you just laugh at him). He still hates it steals your attention, though. But he wouldn’t mind sharing.

jumpscare

#good stuff 👅#bllk #blue lock #crack fic #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #rin itoshi #rin #rin fluff #gn reader #blue lock x reader #headcanon #bllk headcanons

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fantasy-anatomy-analyst · 10 months ago

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Creature Design: where to begin?

(image description: drawing with the title "creature design: where do I even start?" over two messy sketches of an elf with a monkey tail and a flying lizard with pterosaur wings. end description)

So you want to make cool fantasy creatures or people but you haven't the first clue where to start! I may not be the best at explaining this process because I just sort of come up with an idea and start drawing, my process is very quick and heavily influenced by the fact that I've been drawing since I was a small child and building my fantasy world and stories since I was like twelve. So for me, a lot of this is really intuitive and I don't know how to fully describe each step.

The honest truth people may not want to hear is that you'll get better at figuring out your designs if you just spend a lot of time doing art studies of real things and a lot of time making messy messy sketches from your own mind. take a pile of paper and a cheap pencil and fill those pages with scribbles that vaguely resemble creatures and people. don't worry about making things look nice. you've got to be comfortable with mess.

and I do mean it about the studying. Whether you're going for a cartoon style or a realistic one, it's hard to create new creature designs if you're not familiar with the shape and movement of real animals. trace studies are fine! nothing wrong with it. I do it all the time. gather some photos and trace out the loose shapes as well as the important details, then draw it again without tracing. rinse and repeat. this is how you get better at drawing with variety instead of getting yourself stuck on a handful of things you're confident with.

basic art practices are essential if you want to create unique designs.

but with that little caveat out of the way, let's talk about the creature design process!

step one: well if you want to design anything, you need to start with an idea!

(image description: several messy simple sketches of different fantasy designs. there is a dainty fairy, an orc with a pig snout, a bird with a bald head, and a long skinny flying fish creature. the image is also titled "step one: what do you want?" with a list of ideas below that says "redesigns. filling a niche. narrative purpose. just fun. etc." end description)

in other words, what are you hoping to accomplish by making a design? is it part of a larger project or just a little one-off idea? do you want to make your own version of a common fantasy creature, or do you want to make something totally new? You don't need to answer every detail right away, but you have to come up with a starting point. For this post, I'm creating a unicorn design. The world I've built has a lot of fantasy people and their cultures are pretty well fleshed out. But I really haven't done much to add unique fantasy animals to the setting! Certainly not any that can actually use magic. and my very first baby ideas about fantasy were so very deeply focused on unicorns, I owe it to my childhood self to have some unicorns in this world.

it's a long post, so the rest is under a cut. Next step is gather references and start doodling.

(image description: three collections of sketches. the first image bears the title "step two: sketches and studies." below the title is a compilation of white tailed deer photos with lowered opacity and red sketch lines traced over them to mark the forms of their body parts. next to this are a few white and blue sketches of deer-like unicorns, with a focus on their head shape and how their singular antler is positioned. the second image is another photo compilation with traced sketches over top, this time of several even toed ungulates. there are a few deer, a mountain goat, and a pronghorn gazelle. the final image shows a few sketches of a deer-like unicorn in different positions, with a close up on one unicorn's head with the antler only being a lump under the skin. these unicorns have long legs and very narrow faces with a singular forked antler on their foreheads. they also have a fluffy dewlap under their lower jaw. end description.)

I decided to go with a deer unicorn because I've already established that my main setting has elk! I did explore the idea of going in the direction of mountain goats or some form of other antelope or gazelle, with a focus only on things native to the americas, but ultimately I went with the deer. However, I don't want these unicorns to just look exactly like any real deer species but with one antler instead of two. I want them to look like their own unique species of deer. By doing study sketches of multiple deer species as well as other animals in the same general category, I get a better sense of the common body and head shapes, how the limbs move, and what I can change to create a unicorn that looks like a deer while still being its own new thing.

step three is to just flesh out the details! ask some questions about your creature. how do they fit in your setting? how do they interact with other living things? what are some details that make them look unique?

(image description: sketches of three deer-like unicorns. a male with a more elaborate forked antler and fuzzy dewlap, a female with an extra fluffy tail and a smaller antler that has no forks, and a baby with no antler at all. above the sketches is the title "step 3: work on details." and below this is a list of traits: "males have more elaborate antlers. capable of manipulating magic energy. smaller species of deer. versatile, adapted for many environments. often mingle with other deer." end description.)

Like the unicorns of many real life myths, I've decided these ones use their heightened intelligence and ability to manipulate magic as a way to guard the environment they live in. They're not sapient beings, but those who study magic in the world I've written are very interested in studying how unicorns use magic. Does magic ability grant sapience? or is magic ability gained as a side effect of becoming sapient? it's an important and fascinating question.

Unicorns tend to travel in very small groups and hide among herds of larger deer, using their magic abilities to sense danger and warn the herd of predators. they cannot perform all the effects of people magic, only using their natural behaviors to cause small effects. But their abilities are still quite impressive and tell a lot about the development of magical skills. Their abilities seem to confirm that spoken magic is the most primal form of magic, as they have a complex set of vocalizations that accompany their use of magic.

The effects they can cause seem to include a ripple effect in the air, akin to the heat waves that cause illusions, and a quick flash effect from their antlers, not unlike the glow created by runes. This flash effect is very fast and not terribly bright, but it's enough to startle other animals and hunters who don't expect it. this is perhaps the most intriguing of their abilities, as no people group has figured out how to replicate it. there may be other magical effects and abilities in the uicorn's arsenal, but it's difficult to document or understand them all, especially if some of those effects are more internal and not easily noticed from an outside perspective.

(image description: painting of a deer-like unicorn leaping through a grassy field. its long fluffy tail is curled up in warning and its forked antler is emitting a light. the unicorn's fur is a pale golden red with dark brown tips on the tail, ears, feet, and nose, as well as a dark stripe between the eye and nose. the lower part of its face, neck, belly, tail, and the inside of its ears are all white, along with a white stripe from its neck to its flank. end description.)

I hope you enjoyed this little design journey! I really did sit down and do the unicorn design today, and I came up with most of the worldbuilding details for it as I was writing this post! I can do this very quickly because I've been doing it for years, so don't be discouraged thinking you're bad at it if it takes you longer. I also could spend a lot more time working on the details and especially figuring out that antler shape and the coloration of its fur, because I am not fully committed to them yet! this is like a first draft.

you might go through several designs for something before you nail down a version that satisfies your goals! you might also get really far in the process and start to hate it and decide to start over. these are normal obstacles! wrestling with your ideas is rough, but it can also lead to more ideas! and the next thing you know, you've got an entire world of complex characters and fictional cultures and you're not really sure how you got there, but by golly are you going to run with it.

have fun!

#fantasy anatomy #design advice #creature design #art process

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hikarry · 2 years ago

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Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

#yes i was watching Anastasia and this got stuck in my head. i had to offer yall my little vision #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley

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screamintoad · 4 days ago

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The Ghost and The Beast

A/n: Where Rory makes a friend from the rival school. (PLS ASK THINGS ABOUT FARON HE’S MY BABY BOY) also this is incredibly unfinished because I don’t have the time 😔

The atmosphere felt electric, the school grounds busy with activities for students and on goers alike. Today was the season’s final spelldrive match, which just so happened to be between Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy. Unfortunately, Night Raven was hosting this year.

Rory traversed through the crowded area as best he could without bumping into anyone, Argos trot behind him. The young man wished to curse out the headmage for putting him in charge of all the photography for the day. Who entrusts a teenager to take good photos that will be posted on all of the school’s social pages?

Actually, who wouldn’t entrust a teenager for this job.

Another student called for Rory’s attention and when he turned he failed to make sure no one was behind him, where he proceeded to walk straight into somebody. Rory took a quick step back, “I’m so sorry-“ “I’m sorry I didn’t see you-“ The two of them paused after cutting each other off. Rory could’ve sworn he heard Argos sigh, the large dog nudged his leg to urge him to talk. He held out his free hand, “I’m sorry for bumping into you, literally. I wasn’t paying attention.” The stranger took it in a firm handshake, “Don’t worry about it! Besides I should be apologizing to you, I got lost while I was looking at the stalls and ended up making a Night Raven dorm leader nearly fall flat on his ass.” For once in his life, Rory didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t used to people valuing him as an official dorm leader.

“I-I’m not an official dorm leader like you think.” He attempted to wave it off but the taller guy wasn’t having it, “Of course you are, you’re the head of Ramshackle right? Unless you’re not Rory Queens, if you’re not then I’m so sorry for assuming. I’ve only heard about him from a few classmates.” Rory giggled into his hand, “No, I am him. You ramble easily.” He stopped himself when he realized what he said could’ve been rude yet when he looked at the guy all he saw was a wide bright smile, his large fangs prominent. “Yeah I do! Let me try again, I’m Faron, Faron Auclair. I’m a third year from RSA - uh - I guess that was obvious from my uniform though.” His smile only faltered into something more awkward yet remained equally warm.

Rory didn’t realize until now that Faron was wearing a blue and white school uniform under his leather jacket. He wondered for a moment if he’s only wearing it because they’re on a mountain top at the moment or if that’s a staple piece for him. Another thought crossed his mind, how has he never seen this guy before? Rory would’ve absolutely remembered seeing someone like him. A beastfolk that seemed to tower over everyone else with horns and ears similar to a buffalo’s yet a tail that matched a wolf’s. He was bound to get a tan to accompany his warm complexion on this bright day, his dark curls had a mine of their own as they went wild in different directions like a lions mane. He was certainly an intimidating figure but from Rory’s standpoint Faron didn’t seem scary, the word he would choose to describe him would instead be, warm.

“It’s nice to meet you. You mentioned before that you were lost, the spelldrive field is the complete other direction.” Rory pointed in said direction except Faron seemed even more confused now. “Oh, I’m not a player, at least not anymore. I quit at the beginning of this school year. The coach still hasn’t forgiven me.” He continued, “I was actually looking for the area where all the club stalls are. I’m curious to know how different the after school programs are between the schools.” Rory and Argos shared a groan of disdain. Rory’s hand ran over his face, “Right, I almost forgot we were showcasing all of that today. Here, come with me. I have to get pictures there so we can walk together.” Faron instantly perked up.

The brunette walked ahead and gestured for Faron to follow, Argos on their trails. “You don’t seem all that mean like they say.” Faron blurted out, Rory shook his head, “And neither do you.” He replied.

@blood-red-hummingbee @babyghoul138 @beneathsakurashade @moonyasnow @bunniehunn

@jadelover69 @rinis-reality @cheerleaderman @viilpstick @taruruchi

@skibidibabygirl

#twisted wonderland #twst #rory queens #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst ocs #twst yuu #yuu twst #yuu twisted wonderland #yuusona #twst yuusona

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homestuckreplay · 9 months ago

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hauntingly relaxing basslines to grow/disappearify pumpkins to

(page 818-825)

Jade irradiates a tasty dinner for Bec, leaving it full of ‘nice depleted steak isotopes’ (p.819). I was wondering about the science behind this, and learned that while radioactive decay naturally gives off heat, it’s probably not enough to cook a steak. Radioisotope thermal generators convert the heat of radiation into electricity, and there’s a lot of theory about radioisotopic batteries that could operate similarly to solar cells, but their efficiency is below 2% in laboratory tests.

This got me thinking about Skaia as a perfect conserver of energy – on page 193, Rose expends six units of build grist to construct three Perfectly Generic Objects. On p.261, she deletes them and regains six build grist. Next page, she uses the recovered grist to build a platform extending from John’s house, and finally on p.485 turns that platform back into six grist to build more stairs. In the real world, there is always a loss of energy and raw materials when changing something’s form, and many games model this (for example, an in game item costing 100 gold but only sold back for 50) to discourage players changing their minds. But Sburb explicitly allows for this experimentation, and a similar principle could explain why Jade’s uranium powered devices are so efficient.

Speaking of Jade’s technology, we see her ECLECTIC BASS, which is a kind of triple keytar. It definitely does not need to exist but it is so cool that it does. Jade (via the narrator) is frustratingly vague again with ‘obviously it's too complicated to play it in person like this’, refusing to clarify what ‘in person’ means, but I’d guess it’s a remote controlled hand or several that can play bass remotely without the limitations of human fingers. Possibly controlled through her other invention: the computer.

Instead of a regular desktop, Jade’s LUNCHTOP works through beams of light emitting from small floating polyhedrons, positioning her literally within the digital space. Amidst floating clouds, extra pixels and jpeg debris, and spinning chromosomes of light is a cool dragon as a wallpaper, icons for Pesterchum, Echidna (probably a browser) and Fresh Jamz!, which has an icon of a musical note over a jar of fruit jam. Is Jade a composer too? Did she write her own hauntingly relaxing bassline that caused the plants to grow? Is this a hobby she and Dave have in common?

