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wutheringmights · 8 months ago

Note

Thank your for the chapter. This is me submitting my request for director's commentary.

Sorry this is very late.

But, you know.

*gestures wildly at the state of the world*

This is the first chapter in a long time where I was actively having fun writing more than 30% of it. Writing doesn’t always have to be “fun” for me to write it, but spending most of this year stuck on two chapters I absolutely hated did a number on me.

I still didn’t get to everything I wanted in this chapter; I have been trying to get to the fallout for the Knights of Hyrule encounter for most of this year now (jfc!), but I’ve had to expand the plot points leading up to it. This entire Castle Town arc was planned to be one chapter. Past Frankie was insane for thinking that was possible.

Pacing-wise, this chapter really did need to be on its own. The important plot points needed their own space to breathe; trying to shove all of this and the contents of the next chapter into one would have led to a lot of things being overshadowed. So even though everything is still moving along relatively slowly, the pacing is somewhat on purpose this time.

As previously stated on this blog, I sorely neglected updating AO3 with the new chapter total. There is 6 chapters left (5 plot chapters, then an epilogue). Rest easy. This story will take me a while longer yet to complete.

That being said, don’t be too surprised if I keep budgeting in more chapters. But if this story needs more than 40 chapters, I will abscond from society and become a sheep herder in, like, Iceland.

(Sorry to front-load the housekeeping information; I usually keep this stuff for the end, all of this provides context for my first bit about the actual chapter.)

I am so happy that pre-heart connection stuff with Proxi got its own chapter, as opposed to being included with the post-connection drama of how Link starts clawing his way out of his depression.

I mentioned last chapter that everything with the first Proxi meeting was an utter failure to me. While this chapter doesn’t erase the problems of the former, it nonetheless is an improvement and more in-line with how I wanted this Proxi storyline to go.

Link’s depression baths is 100% me projecting-- I had a season of my life where everything in my life kinda fell apart and I became extremely depressed and anxious. One of my coping mechanisms was to constantly take showers. Like Link, I got up to around four showers a day before I was told to knock it off for the sake of the water bill.

Depression causing a lack of hygiene and self-care is fairly well-represented in media at this point. I relate way more to depression causing a spurt of “good” habits (that are just maladaptive coping mechanisms in their own right) more, and I want to include more of them into my writing. Link seems like the kind of guy who would overcompensate like that too.

The events of the chapter were condensed from my original vision. The party and the fireworks were going to be two separate incidents, but I wanted to cut down on the bulk of writing each chapter requires of me (more on this later). Luckily, the original idea for the fireworks also included celebrating a holiday (New Years), so the change was easy to pull off.

I did lose an aspect of that scene I really liked though: Link knowing he was experiencing a trigger deciding to hide in his cellar, all the while congratulating himself for reacting normally while Proxi is like hiding in a cellar isn’t coping, Link!!!!

Fireworks being a trigger is a bit of a cliche, and a part of me really wishes I found something more unique to trigger Link with. But fireworks is a really effective shorthand, partly because it’s so prevalent in real life, and partly because contrasting a celebratory activity with war trauma is so evocative.

It’s also very silly how significant events in Link’s life keep coinciding with holidays and birthdays. I want to acknowledge both for the sake of world building, but going through the effort of developing them is only worth it if there’s a plot point attached.

But who hasn’t had moments of great revelations while at the family Thanksgiving party?

I like the idea of various holidays/feasts in Hyrule having different levels of importance depending on your tribe or what region you live in, as well as them being celebrated differently depending on your culture.

Both the Sheikah and the Hylians would place heavy significance on the feast since Hylia is one of their main goddesses, but they would be celebrated differently. I brushed a bit on the idea of the religious ceremonies being different, but I cut back on sharing more of my ideas for the specific celebrations.

Very specifically, I wanted the Sheikah to have a tradition of performing theatrical plays of significant cultural moments (basically a kabuki-theater version of a nativity play) (can you tell I was raised catholic?).

I have plans to do something involving a kabuki play next chapter, so I won’t elaborate more on what the play was supposed to be. However, the play did get cut because I planted Link in the banquet hall with no care to move him from that spot.

I like the idea of moms who are flawed moms in really normal ways. The way Ayane’s mother is very sweet to Link while having these rigid standards for Ayane is very real to life, in part because it’s based on how a lot of mothers I know act to their child’s friends versus their actual child.

In a similar vein, I’m also fascinated by mothers who fail their children in such specific ways that it would only be a failure to their child-- like a mother giving too much independence to a child who needs more help, etc. That’s my design for these slow (and hopefully subtle) reveals of how Link struggles with his mother’s memory. On one hand, it’s obvious that he was made to feel like a failure of a child, and he probably knows that was wrong of her. On the other, she was a good parent overall and she’s dead. If you have never experienced that particular cocktail of guilt, let me just say that it messes you up.

The kids who were doing the snowball fight are Ayane’s friends, which is why one of them remarked that Link was going to yell at them again (see: when Link yelled at Ayane the first time he picked her up from school). Katsuki is the only friend of Ayane’s I’ve consistently named-dropped, so I hope that cued you in to who these kids were.

Speaking of which: I stole that name from Bakugo from My Hero Academia. I was watching the show at the time, and I like the character. Ergo, I stole his name.

Link being very aware that he had been triggered during the fireworks show-- I have a very specific gripe about the way people write PTSD that bleeds through this sequence that I cannot explain in a sentence or two. But what’s important is that I have experienced that moment when your body is triggered but your brain isn’t-- so you can start to feel yourself freaking out while in your mind you know there is no threat, yet the body’s reaction starts to cloud your mind, causing a spiral of anxiety and panic.

Proxi visiting the fairy fountain in Kakariko is one of my favorite scenes. I just like how simple it is, and how it gives a glimpse into what Proxi’s life is like outside of Link.

I did momentarily freak out after posting because I was worried I didn’t make it clear before this chapter that while there is magic lingering at the fountain it can’t heal. But no one has mentioned it yet, so I think I’m safe to wait until a future chapter to clarify that.

Fairies being too small to have more than one emotion is of course taken from Peter Pan. As a long-time lover of fairies (my childhood hyperfixation), it’s a whimsical idea that I just adore. I originally wanted to use that idea as justification for Proxi mirroring Link’s emotions without Link mirroring hers.

There would be scenes where he is utterly calm while she’s freaking out or crying because he’s good at covering his feelings, but she can’t. I thought this would rid her of too much agency, so I changed it to a mutual sharing of emotions so that Proxi has more space to her own person while still being his “translator.”

I also like the idea of Link being able to gather the ability to talk, but only in relation to comforting Proxi. That’s development, baby.

I do wish I rewrote that last scene where he feels Proxi’s joy for the first time, as I really like the idea that he would feel a sense of helplessness and horror to be controlled by another person like that. What’s there now is fine, but it could be better.

Now, onto the present-day section:

It is very, very obvious that I meant to end the last chapter with that conversation between Warriors and Lincoln. Like I said, the original version really sucked (or at least, my original prose describing what the Chain’s arrival at the castle was like). It makes more sense for Lincoln to drop the information about Lionel in the same chapter Lionel is name-dropped.

Lionel was originally going to be Lincoln’s name, but I picked Lincoln since it has the more obvious tie to the Link-Linkle naming pattern.

Also, this chapter includes a much needed discussion about the ethics of blaming all of the nation’s problems on a single ethnic group. On one hand, it is stupidly effective to utilize bigotry to gather power, and it’s a rhetorical technique even a more morally-upstanding Warriors would use. On the other hand, that’s an objectively terrible thing to do oh my god.

So I kinda had to go in and cover my bases of having the characters talk and acknowledge what the implications of Warriors’s plan is. The big glaring issue of this conversation is that it also implicates Lincoln and rids him of his moral superiority.

Personally, I kinda struggle to think of a real-world equivalent to the dynamic I established in the story, where the institution of the Sheikah does a lot of harm while the people within the institution are experiencing the social-consequences of being associated with it. The best I can come up with is Mormoms.

Either way, I live in fear someone is going to tell me that this is actually about an underprivileged group I am not aware of currently, and I am contributing to their oppression by not critically analyzing Link and Lincoln’s plans correctly. Which would be a valid criticism to make, but one I could avoid if I had just worked out in advance what the hell is this is an accidental allegory for, educated myself, and then fixed the issue.

If you guys can think of something, let me know so that I can get started on educating myself and such.

The Castle Town arc’s recurring theme is just bureaucracy, which does not make for exciting storytelling. But I do think it’s fitting for Warriors, who used to benefit from the system, to realize all the ways it’s not made to actually help people. I also think he’s the kind of person to realize he doesn’t have the time or ability to rehaul it entirely and has to settle on trying to work within it.

I can finally reveal my “Midna is a fantastic public servant” agenda. My girl was explicitly stated to be a good and dedicated ruler in Twilight Princess, and I will not let anyone else forget it.

I really wish that this was more of an ensemble story so that I can write about Hyrule and Sky’s adventures in the Castle Town nightlife

If there is one thing I don’t really like about this chapter, it’s the sequence from Warriors talking to Lana about Cia to the end of Icarius’s capture. Reading it back, it really comes off as very corny and very carelessly written.

I initially planned for Icarius to be captured during the bell ringing in the lead up to Warriors trying to draw the Master Sword

I was imagining a scene where they are watching the news about the invasion be announced and, as Warriors is cursing the bad luck of it all, Spirit would just scrunch his brow and say, “Captain.” And Warriors, who is unfortunately drift compatible with him, would be like “go ahead.” And then Spirit would motion for Linkle to follow, and the two of them would reappear after the Master Sword rejected Warriors with Icarius already tied up.

The problem was that would block Spirit off from understanding the whole Master Sword rejection thing, and I really needed him to carve up Warriors’s hand.

So I punted this whole ordeal with Icarius off to another chapter, and I have been scrambling trying to find another spot for him.

Ultimately, I do think this worked out because I have no idea what the hell the would have done with Icarius during the networking scenes.

After being disappointed with how this version of the capture scene turned out, I was very tempted to cut it and just have Spirit and Linkle haul Icarius into Warriors’s office, but I didn’t want to cut out a scene of Linkle being a bit of a badass.

And let’s talk about Icarius, because it’s been a while since we’ve thought about him.

First off, you can tell that I was having a lot of fun this chapter trying to find ways to let them have a conversation with Icarius when he can’t speak verbally and they don’t know his sign. The dictionary combined with the gesturing seemed like a fun but logical solution.

Though, in the back of my brain, I kept remembering how stupid I thought that bit in Iron Flame about the translation was. So when I wrote about Warriors translating Faovarian with just a dictionary, I was sitting there feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.

This scene also reminded me how tragic it is that Icarius can’t speak, because I know how hilarious this man would have been with sassing his captors.

I also got a chance to put forth the core tenant of Icarius’s feelings for Warriors: mainly, that he thinks Warriors is both insanely handsome but ultimately stupid as all fuck.

When I first made it clear that the House of Nephus was a reflection of Warriors, Time, and Spirit, I totally thought someone would put together that Icarius, as the Spirit-equivalent, was trying to save Philo. No one ever remarked on it, so maybe it was too obvious to mention.

(If I were to ever do another one-shot side story in the style of Smoke the Pipe, I would probably do one about Icarius’s life before the events of the plot, if only because I have a lot of ideas of how Faovaria works and how Icarius and Nephus got to where they are now; though I doubt anyone would be as interested in my silly OC’s as I am).

I also thought someone would figure out Philo was related to the whole Fused Shadow plotline when, in his introductory scene, he used Midna’s powers. I thought it was obvious.

I also like the idea of the Dark Interlopers having different legacies outside of Hyrule; generally, I’ve just had a lot of fun taking different bits of canon Hyrule lore and figuring out how they could fit into a greater world. My favorite (not in this chapter) example is when Nephus referred the the Three Goddess as oracles mistaken for goddesses. We know Din and Nayru appeared as oracles outside of Hyrule, and Nephus’s line implies that they are still important folk figures in Faovaria, just not goddesses.

Spirit’s snarky good luck being the nice version of his thoughts is exactly the kind of bullshit I would pull as a socially-inept kid; he realized what he originally wanted to say was too mean so he wanted to convey some kind of recognition that he understood Icarius’s thought process but still wanted to warn him how hard it was going to be. He really, genuinely thought good luck would be the nicest way of conveying that. He’s so bad with people. I love him.

And, god. Time. Poor guy has walked around his entire life feeling like there has only ever been one person who ever cared for him, only for that one person to turn around and be like yeah I regret helping you.

Then there’s Warriors who is starting to learn to not let himself get tangled up in fights against Spirit, who is so wrapped up in trying to stop this war that he doesn’t even have the energy to entertain Spirit’s bullshit right now.

Which leaves Spirit alone, with only Warriors to cling on to.

His conversation with Warriors in the hallway is another favorite of mine, if only because it sounds really natural. I think my dialogue is too on the nose sometimes, so I’ve been trying to let the characters talk around themselves way more.

Hot tip: if you are writing about men, make sure you mention their facial hair and shaving habits. As a long-time lover of facial hair, I love hearing about characters growing stubble or having to remember to shave in the morning. It’s a little detail that gets overlooked in fiction a lot, and I’m so bitter about it.

Oh, the newspaper article. Let’s chat about that now.

Public opinion plays a big role in political intrigue, which I never see enough stories taking advantage of. I knew from the beginning that I wanted Warriors to get exposed in the newspaper after he was well into cleaning up his act, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it.

As many of you know, one of my most infamous cuts from the story is an original character who was a journalist during the war producing propaganda about Warriors. In the present day, this journalist would have felt so guilty for the role they played that they would have been on the pursuit of writing a story about what really happened back then. They would have been a neutral to antagonistic force in Warriors’s life.

You can probably guess that this expose was supposed to be their work-- a decision to finally report truthfully despite being asked to lie once more for the greater good. I really wanted to juggle with the ethics of propaganda, and to have a moment where Warriors straddles that moral line by wanting to utilize propaganda for the greater good (but for real this time).

I cut the character because a) there were too many bozos in this story already, and b) I didn’t think that a plotline about propaganda would be the most useful in a story about a kingdom where the people’s opinion does not matter (in retrospect, that’s a misconception on my part about what propaganda is used for).

In some ways, I think it did hurt the story a bit to not have a specific character attached to the article. However, I ultimately like having no specific journalist attached to it since it places the blame more squarely on Impa.

Writing the full article out was most definitely not the best use of my time or the best use of space, but I was worried that if I did not, readers would be really confused as to what the general public did and did not know.

Stylistically, the article is meant to be more of an profile/investigation piece over a straight-informative blurb. The best example I can find is this article from the Cut on Usha Vance.

(I have spent the past month deep in the anti-Vance think pieces. Fuck both of them. I can’t believe I am going to have to keep hearing about these bastards probably for the rest of my life.)

As you can see, there is the occasional use of first person and more storytelling techniques used alongside facts. I chose this style mostly to make sure the article wasn’t too boring to read.

I also struggled picking good numbers for the article that would sound severe, without being over the top. I think I picked some realistic stats. But if I messed up, it would be very funny and would invalidate all of my bitching about Fourth Wing’s bad numbers.

At least I got to use this as an opportunity to drop some new info on you, such as...

Marigold was 19 when she gave birth to Warriors. Yeah, there’s a bit more to the Marigold story that is still left to be uncovered. There is a thematic reason to why Warriors does not seem to acknowledge how young she was when she became his mother.

How do I put this? There’s an irony in him knowing that he was failed by being made responsible for the kingdom at 17, and then not realizing that Marigold was also failed in a similar way. I think people generally have a problem realizing that the problems they see in the world are more widespread than they are, and that they take on multiple forms. And when one thing is wrong in the world, it usually is reflected elsewhere in an unexpected way.

Warriors believes that Marigold had a responsibility to take care of him because she was his mother despite her age. Warriors had a responsibility to be the hero, despite his age. He understands that just because society at large saw this as his duty, it doesn’t mean it was right. He doesn’t realize this wasn’t Marigold’s duty either to take care of him.

I explored this idea earlier in the story with the use of child soldiers being contrasted with Kat’s underage prostitution.

Also, Anders Brecht. His last name is a reference to Bertold Brecht, the playwright.

It’s nice to get his story out of Warriors’s perspective of my friend betrayed me and into this is a well-educated activist who was executed for trying to make positive change in the world. To this day, it surprises me how many people were not sympathetic to the turncoats in this story.

Another thematic point: both Anders and Marigold were the Hyrulean-equivalent of leftists. Despite having their influence on him, Warriors still turned out far more moderate than them, and far more prone to causing harm. Insert rant here about how just because you surround yourself with good people doesn’t mean you will turn out like them, etc.

Spirit being ashamed about the article-- Spirit is definitely someone who understands that just because someone knows you went through some shit, it doesn’t mean they will really give you the validation you want. He’s what happens when the vitamin fantasy doesn’t yield the acknowledgement you thought you were going to get.

And, finally, Warriors gets put into a corner and manages not to resort to using Spirit to his advantage. I enjoy that Warriors’s determination to not use Spirit as a pawn to sway public opinion back into his favor comes at the cost of, well, being on the verge of losing the goddamn fight. Oh Warriors, you can be a better person now but being a good person doesn’t win wars.

While the opening conversation between Lincoln and Warriors would have 100% worked better at the end of the last chapter, I do think it’s nice that their conversations are bookends.

I do think it’s kinda silly that celebrities have to apologize for doing something wrong to the general public, and a part of me wanted to use this story as a means to point that out. But I also have to admit that there is a social reason why we expect it, and I have come out on the side of pro-apology.

This is the first time in-story that Lincoln hugs Warriors.

Warriors really needed someone to tell him that they were proud of him and, I won’t lie, I also kinda needed it at the moment of writing. As much as Warriors still has a lot to learn and improve on, it feels good to see him get some of the praise he desperately needs.

Warriors’s character arc really is just him realizing that while he has to do his heroic duties, he would much rather be living a quiet domestic life with his family. Well, he always knew he wanted that. He just went about it wrong with Spirit and Time. He’s just getting to start over with a better perspective and less coercion.

And finally, the Knights of Hyrule are arriving. I’m not lying when I say that I have spent most of this year trying to get to this stupid plot point. I thought the trip to Castle Town to now was going to be one chapter. That was back in March. It’s November now. Ugh.

So yeah. That’s the chapter.

You might have noticed that my style is a bit different this chapter. Looking back on old chapters, I can see myself overwriting in a lot of places, especially in the narration the explore’s Warriors’s thought process. I’ve been trying to cut that back in order to both clean up my writing and cut down on the sheer bulk of words every chapter requires.

I think it’s working out so far, but I won’t blame anyone for thinking the chapter is a little underwritten, or it seems like I’m putting in less effort into the story.

Ideally, I would like to get two more chapters out by the end of the year-- one for each month. I have no idea how that will work out when I am as busy as usual and the holidays are coming up. But I will try my best.

(I also just realized that there is three weeks left to the month and I have not started the new chapter yet. Oof.)

(If I keep up the chapter a month pace, the story will end around April, aka: CTB’s next birthday.)

Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this story for so long. I love writing long stories, but there’s always a point where readership peters out (not surprising; comes with the art form). CTB has long hit this point (taking a four month break this year did not help), so I appreciate everyone who has kept up so far and everyone who has recently given this story a shot. Hopefully the next chapter will worth all the time and dedication you have shown this story so far <3

#your additional fun fact this chapter is that Icarius is like 2 years older than Nephus #which also makes him two years older than Warriors #so while warriors kinda likes people who are mean to him icarius likes to be in control and is attracted to men he can boss around #also every character is in this story is bi unless i say otherwise and I am saying otherwise for icarius. he is gay and is exclusively #attracted to men #me rambling #lu ctb #ask #linked universe #ctb spoilers #ctb lore #ctb commentary #director's commentary #my keyboard just crapped out on me in the middle of working on this so I just had to bust out my back-up #very annoying. is anyone knows why ubotie keyboards suddenly drain through new batteries / can't recognize new ones let me know

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underforeversgrace · 2 years ago

Text

healing the wounds we hid - 3

title: healing the wounds we hid

words: 3,506

Finally, the sequel to broken trust and the wounds hidden behind! (Refresh here on AO3 or here on Tumblr)

Story Summary: Now that his father knows, Danny's life is changing for the better. Jack encourages him to let his friends and the rest of the family into his small word. Unbeknownst to Danny, Jack is secretly worried about how Maddie will react to the news upon her return to Amity - and how to confront Vlad once Jack learns his true identity. Amidst it all, an enemy lurks and plots their revenge.

Chapter 3 of 11: Missing You

AO3

Tumblr Chapter One

(Tumblr Chapter Four will be here)

Beta by: @probably-dead and @scarletsaphire!

Featuring art by @phantoms14! Please go check it out, it really is wonderful!

~~~~~~

“I’m so ready to come home. I miss all of you so much.” Maddie said on the other end of the line with a sigh. “I haven’t been away from you or the kids for this long since they were born!”

“We miss you too. I can’t wait for you to come home.” Jack responded, hoping the lie wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to him.

“We’ll have to go out for a nice dinner or something! I’m sure there’s so much I need to be caught up on that I’ve missed.” Maddie jabbered excitedly.

“Ah, there isn’t much going on, Mads! I’m sure it’ll be a normal family dinner,” Jack lied. He’d talk to Danny when he got home. They needed to make a plan for telling Maddie and Jasmine. This family - after this - was done with secrets and lying and hurting each other, intentional or not.

Maddie began to say something else but her words were cut off by a yawn.

“Sounds like it’s time for you to go to bed,” Jack said.

“Yeah, it is kind of late,” Maddie agreed. “I’ll talk to you later this week, okay?”

“Sounds good, Mads. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jack. Tell the kids I love them?”

“Of course.”

“Good night! Or, well. Morning, for you.”

Jack laughed. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up the phone, returning it to its place on the wall and sighed deeply. He dropped his head into his hands as a familiar sense of fear and worry clouded his mind. He hated lying to his wife. He hated being afraid of what she’d do. He hated the uncertainty. He hated that, as much as he knew her and loved her, he still doubted if she’d accept Danny.

He hated that he’d looked into divorce lawyers, that he’d pulled a significant amount of money from their joint account and stashed it into an account in his own name. How had life come to this? How had he messed up this badly? He lifted his head, gazing at the closed door to the lab.

That stupid fucking portal. He had built it, designed it, with Maddie. How had neither of them realized they put the fucking ‘on’ button inside the portal? He held two doctorates, Maddie had three, yet neither of them thought something was off when they installed an ‘on’ button somewhere that couldn’t be reached without a fatality?

For two geniuses, they were incredibly stupid. Or arrogant, he supposed, that they trusted their own invention so much they never doubted their abilities for even a moment. Jack wasn’t sure which option was worse - stupidity or arrogance. Which was better to kill his son with? Which was a more justifiable reason?

He grit his teeth together until it hurt, returning his gaze to the floor as he grabbed and tugged painfully at his own hair.

When the house was quiet and empty like this, Jack could hear the hum of electricity around him, could feel the permanent chill in the air that the portal caused. Did Jazz ever get too cold? Is that why she hated staying at home? Jack and Maddie had always thought the chill wasn’t that bad - neither kid had ever complained. But Maddie and Jack were protected from it by the hazmats they wore and Danny wasn’t even capable of feeling cold anymore, especially since his ice core had strengthened. But what about Jazz?

He glared below him, as if he could see the portal in the basement beneath him. He wished he could close it permanently, dismantle it, destroy it. But he and Danny had talked in the two weeks since the reveal. Danny would die without it, without the ectoplasm source to feed and energize his ghost half. Ironic, wasn’t it? The thing that spat out the enemies Danny faced was also the thing that gave the nutrients he needed to to live.

He’d wallowed in his own misery long enough. Jack forced himself to his feet and down the stairs, to his computer in the lab. Jack had been curious about Danny’s unique physiology. He’d told Danny as much, a few days after the clearing. He’d been worried Danny would think he just wanted to study him, and he’d never before known relief as profound as he got that day, when Danny admitted he was curious too. He’d done some of his own tests and studies, but would very much like an expert’s opinion, in case he ever got really hurt.

And then he’d smiled at Jack, and there had been no fear, no apprehension, no doubt in his son’s eyes. All these years, all these misunderstandings, all the time spent hurting Danny, could’ve been avoided if Jack had ever tried to talk to a ghost. If Jack had pulled his head out of his ass long enough to listen and learn.

There was nothing to be done now to fix it. All he could do was pick up the pieces their family had shattered into and try to put them back together as best he could, even if they were never the same again.

Jack settled onto his desk chair, pulling up the files. There was the information from the first day in the lab, where they’d tested Phantom’s powers. A smile tugged at his lips at the memory - the two of them laughing and learning together, Danny entirely unafraid of him. Jack wanted to test his son’s powers again in a few months, to see if Danny’s strength was growing or if it had plateaued. Even he had admitted he gained powers and abilities at an unprecedented rate among ghosts. It was a good idea to track his power progression. Plus, Jack just wanted an excuse to spend time with his son.

He scrolled further, studying the notes he’d taken from their discussions and tests since then. Danny truly was a scientific marvel, though Jack would never say that to his son’s face.

Danny’s human blood was red with bright green sparkles interspersed within, while his ghostly ectoplasm was green with streaks of crimson. His human heart rate was low and entirely silent as a ghost. Most of his vitals were like that - concerningly low if he was a normal human, and entirely absent as a ghost. His blood pressure, his oxygen saturation, his breathing rate - he breathed out of habit, as Phantom, not need. He was hypothermic as a human and subzero as a ghost.

It was fascinating and wonderful.

It was horrific and terrible.

Jack glanced through the data again, frowning. He was working on developing anesthesia or at least pain relievers that would work on Danny. He’d learned the pain pills were more to help Danny sleep, to force him into unconsciousness, rather than actual pain relief. That had been a hard conversation, asking Danny about the illegal narcotics under his bed. They still had the pills, but the bottle stayed with Jack now. Danny had grumbled half-heartedly when Jack told him that - “I’m responsible with them!” - but he hadn’t protested much, especially when Jack had explained it was because Jack was worried about him.

It might be odd that Jack was developing pain relief for his teenage son, but Jack had stitched enough wounds by now to know that Danny needed it. He hurt just as much as a ghost as he did a human.

Hours passed as Jack hypothesized about various chemical properties. He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the front door open upstairs, and he held his breath in anticipation.

Danny had agreed this morning to tell his friends about Phantom at school - after refusing to do it over the weekend - and Jack could only pray it had gone well.

The sound of three pairs of feet above him brought a wide smile to his face. He hurriedly left his seat, rushing up the stairs. The three were still in the living room as Jack made his way in, all chattering amongst each other as if no time had passed.

“Danny!” Jack exclaimed, nearly vibrating in excitement. He tried to rein in his exuberance, in case Danny hadn’t told them yet, but Jack had never been particularly good at that.

“Hey, Dad,” Danny greeted. He met his father’s eyes and answered the question he could see burning within them. “They know.”

Jack glanced over at the other two, who smiled and nodded at him. “They know?” He verified.

Danny laughed and suddenly white rings swept across him, morphing him into Phantom. “They know.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just turned and crushed his son’s friends into a hug. They both yelped in surprise, no longer used to a Jack Fenton hug after a year and a half without one. He released them quickly.

“Wait, I have a question.” Tucker piped up once he was free, eyeing Danny suspiciously.

“No, I never snuck into the girl’s locker room.” Danny said seriously, making the other three snort with laughter.

“Man, that’s the most surprising thing you’ve said today,” Tucker joked. “But, that wasn’t my question.”

“What is it, then?” Danny asked.

“Are you aware that you are the real life version of an anime magical girl now? You’ve even got the magical girl transformation sequence!” Tucker said, absolutely grinning from ear to ear.

Sam groaned and Danny cried out, placing a hand to his chest as though wounded. “I am not!”

“Dude, you even had a catchphrase earlier!”

“You wound me!” Danny said dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and falling backwards onto the couch, transforming back to human.

“You two are such idiots,” Sam muttered, but Jack could see the smile on her face at the ridiculousness.

Jack began to relax, the tenseness in his shoulders abating some. Danny’s friends were good people, and he was so happy his son had them.

“You kids hungry?” Jack asked, noticing the time. “My treat!”

“I’ll never turn down free food!” Tucker answered.

“Everyone load up into the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle!” Jack declared, grabbing the keys from their hook on the wall.

Tucker whooped with excitement - that kid got so excited for food, he could’ve been Jack’s son too! - and they all climbed into the GAV. Jack actually drove like a normal human being for once, enjoying the sound of the kids’ chattering and laughter in the backseat.

Thoughts of Vlad tried to surface but Jack wrangled them back down. He’d never told them how much the young trio reminded him of Vlad’s, Maddie’s, and his friendship in college.

He suppressed the thoughts as he pulled into a parking space at Nasty Burder. The four of them filed out and into the building, making their way to the counter to place their order. Jack fished his card out of his wallet and paid while the teens found somewhere for them to sit. He was on his way over to the table when Danny suddenly stood and bolted towards the bathroom, throwing a look to his father. Jack sighed and placed the table number for their order down in front of Sam, noting both her and Tucker’s worried face.

“He said there’s a ghost somewhere.” Tucker muttered, the earlier humor gone from his voice.

“Damn it,” Jack swore. “I’m going to go help him, you two stay right here. If it gets too dangerous you get out of the way, understand me?”

They nodded and Jack hurried outside as inconspicuously as possible. Luckily, he was Jack Fenton. People expected him to be weird, and when everything you do is weird, nothing is actually weird anymore.

As soon as he cleared the door, his eyes were on the sky, hand resting on his ecto blaster. He didn’t have to look hard for the ghosts; Plasmius flew in front of Jack, Phantom hot on his tail. Their words were lost to the wind as they dove behind the restaurant. Jack ran after them, pulling the weapon from its holster and clicking off the safety. He and Danny had been working on his aim and he had gotten much better!

“Come, Daniel, I’m just here to talk,” Plasmius’s voice echoed from around the corner. Jack peeked, electing not to attack yet. Danny had emphasized that he tried his best to not attack first, to try and talk it out, as even the more violent ghosts could sometimes be persuaded away. Jack knew Plasmius was one of the most dangerous and aggressive ghosts in Amity, and he didn’t want to start an unnecessary fight. He frowned slightly; he couldn’t really see anything from this spot - Plasmius’s back was to him and he could only see a part of Danny.

“And be a massive pain in my ass?” Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the other ghost in irritation.

“Be reasonable, child,” Plasmius said smoothly. “I haven’t even done anything.”

“Yet.” Danny grumbled.

“Come, little badger. I know your second death day is approaching - it’s just two months away now, isn’t it?”

Jack stiffened as Plasmius spoke, a sudden dread settling in his stomach like a rock.

No. His mind whispered. Little badger?

Danny had likewise tensed, unaware of his father’s presence. “How did you know that?”

“You died turning on a portal, my son. While your death may not be notable within the Realms, that portal turning on is.”

“I am not your son, you goddamn fruit loop!” Danny shouted and Jack’s knees gave out beneath him.

Little badger. Fruit loop.

Vlad.

Jack had known Vlad had to be an enemy of his son’s, Danny had let him know the day of the Spectra incident that he didn’t have any allies that frequented the human world. But Plasmius? Who had possessed Jack in Wisconsin, who ruthlessly chased Phantom down just to beat him to a pulp once a week?

Who had called Jack a bumbling buffoon more than once, who had looked at Jack with such hatred. Who had become one of Amity’s frequent fliers right after Vlad Masters moved in.

Jack would quite like for his world to stop imploding, thank you very much. How many more surprises could his heart take?

He didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, instead drowning in his thoughts, crushed under their weight. He’d hoped Vlad was one of the more unremarkable ghosts - the ones who sometimes caused minor, harmless havoc but otherwise just existed, not even worth being hunted (back when he still hunted ghosts).

Of course Vlad couldn’t be bland or boring. Jack should’ve known better. Vlad was practically allergic to being anything resembling normal - the man had been an ecto science major because it was the most unusual major he could find, not because he’d believed in ghosts. Jack nearly snorted at the irony.

The non-believer, the ecto science student who didn’t think ghosts were real, was the one who got turned into a half ghost.

He was startled by a sudden ectoblast sounding from where the two argued. Jack shook his anxiety off as he stood, again poking his head around the corner. Danny’s hand was smoking and Plasmius’s - Vlad’s - cape was singed.

“Stay the fuck away from me and my family.” Danny growled, rage in his eyes. An uncomfortable shiver went down Jack’s back - he’d never heard Danny sound so… inhuman. His voice was more animalistic, more echoed, more eerie. It nearly sounded like static.

“Another time, then,” Plasmius said as he rose higher in the air. Green energy began to crackle around Danny’s hand again in warning. Plasmius merely sighed and flew away.

Jack waited a moment, making sure Vlad had flown out of sight, before fully stepping around the corner. Phantom’s face immediately smoothed from the rabid rage he’d been glaring at Vlad with, softening as he relaxed.

Part of Jack wanted to demand answers from Danny, demand to know what was going on with Vlad, but he found he couldn’t. These were his answers to find, his wrong to right.

“You good, son?” Jack asked. “I heard the ectoblast and saw Plasmius.”

Danny shrugged. “I’m more than a match for him, no worries.” He glanced around, confirming they were alone before shifting back to human. “Back to dinner?”

“Yeah, c’mon, son,” Jack agreed, ignoring the sense of guilt in the back of his mind. Was this lying? Technically neither of them had really said much about Plasmius, and Jack hadn’t technically lied either!

He was electing to ignore the fact lies of omission were a thing. Danny and he made their way back to the table, Sam and Tucker immediately lowering their voices to ask if he was alright, Tucker fretting slightly and checking Danny over for injuries.

Had Vlad had anyone to check him over for injuries since he’d died?

Pervasive thoughts of Vlad filled his mind for the rest of the night, even after he’d dropped Sam and Tucker off at their respective houses. He hoped his distraction tonight wasn’t too obvious as he planned his next steps.

It was time to confront Vlad.