Jade’s hauntingly relaxing bassline (p.822) is a great companion piece to WV: Ascend, showing Jade’s island in its current state as opposed to in extended timelapse. The house, with its orbs atop spires, is clearly modeled on a now broken part of the frog statue, and was designed to fit in with the existing architecture and shape of the island (it forms a peak to the small second mountain). The house was built for aesthetics, not function, and is primarily vertical especially towards the top. No wonder Jade ‘almost never use[s] the stairs’.

Putting the timeline together, we know that Jade is about to message John at 16:34 his time (p.110), but they don’t actually talk until 17:25 (p.169), almost an hour later, at which point there’s an explosion outside Jade’s house. In page 822’s animation, an aeroplane flies low over Jade’s island and drops off a delivery (a blue package – something from John, perhaps?). This must be an uncommonly loud sound in a remote area. Depending on how this flash syncs with the timeline, this may or may not be the ‘explosion’. Either way, Jade will be on the computer during the explosion, and as her likely homemade computer involves complete immersion in the digital surroundings, I can believe that she would interpret a noise from her computer as something that’s happening outside her house.

We’ve explored Jade’s room, interests, musical talents, fetch modus, and now computer. In all of these she’s been set up differently to her friends. We have yet to explore the rest of her house and its surroundings (featuring, presumably, strange themed decor, a large humanoid doll and a piece of visual art Jade has created) and to meet Jade’s grandfather, witnessing her attempts to evade and eventually strife with him.

> Jade: Open Echidna and watch your favorite Squiddles episode.

#homestuck #reaction #chrono

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gisellelx · 9 months ago

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Cullen vs. Cullen

Been working seriously on One Day the Sun Will Rise and for some reason, I really needed to see this scene in my head. This is a teaser of a one-shot, set in between the events of Ithaca Is Gorges before it goes AU at chapter 14/15, and about a year before the beginning of One Day.

Mineral, Virginia Early spring 2011

The doorbell startled him.

The house wasn’t even so much a house as it was a cabin. Tucked up in the mountains; four bedrooms, two irrelevant bathrooms. It was remote; the actual property was just over two hundred acres, but 98there were nearly two thousand more undeveloped around them. Edward had joked that they had finally bought a refrigerator, what with the abundant deer and elk and bear nearby. It was entirely remote; when he had been working, Carlisle had traveled nearly ninety minutes by car to the small town of Mineral. Living here again, he hadn’t seen a human in months.

They had been absolutely on top of one another as a family of seven here, but it had been a last-minute move from Calgary sixty years earlier and there had been only so much Carlisle had been able to do. He was thinking of the bickering, the way the girls argued over space in front of the mirror, the walls that Esme was constantly repairing as Jasper and Emmett got into play-tussles they refused to take outside, when he opened the door. And even though his mind had been on the rest of the family, it still took him just a hairsbreadth of a second longer than it should have to make sense of the person on his stoop.

Well, that and that it had been five years.

He greeted the man with silence, and Jasper only raised his eyebrows.

“Carlisle Cullen?” he said.

“Not the name I’m using at the moment, actually. “

An eyeroll. “But it’s one you have.”

“At one point in my life, yes.”

“Allow me to specify. You are the person who used the alias Carlisle Cullen IV, date of birth listed as the fourth of May, nineteen seventy-two?”

He didn’t like changing the actual day of his birth. But doing so had been advised by no less than Jasper himself, as the number was increasingly used as a substitute identifier. One child being born on his father or grandfather’s birthday was a sweet coincidence, too many February seventeenths was statistically improbable. He’d picked this recent one as an homage to the new Star Wars movie, though in the end, Hayden Christiansen had delivered a rather insipid performance.

Even more reason to drop it, he supposed.

“Jasper—”

He found himself cut off. “Carlisle, knock it off. I’m doing a job I don’t want to do. Will you please confirm that? Aloud?”

It was an expression Carlisle wasn’t used to seeing on Jasper’s face. Resolve, yes. Compassion, yes. Annoyance, usually with Edward? Yes.

But not this. Jasper’s eyes looked pained. Weary.

Carlisle couldn’t blame him. It had been a long five years.

“Yes, I’m that Carlisle Cullen,” he replied.

“Thank you.” Jasper held out a legal-sized manila envelope. “This is for you.”

Carlisle took it, flipping open the top. He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, and glanced at the top of the first page.

IN THE SUPERIOR COURT OF CAYUGA COUNTY STATE OF NEW YORK Esme Anne Platt Cullen, plaintiff vs. W. Carlisle Cullen IV, defendant

He looked back up. Jasper’s arms were crossed over his chest.

“She’s serving me.”

A shake of the head. “She’s divorcing you. I’m serving you.” He gestured to the envelope, his arms still crossed. “Everything you need is in there. You have thirty days to respond or file countersuit.”

He didn’t want one suit, much less two. Carlisle leafed through the envelope at full speed. Everything was documented. The houses were in there, the hedge fund, CEE Inc, right down to the two and a half years of “our finances should look like a normal couple’s” 401(k) savings as an employee of Clallam County , WA.

He looked up when he reached the end. “Who prepared this?”

“Jenks.” Jasper shrugged. “Everything is mostly down the middle, but with a few carve outs, so you should read it.”

Carlisle shook his head. “I’m the one who left. I told her she could have everything.”

Jasper shrugged. “Pretty sure that if she could, she would be completely rid of you; but as it happens, she actually owes you alimony for this current marriage, seeing as 'Carlisle' hasn't bothered working for the last half decade.” Jasper pulled several pages out of the envelope. “You’ll need to have a bank account she can deposit to. So you’ll need to have your old identity in parallel for at least six years.”

Six years. Longer than he wanted to stay connected.

“What if I just made that guy…disappear?”

Jasper’s brow furrowed. “Are you somehow under the impression that more people being dead is helpful, here? Even fictionally?”

It was fair, he supposed. He stepped back into the door frame. “Do you want to come in?”

He shook his head. “I really don’t think I should.”

“Did Alice come with you?”

“Yes, but she stayed in Charlottesville. Better shopping. And she doesn’t want to get near you and—well, you know.”

He knew. He’d asked Alice to stay out of his business. It worked some of the time. Others—well, there was a reason her calls were directed to voicemail.

He turned the envelope over in his hands.

“Well. Thanks, I guess.”

Jasper shrugged. Neither of them were very big on hugging each other at the very best of times and this was not that. Gesturing to the envelope, he said, “Thirty days. FedEx is fine. I assume you’re not going to contest it.” He turned and began to walk away, at human speed. But he made it no further than the bottom of the steps when he turned around, frowning.

“Carlisle, I just need to know something.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”

Jasper looked from the envelope, to the house, to Carlisle. He frowned again, that exhausted expression returning to his face.

“Just…are you certain you’ve done the right thing, here?”

The wind was still whipping, making the trees creak and the sunlight shift across them. Carlisle had always liked that about the woods; how even in silence it was never quiet, a tiny reminder that standing still, by himself, he wasn’t ever fully alone. He looked back at the house. It needed fixing up. It would be stressful to do that without Esme, but he wasn’t exactly not handy, and he still liked the feel of a saw in his hands. He’d stay here for a few years, maybe, then pursue something new, re-setting to an older version of himself that he thought he’d left behind forever on that cold October night in 1918. But he was used to that self, and there was a certain aspect of this that felt….normal. That even in his grief, felt as though he was coming back to a strange forgotten familiarity.

Slowly, he nodded. “Most days? Yes. Some days, less so.”

Jasper’s frowned deepened, but bobbed his head slowly. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it. But…godspeed, Carlisle. I’ll see you again someday, I’m sure.” And then he was gone, the wind at his back rustling the trees, flashes of dappled light that disappeared as he fled into the lower canopy. Carlisle listened and watched until the forest was once again still.

When the wind died, and the sound of his—son? Former son? How did he even talk about this?—disappeared into the forest, Carlisle pulled out the sheaf of papers again. A lump rose in his throat and he gulped, tamping it back down, pressing all the feelings that were rising back into their places. Edward. Esme. Everyone who had been. And everyone who was gone.

Closing the door the door behind him, he laid the papers on the dining room table, seeing again the words at the top:

Esme Anne Platt Cullen, plaintiff

Today, he realized, was going to be a “less so” kind of day.

#carlisle cullen #my fic #teasers #one day the sun will rise

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leading-manhattan · 1 year ago

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David is absolutely swamped with all the work he's piled on top of himself which leads to him blowing Jack off time and time again. David doesn't realize just how out of control it's all gotten until a few chance conversations with Katherine and Crutchie lead him to the horrifying conclusion that Jack might not be as okay as he's always assumed. Modern AU.

This is ridiculous. The dumbest fight David thinks he's ever had in a relationship. That was because he'd never been in a relationship with Jack Kelly before. Jack, who was apparently determined to start arguments over the most rudimentary things. David is busy and Jack's made it into this whole thing that it never had to be. David sighs, harsh and aggravated, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Even when he was trying to get his work done somehow Jack writhed his way to the front of David's mind.

"Trouble in paradise?" Katherine teases from the other end of the table they've commandeered at the library. Between classwork, his internship, and his job David doesn't have time for anything outside of work so he's grateful to have friends who consider studying together quality time. David heaves another sigh, glaring up at her through his bangs. She gazes back sympathetically, resting her elbows on the table and tucking her face into her hands. She waits patiently, knowing damn well that he was a talker and he was bound to spill if she just gave him enough opportunities to. Katherine was sweet but she was nothing if not nosey, a journalist through and through.

"Jack and I are fighting." David murmurs, turning his glare down to the textbook laid open before him. He's not really looking at the words but it feels rude to point his ire at Katherine. Katherine hums inquisitively and David groans, raking a hand through his hair, "It's just he won't leave me alone. I love him, so much, but I'm completely swamped right now with everything and he keeps trying to get me to go out or make plans and no matter how many times I tell him I can't he just won't take no for an answer and I just- It came to a head and things were said and now we aren't talking." David sags, hunching over the table and resting his forehead pitifully on the pages of his notebook. It sounds even more ridiculous out loud but it's driven David up the wall these past few weeks and now they've gone and made a mountain out of a molehill.

"Oh, pfft," David glances up to see Katherine waving a dismissive hand. "That's just Jack. He's dramatic sometimes."

David grunts, pulling himself back up, "That doesn't mean he gets to pester me when I'm trying to do something important. I have a lot to do, Kath. And now that he's finally leaving me alone he's still somehow managing to distract me." After weeks of nonstop texts and calls and showing up at David's door he finally has some peace and he can't even enjoy it because he's so frustrated with— and worried about— his relationship.

"Yeah, that's why we broke up." Katherine shrugs, a soft smile on her face that David can only read as pitying. "He's like a puppy, David. He needs a lot of attention."

David groans again and lets his head fall back to the table with a jarring thud.

At least the rest of the day passed with a modicum of productivity. He didn't get a lot of schoolwork done but he got pretty much all the housework around the apartment wrapped up before the night's end. Hopefully that would make getting his actual work done this weekend more manageable.

It's when he wakes up that morning and checks his phone to see no texts from Jack that he remembers the shit show he was currently in the middle of. He's half-tempted to text Jack himself but the last time he tried to address this whole thing it nearly ended in a screaming match. He was too worn down to have the conversation he needs to have so instead he just puts his phone back down and resigns himself to talk to Jack tomorrow after they both had a little more time to cool down and sort themselves out. There goes his plans for a productive weekend. He can't help the resentment that bubbles up in him. Jack's not even talking to him and somehow he's still throwing a wrench into David's plans. It's not Jack's fault that David can't stop thinking about their stupid fight, he knows that, but he can't help but be mad at him for it anyway. He's hoping that maybe he can get himself to calm down and regulate a bit before he gathers himself up to go talk to Jack later but as he goes through the morning he only grows increasingly irritated with the whole situation.

By the time noon comes around David is practically fuming. He's heading towards one of his favorite cafés near campus in hopes that maybe the soothing environment of the quaint little place with help soothe his anger. David likes to think that he's a fairly self-aware person and he knows that the burnout from his workload is contributing more to his fury than the actual argument itself. Being aware, unfortunately, does nothing to remedy anything.

When he spots the cafè just a little further down the street David picks up the pace, nearly knocking into someone as he rips open the door. Almost immediately after he enters a sense of peace blankets and he knows that he made the right choice. It's just a little coffeehouse, only about four tables to sit at crowded off to the side, with a bunch of little plants scattered around the counters. It's a homey place filled with the warm glow of the sun. David takes a deep breath and lets the tension bleed out of him as he exhales.

"Heya Dave," A familiar voice calls from behind the register. David glances over and offers a tired smile. "Long time no see." Crutchie's face is warm and welcoming but David can see some curiosity there that tells him that Jack got to him first. Damn it.

"Hey Crutchie. Sorry it's been a while, I've been so slammed." David runs a hand down his face as he steps up to the counter. He doesn't even need to look at the menu before Crutchie punches in his order and David is handing over his card. "You been okay?"

"Oh, yeah, fine! It's been a little busy here recently but I got it handled." Crutchie beams, grabbing one of his crutches as he goes about putting together David's usual. There's a long pause while Crutchie makes his coffee and he is painfully conscious of the the steady tension growing between them.

"You can ask." David sighs.

Crutchie's shoulders slump and he shoots David an unsure look, "You sure?" Which definitely makes it sound like it won't be a conversation in David's favor. He nods. Crutchie bites his lip and turns back to the coffee, "You and Jack haven't been spendin' a lotta time together lately, huh?" He presses tentatively.

David groans, his anger spiking, but he reels it back in quickly. He's not mad at Crutchie. He's not even as mad at Jack as he feels. "I don't have the time, Charlie."

Crutchie is silent for a few telling moments. "You have the time to come here." He says it softly. There's no bitterness in his tone but it still feels so accusatory.

"I'm here to get work done." David argues. He is. It's nice to see Crutchie but he's here to try and catch up on the studying he couldn't focus on yesterday. He thought the familiar environment and the welcome company would help keep him focused and accountable.

"You had time to study with Katherine yesterday." Crutchie says and, okay, how many people did Crutchie talk to before he finally got around to David? This was starting to feel like a very small intervention.

"I was working then, too, I have a lot I need to do, Crutch." David hates how pleading he sounds. His anger is flickering, struggling for air where it burns hot beneath his ribs. That's one of Crutchie's many superpowers. It's so hard to stay angry when Crutchie is there with a kind smile, a sunny disposition, and a kindness that rivaled any person David's ever known.

"So you can't work with Jack?" Crutchie pushes lightly, curiously, setting David's finished coffee to the side like the hostage it was.

"That's not what he wants. He keeps asking to go out, to get dinner, to do things. I just- I can't." He wants to. God, he wants to. He misses Jack, it's been so long since they've really seen each other outside of passing glances and they haven't had a full conversation outside of a screen in weeks if you don't count their recent fight.

Crutchie hums empathetically. David's always buried himself in his workload no matter how many times people tried to convince him to give himself a little more wiggle room. It's a prison made from his own ambition and restlessness he hasn't been able to escape from since High School. "Did you ever..." Crutchie pauses, gaze flitting away as he clearly deliberates with himself. "Did you ever offer an alternative?"

David blinks.

Crutchie looks at him suddenly, eyes shining with understanding, "You know. Like havin' dinner at your place so you can keep workin' after or let him tag along when you come out here to study." He explains and the anger snuffs out so suddenly it leaves David feeling almost hollow without it. Something cold and sad rushes in to take its place.

"I didn't even think about that." David admits sheepishly, cringing. Crutchie's advice is shifting his perspective and David isn't really happy with the picture that it's painting.

"Jack can be..." Crutchie trails off and David immediately fills in dramatic. That's what everyone says. Jack's just being dramatic, they'd laugh. "Overbearing. He's been through a lot, I just-" Crutchie sighs, frowning, the first sign of real turmoil shining through. David doesn't know much about Jack's childhood but he knows that it wasn't good. He knows that Crutchie, Racetrack, and Jack are adopted but he's never pushed. "He needs reassurance. And people. He won't admit it but he does. You don't gotta forgive 'im but he loves you a lot and I know you love him too. You don't need to go out and do things to spend time together, right?" Crutchie's right. He knows Crutchie's right. David will have to set some boundaries about inviting him out when he's so busy but he'd been so lost in himself that he hadn't even tried to consider why Jack has been so desperate to spend time together.

"Yeah. God, yeah, I haven't even thought about it like that." David frowns, glancing over at the table he was going to settle into for the foreseeable future. "Can I get that coffee to go?" When he looks back Crutchie is already holding out his cup with a lid snapped on top.

Walking up to Jack's door has never felt more daunting. His irrational fury spurred on by the pit of exhaustion he dug himself into is completely extinguished and now all he has to pull him forward is the guilt at having blown off Jack completely for three weeks straight. How Jack hasn't snapped at him is a mystery of its own but David sure feels absolutely dreadful for having snapped at Jack. He clutches his coffee like a lifeline and hopes the muffin Crutchie gifted him to offer as an olive branch is a decent way to start an apology. He sucks in a long, bracing breath and raises his fist to knock before he chickens out. He'd dig out his phone if his hands were free but part of him is worried that if Jack knew it was him he wouldn't even come to the door.

"Comin'!" David hears Jack's muffled voice and he's immediately blindsided by a wave of longing. He really has missed Jack these past few weeks and he wishes he was coming over under better circumstances. The door swings open and for a fleeting moment David catches a glimpse of Jack's smile, a flash of teeth and bright eyes, but the second they make eye contact Jack's face falls. Jack's eyes flick from David's face to the café bag held in David's hand and something like defeat settles heavy on his shoulders. "Ah, shit. Okay." He mutters, stepping back and holding the door open in silent invitation.

David slips easily into the familiar apartment but he's never felt so unwelcome. "Hey," David greets quietly, setting his coffee down on the table and holding out the muffin bag to Jack, "I brought a peace offering. It's blueberry." He tries to keep his tone lighthearted but the joke falls flat. Still, Jack accepts the gift and David forces himself to take that as a good sign. "We really need to talk, Jackie."

Jack flinches, the bag crinkling in his hands as his grip instinctively tightens. A breathy laugh tumbles from Jack's lips but it lacks any mirth, "Ha, yeah. I was waitin' for this." He sounds so utterly devastated and it stabs David right through the heart. Jack can't look at him, head ducked and wild strands of dark hair blocking his eyes from view. "I'm kind of a lot to handle, right? I know I'm pretty needy." Jack chuckles and it sounds strained and David doesn't understand.

"Jack," David swallows. Jack looks up and David is surprised to see the wetness in his eyes. He's trying to put up a front, laughing despite how obviously hurt he is. "What do you think is happening?"

Jack blinks and scoffs, all false humor falling away. "I mean, it sure sounds like you're breakin' up with me. No one really wants to hear the words we need to talk, you know."

Realization slams into David hard and he immediately backtracks, "No!" He shouts, quieting when Jack flinches, "No, Jack, no. That's not it at all. I meant that we actually, really need to talk. Crutchie kind of helped me realize a few things and I just… I missed you." He confesses, holding his hands out and allowing himself a moment of relief when Jack steps forward. He gently cups Jack's face in his hands and wipes his thumbs carefully over Jack's eyes to clear away the tears clinging to his lashes.

"You did?" Jack looks at him with so much uncertainty it nearly makes David sick. Did he really give off the impression that he hadn't wanted to see Jack at all during his workaholic frenzy?

"Of course I did, Jackie, I always miss you." David pleads for him to understand. The long nights yearning for the feeling of Jack's arms around him. The afternoons trapped at his job almost praying for Jack to appear at the door just to make him smile. David hadn't wanted to be apart but he hadn't realized how many opportunities they'd actually had to be together.

"Alright, alright," Jack huffs a laugh and bats David's hands away playfully. "You're so mushy, Jacobs." He rolls his eyes but a content smile is spreading across his face so David basks in the small victory.

"You're so much worse, don't even start." David throws back, grabbing his drink and taking a long sip for the first time since he got it. He has a feeling that he's going to want to be caffeinated for what's to come.

"Oh, shuddup," Jack huffs, peeling open the bag and reaching in to tear a piece of the muffin free. "So you talked to Charlie?" It's not so much a question as it is a confirmation. They both know that Crutchie worked today and the café's logo is printed on David's cup and the bag. Not to mention David's confession that it was Crutchie who knocked some sense into him. Jack's not asking if he saw Crutchie, he's asking about what Crutchie spilled while Jack wasn't around to swear him to silence. David doesn't really know where to start. Everything has been such a whirlwind for the past month and even now, while he's here with Jack, he's worried about falling behind somewhere. Despite that, he knows that this is the most important thing he could be doing right now and the last thing he wants to do is mess it up.

"I'm sorry," He starts because that feels like the right thing to say. He wants Jack to know first and foremost that he was so sorry for brushing him to the side. "I was so caught up in myself I totally dismissed you and that was horrible of me." He cradles his drink in his hands, holding it tightly and trying to steal its warmth like it could chase away the internal chill of regret.

Jack shrugs, nibbling distractedly on the chunk of muffin in his hand, "You were busy. 'M sorry I kept buggin' you, I just figured eventually you'd be free."

"I could've offered an alternative." David mournfully echos Crutchie's advice. Jack shrugs again and David wants to shake him. He yearns to know why Jack is so dismissive of his own feelings, why he's so forgiving, why it's so easy for him to accept being brushed aside. David wants to know but he won't push because he knows Jack will just close up if he tries to seek out the answers he so desperately craves. "I should've offered an alternative and I am so sorry that I didn't even think to until Crutchie had to shove the idea in my face."

Jack rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the chunk into his mouth in a clear attempt to give himself more time to think before he speaks. Jack looks away, leaning back against the counter, and he would've succeeded in projecting this uncaring aura if David didn't know him so well. Jack's uncomfortable and David can see it clear as day.

"Don't listen to Crutch, alright?" Jack finally settles on, tearing off another piece of muffin, and David realizes that he's keeping his hands busy. Jack rolls his shoulders and looks over to meet David's eyes, his gaze is hard and his face is set in a firm mask to keep the more vulnerable emotions under wraps, "He's just tryin' to help but he don't know what he's talkin' about. I was just bein' dramatic is all."

There it is. That word. He needs reassurance. And people. That's what Crutchie said. Nausea churns in David's gut when he thinks back to his conversation with Katherine. How easily she'd waved David off when she heard about their argument. She'd been so quick to dismiss Jack as dramatic, ignoring the fact that both Jack and David were in genuine distress. To her, Jack was just like that. How many times has Jack sought comfort only to be met with rejection? Was it just Katherine who looked at Jack in need of reassurance and company and turned him away or have others disregarded him just because they didn't understand? How many times has Jack laughed away his own needs because others thought they were a joke? Sifting through group interactions in his mind David isn't liking the answers he's coming up with.

"Who told you that?" David implores despite knowing full well that at least two important people in Jack's life have said that very thing to Jack's face. A pit opens up in his stomach when Jack just stares at him in shock.

Jack is quick to shake himself out of his stupor, staring at David with suspicion. "What'd'ya mean? No one told me that, that's just how it is." Jack shakes his head like it's David who's the weird one and like he isn't breaking David's heart.

"You aren't being dramatic because you need something." David insists. He's desperate for Jack to understand. He hates this new side of Jack he's accidentally uncovered, it's small and resigned and nothing like the bright man that Jack's always been. David's chest constricts painfully knowing that people have taken Jack's innate desire to be around the people he loves and turned it into something to be ashamed of. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to forgive himself for ever being a part of it even if he never intended to be.

"I don't just need somethin' Dave. I'm needy and demandin' and I get all whiny instead of takin' no for an answer like an adult. It's dramatic and stupid and I'm tryin' to break the habit." Jack disagrees curtly, nearly biting his fingers when he shoves another piece of muffin into his mouth. The resentment that's rolling off of Jack in waves is horrendous. Jack's so convinced that his need to be acknowledged is such a toxic trait that for a moment David swears he can feel bile crawling up his throat.

David's never found Jack whiny or demanding. Needy on occasions but he's always been more than happy to oblige when Jack was in need of a little more attention than usual. To watch Jack stand there and say so confidently that he was certain he was all sorts of things he's never been is gut-wrenching. To hear that he was trying to break the habit of reaching out was the final straw.

David makes a choked noise and frantically tries to blink away the tears that suddenly flood his vision as he hastily puts his drink down before it could tumble from shaking hands. Jack startles, worry suddenly replacing the self-loathing, and practically throws the muffin aside to free his hands. "Hey, woah, Davey," Jack coos, reaching out slowly to make sure David has time to back away if he wants and the easy care and devotion only makes the tears come faster. "What'd I say? I'm sorry, love."

"No," David sniffs, wiping his tears away and trying to compose himself. "Please don't apologize, it's not you." He promises, allowing Jack's hands to come up and rest comfortingly on his biceps.

Jack smiles, amused, "Also not somethin' a guy wants to hear from his distressed boyfriend." He teases. His eyes are still shining with worry, concern dripping off him, and David is overwhelmed with affection. David came here to apologize to Jack, to make sure that Jack felt loved, and to communicate his boundaries to avoid this all spiraling out of control again. Yet here Jack was, dropping everything because David is upset. It was cruel how terribly the world has treated Jack Kelly and just how long it's taken David to really notice.

"Don't make me laugh right now," David huffs, squashing the chuckle building in his chest. He gently smacks Jack's arm, "I'm serious. I just wish you believed me. I don't think you're being dramatic, Jack. I don't think you ever have been, not about stuff like this. I'm sorry people made you believe that but please, please listen to me when I tell you that if you need me I'll make the time. I can always make the time for you, I've just been so stressed I forgot that for a little bit."

Jack shifts and reaches up to try to smooth out the sorrowful crease in David's brow with the pad of his thumb. David can't help but giggle and waves Jack's arm away. Jack's smug little expression is enough to send warmth flooding through David's veins and he swears he's never been so in love. "It's alright—" Jack promises.

"It's not. It's not, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you like that." David interrupted. The last thing he wants right now is for Jack to push aside his feelings to appease David.