~~~~~~

“Sir, we’ve been trying for two months,” the IT agent said, frowning. “Phantom fried the servers and we don’t have off-site backups. I’m sorry, O. There’s nothing left for us to try.”

Operative O growled, grabbing the front of the agent’s shirt with one hand and pulling him closer. “Keep working!” He shouted, spit flying into the other man’s face.

The IT agent - Agent Bit - glared at O, but was helpless to do anything other than return his focus to the computer, unable to defy a command from someone so high up the power chain. “I’ll try, but I can’t really do anything else. The servers and hard drives were fried - hell, pretty much every piece of technology in the building was. Have the scientists been able to figure out how Phantom did that? It was confirmed to have an ice core, after all.”

O was silent for a moment, looking at his other hand. Well… the experimental, robotic prosthetic that had replaced his real hand. The damage done to both him and the GIW facility in Phantom’s wake had been immense. He focused on the hand, flexing the mechanical fingers, not quite feeling it. The connections between the prosthetic and the actual nerves in his hand were underdeveloped.

“We don’t know,” O admitted, eyeing Bit. “But I intend to capture him again and find out.”

“It,” Bit corrected. “Calling a ghost a ‘him’ makes it sound like a person.”

“I intend to capture it and find out, then,” O said, rolling his eyes, though Bit couldn’t see it beneath his glasses. “I expect an update within a week, Bit.”

With that, O turned on his heel and left the room, clenching and unclenching his metal hand as memories bubbled up within him.

Operative O had been the only survivor of the explosion, at least of the people in the room with Phantom. Some had been electrocuted to death, but most had been crushed. O’s partner - Operative K - was among the dead, a fact that still ripped into his heart. They had been friends, they’d started together, gone to training together. When someone became a Guys in White agent, anything from a janitor to the director, they gave up their previous life, their friends, their family. K had become his brother in arms… and simply O’s brother.

They’d been born into their new lives together and had been partners for over a decade.

And then that damn ghost happened. K hadn’t been one of the lucky ones. He’d been partially crushed beneath rubble, forced to suffer a slow death. He’d bled out in O’s arms, had cried into and stained O’s white suit. They had known the internal bleeding would kill him before the rescue team would find them. O had been left with his corpse for hours, feeling his friend go cold and stiff in his lap.

Then… nothing. All the deceased were rounded up to be cremated, the ashes dumped like trash. The official statement of the Ghost Investigation Ward had been that it had been a gas leak explosion, that everyone was fine, only a handful of minor injuries.

There was no mourning of the lost agents. No acknowledgement of their sacrifice. They’d given their lives but weren’t given graves.

O paused as he felt a twinge of pain in his left hand - the phantom pain of a hand he no longer had - and his scowl deepened.

He’d realized when they had Phantom in custody that the ghost could feel pain at a human level. He’d almost been sympathetic until the explosion happened, until he lost the one person in the world who really knew him.

Now, he didn’t care about Phantom’s ability to feel pain. He hoped Phantom could feel it. He’d killed a dozen people in that blast. Operative O would make sure that the ghost boy paid for that with his own afterlife, if it was the last thing O ever did.

#grace writes #danny phantom #danny fenton #jack fenton #invisobang 2023 #invisobang #invisobang2023 #I posted this on ao3 yestreday and forgot to post here #my bad y'all

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kakashiswilloffire · 4 years ago

Note

Hm, the Tsunade singing 'Who lives, who dies, who tells your story' seems interesting, may I request that please?

absolutely!! i love your writing and i'm so glad you wanted to request something of mine!!

***

who tells your story

ao3

words: 1.6k

angst, mention of canon death, war era

***

Despite the intense battles surrounding her, she was unable to move. It really did seem like he was there, right in front of her. Was she dying? Was this heaven? If it was, she had no complaints. No one could ever accuse her of not doing her part on behalf of the village. She deserved to rest after the hells she had seen and been through, and if this was it, she would welcome it.

And then his touch was so real, and it was him, and she could feel the pain in her body that told her she was awake and alive but god if he wasn’t, too.

***

“Who’s that, dattebayo?” Naruto asked, nudging Chouza and gesturing toward the pair.

He allowed a grim smile, fond memories overpowering the knowledge that this reunion would be temporary.

“Lady Tsunade’s fiancé. That’s Dan Kato. One of the finest shinobi the Leaf ever had, and one of the biggest pains in the administration’s ass I had the honor of knowing.”

Before Naruto could interject with any other questions, Kakashi stepped forward and held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen. Let me tell you what we all wished we had known when we were your age, fighting in our first war.” The serious tone he maintained was enough to keep the antsy shinobi at attention. “You want to be in all these cool fights, and everyone wants to die a hero, but at the end of the day, what makes you a hero in history is who tells your story.”

He swallowed hard, surprising himself with the emotion that had suddenly forced itself to the surface. “Remember when we talked about the White Fang on the way back from Suna last year?”

Naruto nodded, uncertain where the conversation was going.

“He did great things for the village, and he died, and to some people, he’s a hero. To some people, he isn’t. The difference is in who’s talking about him. What happened is fact, and that can’t be changed. But his story can only be told by whoever lives.”

“Yeah, and you told us that he was a hero, and you took us to his grave that one time, remember?” Naruto thought back to that first day on the training grounds where his sensei had brought them to the memorial stone and explained the significance of the names engraved in its marble surface. “What’s that got to do with him?” he asked, pointing firmly at the man in front of the Hokage.

Kakashi took a beat before responding. “He died, Naruto. And for a long time, we didn’t get to know his story because there wasn’t someone who could tell it.” He focused in on Tsunade’s face, seeing the shock, confusion, and love displayed like a bakery shelf. “It’s only been in the last few years that his story has been explored.”

***

Tsunade shook, her mouth slightly agape. “It’s really… Dan?”

He smiled, rushing forward to hold her. They embraced, her covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, and him bathed in a warm glow. She continued to shake, her body wracked with emotion.

“Were you—did Kabuto—”

“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured her, brushing her hair behind her ear over and over. “Just focus on the moment, okay? I don’t know how much longer I can maintain the jutsu.”

She agreed, letting herself sink into his body. It had been so long, and yet he still felt like a home she had always been trying to find since she had had to move away.

After a few beats, Dan pulled himself back slightly to ask the question that refused to leave his head.

“Chouza—he said you became Hokage? Is that true? I was able to watch over you for the first few years after I—you know. I thought you left the village with Shizune. Traveled, healed others, caused lots of trouble. Tsuna, you came back to the Leaf?”

She took a couple of steps back, wiped the tears off her face, and stood tall.

“I put myself back in the narrative, Dan. I got a reminder of what you, what we were fighting for, and I stopped wasting time and got my ass in gear.” She flipped her ponytail off her shoulder, feeling it settle in the middle of her back. Her confidence returned to her along with her smile as she explained.

“I led some late-stage recovery efforts to find bodies lost in the war that still hadn’t come back to us. They’re almost all back now, we’re missing less than a dozen fallen shinobi. And the work you did on getting one medic on every team of four—we’re almost there. My four youngest teams on the battlefield today, two of them have medics that trained directly with me. You’d be proud of Sakura, Dan.

You really wrote so many grant applications and proposals to change our shinobi education system. It took me a while to get through them, but I’m putting everything in place now. You really did write like you knew you wouldn’t have long to get it all on paper,” she finished, feeling the bittersweet sting set in.

She cleared her throat and continued. “I rely so much on Shizune. She’s led efforts in telling the stories of shinobi who fell in the Third Great War so that no one will be forgotten. She visits your grave almost as often as Kakashi visits his old teammates. She actually just got done fighting with the caretaker to make sure she has the burial plot next to yours. I don’t have any idea what I would do without her, honestly. When I needed her most, she was right on time.”

“There’s more,” Tsunade brushed another stray tear away. “I ask myself all the time what you would do if you had lived, if you had had more time. Thinking about that is how I get my best ideas. Like fundraising for the memorial stone—the Leaf had just been mourning all these fallen comrades, and building the tribute to them gave more hope in the shinobi population that they would be remembered and respected, no matter what. That someone would tell their story.”

“Tsunade—that’s incredible,” Dan began, crossing over to wrap her in a hug again. “I can’t believe you’re making all these changes we wanted to see in the village! The next generation will benefit so much—”

“I know, I know, but have I done enough? Can I ever do enough? There are so many tragedies in the Leaf, and I’m only one person, Dan. I don’t have you.” She leaned in to his embrace, feeling the tears begin to choke her throat again. He again tucked her hair away, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

After a moment, she pulled back. “Can I tell you what I’m proudest of, out of all that?”

He nodded immediately. “You can tell me anything, Tsuna.”

Her face softened in a way he had never quite seen it before. She seemed to be drinking in his expression, trying to save his coming reaction in her memory forever.

“I established the first orphanage in Konohagakure.”

Dan’s jaw audibly popped as it fell open.

“It’s only a couple of years old, and Shizune and I researched the staff there so thoroughly it’s a wonder they accepted the position, but it’s a real orphanage. I visit as often as I can. I’m helping to raise all these children, and they’re growing up, and I can see Nawaki in them, and you, Dan, I see you every time I see the will of fire in their eyes, there’s this little one who talks about being Hokage—”

She was cut off by Dan crushing her into a hug. “Thank you, Tsuna,” he whispered into her shoulder. “Thank you.”

His presence flickered, and she grabbed on to him tighter, trying to anchor him. Tears began to roll down his lean face as he gave her a squeeze and leaned back, not letting go.

“I can’t hold the jutsu much longer, love. But you need to stay here—you’ve got so many amazing and beautiful things to do here, for the village, for us.”

She worked her fingers into his hair, croaking through a choked voice “It’s only a matter of time before I’ll see you again, right?”

Dan brought her back into the hug, pressing the side of his face against hers. “I can’t wait to see you again, Tsuna. It’s only a matter of time.”

He seemed to fade and flicker again, and they wasted no time in speaking, opting instead to cling to each other and look into the eyes they had missed for so long. When Dan knew his hold on the jutsu had only another moment, he brought himself closer and pulled his fiancée into a last kiss, for now.

Then he was fading, and floating, and Tsunade could at last feel the warmth of him watching over her.

“For you, my love,” she whispered, reaching for the necklace she had given away. Then she caught sight of its recipient, standing on a small hill nearby, and for a moment, she saw Nawaki in his place. He grinned and she felt her heart catch, then she brought her hand back to her side.

“Let’s go, Naruto,” she called out. “We’ve got stories to tell.”

#tsunade #tsunade senju #tsunade dan #tsunade fanfic #naruto fanfiction #fic request #uncharted-darkness

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w-ngs · 4 years ago

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jan21

hello 2021! you did not get off on a good start. let’s try and be a little better, okay?

i didn’t read much this month (and probably won’t be for a long while because of school), but it was a wild month. well, you’ll see.

***

crooked kingdom, leigh bardugo — oh my god???? i completely forgot that i read this before i left for school and almost didn’t include it in my monthly wrap-up????? how dare i forget this masterpiece.

it was great. i loved it. i think overall, i preferred 6oc because heist stories are my guilty pleasure. but romance-wise... let’s just say kaz and inej have made it to my top 10 ships. but also i read through this so fast because i had to finish it before i left that half the story is kinda just not in my brain lololol

the most intriguing part of the entire story was the anti-wraith. her character kind of came out of nowhere, and i’m not really sure she had much of a purpose than being someone who could physically match inej. i guess she was also anti in the sense that she had no respect, just ruthlessness, which is the opposite of inej and what she stands for. but i don’t know if the anti-wraith was significant enough of a character to really be considered a foil.

i don’t really give spoiler warnings because hardly anyone reads these other than myself lolol but big spoiler ahead. skip the next paragraph if you don’t want to know. cuz i accidentally spoiled it for myself before reading and i kinda ruined it for myself lmfao.

poor matthias. he was there, and then he was gone. i feel terrible for nina. they were finally on the same page, and then he had to act all saint-like and trigger some idiot into killing him. and matthias finally came to terms with what he’d been taught and what he was trying to teach himself (#charactergrowth), so he wrapped things up neatly for himself before the bye-bye. but nina, she finally got her guy on her side and they were supposed to change the world together. sigh.

and of course, we got kaz. he’s my favorite. how could he not be, with his trauma and desire to overcome it but not letting it define him and still maintaining that evil genius act he’s so good at. it definitely hit harder in this story, the extent of his trauma. it made him more real, too. both sides of him coexist, and one could not exist without the other. he’s crazy, in nearly all senses of the word. also crazy in love, the mfing idiot. ugh, i love vulnerable kaz. i love what inej brings out in him, how she knows just how hard to push without driving him over the edge. also i saw a tiktok (this app is gonna come up a lot more in the next few reviews fsjdsdfkjdf) with a photo of them kissing with a towel between their mouths because he can’t touch her but he desperately wants to and what a perfect solution is that their... bathroom scene had me holding my breath. or at least taking very shallow breaths. it was intense. so intimate, i felt like i shouldn’t even have been there. ugh, the cute little babies. uwuwuwuwuwu

one last note. leigh bardugo is a very good writer, plot and characters and all. everything flowed much more smoothly in this book, and once again i was impressed by the detail provided. you go girl. i can’t wait to see the tv series development.

a 10/10.