"I already forgave you." Jack replies swiftly with such confidence and conviction that it feels like a blow to the sternum. David just laughs and finally gives in to the need to pull Jack close, wrapping his arms around Jack's shoulders and tugging him in for a clumsy embrace. Jack submits easily, arms slipping around David's waist before he nuzzles soothingly at David's shoulder. "I really am sorry too. I shouldn't have kept pushin'." He mutters into David's chest.

"It's alright." David echos fondly.

"Thank you." Jack whispers after a few beats of silence. David doesn't respond, not verbally, instead tightening his hold and pressing a firm kiss to the side of Jack's head. He doesn't need to ask for what, he knows what Jack meant, and while it hurts his heart to know that Jack thought it was something he needed to thank David for he's still so glad that Jack acknowledged it at all. They'd be okay.

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graysparrowao3 · 1 year ago

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Heyyooo!

I'm popping in cause i just wanted to let you i really love your stuff and miss seeing you on my dash.(why tumble timeout??) I'm sorry someone felt the need to come at you with unkindness but i bet there's a lot more people who LOVE seeing you roll across their timeline (self included). I love your writing, its super sweet and i adore how you present the characters. I do hope that person didn't dampen your spirits too much, You're a gem!

Helloooo! 💛 This was such a kind thing that you took the time to say, thank you so much. It really, really lifted my spirits and to hear that you enjoy my presence and writing is so touching (and especially as I absolutely adore all your content and posts too!). You're absolute royalty. I'm so glad to actually be able to be back in your presence and respond to you now as well!

I don't know if you remember this post, but in celebration of being freed from Tumblr jail and in gratitude for your kind words, I finally wrote you something based on this prompt. It's just a series of three short scenes but I hope you like it! I'll put it below a cut.

Summary for bonus part 4 of the Rolan, Cal, and Lia sneaking in and out for dates series: Cal and Lia are sneaking around trying to hide their romance liaisons from Rolan, who, unbeknownst to his siblings, already knows about them both...

Words: 1,174

Cal gathered up the usual stack of envelopes, scrolls, and a copy of the latest Baldur’s Mouth that filled the postbox and began to sort through them as he sauntered into the kitchen where his family was seated.

“For the owner of Ramazith’s Tower.” Cal handed an unusual, sealed paper over, then dropped the rest of the assorted junk onto the middle of the table.

Rolan tucked the envelope quickly away.

“Love letter?” Lia teased.

“Not that it would be your business if it was.” Rolan returned the light-hearted tone.

“Just joking,” Lia leaned casually on her shoulders, “but now I’m interested.”

“Never you mind.” Rolan waved her away, taking another bite to break his fast.

“Not that you have to tell us,” Cal settled back onto the table and flipped idly through the Gazette without reading it, “but it would be nice if you found someone.”

“I’m sure it would,” Rolan mumbled, “alas, your curiosity will remain unsatisfied. I promise it is not about my personal affairs.”

“If you say so,” Cal was already distracted by one of the illustrations, dropping crumbs onto the page as he chewed. “Weird thing the other day. Could’ve sworn I was being followed.”

“How’d you figure?” Lia’s brow creased with concern as she placed her drink down.

“Pass that here,” Rolan ignored the conversation and gestured for Cal to hand him the newspaper.

“Not sure exactly. Might’ve been imagining it.” Cal grimaced as he tried to recall, “was probably nothing.”

“Worth checking, though,” his sister insisted.

“I’m sure you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” Rolan glanced briefly over the top of the page.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “you’re probably right.”

“Rolan,” Lia pulled down the top of the paper in front of him, “think it’s worth a check – to be sure.”

He opened his mouth, then scoffed, reluctantly agreeing,

“Fine, fine, I’ll check up on it today. I’ve got more than a few favours I can call in. I’ll keep us quite safe, fear not,” he folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

“Thank you, Rolan.”

When they were done and the crumbs cleared and the plates cleaned, Rolan restrained his interest long enough to nonchalantly stroll to his office. Once inside, he quickly applied an Arcane Lock to the door and hurried to the desk, eagerly taking out the envelope and opening it with rushed hands. The letter unfolded, finally the favour he’d called in had paid off. He huffed as he read – they could’ve been a little more subtle about it, at least; he wasn't supposed to have been aware of them.

Archmage Rolan – as you wished, please find below the following information regarding the individual that has been seen in the company of your brother. Stand up member of society, as far as I can tell. Boring, honestly. And not that you asked my opinion, but they did seem rather happy in each other’s presence. It was sickening.

No, I didn’t ask, Rolan thought, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Rolan sat, legs and arms crossed. Eyelids falling gently shut before he commanded them to remain open. It would be morning soon. Lia should have been back long ago. His foot tapped restlessly against the floor. Then… a sound. He leant forward in the chair, ears willing it louder. Two sets of poorly concealed footsteps lazily approaching the door outside. He exhaled. At least she was alright. A click in the lock and the door creaked open. With a quick flick of his wrist, Rolan shrouded himself in Invisibility.

An uncharacteristic giggle followed by a soft gasp of excitement. His sister stepped backwards across the threshold,

“Shh,” Lia pressing her finger delicately against her partner’s lips, “lest my brothers hear.”

Rolan raised an eyebrow.

Lia fell back in, replacing her finger with her own lips. She pulled them in close, willing them to step into the tower with her body, hands in their hair. They obliged, their hands on her, searching the edges of her corset, exploring the material tight against her sides, sitting on her hips, teasing at her waist.

Oh, Gods, no. Absolutely not.

A sudden sound caused Lia to pull away. She turned to see a heavy tome that had slammed onto the ground nearby. She crept over and looked around, finding no obvious place where it could have fallen from or been dislodged.

“Tower is Gods damned cursed.” She muttered. She returned to her lover at the door, lacing her arms around their shoulders and pulling them in for a passionate goodbye. Rolan rolled his eyes and shuffled away, grateful to find his bed.

Rolan was enjoying a glass of his favourite red and warming himself by the fireplace after a long day. Long, but rewarding. Honestly, he couldn’t have imagined better, more fulfilling days. He heard the comforting noise of two tieflings moving into the room to join him before the night called to them all.

“I thought we might,” Rolan gestured lazily with his glass, “spend some time together tomorrow evening. Games, drinks, what have you.”

“Tomorrow?” Lia stopped before she made it to a chair, her question tenser than it ought to have been.

“Does it have to be tomorrow, Rolan?” Cal exchanged an uneasy look with her.

“I suppose not, though,” Rolan took a sip of his wine and smiled indulgently into the glass; he’d let them sweat just a little, “what’s the problem with tomorrow?”

“Just…” Cal stumbled, “something else might come up.”

“Might it,” Rolan raised an amused eyebrow.

“I just mean, there was something going on, maybe. I’m not sure. Better to be free for it than not.”

“Is that so,” he took another sip, enjoying himself immensely.

“All got our secrets,” Lia crossed her arms defiantly, “don’t ask you about yours.”

“I think you’ll find you do,” Rolan waved his goblet, “all the Gods damned time, actually.”

“Fine, have it your way.” Lia said, wishing she didn’t sound as disappointed as she did.

“No, no, by all means, do have your mysterious plans tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner rather than later.”

“Don’t know about that,” Cal relaxed.

“You are many things, dear brother, but a master detective is not one.”

“Is that so?” Rolan’s smug smile loosened by the wine.

“Not saying you’re not good at other things,” Cal added, quickly.

“Just that you’re not always the most insightful. That can’t be news to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rolan swirled the claret liquid around the class, “I might have picked up a thing or two over the years.”

“Go on then,” Cal tempted him, “if we’re hiding something, what is it?”

“Let me guess,” Rolan feigned ignorance, “a friend I might disapprove of – someone from the guild, perhaps? Or perhaps an unwise game of chance in someone’s basement somewhere.”

Cal and Lia shared a cheeky look.

“Yeah,” they settled into the chairs beside him, “something like that.”

“You see,” he relaxed back, a smile of contentment on his face, “I’m sure I wouldn’t have a clue.”

#bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan bg3 #cal #lia #bg3 cal #cal bg3 #lia bg3 #bg3 lia

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beartrap11 · 5 months ago

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Ahhhh, here we go nuggets, hope you enjoy, I think my writing got a bit better but we shall see.

Time

What if at the end of outlaws, John collected all of Arthur’s belongs except one? His journal.

Present 2025

Prologue: The rewrite.

I don’t think I’ve experienced this kind of fear before. This kind of fear of not knowing where you are, what to do, or who to even go to. The fear of being alone, such a ugly fear, it’s almost gut wrenching.

The glowing light on the snowy floor was gone and my guide was not answering me.

I didn’t ask for this, I never did.

I just want to go home.

I stumble on my feet and fall into the snow. I’m going to die out here. Please not like this, not like this. I reach for the cloud covered sky, calling out to them, crying out for anyone.

Help me.

Nothing.

I close my eyes letting darkness win.

I had reached the top of the mountain and stopped to admire the sunset . In the corner of my eye I spot a beautiful patch of flowers and old molded wood scattered around looking as if something was once standing there. Turning my full attention to it I noticed a book of sorts tangled in roots from the flowers. Walking towards it I can finally come to the conclusion that it’s a journal. I reached down to pick it up and free it from its rooted cage. Once in my hands I opened the book to find that there was writing in it but it’s very dull and can barely make out the words. About to give up I turned the page to see words that Icould actually read. It almost looked like time hadn't affected it at all. Curious, I read aloud.

Beaver Hollow

I hope John has more brains in his head than sometimes I fear he does.

I should have, well, it’s a bit late for regrets. There's a whole lot I should have done and even more I shouldn’t have done.

I skipped to the bottom of the page.

John, protect Abigail and Jack.

Rain Fall, save your son as you could not save your people.

Dutch, start listening to them as they really loved you.

And at the corner of the bottom right of the journal it’s signed.

Arthur Morgan.

Save him.

Startled, I look around in a hurry to see who whispered that In my ear.

I found no one there.

Save him.

I heard it again, this time way louder. Now scared I started to walk away from the spot slowly as if something would pounce on me if I made any sudden movements.

Save him.

Nope. I then made a run for it not wanting to stay there any longer.

But I don't even make it half way down the mountain before I spot a figure step in my path. The sun had completely set so I couldn’t see who or what they looked like. I completely stopped, scared out of my mind, I looked like a deer in headlights.

Who are you? my voice cracks from nerves being high.

The figure steps closer to me ,closer ,and closer.

I couldn't move, I was so scared. Once the figure is basically standing in front of me, they move past me going back up the hill.

Seeing this as my chance to get away I make a run for it again this time getting further away. I turn my head back to see if the figure is following me, luckily I find it’s not, I turn back forward to keep running but once again, come face to face with the figure, and I do a hard stop twisting my legs in the process I fall face first into the ground. Dazed, I sat up quickly to get some distance between us. I try to call out to for help hoping, praying that maybe someone would be my knight in shining armor, but I must have gone a lot deeper into the forest than I would have liked. So I turn to the figure.

What do you want from me, please just let me go !

The figure says nothing, but simply walks towards me, for every step they take I scoot away until I'm backed into a corner. Prey faces Predator.

What do you want, I whisper.

Once again the figure says nothing but simply reaches out there hand to me and in there hand its the journal.

I don’t want it ! I say desperately.

The figure doesn’t move, but finally they speak. Take it. They say so softly I almost miss it.

Hesitantly I took the journal. Both our hands are on the journal. And in an instant, the scenery changed. The once dull stars you could barely see from the pollution, are now as bright as the moon. The mountain you were once on was now surrounded by even more forest life, the air you breathed in was almost cleaner too.

The figure lets go of the journal. And reaches their hand out again to help me up.

What just happened? Why does everything look so different? I ask while getting helped up.

I could see the figure a little more now, they had on what looked like a cowboy hat, and a cloak that draped over their entire body, the only thing showing was their fingerless gloves on their hands. But I couldn't see their face still, the hat that looked too big for them was covering their face.

They laugh, you’re an observant one aren’t you. Their voice once a whisper I can now hear clearly. Who are you, I ask.

You’ll know soon enough, because something tells me if I tell you know you’ll freak out.

Why do they sound so familiar ? I think in your head.

Again you’ll know soon enough. Wtf ? This time I say out loud, How did you-.

Don’t freak out, just listen. I need your help, he needs your help.

Who is he ? I don’t understand !

Okay okay, calm down. The journal you hold in your hands is special, it belonged to a man named Arthur Morgan. He was a dying man trying to do right by the people before his time was u-

Yea, yes, okay got it, what does this have to do with me? I interrupt.

…I want you to help rewrite his story.

Uh why, why do I have to do it ? My question is ignored and they start leading me to a more open space in the forest.

I stop abruptly. Look whoever you are I want no part in whatever weird jedi mind trick you are trying to pull on me.

I toss the journal back to them but when I turn to walk away I find the journal back in my hands. What the hell!

You have no choice, I'm afraid, but in time you will understand, I promise. They say while walking back towards me.

Now put this on, out of nowhere a coat and boots appear in their hands.

Why?

Because it’s about to get really cold.

In the blink of an eye the scenery changes again and this time they are in the middle of nowhere and all you could see is snow from miles away.