***

the shadows between us, tricia levenseller — literally what did i read lmaooo. this is my first tiktok book recommendation. and it. was. boring. boring characters that didn’t make much sense. boring plot. i skimmed it after the first 50 pages cause it was so boring. that’s it bye.

a 3/10.

***

manacled, senlinyu — um. wow. i literally......... even hours after finishing it my brain is still ridiculously scrambled. edit: it’s about a month later and sometimes random scenes and images still pop in my head for no reason and then i feel all twisted inside again. i love it.

so, this is not a published book but a dramione fanfiction on ao3. i don’t read fanfics that often anymore, mainly because i’d rather read other things, not because i don’t like them. but i found this one because a tiktok that showed the illustrations in the story and i was so blown away by the fact someone would illustrate an entire fanfic that i just had to read it. and i have no regrets. it’s kinda long and a biiit wordy for me at times but holy shit that hit like a mother trucker. and i haven’t read dramione in ages, not since... years. so this really hit different.

the illustrations are beautiful. they’re what dragged me into the story in the first place, so, of course they are. but i’d literally spend minutes looking at every detail in amazement at how perfectly the emotions were captured and the lighting casting the perfect shadows and just… everything. i know nothing about drawing but my eyes were truly blessed.

i think integrating the handmaid’s tale with the hp world was ingenious. i would never have expected that. and wow. the relationship between the two, it’s…….. i can barely put it in words in my mind, and it’s even harder to articulate on paper. complex, but at the same time not, simply the desire for the other to stay alive. timeless. destructive. their only defense from the harsh reality of their situation. desperation at its most desperate, their one and only survival method. depressing. it’s so depressing. i was so sad, the angst almost too much at times.

the flashbacks were insanely intense. and i thought the handmaid section was bad. it was awful to read. i could hardly bear it, it was so dark at times i didn’t know how either of them got through it all. i mean, they barely did. the near-death scares, the constant need to create a blank slate within yourself in order to not overwhelm yourself with crushing emotions… wartime sometimes has a tendency to sound romantic, but theirs wasn’t anything near romantic, and i appreciate that the author chose to be very real about it.

at the beginning, and in the middle when we went through the flashbacks, i was afraid the love would be toxic. and, well, it kind of was at some points. but in a time like that and a situation like theirs, it would be hard to not have a toxic relationship. i was glad that in the end theirs was a good love, the kind that sustained and kept them alive and got them through until the very end, because it was what they needed from each other. and, of course, my favorite part of it all was draco’s ceaseless possessiveness that only seemed to grow, never fade. i love simpy men.

they deserve each other. i was afraid at the end they wouldn’t, that one of them would die—that draco would die because hermione basically did once already for him, so he would have to “return the favor”—also she was pregnant so there was no way she’d be the one to die—idk many theories. but at the end i’m so glad they both ended up alive. after everything, they deserved it.

i did nothing for two days straight but read this book. except eat. and barely sleep. and i have no regrets.

a 9/10.

***

bloodlines, richelle mead — dang. i used to be obsessed with vampire academy when i was in middle school. i even watched the terrible movie that released because of it. and now i can’t believe i really thought that was peak literature lmfaooooo

i remember adrian being such a funny and interesting character that i picked up bloodlines to see if it was gonna be as good as i remembered it was. i was disappointed. it was just... well let’s just say there wasn’t enough to get me invested in the characters as i used to be. i think what it was is that adrian’s characterization was so weak. he wasn’t as ~quirky~ as i remembered him to be haha. the plot was also way too slow-paced, and a little too easy to guess. maybe if i was 12 again i’d be going crazy over it like i used to. but i’m not a pre-teen anymore and my brain craves stuff along the lines of manacled—destruction, death, angst that wants me to pull my own heart out to stop it from hurting.

a 5/10.

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xxpadfootxx · 5 years ago

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🐾Night Terrors & New Beginnings - Part 1 (Dragons & Heroes)🐾

Summary: Izuku Midoriya had never seen a dragon in his life, only pictures. All dragon attacks were nullified in the media so as to avoid any panic within large cities, and so he had not even seen a dragon on video. That was why he had absolutely no clue what to do when he found himself staring into the intense depths of a dragon’s eyes

A/N: So I know this sounds like a weird concept but I’ve come to really enjoy writing this series. It’s an HTTYD & MHA crossover fic. I know it sounds weird but people seemed to like it on my ao3 so I’ll post it here too just to see what you guys think. More one shots are on the way tho for those who don’t care for this series. Either way, I’m gonna keep posting more chapters and see what you guys think. I promise I tried to make sure it didn’t become hectic or crazy by smashing these two concepts together, but we’ll see what you guys think! I also would like to point out that I wrote the beginning of this story AGES ago, so I apologize ahead of time for the decrease in writing quality and possible grmatical errors. Hope you enjoy!

~~~

Dragons were rare. Or at least, dragons seemed rare since they did not reveal themselves too often. They were dangerous, vicious and bloodthirsty creatures that preyed on those who did not pay attention, the innocent who did not look above them when going for a walk. Deaths caused by dragons did not happen too often in the city anymore because of the large number of dragon hunters who protected the cities from the blazing fire and sharp talons of the beasts but they did happen every once in a while when a dragon escaped from behind bars or managed to pick off a person from the edge of a town or city. Despite the significant research done and the statistics to support that information, Izuku Midoriya had never seen a dragon in his life, only pictures. All dragon attacks were nullified in the media so as to avoid any panic within large cities, and so he had not even seen a dragon on video. That was why he had absolutely no clue what to do when he found himself staring into the intense depths of a dragon’s eyes.

Izuku’s head hurt and his arms were sore from the rigorous training he had just done with All Might. Ever since he had gotten into UA, Izuku had done daily training sessions with All Might so as to improve his use with One for All, going to either Dagoba Beach where he had cleaned all of the trash, or moving to a peaceful clearing in the woods on the other side of town to spar with the great Symbol of Peace. He had been getting better, using his new physical strength from their pre-spar exercise routine, but he was still no match for All Might. He sighed to himself and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. All Might had offered him a ride home after their harsh training session but Izuku figured that walking would do him good and had taken the scenic route back towards his home. The trees around him swayed in the breeze and the birds chirped over his head merrily. Izuku paused in a clearing and took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet smell of the late spring air. He smelled the slight watery smell of the creek that lay nearby. He smelled the sweet scent of flowers and relished in the feeling of the sun on his face. He took one last deep breath before he started to walk again. The smells were pleasant, the flowers, the creek, the sun, the grass, the blood…

Izuku jolted to a halt, his step faltering to the point of almost making him fall over. He sniffed the air again, unsure if he smelled it correctly. Fear crept up his spine as he took in that metallic scent once again. That was definitely blood, and it was strong wherever it was. Izuku wanted to keep walking down the pretty pathway through the woods. He wanted to make it home before dinner so that he would not worry his mother. He wanted to do anything but investigate, but his legs were plotting against him. He felt as if he could no longer control his body as it turned him and forced him to pad through the tall grasses, straying away from the path, to see what was going on. He walked for a little while, the trees around him closing in on him, forming narrow lines. The grass was shorter here and the sun was beginning to become blotted out by the thick canopy of trees above him. He shivered as a chill set in, and he wanted nothing more than to turn back, to find the sun and the safety of the path, but his legs once again ignored his brain and continued to trek deep into the woods. The smell of blood was really strong now, he placed the hem of his shirt over his nose and mouth to avoid choking on the stench. Finally, he broke through the last row of trees and peered into a large clearing. The clearing normally would have been beautiful, short grass that was dappled with shadows on the corners but bright and sunny in the center with a glittering creek running through the center, gleaming in the lowering sun. Izuku may have even admired its natural perfection had the situation been different. But it wasn’t. The clearing was covered in blood, the grass was soaked with it, stained a deep red. There were no bodies but Izuku noticed some of the blood that dripped slowly from the branch of a nearby tree. But that was not even the worst part.

In the center of the clearing was a dragon.

Izuku sucked in a terrified breath and fumbled to reach for the knife that he kept at his hip. He was not normally one to carry a knife, but his mother had been worried about him wandering around on his own now that he was going UA and had given him a pocket knife for his birthday. It wasn’t much and he was worried that it wouldn’t even penetrate the pelt of a dragon, but it was all that he had. His hand shook as he held the knife aloft, his whole body tense and waiting for the creature to pounce on him and add him to the bloody stew in the clearing. He could see the creature looking at him, its eyes wide and its cat-like pupils narrowed into slits. Izuku tried to calm his breathing, he was probably with the most dangerous animal on the planet, if he panicked, he was dead.

His eyes darted around the clearing as he tried to piece together a plan, anything to help him in this situation. He did not know why the dragon had not attacked him yet, but he could not assume that he was safe just because the creature was lying on its side. He had no idea what species of a dragon it was and he could not judge whether it was a hunting tactic or whether it was just tired and full. His fingers tightened on the knife and Izuku locked eyes with the beast. He would fight. He knew he couldn’t win but he just had to try, for the sake of the people who he assumed did not leave this clearing and for the sake of those who had helped him to become who he was now. He stood up straighter and took one shaky step into the clearing. The dragon lifted the corner of its lip in a half snarl and let out a cross between a growl and a pained groan. Izuku froze, the knife shaking so badly in his hand that he could barely keep ahold of it, and waited in a half-crouched position for the beast to leap out at him with its claws outstretched and flames billowing out of its mouth. The dragon lifted its head slightly, watching him with wide eyes before letting its head fall back to the ground with a muffled thump.

Izuku let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. His legs felt like jello but he forced himself to take another step, and then another. The dragon did not even react this time, its head remaining on the ground and its eyes closing. The dragon did nothing. Even though most of its body was obscured by a large boulder, Izuku could tell that its whole body was limp. It was vulnerable, maybe it was exhausted from killing the people in the clearing. Izuku decided that this was his chance to kill the beast and escape with his life and the justice of the dead who did not manage to kill the dragon. With a loud battle cry, Izuku launched forward, the knife thrust in front of him, running at the dragon with all of the strength he could muster. The dragon again did not react and merely turned its head away with a sigh. Izuku rounded the boulder and raised his arm to bring down the knife when the sight of the creature’s body caused him to freeze in place.

The dragon was lying on its side with its legs, tail, and wings bound by firm ropes with hooks on the ends that sank into its flesh on its chest and lower back. Its back leg was twisted horribly in the wrong direction and one of its wings was obviously broken at the curve, a shiny white bone sticking out of the top like a white knife. Scars and open wounds crisscrossed over the dragon’s body like a grotesque map, including an enormous gash that was leaking blood all over the meadow ground, and one of the dragon’s eyes was swollen shut with three long claw marks that started a little bit above the eyelid, went over the eyelid and ended a few centimeters below the eye. Izuku stood with his mouth agape, the knife held aloft in a shaking hand as he took in the sight of the dragon. He tried to tell himself that the dragon deserved this, that the beast was a killer and it had been restrained to avoid any more bloodshed. But when looking at the sad creature before him, something that was probably gorgeous and proud once, he couldn’t bring himself to blame it. If it had killed the people, Izuku reasoned that it must have either been following its instinct to eat when hungry or it was trying to protect itself. He realized that he had allowed his hands to bring the knife down to his head, resting it there as he stood over the beast, thinking. He shook his head and raised the knife again, closing his eyes and leaning back to fling the knife down.

The dragon suddenly let out a pained whine. Izuku’s eyes flew open and he looked down at the dragon in shock. It sounded exactly like an injured puppy. His breathing sped up and he tried to raise the knife again, but he suddenly dropped it. He heard it clang against the stone behind him and Izuku had to force himself to keep from running away as fast as possible. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at the dragon in the eye once more. His hand flew up to his mouth and he couldn’t stop himself from falling backward a few steps as he looked into the creature’s eyes. The pupils were wide now so that the dragon looked almost cute and a single tear was trailing down its face. Conflicted feelings coursed through Izuku as he looked at the pitiful beast, he wanted to kill it or run away but the hero side of him also wanted to stay and help it. He stood and stared for a little while, allowing his eyes to rove over the dragon’s wounds before he finally made a decision. A decision, that he did not know would change his life forever.

Trying and failing to keep his hands steady, Izuku leaned down with the pocket knife and pressed it to the dragon’s side. The dragon let out another agonized whine before closing its eyes and tilting its head to a more comfortable position on the grass. Izuku took a deep breath and whispered to the dragon.

“Please don’t kill me.”

Then, with a swift jerk of his arm, Izuku sliced his knife through the thinner threads of the rope. The dragon’s eyes snapped open and it took everything in Izuku’s power to remain by its side and continue to cut the rope that was looped over its midnight black scales. He placed the knife against another rope and jerked his arm again, fighting against the tough material until it gave way to his actions. Finally, the last rope was cut and everything fell loose, slipping down the dragon’s legs and pooling on the meadow floor. Izuku put his hands up and flinched, his eyes closed as he waited for the dragon to pounce on him now that it was free. His whole body was shaking and his breathing was so fast-paced that he thought he might pass out. He waited, but no attack came. He opened his eyes just a crack to see that the dragon had shuffled its legs around so that it was able to tuck them underneath its chest but it had made no move to actually stand. Its back leg was still horribly twisted and the hooks from the rope were still lodged in the dragon’s chest and back. Izuku lowered his hands slowly and peered at the dragon. The dragon watched him as well with its lips pulled back into a slight snarl. Neither moved.

That was when the voice echoed loudly throughout the woods. The dragon sat up as high as it could without standing to peer over Izuku’s shoulder and Izuku jumped in surprise at the noise.

“Oh yes sir, it is over here!”

“You don’t think it is already gone?”

“It may have injured a lot of our men, but it was pretty tied up and it was wounded to the point of barely remaining conscious. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was out cold.”

“Let's hope so, that would make things so much easier.”

The voices started to get louder as their owners got closer to the clearing. They were laughing and joking loudly as they walked. Izuku wanted to be excited that help was on the way, but he couldn’t help feeling as if these people were not the right kind of help. The dragon beside him started trying to move, lifting its wings with a grimace and scrambling to get its legs underneath it. It only took a few more minutes for the men to break through the ring of trees and enter the clearing. Almost as if the men were poisonous, the dragon who had been struggling just moments before, landed on the ground with a sickening crunch. The beast just allowed itself to crash to the forest floor and laid there limply, like a dead dog.

The men stopped laughing and looked at Izuku, their smiles fading as they eyed him and the limp dragon beside him. Nobody spoke. Izuku wanted to stand or walk or at least move but his body refused to cooperate. He sat still, his knife hovering in the air over his leg, dripping with dragon’s blood onto his pant leg. The men looked from Izuku’s face to the bloody knife, their eyes widening and smoldering. Finally, one of the men took a step closer and cleared his throat.

“What is your name, boy?”

Izuku knew better than to answer with his real name and forced himself to quickly throw back the first name that came to mind.

“Tamaki Atari.”

“What are you doing here, Atari?”

Izuku gulped and slowly wiped the dragon’s blood from his knife onto his pant leg.

“I smelled a strong tang of blood and came to see if everyone was okay.” Izuku glanced around nervously. “I was shocked by what I found.”

The man looked back to his friend and dipped his head in a slight curt nod that Izuku almost missed.

“Of course you were, I am so sorry for what you have found here, that feral beast came and attacked our men out of the blue when we were camping. You must be troubled and scared, come on we can take you home.” The man held out his hand and smiled warmly at Izuku, so warmly that it was almost convincing enough to make him go to the man.

Almost.

“It’s alright, I can walk home myself,” Izuku said, forcing himself to his wobbly feet. He managed to steady himself and face the men but he never dropped the knife.

“No really, boy. We don’t want you getting hurt, do we?”

“I’m alright, I know my way home.” Izuku tried to steady his shaking hand but he couldn’t stop the little tremors from trailing up and down his arms.

“You need to come with us.” The man said, now dropping his warm persona to replace it with a cold demeanor, topped with a venomous grin.

“No, I can’t do that,” Izuku said, shaking his head.

“If you can kill a Night Fury then you can walk a little way with us.”

Izuku felt his jaw drop but he didn’t care. He could understand how they assessed the situation and connected the dots so that he seemed like a dragon killer but it surprised him nonetheless. He just couldn’t see how he, Izuku Midoriya, could be seen as someone to kill something as strong, powerful, and dangerous as a dragon. Even though he had buffed up a little bit with the training from All Might, he just couldn’t see himself as a dragon hunter.

“No, no, no, it's not what you think! I didn’t kill this dragon! I found it like this!”

“Why is your knife covered in blood then?”

“I used it to cut off the ropes.”

The men both sighed and looked at each other in furious annoyance.

“So you are one of those people, huh?”

“Those people?”

“The people who think that killing dragons is wrong and inhumane. The people who think that we should treat dragons like dogs and take care of them. Make a sanctuary for them.” The man’s face scrunched up with disgust. “It’s completely delusional.”

“I know nothing about dragons, I do not have an opinion,” Izuku said quickly. “I just saw a dragon that was mostly dead and I thought that I could do it a final service by just releasing its bonds. It was too weak to do anything but lay on the grass and bleed.”

The men looked at each other once more before turning back to Izuku, their eyes lit with a furious flame.

“First, you kill the one thing that would have made us the richest men on Earth, and then you lie to us with this dragon wellness bullshit.” The man speaking pulled out a long sword that Izuku had not noticed had been strapped on his back and hidden beneath his shabby cloak.

“DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH YOU HAVE COST US, BOY!?” The man suddenly screamed, running at Izuku with the sword held aloft.

“YOU THINK YOU ARE SUCH A HERO DON’T YOU? YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!”

Izuku covered his face with his hands and flinched as the man bolted at him with a shocking speed that rivaled that of Iida’s speed. Izuku guessed that the man’s quirk was at work. Even if he had had full control of One for All there was no way he would have been able to dodge him. That is why when Izuku did not feel the sudden burn of the sword thrusting through him, he felt confused. He opened one eye tentatively and peered through his fingers, almost afraid of what he would see. His eyes widened in shock and it took everything he had to avoid tripping backward in surprise. Standing in front of him, holding the sword in its teeth was the dragon. Izuku was sure that the beast had been barely able to even lift its head let alone jump up and run in front of a flying sword. But here it was, snarling at the men while holding the sword in its mouth, the man’s arm still holding onto the hilt. He released the hilt of the sword with a choked gasp and scrambled away from the dragon with a laugh that sounded almost hysterical.

“So you are alive,” The man said with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “I am so happy to see that.”

The dragon dropped the sword where it hit the soft earth with a wet squelch, landing in the mud and the blood that soaked the clearing. Everything was silent. Even the birds had gone quiet as the dragon and the men stared at each other. Then, quick as lightning, one of the men swung around and snatched a long iron whip from out of his bag. He held it aloft and allowed it to uncoil, pooling on the forest floor with a sound like pebbles rolling down a cliffside. The dragon let out a vicious snarl that seemed to shake the forest to its core and raised its broken wings, its teeth bared. Despite having his vision partly obscured by the large black wings of the dragon, he could still see the man with the whip. The man rattled the chain twice and clucked with his tongue.

At first, Izuku thought that the man was trying to subdue the dragon with those actions and noises but suddenly, about twenty men broke through the tree line and rushed into the clearing, weapons raised. A group of the men even brought out a large metal cage that was filled with spikes on all of the sides both inside and outside. Izuku froze, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t understand why this dragon was so valuable and yet so tortured. He didn’t understand why the most deadly creature on the planet was fighting to protect him. And he didn’t understand why he got involved. The only thing he did understand was his sense of justice as all of the hero lessons from All Might came flooding into his brain all at once. Izuku did not even think before pushing the dragon’s wing back and ducking underneath it. He did not think as he ignored the dragon’s warning growl at him and he did not think when he used his own body to cover the dragon. He faced away from the dragon and hovered his right hand over its panther-like head while his left hand hovered over its side, palms down. He held his head high and did not think as the quarry of men rushed both him and the dragon.

As the men got closer, Izuku leaned back so as to provide even more of his minimal protection, placing his right hand right on the dragon’s head above the eyes but below the ears. He felt the dragon’s surprisingly soft scales despite their strength and felt the little fin-like scales that ran up the length of the dragon’s face from just above the nostrils to a little way before the base of the ears. He felt the dragon’s mix of warm and cool scales, the strange mix of temperatures flooding into his fingertips like touching an ice cube doused in salt. That was when his hand suddenly flared with heat and pain. Izuku could not contain the scream that managed to rise out of his throat. He heard the dragon roar in pain and even though his brain started to go hazy with a mess of thoughts, one thing was clear:

He had done the right thing.

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the2020romanceproject · 5 years ago

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Review: Red, White, and Royal Blue

You guys. This book. This book is FREAKING AMAZING. This is basically everything I wanted from a romance novel. I am probably ruined for other romance novels now because this one is SO GREAT.

Not going to do a full summary of this one, because 1) lots of stuff happens (which is part of why it’s so great), and 2) I want everyone to read it and don’t want to completely spoil it. But the basic premise is that Alex is the son of the sitting U.S. president and Henry is a prince of England, and—according to Alex, anyway—they start out hating each other. Then they inadvertently cause an international incident and have to pretend to be friends for P.R. reasons, and feelings happen and so do lots and lots of other things and it is ADORABLE and ANGSTY and PLOTTY and all the characters are amazing and I can marry this book, yes? Thank you.

I was worried when I started reading romance novels. I was worried that the strength of the romance-focused plots found in fanfiction would be diluted by the need to include other aspects of plot. Then I read a couple of romance novels and was worried that the strength of the romance-focused plot would be diluted by romance-genre customs like having the characters sleep together halfway through even if that destroys all the tension. This book is proof that neither of those things has to be a problem. It had an excellent romance plot that was only enhanced by the very robust political and interpersonal subplots that happened around it. I am SO impressed.

Okay, the romance plot first. Here are some of the things I liked about it (spoilers, caution):

Alex didn’t realize he was attracted! He didn’t even realize he was bi!*

But he obviously was attracted to Henry

Henry was obviously into him (obvious to everyone except Alex, that is)

We were only in Alex’s POV and not Henry’s and so we got to enjoy the dramatic irony of the above

Alex is very stupid about his own sexual past and how normal best friends act together