Oh fuck ! I scramble to put the coat and boots on.

Where the hell are we?

The beginning of the story. Now this is where we part for now but don’t worry I shall be your guide for whenever you desperately need one. They begin to walk away.

Wait! I don’t want to do this, I want to go back home with my family, I mean, I don’t know what I'm doing, what do I say? What should I do? How am I supposed to help this Arthur Morgan?

They turn back to give one final sentence.

When the time comes, follow your heart, you’ll know what to say and do.

Don’t leave me, Wait! I scream.

But my pleas fell on deaf ears as the stranger was gone, and I was left alone in the snow storm.

God what the hell is happening, where do I even go? I silently panic in my mind.

Follow the light.

There it is again, that voice in her head, then like the voice said a slightly glowing line appeared in the snow continuing on until she can’t see that far anymore.

No, no this is all a dream, please wake up please.

But the biting cold tells me the sad truth?

Follow the light, trust me.

I really don’t have a choice?

The silence gives me my answer.

Fine.

And with a hesitant first step.

#love chase #slow burn #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #Arthur Morgan x black reader #x female reader #eventual smut #kinda funny #hate micah so much #reader having no idea what’s going on

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the12thnightproject · 1 year ago

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Chapter Two: Miss Congeniality - Katsuko meets many residents of Azuchi... but not her fake fiance.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

A good General will ensure that his soldiers are provided with not only food, but also appropriate armor for upcoming battles. It would be illogical to send warriors onto the battlefield on an empty stomach, but even more so for them not to have protection from the weapons of enemy forces. The initial cost of armoring soldiers will be far repaid in ensuring safety (as much as possible given a situation of war) and loyalty.

Personal comments: Lady Mai requested permission to help “re-design” the Oda soldier uniforms. It is difficult to refuse Lady Mai anything, however such a decision rests in the hands of Lord Nobunaga and Lord Hideyoshi – neither of whom find it easy to refuse Lady Mai either. However, Lord Mitsuhide has stated he has another task for Lady Mai… This prompted Lord Hideyoshi to use more words I am not comfortable writing down.

Two days after leaving the mountains, I arrived at Azuchi Castle. Kyubei left me waiting near the gate, while he alerted Mitsuhide to our arrival. Though I’d previously spent a couple weeks in the castle town, I’d never been inside Azuchi castle itself and I was happy enough to have some time within the gates to look around. Up close, the tenshu was impressive building, rising from a thick stone base, up seven stories to tower over the hillside. There was even a balcony surrounding the uppermost floor, and I wondered if Nobunaga spent much time up there. Must be nice to be able to see the entire countryside from your bedroom.

Feeling slightly like a gawking tourist, I took a step backward to get a better look, and –

WHAM!

I’d backed right into the path of a young man who’d been on his way inside, his arms loaded full of books and papers. The resulting collision sent the books to the ground and the papers into the air--

Where they were caught in a gust of wind and went flying toward the gates.

“I’m so sorry!” I helped him chase after the errant papers. We (actually I) caught most of them, but one got stuck in a tree, entangled in a branch about three meters off the ground. Without letting go of his armload of retrieved papers and books, the man tried to climb the tree, and ended up nearly dropping everything again.

Not wanting to repeat the whole chasing down experience, I piled the books, scrolls, and odd scraps of paper back in his hands and pointed to the one in the tree. “Don’t move. I’ll get that one,” I told him, and scampered up to retrieve the page. I jumped down and gave him the paper, which he accepted with a quick bow. “I hope you’ll be able to put them all back in order.”

“There was no order to it – although… that would make it easier to keep track of it all, wouldn’t it?” He shuffled everything into an untidy bundle and tucked it all under his arm. “Thank you for your assistance, and my apologies for walking into you.”

Now that I was no longer scrambling after his paperwork, I finally was able to get a good look at him – messy dark grey hair falling into distracted violet eyes and a lovely, but unfocussed smile. I’ve seen him before! The clumsy bookworm… Mitsuyori? No… Mitsunari. Well, how could I forget the booksellers’ most loyal customer (who never actually bought anything)? Of course, since I couldn’t admit to spending time in Azuchi disguised as an elderly bookseller, I kept my expression neutral and pretended this was our first encounter.

“Actually, I think I walked into you. I was looking up at the tenshu. It’s spectacular.” I turned my face to the top of the castle once more.

He nodded, then smiled at me again, this time at least seeming to register my presence. “I remember how I felt when I first came here two years ag- Oh no! Why am I here?”

He stared hard at the castle, as if some stray thought was eluding him the way the papers had nearly eluded me. Since I doubted the question was either rhetorical or existential, I stayed quiet while he continued to gaze at the castle walls. “I didn’t mean to come here today; I’m supposed to be -” His expression changed to panic when the guard on the towers called out the change in vigil. “I’m late! Please accept my apology for running you over.”

“Of course, but it was my fau-” I stopped because he had already turned around and rushed down the hill.

Huh.

I watched him until he disappeared from view.

Sweet.

But… possibly not tethered to reality.

“Katsu!” Kyubei tapped my arm to catch my attention. “We’re to meet Lord Nobunaga in the tenshu.”

Dismissing the young man from my thoughts, I followed Kyubei up (and up, and up) to the top of the tenshu, where Oda Nobunaga was waiting for us in his rooms. Without prompting from Kyubei, I bowed low, aware that this was a formal audience, and possibly the first test of my manners.

In return, Nobunaga lightly dipped his head. When I finally rose and met his eyes, there was a hint of amusement in them. As it turned out, Nobunaga remembered ‘Katsu’ from our encounter in Osaka earlier this year.

“Fortune works in interesting ways, for you’ve ended up working for me after all, Katsu.” He lounged on a dias in an indolent pose, but there was an aura of kinetic energy around him that suggested he could go from restful to predator in an instant. “However- did you not say that you worked for a merchant who is like a father to you? Mitsuhide left me with the understanding that he was reaching out to a man who has some dealings in espionage.”

I bowed again. “Is a spy not a merchant of information?” Then, because he seemed to be in limbo between trust and distrust,” I added. “My business in Osaka the day we met was personal. I was not there spying for my master, and indeed my work for him generally only involves delivering messages. I didn’t tell him that we’d met.” I might have done so otherwise had not so many other things not occurred that day. In fact, I was flattered Nobunaga remembered me at all given that someone had tried to kill him that night.

While he seemed to think that over, I took in my surroundings. Like Aki’s office, there was a western influence in Nobunaga’s rooms, although the European objects (huh, he had even had what looked like a child’s stuffed bear mixed in there) displayed amongst Japanese works were displayed with more taste and flair. It was like the difference between walking into an episode of hoarders, versus walking into a museum. Then again, Azuchi castle had only been completed a couple years ago – Nobunaga likely hadn’t had enough time to accumulate the volume of tchotchkes that necessitates a once-a-decade konmarie purge.

Politeness required that I stay quiet until spoken to, and in any case additional exploration would have to wait, as a pair of voices approached. The combatants were arguing so loudly that I could hear them long before they appeared in the doorway.

“- this must be the most ridiculous scheme you’ve ever dreamed up,” said one man, sounding like he had had it up to here with the other person. “You have yet to convince me that you have any chance of success.”

“My dear Hideyoshi, you don’t need to be convinced. You only need to stay out of the way,” came the reply in a cool, mocking tone of voice, as a silver haired man came into the room. At his heels was this ‘Hideyoshi’ – yet another man I recognized from the booksellers. If I thought he had looked frazzled back then, it was nothing compared to him now. He had the look of a man who woke up every day to discover that imps had rearranged his furniture and placed his desk directly in the path of his shin. Then again, the other man had the look of a person who would indeed rearrange furniture; then stand by to watch the fun. So perhaps Hideyoshi came by his frazzle honestly.

Both stopped talking when they saw me standing there. Both subjected me to long, assessing stares. Ok guys, dial it back a notch… I’m not a used car you’re buying off the internet. “This is the young man you’re going to pass off as a Princess?” Hideyoshi crossed his arms and frowned as he turned to Nobunaga. “My lord, please, put a stop to this now. There are other ways we can handle this situation.”

Hm… should I feel insulted or complimented? While I was glad that my male disguise was so convincing, it was hurtful not to be deemed feminine enough to portray a girl. Although it was also possible that Hideyoshi was so against this plan that even someone like Miyahara Satoko would not be considered feminine enough.

Ignoring Hideyoshi, the other man (who I was certain had to be Mitsuhide) circled me, apparently mentally kicking my tires… and if he thinks he can open the hood and peek into the engine, my tires are going to kick him back. “I hate to admit you have a point. It may be impossible to turn this one into a convincing woman.”

I was seconds away from throwing myself a gender reveal party when I caught the teasing expression in Mitsuhide’s eyes. Ah ha ha… he knew I was female. This was a test. With an exaggerated eyelash flutter, I dropped into a graceful and dramatic bow, and said in my best boy-pretending-to-be-a-girl falsetto, “Why Lord Aketchi, that wasn’t what you said when you propositioned me in Kyoto last week.”

That earned me a smothered laugh from Kyubei and a long look from Mitsuhide. He turned to Nobunaga. “She’ll do.”

“Yes. I have prior acquaintance with Katsu and have judged him quick witted and resourceful. Your plan has merit.” Nobunaga didn’t exactly finish his statement with the words, ‘the great and powerful Oz has spoken,’ … but it was implied.

Hideyoshi stepped back as if he had been stung. I almost felt sorry for him, but my ego was still pouting from before.

I turned back to Nobunaga, figuring I’d better let him in on my current disguise. “Thank you. As it happens, I’m actually-”

“I’m sorry!” A pretty woman about my age hurried into the room. She was the epitome of femininity, even with (especially with?) a smear of rice flour across her face, and I wondered why she hadn’t been tapped to portray this Princess. “Masamune has been teaching me how to make dumplings.”

Nobunaga patted the cushion at his side. “Should I be jealous of the time you’re spending with the one-eyed dragon?” But his scolding was accompanied by a fond smile that transformed his fierce mien into something softer and more approachable.

The woman snuggled into his side with a smile. “Perhaps I am learning to cook something special for you.” He kissed her hand and for a moment the two of them might have been encased in their own personal bubble. I looked away, feeling like I was spying on a private moment.

Mitsuhide had no such restraint. “Mai, might I interest in you in a rather large sewing commission?”

She sat up straight and looked at him with excited interest. “Do tell.”

Hideyoshi gestured to me. “This is Katsu. Can you possibly-” he sighed. “Turn him into a girl?”

That earned me her intense scrutiny. She smiled. “You mean, back into a girl.”

I like her.

“Little Mouse, you’re always surprising me with your hidden depths.” Mitsuhide turned his attention to Kyubei. “Akihira determined that this person-.”

“Katsuko.” Kyubei supplied my true name. “She’s been my contact through Akihira for the past four years and I believe she is suitable for this task.”

“I trust your judgment.” Mitsuhide bowed respectfully to Kyubei. It was a bow of a friend to a friend, not a master to a servant, and my estimation of Mitsuhide rose slightly in due to the positive way he treated his subordinate.

“Now hold on!” Hideyoshi’s frown had intensified and his hair puffed out in kinetic disapproval. “The only reason I agreed to this in the first place was because you agreed to find a boy to play the princess… It’s too dangerous otherwise.” He directed his final objection to Mai, as if hoping for a female voice to help overrule Mitsuhide.

“I can handle myself in combat.” Well. I could defend myself, at least, then run like hell. I gave Hideyoshi my best scornful look. “If you’re not convinced, I can prove it in your dojo or on your archery grounds.” I could prove it here and now, but I sensed that Hideyoshi had a low tolerance for sharp objects too close to Nobunaga. Speaking of… he hadn’t said a word yet either for or against my participation. I glanced over to see if I could glean what he made of all this.

Although one of his hands was playing with Mai’s hair, he was obviously paying attention to and amused by the whole scene playing out before him. “No need for that, Katsuko. The task is to pretend to be the fiancée of one of Hideyoshi’s vassals. The only danger, and the only reason we hoped for a boy is that women have a habit of falling in love with him. Which would make our problem worse, not solve it.”

A boy might pose the same complications, but… details. “Why does he need a pretend fiancée?” If they had an incurable flirt on their hands, maybe they could just give him a good talking to?

“We’re,” Nobunaga gestured to himself, Hideyoshi, and Mai, “making a diplomatic visit to Kanamori Mozumi, a daimyo who has recently begun to mine silver in his territory, to discuss an alliance. As Genba castle is renowned for containing an expansive archive, I intend to bring our strategist along. However, Mozumi also has a seventeen-year-old daughter - Shohime, who visited here last summer, and … it appears our strategist left quite an impression on her.”

“According to my sources,” Mitsuhide added, “Mozumi has contracted a marriage between Shohime and a Daimyo from Tsuruga, and he would not be pleased if anything were to ruin his plans.”