Everyone else knew basically all of this before Alex did

Even after they got together, Alex lied to himself about how he was falling in love even those it was clear that he was

Henry had real reasons for backing off from the relationship and being scared

The characters had SO MUCH DEPTH omg

Their banter! It was so good

I really liked both of them and believed that they were better together

(*It’s super legit to write characters who do know they’re queer. I just personally love it when they don’t know, because it speaks to my didn’t-realize-she-was-bi-until-age-25 soul.)

These plot elements are not specific to fanfiction. There’s plenty of fanfiction that doesn’t do all or even any these things. But they’re also all very common in fic, and when you put them all together it felt very much like the kind of romance plot I might have come across on AO3. I hope these plot elements aren’t unusual in the romance genre, either, because I find them SO effective and satisfying.

Take Alex not realizing at first that he was attracted. This is something I was surprised by in the other romance novels I’ve read so far: that those characters saw each other and were immediately like, “Yup, that’s my type of person, super into that body!” And...that’s fine, I guess? A little alien to me, since I don’t tend to experience attraction that way, but I guess there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s a bit of a missed opportunity, though, because it jumps right over the potential tension of us watching and waiting for the character to realize they’re attracted.

Granted, it can be hard in a book with original characters to signal to the reader right away that yes, these two people are going to be into each other. I can see why many romance novels include that initial recognition of attraction. But this book is proof that you don’t need to do it that way. It’s completely clear to the reader that Alex is going to be into Henry—that he already is, and isn’t recognizing that attraction for what it is—and we still get to watch him go on the delightful journey from, “Ew, this guy is the worst” to “Oh crap I’m actually super into him.”

I think this is getting at a fundamental type of tension that was missing from the first two romance novels I read. I talked about the difference between sexual and romantic tension, and that stands, but each of those comes in a couple varieties: there’s the tension between what the characters want and what they have, and then there’s the tension between what the characters want and what they THINK they want. In The Soldier’s Scoundrel, those two things are pretty much the same: the two characters know they’re attracted to each other, and then, as they go through each step of falling in love, they acknowledge it openly in the narration. That’s fine but kind of boring, and it means that instead of waiting for the characters to catch up to their own feelings, we’re waiting for those feelings to form. It is just plain not as interesting to wait for a character to develop a feeling as it is to wait for them to acknowledge a feeling they’re hiding from themselves. Plus, people are bad at recognizing their own desires! It’s a thing! Especially when those desires are inconvenient or unexpected or would leave them vulnerable. There are plenty of good ways to introduce this tension without it feeling forced, and it can add so much.

(This is probably part of why I like characters who don’t recognize that they’re queer, actually—it adds another layer to the knowledge gap. But, again, that’s largely a personal preference, and I recognize the value of a variety of queer experiences in literature.)

The other thing this book did that I think strengthened the romantic plot in a major way was to stick to one point of view. I honestly don’t think I would have said a month ago that I felt so strongly about this. Most of the fic I’ve read is in one point of view, and I’ve never really thought about the alternative. But I’m starting to realize that switching points of view can take a reader out of the characters’ heads in really unfortunate ways. The human experience just never involves knowing absolutely what someone else is thinking. So if you’re living through a character’s eyes, experiencing the world as them...you shouldn’t know what a different character is thinking. Not every story has to immerse us in a character’s head to this degree—but romance should, I think. That’s the fun of it. And it just doesn’t work as well with two points of view. Plus, you lose the question of what exactly the other person is thinking, and even if you can pretty much guess—well, again, you’re going to be more fully in the main character’s head if you have to guess instead of knowing.

And the tension. Oh man. There isn’t one thing this book did to ensure continual tension in its romantic plot; it just did a fantastic job of transitioning between one kind of tension and the next. (Major spoilers ahead.) First Alex doesn’t think he’s into Henry, even though the reader can tell he has a crush. Then Henry kisses him and Alex realizes he’s attracted, but we get sexual tension because Henry’s not talking to him and then because it’s hard for them to end up in the same place at the same time (situational tension). Then we start to get romantic tension where Alex is in love but doesn’t recognize it, and then later when Alex knows he’s in love but isn’t saying it yet. Then more romantic tension when Alex finally confesses and Henry walks away (which, btw, major props to this book for succeeding at having someone walk away from a love confession and not having me think any less of their potential relationship). Then they finally get together for real but there’s the situational tension of them maybe doing serious damage their respective governments. Every single time one kind of tension gets resolved, there’s another kind waiting in the wings, ready to take over. It’s just...what a masterpiece.

So, yes, excellent romance plot, top marks. Everything surrounding the romance was fantastic, too, which just...that is SO HARD TO DO. One of my questions at the start of this year of reading was whether romance novels would feel more like novels than fanfiction does, and this one certainly does. There’s a phenomenon in fanfiction, and I noticed it in previous romance novels, too, where the outside world just sort of...dips into view where convenient, and then recedes from view without having real consequences or significant continuity. And that’s fine. It works better in fanfiction than in original works, I think, because fanfiction can draw on an independent canon or fanon. But in both places, it results (or can result) in a very strong romance where nothing else in the world matters much to the story, and that’s okay.

But this book. There was so much plot! So much world, and I cared about all of it! ALL the characters are extremely well-drawn, and I cared about their mini-arcs. The political situation interacted with and enhanced the romance plot but also mattered in its own right and had its own complexities. And none of it made the romance feel any less present or central or powerful. It was so well done.

Okay. I’m done gushing now. I’m moving on to what I hope will be a recurring new feature: fanfiction I’m going to recommend based on this book. These are all stories that I thought about while reading Red, White, and Royal Blue, and if you liked the book, you might want to explore these. (It’s worth noting that I regularly read fanfiction without knowing anything about the canon. I know that weirds some people out, but if you’re on the fence, I would encourage you to give it a try!)

Let Toretto Be Toretto (The Fast and the Furious political AU, by astolat)—oh man, astolat. Truly the best of us all. This one is much shorter and doesn’t have the prince aspect, but it’s a fanastic journey through gay pining and the presidency.

The Student Prince (Arthur/Merlin college AU, by fayjay)—this felt like the most obvious comparison story for me. Fanfiction boasts a plethora of modern-day prince AUs across many fandoms, but this is one I read recently and really enjoyed. The non-romance plot is less robust than in Red, White, and Royal Blue, but there are a lot of strong similarities.

Not Easily Conquered (Steve/Bucky, by dropdeaddreams and WhatAreFears)—Henry and Alex’s emails reminded me so strongly of this one. All-around gorgeous.

And now, on to the next romance novel that I will almost inevitably be disappointed in after this phenomenon. Someone tell me when Casey McQuiston publishes something else.

#reviews #romance novels #red white and royal blue #fanfic meta

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diminished-fish · 5 years ago

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References for “A Portrait in Synesthesia”

This fic is COMPLETE now, so anyone who might have been hesitant to follow a wip, here you go! The whole synesthetic package, wrapped up with a nice lil bow on top. :3

For those who might have missed the masterpost: the fic was my contribution to the good omens big bang and is a sweeping, canon-compliant romp through history, told in (almost) all original scenes, with lots of nature imagery and T.S. Eliot. Kind of my own cold open, but with way more feelings and flowers. Also the sea. And an emotionally significant comet.

I had the opportunity to throw all of myself at this project and really enjoyed making it an intense focus for a while. In a way, it was an experiment to see how much I was capable of, which as it turns out, is more than I thought! (there’s a lesson here, probably...). Going this deep with the research and worldbuilding is not something I will likely be doing often for fic writing, but since I did with this one, I figured I’d share a bit of the process.

Under the cut are major spoilers for the timeline, story, and historic events in my recent fic, A Portrait in Synesthesia. I had originally planned to post this information in the end notes of the fic, but at some point, the list got way too long and posting it here became the sensible choice. There is a link to this post in the end notes of the fic, so it will be easy to find your way back here if you get to the end and want to know a bit more about the writing and research process.

The Title:

Putting this bit at the top because I don’t know where else to put it: The working title for this fic throughout the entire writing process was “In Synesthesia.” I almost changed the final title in the eleventh hour to “The Still Point of the Turning World” because of what a prevalent theme Eliot became (that line was also slipped into the story three times at important moments — once for each POV character). I also briefly considered “Always, We Were Enough” as a title, since the conversation with Adrielle at the lighthouse kind of... accidentally became the thesis of the whole story, but that was a bit too sappy even for me, a Confirmed Sap.

And while I’ll be questioning my choice of title for the rest of forever (titling things is hard, y’all), I ultimately thought the more descriptive title was best, and wanted to keep the nod to the song that inspired it all.

Speaking of the song... have you listened to it yet?? It’s great, I promise!

youtube

Synesthesia:

This was my research starting point. Before I dug into any of the historical or astronomical research or even started any serious plotting, I started reading about synesthesia, or, as Psychology Today defines it: the neurological condition in which the stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway (for example, hearing) leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (such as vision).

Full disclosure: I do not have synesthesia. I spent a LOT of time researching it for this fic and did my best to portray it accurately, in spite of the fantastical elements I added. If I’ve overstepped or gotten something wrong and there are any synesthetes out there who would like to talk about it, I am very open to those discussions. The AO3 comments are always open to that, or you can message me/send me an ask here if you would like a less public forum.

I probably read r/Synesthesia in its entirety, but this thread of first-hand accounts was one of the most interesting to me and provided a lot of the inspiration for how I used the emotional synesthesia imagery.

Besides everyone’s favorite research staring point of Wikipedia, this link is one I got from Boston University’s Synesthesia Project, and it is a pretty exhaustive list of research and books, as well as art and poetry about synesthesia. I have also been working my way through The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales, by Oliver Sacks which is the book that came most frequently recommended to me in my search. It’s an extremely approachable and interesting look at neurological conditions, synesthesia among them.

As it appears in the fic:

In a broad, generalized sense, Aziraphale and Crowley have a few types of synesthesia in this story. Obviously, I gave it a supernatural/celestial twist and a healthy glug of magical realism, but I did try to keep it firmly rooted in the actual condition. The types of synesthesia they have are:

Chromesthesia: they both have this. Sounds, specifically each other’s voices, have a color association

Lexical-gustatory synesthesia/emotion-flavor synesthesia: Aziraphale has this. Words (in this case, emotions, specifically Crowley’s emotional state) have a taste.

Odor-color synesthesia/emotion-odor synesthesia: Crowley has this. Words (again, emotions, specifically Aziraphale’s emotional state) have a smell.

One of the defining characteristics of synesthesia is that it is constant. If a synesthete connects the number 9 with the color blue, for example, then they will always connect them in this way. This was the major difference between real synesthesia and the fantasy synesthesia in this fic. The sensory/emotion connections for Aziraphale and Crowley changed in subtle ways as their relationship evolved through the ages.

The “binding thread” also had nothing to do with synesthesia. That was me wanting to make the spool analogy work for the body swap, baking it into the entire fic because I liked how the imagery fit with the synesthesia, and then leaning into the magic and the soul memory so hard that I fell flat on my face into magical realism. (A True Fact: I have spent a fair amount of time lying on the floor in the past 6 months, shaking my fist at the cute little plot bunny who grew fangs and claws and dragged me down a rabbit hole that ended up being 100k words deep).

Anyway! Research!

Before I get into space and history and flowers... Yes, I admit to absolutely making up some wacky shit about Europa for the sake of fun banter and making a metaphor work. All those pre-Fall scenes on abandoned Earths are 100% a fantasy setting and I exercised the super fun right of a fantasy writer and embraced the worldbuilding (moonbuilding?). I also just thought Crowley would have delighted in tying a moon’s guts in knots, and Aziraphale would have delighted in the idea of whimsy-for-whimsy’s-sake. Please don’t lose sleep over the scientific inaccuracies.

Halley’s comet:

I promise not to bog this down with a billion comet facts, but there were a few particular things about Halley’s comet that had me gasping dramatically about how it’s “A.J. Crowley, but a comet!!” Specifically, it’s orbit and it’s structure.

Halley’s retrograde orbit gives it one of the fastest velocities (relative to Earth) of any object in the solar system. I never explicitly worked the “you go too fast for me” line into the fic because I was trying to do original scenes (this particular story lived between the lines), but... just know that tidbit is there and join me in these emotional dire straits. If you like.

The comet’s structure is what is known as a “rubble pile”, meaning it’s made up of a bunch of smaller rocks held together by gravity (read: a hot god damn mess held together by stubbornness).

As it appears in the fic:

The nucleus of Halley’s comet is shaped like a weird lopsided peanut. In fact, one could almost look at it and say it resembles a contact binary star, if such a thing could be a shriveled, misshapen pile of rubble.

Officially, Halley’s comet might have been recorded as early as 467 BC (a comet was recorded in Greece that year— unclear if it was Halley’s, but the timing and the fact that it was visible to the naked eye suggests that it probably was). This was the year I had Aziraphale making the scroll that causes Crowley’s panic in Athens (390 BC). I like to think that some human, at some point, caught a glimpse of it and tried to bring it to light, only to be written off as a crazed conspiracy theorist.

The apocalyptic depiction of Halley’s comet in chapter 9 (Bithynia) is actually based in fact. The comet made its closest approach to Earth (in human memory) in 837 AD, passing within 5 million kilometers. Its tail stretched halfway across the sky and it appeared as bright as Venus to the naked eye.

1910 Halley’s Comet panic. Bonus: c o m e t p i l l s

Where 1910′s appearance was a spectacular sight and one of the closest approaches on record (coming within 22 million kilometers of Earth), 1986′s was the worst viewing conditions in 2,000 years. The comet passed within 63 million kilometers at its closest approach, and had the sun positioned between it and Earth, making it impossible to see from areas with any amount of light pollution, and almost invisible to all of the northern hemisphere.

Historic events and settings:

Chapter 6 (Ostia): This was one of the chapters that I did a bunch of arguably unnecessary research for, since the history and the meat of the setting faded into the backdrop as the scene itself focused on dialogue and train of thought. The port town of Ostia was incredibly engrossing to read about, and between wikipedia’s ever-branching paths, ostia-antica.org, and ancient history encyclopedia’s entry, it ended up being one of the deeper rabbit holes I went down. My original intent for Aziraphale being in town was as a response to pirates sacking Ostia in 68 BC. I had him stationed there to guard against further attacks as the town rebuilt, and had him lingering because he was swept away by the romanticism of the art and the sea and the constant ebb & flow of people. I never found a way to work this in that didn’t feel super awkward and expository since the chapter was Crowley POV, so it was just left it as background noise.

Chapter 6 (pyramid of Cestius): Beyond being a magistrate of one of the four great religious corporations in ancient Rome (the Septemviri Epulonum), little is known about who Gaius Cestius actually was. As the city expanded, his lavish tomb was absorbed into the city walls (circa 3rd century AD), where it remains what he is remembered for to this day. I took most of my information from here (cross referenced with our lord and savior, Wikipedia) and had a chuckle at this poem by Thomas Hardy.

Chapter 8 (Plague of Justinian): The Yersinia pestis bacterium leaves no indicator on skeletal remains, meaning we rely on written records to track its path through history. The 6th century plague pandemic is the first recorded outbreak of bubonic plague, and for the purpose of our story, a certain distraught chronicler was the one on site, writing that history.

A note/cw: I wrote chapters 8 and 12 in October and November, respectively, and did much of my research for them over the summer. I imagine, given the current covid-19 pandemic, these sources would be less fun to follow up on now. Please be aware that the podcast episodes linked here, and the book cited in the miscellaneous refs section, get into pretty grisly details about illness and pandemics.

Chapters 8 and 12 (bubonic plague/The Black Death): I took a fair amount of my notes on bubonic/pnuemonic plague, specifically it’s path of destruction through Europe in the 14th century, from the two plague episodes of This Podcast Will Kill You. It’s pretty fascinating stuff and the Erins are great hosts, so check it out if you’re into delightful nerds bantering about epidemiology!

Chapter 9 (the death of Peter of Atroa): Peter of Atroa was an abbot whose fame as a miracle-worker landed him in a scandal accusing him of exorcising demons by the power of Beelzebub, rather than God. Theodore the Studite’s letter cleared his name enough to avoid execution, but his reputation didn’t fully recover until after his death in 837 AD, when he was canonized as a saint. Peter and Theodore were tough to find extensive information on without passing through a paywall, so I took these scraps and ran a mile with them.

Chapter 13 (Tlatelolco, the Aztec Empire, the Feast of the Dead): I used this site as the source and starting point on much of my research on the Aztec Empire. And listen… I know it looks like a website for babies, and yes, I’m aware that a lot of the articles are literally written for a pre-teen audience, but it’s also one of the most concise, thorough, well-researched, and — perhaps most importantly — easily-searchable sources I found. Most of the pages cite papers and archaeological journals and I was able to jump to SO many other great sources of information. Mexicolore has my undying love and devotion for making my research process easy and fun and also having lots of pretty pictures.

Most of the physical descriptions for Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco (surrounding landscape, canals and causeways, chinampas, etc.) started here.

Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco were independent cities, but shared a border (kind of like a city and a suburb) and the small island on Lake Texcoco (located where present day Mexico City is). Tenochtitlan was the capital city of the Aztec Empire, and besides cross-referencing Mexicorlore, the link in the previous bullet point, and Wikipedia, I got a fair bit of information from these essays.

Tlatelolco’s market was the major hub of trade and commerce, and saw 20-40,000 people trading PER DAY. Research on the market started here.

Chapter 14 (Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse): While I strove for historical accuracy as much as possible in this fic, I did take some liberties— especially with the island of Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse (yes, it’s real!) circa 1350-1435.

The village of Brandarius is based on present day West Terschelling— a settlement founded as a direct result of the lighthouse. In the middle ages, both the village and the lighthouse were named after Saint Brandarius (or Brendan of Clonfert: ‘The Navigator’, ‘The Voyager’, ‘The Anchorite’, ‘The Bold’; patron saint of divers, mariners, and travellers). It’s still a relatively small village today, and it was a surprisingly difficult task to find historical records for Brandarius/West Terschelling dating back to the 14th century that say much beyond “it existed.” I loosely based the village off information found here, and named it “Brandarius” instead of “West Terschelling” based on the information found here.

The original lighthouse was built in 1323, destroyed by the sea in 1570, and rebuilt in 1594. Since there were no records (that I could find) of what the original lighthouse looked like, I loosely based the height and floor plan on the current tower, and made up everything everything else about the interior. The interior was based on information about other live-in lighthouses, specifically this one which is roughly the same height as the Brandaris.

The present day Brandaris lighthouse sits directly in the middle of West Terschelling. For the sake of that sweet Self-Imposed Exile + Cryptid Lighthouse Keeper drama, I took the liberty of making my fictional village of Brandarius teeny tiny and setting it slightly apart from the lighthouse.

Miscellaneous references:

In addition to the podcast, details about plague in chapters 8 and 12 were gleaned from the book The Great Mortality by John Kelly. It’s a cool read if you’re into nonfiction that reads like fiction, but does have some rather graphic passages so proceed with caution.

Yaretzi’s maquizcóatl/Aziraphale’s memento. To clarify, they were NOT the same item. I pictured Aziraphale cherishing the memory of the day by the lake with Yaretzi so much, that once he acquired the bookshop and had a place for all his kitsch, he hunted down a bad luck dragon of his own.

Here is the Aztec creation story about sun cycles and Earth’s rebirths that Yaretzi told Aziraphale. Another version of it.

In the scene in Mexico where Aziraphale briefly remembers, I used an analogy about a moment that hovers and flits away as “quick as a hummingbird.” Besides just liking the words, this was a nod to the legend of the cempasuchil flower. I originally had Yaretzi telling Aziraphale that story too, but the chapter was just way too long and something had to go.

In my very first outline, I had Aziraphale’s grief and personal growth chapter taking place at a Día de Muertos festival in Mexico. When the plot and the timeline finally got ironed out and I realized only half of that story was going to take place on Earth, I ended up focusing on Aziraphale’s brief relationship with Yaretzi instead of the festival itself (she was always the important bit). I also found myself married to the idea of that chapter happening in the 14th and 15th centuries, which meant the scenes in Mexico take place before Spain invaded and the festival was based solely on its Aztec roots. Because the plot shifted in this way, a lot of research went on behind the scenes that never made it into the fic, but for anyone interested in the Aztec Feast of the Dead, Mexicolore was my starting place again. From there, I found my way to reading about Mictecacíhuatl, the Aztec goddess of death, who was the main focus of the festival.

This isn’t research, but it might interest, like… three of you, so here you go. The scenes in Heaven (Aziraphale’s solo chapter in general tbh) were hard to write. One of those walls you hit with writing where you kick and punch and bang your head against it for months (literal months, I started wrestling with it in August and it didn’t come together until the end of January) but can’t seem to make any breakthroughs. Inspiration truly comes from unexpected places though, and when @gottagobuycheese sent me this Gregorian chant generator it actually… worked? I cranked that hum slider up to 100 and left it there for a few days (to the chagrin of my spouse) and lo— Zophiel.

There’s a cool legend about Saint Brendan of Clonfert’s sea-faring journey in search of the Garden of Eden that has nothing to do with this fic beyond being neat parallel. If that happens to be anyone’s cup of tea, the story is here. The tl;dr version is here. My original vision for the lighthouse included carved whales (St Brendan’s attribute) over the front door, and images from this story (the island of sheep, the Christmas island, the paradise island of birds) drawn on the walls of one of the bedrooms used by previous keepers’ children. Continuing the theme of “how stories echo” if you will. It felt really awkward and out of place once I wrote it in though, and that chapter was already so long once I got through all the plot bits I wanted, so it was left on the cutting room floor.

Speaking of taking liberties with the 14th century, I did fudge the timing a bit on the art created by Crowley and Adrielle. Drawings, especially pencil sketches, have their historical roots in the late 15th century, and I’m chalking this one up to the fantastical setting of the Good Omens universe. In a fantasy world where angels and demons walk among us and the earth is literally 6,000 years old, I feel like inventing pencils 100 years early is small potatoes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is the edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Crowley nicked in Norwich. There are some really wonderful illustrations and scans of full pages under that link. I may or may not have lost a few hours down that research rabbit hole for a few throwaway lines (no regrets, I fall like Crowley).

One last rabbit hole...

I saved this bit for the end of the post since it’s not really research and I don’t know how interested people will be in this kind of thing. Also... this is a lot more emotional and personal than the historical aspects of the fic. This is just what I was feeling and thinking while I was writing, and this story is absolutely the kind of thing I expect everyone to take something different away from. If you read the fic, took your own meaning from it, and want to keep that meaning without me tarnishing it by babbling about symbolism (first of all, high five, I love you, thank you for hanging out with me and my stories), then feel free to skip the rest of this post. <3

But! For anyone who wants to know more about what I had in mind with the flowers and nature metaphors I worked into the story, read on!

The tag “it’s an OT3 where Earth is the third” is something I really worked to pull to center stage. In my mind, Earth was a fully formed character who also spent the pre-Fall storyline being jerked around by God and having its memory wiped. It experienced transformations, pain, heartbreak, joy, and love just like Aziraphale and Crowley did, and I wrote it as falling in love with the two of them over the course of the Earth Project, then remaining very much in love for the entirety of iteration 23 (the current iteration). “Memories that are buried in places deeper than the mind” referred to the soul imprints being formed, but also Earth’s buried memories— seeping through the cracks to connect them via synesthesia in emotionally charged moments, allowing them to find each other from orbit in iterations 20 and 21 (music and the sea), and pulling them together in moments of distress like Constantinople and Barcelona.

In the vein of “Earth as a character,” I used plants (mainly flowers), topography, and weather as Earth’s “voice” in the grief chapters when Crowley and Aziraphale were separated from each other and going through their individual arcs. I’m not sure it technically counts as flower language, since all the flowers featured in the fic were wild and growing in nature, but (almost) all of them served a metaphorical purpose.

Flowers:

Jasmine (for the moon): Aziraphale’s flower. Love, beauty, sensuality, good luck, purity. The rational hedonist.

Marigolds (for the sun): Crowley’s flower. Grief and remembrance of the dead, lost love, the fragility of life, creativity, winning the affections of someone through hard work. The fallen artist.

Purple Hyacinth: Earth’s flower. Regret, sorrow, a desire for forgiveness. The witness. These were the wildflowers that grew in the orchard/vineyard on the penultimate Earth, where Aziraphale and Crowley managed to work out the differences they couldn’t by the sea. Hyacinths are also the hazy images they would see in those moments of vulnerability, compassion, and compromise.

A fun aside! In very early drafts, the placeholder name I was using for angel Crowley was Jacinto, which is a Spanish/Portuguese name meaning “Hyacinth.” It was meant to be a reference to both the flower and the Greek myth of Apollo and Hyacinth, but my brain absolutely could not disconnect it from Manny Jacinto (and kept insisting on imagining Crowley calling Aziraphale homie and calling everything dope). Eventually I leaned into the Latin and landed on Joriel, then attached my banner to the Achilles and Patroclus myth instead of Apollo and Hyacinth, but the name Jacinto still makes me think of starmakers.

Honeysuckle & morning glory, climbing the oak tree: Aziraphale + Crowley + Earth. Seen in chapter 10, when Aziraphale and Crowley shake hands on the Arrangement. Two plants whose vines grow in opposing spirals. In nature, they have a symbiotic relationship, twining around each other in order to climb trees, walls, and fences, allowing both of them to grow higher than they could alone.

Or: local woman sees this tweet, hasn’t known peace since.

The deasilwise / widdershins (clockwise / anticlockwise) thing got sprinkled throughout the story, with deasilwise being the “angel direction” and widdershins being the “demon direction.” Halley’s comet, with its backwards orbit, orbits the sun deasilwise, even after Crowley becomes widdershins.

Amaranth: Immortality, unfading affection, finding beauty in inaccessible places.

The garden in the dunes and Petya’s travelling garden:

Where Aziraphale took a methodical, Kubler-Ross approach to dealing with loss, Crowley’s process was meandering and chaotic. The garden in the dunes was where it all came to a head— his way of throwing all of his emotions on the ground like a big jumbled pile of pick-up sticks, then slowly sorting through them and putting himself back together. There was a whole lot of Earth/flower speech going on in those scenes.

With the exception of zinnias, the garden was made up of perennials or self-sowing flowers. This happened “off-screen” as I could never find a decent way to work it in, but... the zinnias which Crowley bullied into being perennials returned to being annuals and died off after he left Terschelling and sometimes I still cry in the shower about it.

Zinnias: Adrielle’s flower. Endurance, lasting friendship (especially friendships lasting through absence), goodness, daily remembrance. This one is also a small self-indulgence on my part since Adrielle was something of a self-insert. My mother loves zinnias and, growing up, our house was absolutely surrounded by them in the summer. Anywhere there was a free patch of dirt, Mom planted zinnias. They’re a scrappy, weird looking flower that doesn’t have a smell and a lot of people find rather ugly... and I love them with my entire heart. There is no flower on this earth that fills me with more whimsy, nostalgia, or childlike contentment. Also butterflies love them.

Chamomile: Patience. Fresh chamomile flowers are very aromatic and smell like apples.

Daisies: Transformation. Also simplicity, loyalty, and new beginnings.

Poppies: Restful sleep or recovery, peace in death, remembrance.

Tulips: Each tulip color has its own meaning, but the most common thing they symbolize is deep love. That said, I mainly chose this one for their prevalence in the Netherlands, as well as being very colorful perennials.

Pansies: The love or admiration that one person holds for another, free thinking, remembrance.

Lily of the valley: Rebirth, the return of happiness. They also have a very strong, very sweet smell and can grow in cool climates. These were the main reasons I chose it, rather than any of the religious connotations.

Lavender: Silence, devotion, serenity, grace.

Orchids: There’s... actually no deep symbolism with this one. Nothing intended anyway. Orchids, lavender, and cranberries are the dominant native plants on the island of Terschelling. I thought they’d be pretty in the dunes.

I am also a music-must-be-playing-at-all-times kind of person and I came out the other end of this project with FIFTEEN (15) playlists. Some of them are all instrumental playlists that I used to set the mood while I wrote certain scenes/segments, others are lyrical and tell a story or helped me sort out the story, some chapters got entire playlists all to themselves (looking at you, 14th century). The main playlists are linked in the notes on AO3, but I may collect them all in a tumblr post at some point if there’s an interest.

This entire project was an enormous labor of love that took up pretty much all of my free time for six months. So, if you read this far... thank you for coming on such a long journey with me!! Truly, deeply, and from every corner of my heart, thank you for reading. <3

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bumble-booty · 5 years ago

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Commissions Are Open! (New and Updated Version!)

Commissions are currently Open!

My writing background and preferences!

My Nickname is Bumble Booty or Baby Blue, feel free to use either! My specialty is dark/gore, body horror, psychological horror, and NSFW! However, I will absolutely do non-dark as well, so if light and fluffy is more your preference- I’m still interested in writing it!

I have a Bachelors Degree with a Double Major and a minor- Psychology (specialized in abnormal), Philosophy (integrative study with Psychology), and Criminology (minor and main focus being crime and homicide). As for other useful background, I actually work for a movie store (and one other place, but that one doesn’t give me plot bunnies)!

What that means for you is- don’t be shy with any prompt. I’ve probably been in contact with it before through my studies, personal research, or work-related exposure!

My specialty is Transformers, but I have recently fallen for the Hazbin Hotel fandom. However, I have not written for the latter as of yet. I will most likely get into Hazbin Hotel very soon though! If you want something outside of these fandoms, please expect a slight delay as I research the fandom. Please ask though, as I may still take it on with sufficient info!

Disclaimer: On most occasions, I typically stick to more canon-style fics. It is simply easier for me to work with plausible situations that can expand out from there- however, I might still do more crack-style if I feel confident enough. I will also do original works if I have enough information!

What I will Likely/Certainly Reject: These are subtypes I do not feel confident in/have had bad experiences with/ will not touch with a 10 foot pole.

Pedophilia.

While age-differences are perfectly okay, molesting a child isn’t. All characters in my work WILL be 18+ for NSFW fics, or you can politely take your business elsewhere.

Because sometimes this apparently needs to be said, Age Regression is not Pedophilia. If your preferred characters are of consensual age and this is a psychological fic where the boundaries are CLEARLY set, please feel free to message me. If your character is a child being abused as an adult, do not. I can tell the difference.

Farting/ Flatulence fics.

This is a strange one, but I have had strange experiences with this subtype and those that request it. I have no opinion on your kinks or likes, but I will no longer be accepting fics with this as a PRIMARY FOCUS.

If it happens to be something that might come up- for instance, an IBS coping fic, a period fic, an autopsy/drowning fic, etc- I will happily discuss this being an option as far as accurately describing the symptoms/struggles of those that suffer with these conditions/fates. Do not hesitate to discuss it with me, the worst you will be told is no.

Unusually Predatory/ Targeted Hate Fics.

I am well aware of the trend of shaming someone/ channeling a targeted threat through popular media, and I will not help damage someone’s psyche. If I have reason to believe you are using this fic to try to shame a previous significant other/ trying to use your fic and its exposure to target/mislead someone into what could be a psychologically damaging situation, I will not be working with you. Deciding this is my discretion, and if it is truly not your intent I apologize but stand by my decision. As mentioned prior, If it is not your intent go ahead and email me with your prompt anyway- the worst you will be told is no!

Any Other Fic for Personal Reasons.

I am a person with my own history, and I reserve the right to deny a fic if it strikes too close to home.

My Pricing, Payments, Refunds, and Alterations!

Pricing: I charge in USD on a rising scale for minimum word counts. 50 cents per 100 words, up to $4.50 for 999. After that, it's a flat $5 for 1,000-word increments. So: $5 for 1,000 words, $10 for 2,000 words, $15 for 3,000, etc. Final Pricing will be established before I start working, but I am very flexible! Should you want something changed/altered while I’m working on the draft, please contact me!

Payments: Payments are accepted through Venmo upon completion AND APPROVAL of your work.

Refunds: Refunds will not be served, as I usually don’t accept payment until after the work is completed and approved.

Alterations: If we decide on an alternative prompt after or during the first draft, I will consider this the new commission and write with a new/altered price agreed on by both of us through DM/Email. I will mostly stick with my standard pricing, but any oddities will be discussed privately should something happen on my end to cause a delay.

Side note: I do not have a maximum word count, and if I go over it's ON ME. My Prices are for a minimum, not a maximum.

Request form!

When contacting me about a commission, please send me this general format for ease of keeping everything straight! If you do not, I will reply with this copied in so I know exactly what you want and can ask for more information wherever needed!

Characters: (This is who you want to see! If you want couples, please mark them in the x/x format, with non-couples listed singularly and separated by a comma.)

EX: Prowl/Jazz, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Unnamed Mecha.

Basic Plot: (SFW/NSFW, what you want to happen. This is the main idea I’m working with!)

EX: NSFW, Jazz returns from a mission in a dangerous head space. He is fairly violent to everyone, and is searching for Prowl due to his ability to calm his coding. Optimus and Bumblebee are helping Prowl contain the rouge Ops mech before he offlines half the base.

Sub-Plot: (Kinks/Small Details/ Triggers you want to see. If going into more detail on a particular thing, put a hyphen after the general descriptor and continue. End this with another hyphen, then continue listing if you have more!)

EX: Pinning, Biting, Clawing, Mild Body Horror- Maybe Optimus gets some tubing cut loose? Or a random, unnamed Mech meeting a foul end after startling Jazz? I just want it to be obvious how dangerous Jazz is in this state!- Feral Behavior, Aftercare, and Post-Recovery Apology.

Other: Things you DO NOT WANT TO SEE AT ALL. Please clarify in the same way you clarified in Sub-plot. This is especially important if you are requesting Gore/Trauma fics.

******Please be clear on this!!!! This can be as broad as "no gore" to as specific as the word "moist". Please understand that it is not necessary for you to explain why, nor do you have to give me any reasoning should I ask for you to expand/elaborate. I do, however, reserve the right to ask if similar words/situations would also be off-limits. As mentioned in the personal background, I have studied Psychology and I do not want to be the reason you expand a phobia or traumatic event. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A SERVICE YOU ARE PAYING FOR, AND IT IS MY DUTY TO FILL THIS SERVICE IN A WAY THAT YOU ENJOY! Not put you in a bad head space or trigger you!******

EX: Gutting, Descriptive Bone/strut snapping, Overly Possessive Language- especially the word ‘pet’ or other dehumanizing possessive language along those lines- Unsanitary, and the word “Moist”- similar words such as ‘damp’ or ‘sweltering’ are acceptable (I just don’t like that word).

How To Reach Me!

Email: My work email is “[email protected]”- please put ‘commission’ somewhere in the subject line so I know to look ASAP. I usually respond pretty quick, but I do hold two jobs. Expect an answer within 24 hours. I will reply to the email you contact me with if I have further questions and clarification, or if I’m accepting/rejecting the commission right away!

If you do not receive an answer in 24 hours, feel free to email me again and explain you did not get an answer- it might be a filtering problem that I need to fix!

DM: Direct Messages are also acceptable here, but I will warn that I often forget to check! Email is more reliable for a faster reply, but I will do my best do accommodate those that don’t want to/ can’t email!

Please keep to the same format as you would for an email, but feel free to break it up into sizable portions since messages read a bit weird. I don’t mind the spam messages, I'm that kind of texter myself!

Priority/Timeframe, Rejecting, and Posting/Delivery!

Priority/Timeframe: Commissions will take top priority over other writing work, and if I happen to get two at once it will be by order of receiving. I strive to have 2,000 words and below done per a one week period, anything more than that I will discuss with you over email/pms due to job balancing.

Rejecting: I would like to mention that I still reserve my rights to reject commissions if I feel I am unable to complete them in a manner worthy of accepting payment, or if I feel I cannot give enough personal effort due to work/personal qualms.

Posting/Delivery: Upon completion of the first draft, I will send you the draft script in a downloaded document (usually .docx format) if you like the draft/bones, please respond with any alterations you would like to see! This is additions, subtractions, substitutes, or changes! You can do anything as small as a word, to as large as the entire fic as long as it is agreed upon.

After this is cleared, I will go back through the fic and add flourish and final details. After that is the proofreading phase, then I will send you the completed fic. If you are not happy with the final fic, please respond with what you would like changed and I will GLADLY fix the issues!

DISCLAIMER: I will not post your finished product without your permission if it is a payment-finalized product! This means that if you have paid for it, it is yours to keep. If I really liked the fic, I might ask your permission to post it to my AO3 Account with it either listed as a gift fic to your AO3 account, or with a notice placed in the notes at the top of the page that this was a commissioned piece, followed by your username/"anonymous" if you would not like it known that it was yours.

HOWEVER: I ask that you do not post these works as if they were your own! I work very hard on my commissions and put substantial research into each piece, and I am more than willing to signal boost you on the work as well for sponsoring it! If you have a private archive or something similar that you intend on posting it to, please mention it to me during the initial emails/dms and we can discuss it. (I highly doubt I will mind though, I can understand some organization quirks!)