“Understood. Tsuruga is on the coast, and Mozumi wants access to trade routes to export the silver to Korea and China. With income from the silver and alliance with you, Lord Nobunaga, Mozumi will triple his power and influence – as long as he can keep both the son-in-law and your alliance.” It also confirmed Aki’s take on the situation in Hida. Given the increasing demand for Japanese silver, and it was clear that Nobunaga would prefer to keep relations with Mozumi peaceful. Granted, with his armies and allies, he could also just take over Mozumi’s territory, but why waste the manpower and time if Mozumi was willing to treat with him?

My job, apparently, was to make sure that Hideyoshi’s vassal didn’t distract the Kanamori princess from her contracted fiancé.

“Yes, that’s an accurate summary of the issues involved.” Rather than sounding pleased at my knowledge, Hideyoshi continued to look skeptical. Maybe he wasn’t used to women having a grasp of politics?

“I get to make a wedding kimono?” Mai’s look of excitement could probably brighten a dark room.

“It won’t reach that point – Katsuko is simply a diversion. But...” Hideyoshi looked at me and heaved a pained sigh. “She needs clothing that would reflect positively on the Oda.”

She rubbed her hands together. “When do we start?” Ok, this girl really takes her sewing seriously.

Mitsuhide gestured toward the door. “Preferably last week, but since that’s not possible, now will be acceptable.”

Without another word, Mai jumped to her feet, grabbed my hand, and literally dragged me out before I realized I hadn’t even learned the name of my fake fiancée. I half turned back to ask, but Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide were already nose-to-nose in another argument. Eeek. Better to just let them wallow in their U.S.T.

Mai led me through the castle to a room filled with various fabrics, and what looked like multiple projects in progress. A couple nearly-finished kimonos were displayed on racks – lovely jewel-toned pieces with intricate patterns and embroidery. “Stand there, please.” She pointed to a box and took out a long string to measure me.

“Oh. Let me just get rid of-” I wiggled out of the leather corset-binder that was keeping me flat. “I won’t be sorry to put that away for a few weeks.”

“There’s got to be a better way.” Mai looked at the binder with disgust. The better way would have been my sports bra, but it died even before my still mourned hoodie. Unfortunately, it’s not like we had access to lycra here. “Do you have any preferences? Color? Style?” Mai went to a writing desk where there was a stack of paper and several different sized brushes.

Androgyny… but make it fashion.

“Something not terribly restrictive. And. Not pink.” I shot a look at a turquoise kimono on display – that one was more or less to my taste.

“I must overrule that.” Mitsuhide stood in the doorway flanked by Hideyoshi. Apparently, they kissed and made up. “Soft pastels – including pink.”

“Pink is certainly appropriate,” Hideyoshi agreed.

Great. Now they agree.

Mai quickly wrapped a yukata around me. She pointed to the men in the doorway. “Out!”

Right. I wasn’t very well dressed. It’s not that I have no modesty… more that neither of them were looking at me as if I were an object of desire, but rather a tool to be sharpened and polished. Ignoring her, Mitsuhide undid my braid.

He visibly flinched at my hair.

Hideyoshi actually recoiled.

Yeah, it’s not in any particular style and there are pieces that are much shorter than the rest, causing it to stick out in chunks everywhere.

“What happened? Were you in a fire?” Kyubei had joined us and looked at my hair with fascinated revulsion.

“Fume did it.” And then I tried to fix it with my dagger.

Hideyoshi turned to Mai. “We’re going to need more maids.”

Cue Jaws theme in head.

After that, the afternoon passed in a blur of discussions, haircut, fittings, hand cream, face cream, cream cream and…

Help, I’m trapped in a makeover montage!

By the end of the ordeal, I was buffed and shined and primped and folded, spindled and mutilated until I didn’t recognize my reflection in the mirror that Mai had unearthed. I’d taken on plenty of identities over the past seven years, but this one seemed even further away from Katsuko than my old man disguise.

Also… I had zero likelihood of being able to replicate this complicated hairstyle on my own.

Mai adjusted one of the folds on the kimono – one of her own that she was loaning to me until she and her team could finish my – for want of a better word- trousseau. Then she turned me around to face the men who were judging my transformation.

Category is: Sengoku Princess Excellence.

“I’m ashamed to admit I never realized you were a girl.” Kyubei bowed to the new me.

“Thank you.” That was a nice compliment on both levels. “I’m sorry I teased you about the mountain path.”

“An improvement.” Only the most charitable would call Mitsuhide’s expression a smile. Smirk. He smirked. “One would hope you can manage to also behave demurely and gracefully, Okatsu.”

‘Okatsu?’ Hm, alright. Disguises were always easier when I thought of myself as a new person. And ‘Katsuko,’ as Fume had stated repeatedly, was not a common name here. As for demure and graceful… well the first three responses I thought of were neither demure, nor graceful, so I settled for a faint smile, downcast eyes, and plans to get even with Mitsuhide later.

Apparently though, Mitsuhide’s not so subtle jab earned me sympathy points from Hideyoshi… which might have been his objective after all? If so, well played, sir. “You look lovely, Okatsu, and I am sure your manners are acceptable.”

There wasn’t much I could add to that, so I simply gave Hideyoshi another appropriately demure smile, while I crossed my fingers behind my back that I could remember everything about protocol that Aki had tried to teach me. When all else fails, smile and nod.

Anyway, I supposed I was ready to meet my so-called fiancé. Who was… where was he anyway? Maybe he was hiding? “Er, this man I’m pretending to be engaged to… he is ok with this, right?”

Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi looked at each other. Silently. Possibly communicating telepathically.

Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

“He does, at least know about this?” I had no doubts that I could squash the overtures of an unrepentant flirt, or, even have a bit of fun with one if I were in the right frame of mind – but it would be easier if he had at least agreed to this plan before I was foisted upon him.

“Did you?” Mitsuhide asked Hideyoshi.

“Of course I did!” In his annoyance Hideyoshi looked like a puffer fish, trying to make himself look bigger to broadcast his defense. “I informed him last night. I believe he heard me.” Then, more softly. “Hopefully, he’ll remember.”

After this ominous tidbit, Mitsuhide said with obviously false cheer, “Of course he will remember. I’m certain he’s looking forward to meeting Okatsu.”

The looks on everyone’s faces ranged from disbelief (Kyubei) to outright worry (Hideyoshi)… well, Mai, at least seemed convinced as she fanned her wet eyes and let out a happy sob. “I love weddings.”

Hm. Against all current evidence, I trusted Mitsuhide. Alright, I didn’t trust him specifically, but from everything Aki and Kyubei had ever told me about him, I trusted that Mitsuhide knew what he was doing. But I wasn’t sure that he cared as much about the people enmeshed in his schemes as he cared about the schemes themselves. Probably this plan would work, but it wasn’t likely to be easy.

But hopefully, a nice quiet meeting between myself and Faux Fiance would clear up any confusion and allow us to figure out how to play thi-

“Well, shall we join them in the meeting hall, where Masamune has prepared a meal in honor of your engagement celebration?” Mitsuhide bowed and gestured us to the door.

Celebration? Just how many people will be witnessing my first meeting with… and what the heck was this man’s name anyway?

@lorei-writes @lyds323 @bestbryn @katriniac @briars7

#TBTMND #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #mitsunari ishida #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mai #a mitsunari night's dream #oc: katsuko #katsuverse

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sinnaea · 1 year ago

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Page one draft, Claire/Wesker fic

I have another spicy fic cooking but this time with Clesker. I've never written anything with Claire before and this has been really fun to write so far. Enjoy my first page draft. As always, thank you for reading 💜

The Raccoon City Police Department holding cells was a place one would not want to spend the night. Aside from being detained for whatever crime one would commit, the mountain town’s temperature could drop to freezing in an instant as soon as the sun hid away behind the peaks. The concrete cells were already dark, dingy and dripping with water from old unattended pipes.

However, Claire Redfield was rather unfazed by her current situation. The young woman relaxed flat on her back on a wooden bench with her hands laced behind her head. Her crossed leather biker boots swayed side-to-side as she hummed a tune. Despite the cold night, she was dressed in a pair of frayed denim shorts, a deep red and well worn leather jacket with a black tank-top underneath. The ponytail of her cherry red hair hung off the edge of the bench as she continued to blissfully hum away.

The sound of heavy boots quickly stomping and approaching disrupted Claire’s jaunty tune then a loud BANG!

“What the fuck, Claire?!” a young man’s voice shouted at her and echoed throughout the holding cells. His fist pounded the metal bars.

Claire sighed and nonchalantly rolled to her side to face her older brother, Chris, who stood on the other side of the bars. She rubbed her tired eyes and yawned.

“What do you want?” she said contemptuously.

Chris, dressed in his officer uniform, was hardly shocked at his little sister’s lack of concern. But then he caught the faint whiff of something sour and earthy emanating from within the cell.

“You’re high?!” Chris said in disbelief and ran his hands through his dark military cut hair, tempted to pull them out. Instead, he released a frustrated groan and punched at the metal bars again. The loud CLANG reverberated in the concrete box.

Claire was unmoved.

“I barely had any,” she yawned. “All it did was make me sleepy. And who hasn’t driven sleepy before?”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Chris shook his head and stared at his sister through the bars. He was fed up. “I’m not bailing you out this time.”

Finally, Claire began to stir. She held back her boiling detest as she sat up on the bench and stared back at him. “Good,” she said firmly. “Maybe you’ll finally fuck off for once.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “I’ve worked so hard to keep you outta trouble since we were kids. Why are you still like this?”

Claire scoffed and crossed her arms. “You really don’t get it do you?”

“Stop giving me that attitude!” Chris yelled.

“Just leave me alone.” The rebellious sister crossed her legs and shut her eyes, indicating to her brother that she was tired of his presence. “With me in here, you’ll at least have the comfort of knowing your little sister is safe and sound.” Her tone was condescending. She smirked.

A hushed growl vibrated behind Chris’s clenched teeth. His nose and mouth twitched in anger just boiling beneath the surface. But he took in a deep breath and let out a defeated sigh. He couldn’t help but admit that his sister was right. She wouldn’t get in anymore trouble at least for now. He stepped away from the metal bars that separated the siblings.

“Fine,” he said. “You stay there. I’m not covering your ass anymore.”

With her eyes still closed, Claire hummed and brushed him off.

Chris gathered his losses and walked away still frustrated with the entire predicament. No matter how many times his sister got into trouble, he always protected her. And despite what he had just said, he still felt compelled to.

Nearly an hour had passed and Claire was finally feeling sober but also mentally drained. A tiny hint of regret start to flicker within regarding her situation. And it grew into concern on whether or not Chris would actually leave her in jail. She stood up and outstretched her limbs with a loud yawn. She paced back and forth in the small cell for a few minutes and looked down at the cold floor with a tired sigh.

“You must be the lovely Claire Redfield,” a deep and very distinct voice announced.

Surprised she didn’t hear anyone approaching, Claire quickly turned toward the bars in a bit of fright. Standing on the other side was a tall and well-built man dressed in dark blue and black police attire. But he had a crown of perfect blonde hair and a sharp gaze with the brightest blue eyes that it almost seemed unnatural.

“And you are?” Claire replied with a smug attitude.

The man chuckled with a peculiar charm. “Your brother did say you are quite the wild one.”

Claire scoffed. “Oh, Chris sent you. Great.”

“I wouldn’t use the term sent. I wanted to indulge your brother,” the man said then finally introduced himself. “Captain Albert Wesker.”

Claire crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “So, you’re his boss. I suppose you’re here to set me straight. He sent Barry to talk to me once. And now you?” She rolled her eyes.

Wesker grinned, intrigued by her rebellious nature. The exact opposite of the more disciplined brother. Like a stray and untamed cat versus a working dog controlling the herd. He reached for a set of heavy keys hanging from his belt and used one to unlock the jail cell. He firmly grasped a bar and slid open the cell in one motion while keeping his eyes on the stray cat in her cage.

“Come, dearheart. Let’s go for a ride.”

#resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #fanfic #albert wesker #claire redfield #clesker #wesker #resident evil wesker #re wesker

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vanoincidence · 1 year ago

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Pointed Conversations || Van & Cass

TIMING: current. LOCATION: regan's apartment. PARTIES: @magmahearts & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van and cass hang out! CONTENT: none!

Van flipped through a few pages of the comic book she held in her hands, tilting her head to the side. “Why do they always draw the boobs so pointy? It’s weird.” She knew why. Sexism, or something. Van looked over at Cass with a small smile, the plethora of snacks spilled out on Regan’s coffee table. Thea was at work, so it was just the two of them. “You stole this, right? The pointy boobs lady, I mean.” She closed the comic and set it onto the table, still respecting that it might hold sentimental value for Cass. “I don’t think it’s worth spending your money on, so if you did, I think you should go and get a refund.” Things had been… weird, to say the least. Between Regan practically pawning off her apartment after deciding she was going to go back to Ireland, to finally accepting that she did in fact have magic, she hadn’t been able to focus on anything else, much less anyone else. She wanted to pay attention to Cass, so she cut those thoughts and looked at her friend with a smile.

—

“Most of them aren’t super great at anatomy,” Cass replied, a little absently. She’d been doing most things absently lately. Ever since Alex left (not because of you, everyone said, but what did it matter? Even if Alex hadn’t left because of Cass, she hadn’t been enough to stay for, either.), she’d found it harder and harder to interact with the world in a cheerful manner. She used to be better at at least faking happy, but… It seemed like such an impossible feat these days. Cass had never met a mountain she couldn’t climb, being an oread or all, but this was what she imagined it would have felt like. Like even if she got to the top, she’d trip and fall all the way to the bottom again. She glanced back to Van, trying hard to keep herself present in the moment. She was here, in her friend’s apartment. There were comics strewn on the table. There were dead mice in the freezer that she was trying not to ask about, because she understood the Regan of it all. There was an ache in her chest, but when wasn’t there? All she seemed to do was ache, these days. “I stole it,” she confirmed. “But I buy some sometimes, too. There’s a comic shop here in town, and the person who owns it is really nice, so I don’t mind buying from her. Not this one, though. I stole this one from an old guy’s house.”

—

“You’re right, I don’t think that… anybody who draws women like this has like, ever actually seen one.” Van closed the comic and put it to the side, cupping her hands beneath her chin to look her friend over. She wasn’t the best friend a person could have– she was regularly anxious, always distracted by her own woes, but it was a new year! She could be somebody else, and she wanted to be somebody else. Desperately. As Cass confirmed that this specific comic was stolen, she nodded. “Good, I’m glad you did the great deed of theft.” She slapped her hand over the pointy boobed woman and got up from where she sat at the table. “Do you want anything to drink? Red bull, water– I think the orange juice might be Thea’s…” She opened up the fridge and peered inside, frowning at the leftovers that were beginning to grow more and more dull with every day. “Hey, I bet we could order something…? I have some money since I haven’t been paying rent and stuff. If you want.” She hung off the fridge door as she looked at Cass.

—

Cass managed a small laugh at that. “Probably not.” Most comic book artists were, like, stereotypical nerds, weren’t they? The kind people shoved into lockers in movies, who didn’t talk to girls because they were afraid of them. It was kind of nice to focus on the novelty of that instead of the ache in her chest, and Van was always good at that. When she was with Van, she got to think about things other than what was wrong with her. She got to imagine a world where she was less of a mess, less of a terrible thing that everyone always left in the end. With Van, Cass got to be a support system, and that was a good thing, wasn’t it? That meant Van wouldn’t want to leave her. Not for a while, anyway. Not until she found someone who could support her better. She watched her friend slap the comic’s cover, nodded a little. “He probably didn’t even appreciate the story,” she added, because despite the pointy-boobed art, this comic did have a good story. That seemed a common sacrifice in comics; you got good art, or you got a good story. You rarely got both. Cass turned her head, watching as Van got up to cross the room. “Red Bull sounds good,” she agreed, even though she didn’t really like Red Bull. Van liked Red Bull, and Van would be more likely to like someone who liked the same things she liked. Right? “We should totally order food, too. What are you in the mood for? I could eat whatever.”

—

“I don’t think so either.” She frowned, thinking about the story and how it meant more to her than the art. She wasn’t sure how the art had gotten approved, or if he was some senior artist who had tenure and that meant something more. It pissed Van off, despite not really knowing the reason. “Maybe…” Van considered their options, pulling two red bulls from the back of the fridge. She took her seat back across from Cass and slid one of them over, lips quirked to the side, gaze settling on her friends face as she tried to pull from the options that suddenly disappeared from her mind. Finally, Van perked up as she popped the tab of her red bull, “what about thai food? I think a new place opened up, and I’ve heard their curry is like, really good.” She took a sip of the drink and felt the bubbles ease down her throat– a familiar and comforting feeling. “Oh, we could get papaya salad, too!”

—

To Cass, the story of a comic was always more important than the art. She knew opinions on that sort of thing varied from person to person — she’d known people who would tolerate an awful story for good art the same way she’d cope with awful art for a good story — but she’d always been firm in her opinion. The story was what mattered. It wasn’t important what it looked like. She wondered if Van felt the same, watched the way she looked at the art before she went to fetch the drinks. Would Van accept a bad story if it was pretty? Cass took the can that was offered to her, popping it open and taking a sip. She pretended to like the taste more than she did. “Thai food sounds great! I love curry.” It was true, though she would have said it even if it weren’t. “What’s the number? I can call them!”

—

Van shrugged, pushing her phone over to Cass after opening up to their website. If Cass were willing to make the call, then Van wouldn’t refuse. She wasn’t particularly fond of making phone calls, much less when it came to things like ordering food– she always fell over her own words. It was why she had so much patience for people who came into Sly Slice, even if they only had four different kinds of pizzas. Usually, most of her time was spent explaining why they only had a few options instead of trying to get down the exact order. “Ummm, I pulled up their page. You should be able to just tap it!” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of the red bull, watching as her friend took on the great task of ordering their food. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of the curry and the papaya salad. Van leaned forward, “you should ask for thai iced tea, too– two of them.” She had lactaid prepared, she would be fine.

—

Cass took Van’s phone as it was offered to her, browsing the menu for a moment just to see what all they had to offer. The photos on the page looked good, and she hummed quietly to herself. Hearing Van’s stomach growl, she let out a little laugh. “I guess we should hurry,” she grinned, tapping the number on the page. The phone was already ringing when Van made the request for tea, and Cass nodded dutifully. Once the line was picked up, she carefully ordered, tacking the two thai iced teas on the end and flashing Van a thumbs up as she did so. She hung up the phone when the task was done, handing it back over to Van. “They said about thirty minutes,” she said. “What do you wanna do while we wait?”

—

Van grinned at Cass once the order was complete, taking her phone and making sure to switch it off of do not disturb so that she wouldn’t miss a phone call if they got one. Normally, she might go and pick it up, but it was cold and her car was still… not great, so it was easier to get it delivered, even if it meant paying more. “Hm…” Van looked around, then down at her red bull. “That’s a really good question. I still don’t have a lot of stuff here, and I don’t think we have any cards.” She frowned before getting up from her chair, retreating to the living area where she and Thea had pretty much taken over. She rifled through some of the items on the coffee table before returning to Cass, unearthing the etch-a-sketch she had bought in the grocery store line. “We could um, draw something with this, maybe?” She began to squiggle around, frowning as the small wheel came off with the force. “This thing was like, really cheap, anyway.” Slightly embarrassed, she put it to the side. “We could… talk?” Van didn’t normally suggest that– it meant showing things that were wrong, half the time, but Cass looked like she could use somebody who could listen. “About whatever– pointy boobs, rocks, our lives?”

—

Food delivery was a marvel that Cass wasn’t sure she’d ever quite get used to. The idea that she could sit here in Van’s borrowed apartment and wait for a stranger to bring her food to her with no promise binds or thank yous was a pretty marvelous thing, really. But, of course, it did… leave them with not a lot to do. If they’d had to go pick up the food, at least they’d have a ‘mission’ in mind. Instead, they were stuck waiting. But, of course, Cass didn’t mind it much. She had a friend to wait with, and that was all that she’d ever really wanted. She watched Van rummage through the room with a look of mild interest, eyes widening a little at the etch-a-sketch. She’d never actually seen one in person before save for on the shelf at the store. “Whoa,” she said, marveling at the toy. “That’s cool! Maybe we could… draw and talk. At the same time?” It made the talking easier when she had something to do with her hands. She suspected the same might be true for Van, too.

—

“I don’t think there’s any glue to fix it.” She tried to press the wheel back onto it, but it came off easily as she spun it around. The metal part that was sticking out was hard to grip, but Van did her best to twist them around so that the line appeared across the grey background. “It’s… sort of working.” She slid the etch-a-sketch over to Cass with a smile, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned into the chair back. “You…” She squinted, trying to think of how to phrase her question, “how well do you know Dr. Kavanagh? Do you like, know her life plans and stuff? Or…?” She wasn’t sure who knew who, it always surprised her who was close, or who considered each other enemies of the state.

—

“I could melt it back on…” But she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it in a way that actually allowed it to remain operational. Magma was so much better at destruction than it was at repair, and Cass didn’t want to break Van’s etch-a-sketch. If it worked a little now, that was better than it not working at all. Cass took it carefully, picking it up and fiddling with the controls. The thin line grew longer, twisting and turning as she moved the dials. There was no real direction to her attempts. Mostly, she was just mesmerized by the movement of it. “I don’t know her super well, but… She helped me out a little while back, when I was hurt.” Her mouth felt dry at the mention, the memory of laying on the table in Dr. Kavanagh’s morgue still a terrifying one even now, but she shook it away. “I know about her plans, yeah. She’s moving to Ireland, or whatever. I think it’s stupid. She should stay.” But no one ever stayed, did they?

—

“I don’t know if I have a lighter anywhere.” Maybe a match? Even then, probably not. Everything that was usable was at her house, not Regan’s apartment. It was bare bones here, and Van didn’t actually mind too much. As she listened to Cass explain her connection to Regan, she nodded slowly. “Right, when you were hurt.” She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but it seemed like Cass was fine now. Her own scar ached with the intensity of their fight with Debbie, but those were just phantom pains, weren’t they? “Right? I think it’s stupid, too. Her grandma seems like, really bad. I don’t know why you’d willingly go move to a grandma who is bad.” She shrugged as if it were the most simple thing in the world. “I don’t think she’s going to listen to anyone, though.” She closed her hands around the can of red bull and moved it from side to side. “She said I can stay here though, and I think that was nice of her.”

—

“Oh, I mean, I don’t need a lighter.” Van had seen her melt things before, hadn’t she? Cass tried not to think about the supermarket, about how she’d helped tend to everyone’s injuries after Debbie was… gone by heating up the metal to cauterize their wounds. Maybe Van didn’t want the reminder, though, so Cass didn’t push. She’d rather not talk about that supermarket, anyway. “Yeah. Back in, um… October, I think.” She looked down at her hands, throat feeling tight. Rhett, Debbie, the man who’d shot Alex… this town was full of people who left bad memories in their wake, wasn’t it? People who set out to do nothing but hurt. Cass ached with the thought of them. “I don’t know,” she replied, looking back up at Van with a small shrug. “It’s her family, right? Family is important.” If she’d had any family, she thought she could have looked past the bad parts, too. She thought she’d do anything just for the feel of it. “That is really nice of her, to let you stay. Do you have to keep paying rent in bones? How will you get her the bones in Ireland? Like, did she give you her new address?”

—

“Oh, okay.” Van decided to drop it. She could melt things, but it’d become putty, and it wasn’t like she could actually control that. Cass had already seen her in action when it came down to it, and she wasn’t exactly keen on gearing up her anxiety for a display of show and tell. “October is supposed to be the best month.” Her mouth tasted like acid as she said it, because was there really any best month now? Her view of the world had been shattered more than once. “I guess so…” It was clear that she hadn’t been important to her family– her grandma had left without a second look back, and though maybe it’d been her fault all things considered, she couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t totally understand the desire to give into a family’s wish. “Um– no, no bones, I don’t think.” Van laughed softly, indenting her red bull with her index finger. “I don’t think there’s a new address or anything? I need to ask her still.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and shrugged, “but I guess she’ll tell me before she leaves. That’s what usually happens– the rules come at the last second, right?”

—

Cass lifted her shoulder and dropped it in a quiet, listless shrug. She used to think October was the best month, too — as much as any month could be. But she had a feeling every October from now on would do little more than stir up unpleasant memories of a hand at her throat and a blade sinking into her skin. Even the happier parts of the experience that happened afterwards — telling Alex she loved her, hearing it said back — seemed tainted now that Alex was gone. But what month had good memories anymore? There were ghosts on every page of the calendar now. Her friends got hurt, people died, terrible things happened over and over and over again like clockwork. Maybe all you could do was celebrate what you could and ignore the rest. Because there were things to celebrate. Things like Van’s apartment that she’d apparently be living in rent free when Regan left for Ireland. “That’s cool that she’ll let you stay here without rent, then! If she does make rules at the last second, I don’t think it’ll matter much. She’d have to come back to, like, make you follow them.” And Regan had made it pretty clear that she had no plans of coming back, so… Either Van got to live rule-free, or they got Regan back in town. Wasn’t that a win/win?

—

“Yeah! It’s really um, cool of her…” She looked around them, a small frown pinching at the corners of her lips. She did feel a little guilty, and really, Van was wondering when the rug would be pulled out from beneath her. It always seemed to happen, one way or another. She was exhausted by the mere idea of having to go back to her house. Her house, with its stupid memories and its stupid creaking ceilings. At least Regan’s apartment consistently had hot water, and at least the light bulbs stayed good for a few months– her ceiling fans rattled too much, rendering the bulbs useless within a month of installation.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true, too.” She would follow them anyway out of fear that Regan would somehow know. Van’s hands lay in her lap, now gnarled together, thumbs pressing into opposing thumb. “You can come and stay here, if you want– I know that you didn’t… want to go back to your cave and stuff.” She still wasn’t sure what had happened, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know, because then she might start having nightmares about Cass getting hurt again. She’d already seen the girl’s blood spilt once, she didn’t want to have to see it again, even if it was her brain’s own reenactment of what had happened.

—

“Definitely cool,” Cass agreed quickly. But… she couldn’t help but wonder what the price on the apartment might be. As much as she loved people, she knew that no one ever really did anything for free. Not even Dr. Kavanagh, who was nice and kind and a lot squishier than she pretended to be. She thought of Kuma, of how Cass had only been allowed to live with her until she’d been deemed too scary to belong. If Dr. Kavanagh knew about Van’s melting thing, would she kick her out, too? It was hard to say, hard to know.

But it still remained true that, even if Regan did want Van to leave, she’d have to come back to Wicked’s Rest in order to ensure she actually did. Would she do that? Cass wasn’t sure. She’d been pretty insistent, after all, that her departure would be forever. Cass looked down at the etch-a-sketch as Van spoke, twisting the dials and watching that line grow longer and longer and longer until it reached the edge and had nowhere else to go. “That’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’ve been hanging out at Ariadne’s a lot since Alex…” She trailed off, lump in her throat. She kept twisting the etch-a-sketch’s dials, even if that thin gray line had no more room to move. Her fingers trembled a little, and she ignored them, picking up the etch-a-sketch and giving it a shake, and then another and another until the line disappeared completely. She forced a smile, then held the toy out to Van. “It’s nice of you to offer, though. I really appreciate that.”

—

Van looked down at her hands as she continued to indent the half-empty can of red bull, thumbs pushing against the branded logo. “Yeah…” She didn’t know why Alex had left, as she wasn’t all that close with her to begin with, but she knew that Cass had really liked her, and the harm her departure had done was written all over her friend’s face. Van understood why people left, even if she didn’t really like it. Sometimes that was just the way things went, so who was she to judge? As somebody who’d only ever been in one relationship that’d ended beyond badly, she wasn’t really sure what to say. She scooted her can across the table, perking up as a knock came at the door. “That was so quick.”

She was a little grateful for both the distraction and the comfort the food would bring. After pushing a wad of mixed bills into the delivery driver’s hand to cover both the tab and the tip, she closed the door with her foot before heading back over to Cass, arms full of the food they’d gorge themselves on. Van set everything down, tearing open the paper bags. “It smells so good.” She smiled at her friend, hopeful that this would serve as a reminder that she wasn’t alone. “Let’s eat!”

#para: pointed conversations #para: cass #wickedswriting #//i love cass and bex

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rockinlibrarian · 2 years ago

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Year End (okay, Beginning of Following Year) AO3 Wrapped/Fic Writing Summary Thing!

My Scrivener files are in limbo right now because I'm in the long process of transferring computers (longer because the new computer I got for Christmas turned out to have a faulty motherboard), so most of my end-of-the-year round-up drafts are having to wait. But it finally occurred to me that I CAN do some other roundups in the meantime!

Like my AO3 Wrapped For Writers!

I saw several such lists of questions this year so decided to consolidate them, and most (but not all) of the questions had been in the list I did last year anyway. But I also switched the order of questions so they flowed more logically! Without further ado...

1. How many words have you written this year? As I said, my Scrivener files are in limbo, but AO3 says I POSTED 65,857 words this year (meaning 2023. This Past Year). But this is not what I've WRITTEN, since that includes three chapters of "A Captain With Seven Children" and two of "Not Just Stupid Kids" I actually posted last year, not to mention the nearly 9,000 words of the "Pipeweed Mafia Epic" I wrote a decade ago but only POSTED in 2023. And on the other hand there's all the words I wrote and DIDN'T post, but again, can't get into Scrivener to tell you about those.

2. How many works did you publish this year? 8. Though two of those are just ones I added chapters to. And one's still anonymous, because it's too tangentially smutty to have blaring away on my main page (but you can read it here. Don't worry, it's not actually that smutty, it's just LINKED back to a smutty fic).

3. What’s your longest work of the year? "The Magic Man of Oz" at 15,004 words, which even beats out all FOUR chapters of "Captain With Seven Children" (14,754 words).

4. What’s your shortest work of the year? Posted on AO3, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" at 2,785 words, unless you count the rather short chapter I added to "Not Just Stupid Kids" that actually began life as a comment on someone else's fic. But I think my actual shortest fic is what I wrote for @sunnymarbles after we finished reading Maureen Johnson's Truly Devious series. I had not posted it on AO3 because I thought I had to fill it out more, but now I'm thinking it's complete as it is, so here, in its entirety of 61 words, is "But Where Is the Moose?"

The moose of the Green Mountains knew to avoid the place they called the Unstable Slope, or “oooOOOOOOoooo” in their native tongue. Ninety generations had passed since the first BoomQuakes broke the mountain, and still young moose were warned away, despite tales of a mythical lake that appeared suddenly there for several years, only to just as suddenly dry up again.

Okay, I guess that doesn't really have a beginning, middle, and end yet. But what more does it really need? It's moose folklore.

5. What work was the quickest to write? That one, probably. Or that bonus chapter of "Not Just Stupid Kids," which was, after all, drafted in someone's comments section.

6. What work took you the longest to write? Considering I did add a LITTLE bit to "The Pipeweed Mafia Epic" before I posted it this year, and I started that on March 26, 2011, I'm going with that.

7. What work of yours got the most hits this year? It SAYS "Not Just Stupid Kids" with 958, but again with the most-of-that-is-from-2022. Entirely published in this year's is the two chapters of "Morning-After Meltdowns" at 509. But I really have to give the prize to "4th Place"'s "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" for earning all 332 hits in just the past week!

8. Top Fic by Kudos: "Not Just Stupid Kids" hit a nice round 100 after its year and a half existence; but with the same caveats as the last question, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" earned 87 kudos in just the past week, so can you really call that second place?

9. How many kudos in total did you get this year? Approximately 309. Counts old chapters and doesn't count old fics, so...

10. Which work has the most comments? "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" at 26 unique comment threads, which brings us to:

11. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? See above. Yuletide readers are the BEST commenters!

12. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? "The Magic Man of Oz" is brilliant, dangit, even if I'm the only one who can appreciate it! Do you know the thought that goes into seamlessly merging two seemingly completely different stories? Not to mention all the meta format-bending involved in this particular work?

13. Favorite work you wrote this year? Hmm, yeah, probably that one. Though all those commenters telling me I'm funny have increased my own appreciation of how well "Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" turned out.

14. Which work of yours have you reread the most? Might be that last one, on the premise that I tend to reread my fics whenever I get a new notification about them. But really that IS just the past week. I honestly don't know.

15. Most written fandom this year: Umbrella Academy at 5 out of 8

16. Most written rating this year: Teen, mostly on account of swearing and drug references I think. A surprising amount of both, coming from me.

17. What’s your most common category written this year? Gen! Beautiful gen! I have not entirely forsaken you for Fiktor! (Which is confusing enough to categorize when you keep writing scenes that take place entirely when a trans man was presenting as a girl! It reads as F/M! Unless you happen to know that in the broader context it's really M/M! Stupid romantic relationships! Gen is so much more straightforward!)

18. Pairing you wrote the most for this year/most written relationships: yeah, even IF you factor in "&" relationships (which I usually forget to mark, except this last one because "Chidi&or/Jason" was specifically what my Yuletide person asked for), no pairing dominates like my Five/Viktor Hargreeves obsesson. If you're just joining me, no I don't know where that came from either.

19. What’s your most common/favorite “Additional Tags” tag? Overall it's still "backstory," but I don't think I actually used that one THIS year. But when you filter it to just the past year, the tags are all spread out, so there are a bunch of twice-used ones and a bunch more once-used. I think we need to shout out to twice-used "pseudo-incest" though because, HAH... But my FAVORITE of the Twice Used tags has to be "crack treated seriously," because that is something I truly do endorse.

20. Your favorite character to write this year? This year I can confidently say Oliver Bird, since he narrated my longest and most experimental (completed) work. But a close runner-up is Jason Mendoza, who is so gifted in the art of the non-sequiteur! (And I would have loved to have written more Janet, but what you got was the most I could squeeze her in).

21. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? Strangely, Kerry Loudermilk. I still think she reads too young in "Magic Man of Oz," which is probably because I'm so used to writing her younger-than-canon, and the tone of the story did fit with that younger Kerry, but I'm still a little frustrated with it. I saw some Tumblr post a few months back that was like "People who are obsessed with writing a character either know the character in excruciating detail, or they're in love with a completely different headcanon character who's so far removed from the original, and if you think you're both, you're not, you're just the latter!" And I was looking at Lioness-Kerry like, no, I AM both, I swear I know who she really is, she's just coming OUT all headcanony!

22. Favorite title you used: Of whole works, "How to Catch Up with your Therapist after a Couple of...Busy Months." But last year I said my true favorite was probably chapter-in-progress title "High On a Roof Stood a Lonely Seven" and this year I actually POSTED that chapter so HEY.

23. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? Which again brings us to Rogers and Hammerstein, but that was the ONLY lyric-inspired title posted this year. I did quote a variety of song lyrics WITHIN "The Magic Man of Oz" though, which brings us to...

24. What do you listen to while writing? Besides the Instrumental playlist, I did specifically listen to Dark Side of the Moon a lot while writing "The Magic Man of Oz"

25. Fandom fic events you participated in this year: Last year I would have had none, this year I did TWO! Umbrella Academy Masked Author in May, Yuletide in December!

26. Did you do any collaborative works this year? I would count "The Magic Man of Oz," because that was the product of a Discord server brainstorming session, and a lot of ideas came from other people. But no sitting down and writing a story together sorts of collaborations.

27. Did you write any gifts this year? Yes, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" was my Yuletide assignment, and I'm halfway done writing an additional belated Yuletide treat as well. I also Gifted "Magic Man of Oz" to the person who suggested the AU to begin with, but I'm not sure they ever actually read it.

28. Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes, my Yuletide gift was a very Snickety All the Wrong Questions bonus scene, "miscommunications" by carterhaugh

29. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? Again, Scrivener's in limbo.

30. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Well, last year I PROMISED I'd be posting "Child of Hypnos" and the rest of "Tesseract," and I didn't, so this year I'll try again, and hopefully also add at least one chapter to "Captain with Seven Children"

31. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Rather than any specific pairing, I think I'll make more of an effort to mark "&" relationships. I recently was talking to a Loudermilk fan who'd never read my fics because they'd just clicked right to the Cary & Kerry tag! Whoops!

32. Favorite dialogue you wrote this year? “Nobody uses money in the Good Place! You just walk into Steak On a Stick and say, ‘Hey, I want some of that Steak on a Stick!’ and they say, ‘Here you go,’ or, if you’re thinking, you go, ‘Hey, Janet, can you bring me a grande basket of Stupid Nick’s Garlic Pepper-Spray Attack Wings,’ and she goes—”

“Fresh from the fryer!” Janet held out the basket of wings.

“Oh, dip, Stupid Nick’s! Thanks, Janet! How’d you know I wanted some?”

“You just asked me!”

“She’s so smart!”

[...and a few paragraphs later...]

“It’s like, this one time, me and Donkey Doug were gonna rob a bank for my birthday, right? We had all the tuna and stink bombs ready to go, but then a crew of rogue pirate reenactors from St. Augustine attacked Ponte Vedra so they had to close I95 for hippo infestation, and yeah, that was kind of a bummer for a ten-year-old kid, but in the end we got to go to Sea World, so—”

“You were te— actually, I’m not sure what part of that story I should question more.”

33. Favorite non-dialogue passage you wrote this year? A certain fight scene about 3/4 of the way through "Magic Man of Oz," which wouldn't work if I copied and pasted it here, so go read. Luckily, Oliver is full of delightful bits of narration (is it cheating to pick favorite "non-dialogue" passages from a work with a very strong narrative voice?) in the rest of that story, too, like

"Beneath the ice is a young boy, ostensibly, entirely in grayscale and with an overly large head— possibly papier mache. He looks very, very angry. Or perhaps, looked very, very angry, because he is also clearly very, very dead,"

"Sydney and Matilda follow the road for several days…no, seconds. No. Sydney and Matilda follow the road for several amounts of time,"

"And so, either because her understanding of scarecrows is such that standing unsupported is less surprising than talking, or simply because something inside her remembers how this story is supposed to go, Sydney sets Matilda on the ground and unties the straw man, whose long limbs slide and glide and ultimately straighten,"

"And, perhaps unwisely, as one never knows what might be powered by a mysterious plug in the woods, she pulls it,"

"They both lead to a man. A Ptin Man. The “P” is not silent, despite what your previous understanding of ancient languages might suggest,"

and "Frankly I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing now. A narrator requires something to narrate, and my characters are…just…lying there…like worms forced upward by a downpour."

And shout out to this bit, which is technically also not dialogue, but lyrics: “Ha ha here, ho ho there/

and you will quickly find/

we know exactly what you need/

it’s something for your mind!"

Which, iykyk.

34. Biggest surprise while writing this year? That I'd never actually written for any of the main Good Place characters before. It felt so natural! But I hadn't! I'd only written for Shawn and Bad Janet and Vicky in that Community crossover!

35. what you learned from writing this year: to pay better attention to Yuletide deadlines. From writing itself? Have fun trying new things! Strange formats ate fun!

#fanfic #writing #ao3 wrapped #yearly overview

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