Samples!

If you would like to read some samples of my works, Check me out on AO3!

http://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBooty

Here are some samples of my personal favorite works within my most popular word count brackets!

Less than 1K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13413417

Thuck! E's Thuck! - Bumblebee/Grimlock, NSFW, Vore

1K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13445199

Those Who Need Us The Most- Bumblebee/Grimlock, SFW, Comfort

2K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13356138

The Sweetest Melody- Tarn/Pharma, NSFW, Body Horror

3K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12662973

Detecting the Undetectable- Jazz/Prowl, NSFW, Heat Cycles

4K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12275850

SCP 3262- Bumblebee, Original work, SCP Crossover

Just under 5K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12199893

All For You- Jazz/Prowl, NSF, Candy Armour Vore Style

6K+- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13407669

Pretty Kitty-Prowl/Jazz/Smokescreen, NSFW, Neko/Werewolf Heatfic

#commission #commission me #commissions open #writing commissions #maccadam #hazbin hotel

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keysmashchronicles · 5 years ago

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my history in phandom and fandom

I’ve always been an avid reader. If I’d have been born twenty years later than I was and grew up in a time when every kid has tablet or a phone, that need for stories might have been filled by TV or other formats instead, but in my childhood years it was all about books, and visiting the library as often as possible. I often daydreamed about the characters in books the books I read, mostly egocentric thoughts of what it would be like if I were to somehow find myself in the stories I was reading. What would it be like to have them as my friends, to be part of those adventures? Of course, in typical Mary-Sue fashion, it wasn’t the real me that I imagined in those daydreams, but some idealised version that was cleverer and funnier and prettier and of course, someone all the other characters either envied or adored.

As I got older, and we moved beyond the stage of just having one TV in the house, my obsessive nature shifted to include TV shows as well as books. The first show that really caught my imagination was Dawson’s Creek. I loved it, the over-articulate teens with all their angsty problems heightened by their hormones going haywire, going through mental health issues and struggles with sexuality and of course, the classic love triangle. I couldn’t wait to tune in every week and catch up on what was happening in Capeside.

I’m not sure how it happened, but one day I was online on our cranky old computer and stumbled across some Dawson’s Creek fanfiction. I was amazed, and fascinated, and also terrified that someone in my family was going to walk in and catch me reading it. But I read every story on that website, and then started looking for more. I couldn’t believe there were other people out there like me, people who didn’t just watch a TV programme and then forget it about it until the following week. There were others who thought about the characters in a TV show so much, it was almost like they became real. People who wanted to analyse every aspect of the relationships the characters had on screen, and also take these characters off into plots and stories and worlds that were nothing like what actually happened in the show, imagine them in endless different scenarios and see them experience every kind of emotion and think about how they’d react. People who wanted to write or read over and over again about the same characters because they found more and more to discover about them every time they did.I had found my happy place!

Over the years, the obsession with fanfic remained, but the focus of it shifted.I’d go through a cycle – discover a new fandom, immerse myself in it for maybe a year or two, then slowly lose interest. There would be a period where I wouldn’t read fic for a while, maybe 6 months or a year, and then all of a sudden, a new show would capture my attention and I’d be off and running again.

After my interest in Dawson’s Creek had run it’s course, the show that took its place for me was Buffy. As I recall, I had only watched a few episodes here and there and then a writer I was already reading started to post Buffy fics. I read a couple and realised that there must be much more to this show than I’d thought if it was inspiring such good writing. I think that obsession must have lasted a good 3-4 years, one of the longest I’ve had. There was just so much good stuff for writers to work with - a whole cast of interesting well-developed characters, the good vs evil narrative, the endless possibilities of spells and demons and alternate universes and origin stories and the threat that the world might end at any moment….the list goes on. And also, there was the smut - I’d read a fair amount in my previous fandom, but Buffy fics took it to a whole other level (this by the way being a major cause of the confusion I had when trying to work out my own sexuality - how can I be asexual? Have you seen my AO3 history???)

After that came the West Wing, followed by House, followed by the other behemoth of my fandom life, Sherlock. With all of these, although I read a hell of a lot of fic, that was always as far as my involvement in fandom went. I didn’t feel the need to join any fandom communities, in fact I don’t really think I would have known much about where or how to get involved if I’d wanted to. In the early days, the fic I read was on fan-hosted sites, with the aid of webrings to help you discover other authors. Then for a long time it was fanfiction.net, livejournal and finally AO3 where I read most of my fic today.

So how did I get into phanfic? In the aftermath of Sherlock series 4, it felt like my engagement with fic in that fandom came to a bit of a stop – there wasn’t really anywhere much to take the story in terms of canon, and a lot of people felt that the whole Eurus plotline had been kind of a jumping the shark moment. For myself, I’d got to that stage where it felt like there was nothing new under the sun. I was feeling the fatigue that always eventually came when I’d overread a fandom, and no matter how hard I’d try to find something to interest me, nothing seemed to capture my imagination any more.

I left the fic alone for quite a while, turning mostly back to traditionally published media – I dipped a toe back into Sherlock fic on occasion, read a bit of MCU here and there but nothing significant.

Then one evening in June 2019, I was scrolling through Twitter when I decided to check what was trending and saw a name I didn’t recognise – Daniel Howell. I had no idea who he was, but lots of other people were clearly very excited by something he’d done, so I thought I’d have a look and find out why. Usually when this happens, it turns the person is either on a reality TV show or plays sports of some kind, but on this occasion I saw the words ‘YouTuber’ and ‘coming out video’ and it piqued my interest. The only experience I really had of watching YouTubers was through my step niece, when she’d had an obsession with Miranda Sings and we’d watched a lot of her videos together, including collabs, so I knew a few names but not much beyond that.

I clicked on Dan’s video, fully expecting that like with most random clicks, I’d watch for a minute or two before getting bored and looking for something else to occupy my attention, but that didn’t happen. The video was incredible and I was absolutely transfixed for the whole 45 minutes. I thought it was brilliant - the deeply personal story that was being told, the humour, the well-thought out and confidently delivered arguments – I don’t think I’d ever seen anything like it. As someone who had come to identify as asexual and panromantic but not until they were in their late 30s, and who was (is?) still in a place of trying to understand what that meant in my life, it was also hugely resonant to me on a personal level, helping me to realise the unacknowledged but damaging internalised acephobia and homophobia that I was still carrying with me.

I went to Dan’s channel and watched some of his videos, then was curious about that guy named Phil that he’d mentioned, so I watched some of his videos too. I came across the first PINOF and was completely charmed by it, by their rapport and silly humour and how they clearly felt so comfortable just to muck about and be themselves.

For a while I was happy just going through all the content on their channels. It didn’t really occur to me to look for fic until it was referenced in one of their videos. Up until then, RPF had really not been my thing – I’d seen some fics written about the actors who played characters in my various fandoms and I’d avoided them because it had made me feel uncomfortable about what they’d think if they saw them. I’d also scrolled past a lot of 1D and BTS fic when browsing on AO3 tags and to be honest, had had a pretty snobby opinion about it.

But having heard Dan’s story, and then seen dnp’s obvious connection in their videos, I was curious to see what the fans’ take had been on their relationship, and also to see what was being written about them now that Dan had come out. I looked to see if there was anything about them on AO3 and bam! There it was, my next fic obsession had grabbed hold of me and there wasn’t anything much I could do about it!

Since then, I’ve not only read a ton of fics, but even had a go at writing a few. It’s painful because they never come anywhere near the standard of the fics and writers I really admire. I have the desire to want to write well, but also a complete lack of the patience and dedication it takes to develop the necessary skill. But for the first time I didn’t let that stop me from publishing a few fics as I realised I was really writing for myself, to have an outlet for thoughts and ideas that had been going around in my head, and if anyone happened to read it, that was just a bonus.

Then through reading the Seven Basic Plots, I realised that what I’m more interested in at the moment than learning to write fics myself is to come to a greater understanding of how they work, and what exactly has been fuelling my fic obsession for over 20 years (wow....that was weird to think about! Such a long time!)

So that’s my history in fandom, and in phandom, and explains why reading a book about the nature of stories and their purpose made me immediately think that I wanted to examine those ideas in relation to something I know and love – phanfiction.

the seven basic plots // 1st plot - overcoming the monster

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sequoiajune · 6 years ago

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what are your UTMV aus?

Okay so

I have like

Imma split this up

Various Published Fics

Behold, my AO3 account.

Overcurious - arguably my most popular. It is, fundamentally, an Error×Ink supernatural modern au, with a dose of plot. I haven't updatex it since August by pure virtue of procrastination, horrible interal clock measuring a month to the same scale a few days (etc. being like "oh it feels like I updated it a few~ days ago, it's fiinee" twenty days after i updated it), procrastination, distraction, overall lack of motivation, inability ro focus, inability to word, perfectionism, and anxiety (partially caused by the amount of notifications i got overnight for it, that first thing ive publicized in a while and the first to get ANY sort of significant comment feedback, and aaaaaaaaaaaaaAAA, that being said I do not regret publishing it at all becuz i met a lot of cool people and it made me rlly happy in the short run even if it sort of threw me off in the long run, and it's rlly happy and calming to look back at the comments and seeing me interacting with people, like a little while after publishing the second chapter i got into a fight with my mom, i don't even remember what it was about, but it hurt a lot at the time and i think i was crying and i calmed down and aaaaahhhh by rereading the comments becuz. Just. Not even what they were saying but seeing myself interacting so positively with people?? Idk if you knew this but because im homeschooled and awkward and tense i dont see other people my age a whole lot or in general (tho i do have some great irl friends) and i just, like, dont participate in a lot of stuff, tho mom prob wishes i would. It's a little odd but i find seeing myself, by reading internet conversations and things i did to make people happy like ChickenSmoothie and FR gifts and old texts, doing positive interaction because it's just like. Revisiting and seeing it, recorded and there- not memory but actually all there the same way i experienced it because that was literally It, exactly the same way i first had the conversation - just. really nice. Anyways im kind of oversharing and rambling again oops) and did i mention PROCRASTINATION, THE INABILIBTY TO FOCUS ON ANY ONE TRAIN OF THOUGHT FOR OVER FIVE SECONDS WITHOUT DYING, AND PERFECTIONISM? Still proud of this tho

It's not dead, it just sort of took a vacation from my head.

And on the bright side, i cant think oh it took this author so long to update >:( because i have no sense of time. (Also im not rude and insensitive or judgemental and can empathize with that) Example: the fics i met @parspicle on. Maybe it was a couple years ago they updated. Maybe a couple weeks. Maybe a couple days. Maybe a couple decades. Idk man, don't look at me. Idk if they will update again, but they updated some unspecified time ago and thats good enough for me, of course not saying that i dont want to see more. Just @ everyone whos fics i read, don't ever worry about how long it takes to update because i literally have no clue. At worst I won't see it because i got distracted something shiny.

Aaaahhh that had nothing to do with the fic im just rambling at this point.

Starmaps. Still into that idea, but again, other shiny stuff. Also I might want to revise or reorder the first chapter because depsite having a large portion of the story mapped out, (p)unintentional, I sort of wrote the first chapter on a casual whim without really thinking about lil details and how i want to go about it. On hold for now. Wrote the first chapter in my Hyperfixate on Nightmare and Cross, not necessarily as pair. Also Dream phase that may or may not have passed.

Trashy Families, Trashier Lives, and Trashiest Gremlin Nerds. Its a nightink royalty au, my brain is absolutely convinced it was super recent but apparently i publish it on October 22 and it's currently December 13th, over a month away? Time is wack. Anyways, i loved writing this and am proud of it, though i know less about whats going on than ive probably convinced all my readers. Probably a lot of subconscious inspiration from the dragon prince.

Mediums of Art and Error. It's an errink green eggs and ham au from when my bro got me to watch the netflix adaption with him. that's pretty much all the explanation needed, tbh.

So thats ao3. There's a few other things but I'll reblog with that to make sure that tumblr won't delete all of this when I press post becuz mobile

#ask #insane-but-smart #june jay speaks #to be tagged

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thebiasrekkers · 6 years ago

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Edge of Forever [BTS!Space AU]

BTS Space!AU [ ♧ ✪ ✿ ☆ ❂ ☾✘ ] “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” The stage is set and the stars are the guide for the lost souls that have congregated to one point. A fixed constant in the universe for others to discover and fulfill their wishes but will it come to ruin for others?

Pairings: Jin x OC | Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Space!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language

AO3

Chapter 4- Coup d’Etat

"The revolution will not be televised The revolution is in your mind The revolution is here!"

The spaceport was usually fairly crowded with various species as well as bustling activity to loading and unloading of the ships that were docked there. The fact that there were barely any people there at all to tend to the various things going on was already odd to Jin. Even at that time of night, it should have been just as bustling then as it was in the daytime. After all, Sagittarius was a planet full of trade, commerce, and activity since it was near the center of the system. Everyone could find it, all one had to do is head to the center of the system.

Which meant that the Pirates could find them as well.

The tall, dark-haired man watched from the platform for his companions. Jin crossed his arms over his chest as a rare frown had been on his face for quite some time. His eyes had some scarring around them but the unnatural color of them showed that he had them replaced. His eyes worked to gather information from all around them, even picking up when Jungkook and the company roared in. He already had his ship running hot, prepared to blow the spaceport should he need to. He pressed his plump lips into a thin line, trying hard not to pace as he waited for them to get to the dock. The more time that he was standing there was more time that the unsettled feeling to sink in, the thought that they weren’t alone. People were quick to change sides when palms were greased, even more so in that sector.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he could see them practically running up the ramps. Jungkook and the Mao were handling the crate while the client was bringing up the rear. He already had a space that they could place the crate, safely and securely while they got away. Directing Jungkook on where to put it, the pair ran past him to get everything secured while the Ifrit came up to him. He had to crane his neck a bit to get a look at her, surprising since he was rather tall himself. Even with all his enhancements, he found it difficult to look her directly in the eye.

“I will give you the coordinates of the ship I have where you can leave us. Before that, however, I require components to fix both the ship as well as other things.”

Jin hummed and waved her on, giving another good look at the surroundings. As he turned to climb in after Nyala, a bullet ricocheted off the hull and caused him to duck behind a crate that had been near him. Nyala turned and started to chant, the Chi gathering in her eyes again as she assisted Jin. The same voice that she had heard in the clearing of the abandoned building sounded through the area again but this time, it was more annoyed than ever.

Nyala of the Ifrit. You have disobeyed the Armada, for this--you are sentenced to death. Your companions will die as well and we will take back the Antares without you. Goodbye.

Suddenly a spray of bullets started to overwhelm them as well as various energy weapons launched their way. It was all that they could do to stay undercover because they couldn’t make the run to get into the ship. Jungkook and Vairuit tried to assist them but even they could not make it outside without getting overwhelmed. Whomever was after the client had brought a lot of people and the spaceport authorities were nowhere to be found.

“Jungkook, set the coordinates for Dragons’ Den! Let Yoongi know that we’re coming in hot!” Jin yelled out to Jungkook, who hesitated before running and polarizing the hull plating. They couldn’t have the ship breached before they even took off. Nyala, however, had a plan of her own but it was one that she had no choice now to use. Taking a moment, she reached inside of her jacket to the holster--grabbing the black and heavy gun that rested there. It had strange markings on it, little turbines lining the barrel and had some strange aura around it. Jin ducked his head again as a chunk of the crate finally came off, his line of sight catching what she was doing.

Vairuit saw as well what she was doing and grabbed a flash grenade from the storage. Counting the bullets, she waited for the small break in fire before throwing it. Nyala reached in the other side of her holster while that was happening and pulled out a strange-looking shell, popping it into the butt of the gun. Once the grenade went off, she crouched as low to the floor as she could and pointed the ominous gun at the enemy. She yelled for Jin to hold on as she squeezed the trigger. The turbines on the gun suddenly lit up, red as her eyes and spun as the gun took a couple of seconds to fire. The result was something that he would never forget, feeling the hairs on his body stand up from the energy produced.

The bullet wasn’t like normal bullets, lighting up the entire area with light. The color of the beam suddenly turned from white to an alarming red as it reached its target. The effects triggered an explosion at the end of it and started to crumble the platform that they were attached to. The firing stopped, as most of the enemy was dead but now they had to run to get to the ship which had thankfully released from the securing clamps. They barely made it to the ship as the floor quite literally fell away from their feet as the platform fell to the ground below.

Jin took one last look at the damage before the port doors closed before him. There was significant damage, structurally and superficial as the beam scorched the surrounding area when it widened from the point of origin. He didn’t stand there long as he ran to the cockpit, securing himself in the main seat. Jungkook resumed his position at one of the main weapons chairs while Vairuit did the same. Nyala sat in one of the navigations chairs, strapping her long-form in. They slowly floated away from the now ruined dock and prepared to fire their thrusters to get them out of the hangar.

Hello?! This is spaceport 5! What in the hell have you done to the dock?

An aggravated voice came on the comms and the sound of the buzzing caused Jin to grin. He tapped the button that would allow him to speak to the voice, voice full of mischief when he spoke.

“Ah yes. So sorry about that, this is the Persona. It appears that there were pirates on the dock but we took care of them. Now we’re requesting clearance and weather patterns to successfully depart planetside.”

How dare you?! We’ve received no reports of pirates! You are in direct violation of Section--

“Oh? No pirates? Shame, I sent the video and audio to authorities. So you should be able to investigate thoroughly. Now, the weather patterns and clearance?”

You will dock at number 3 and prepare to be boarded!

Various shouts of disobedience came from the others with a very hearty and colorful cursing from Vairuit before Jin could respond. He laughed, a sound that was very much like someone wiping a cloth over glass very rapidly. Shrugging his broad shoulders, he couldn’t really deny what was being said to the person over the comms. He pushed the button to end the communications and prepared the ship for space. Pressurizing the ship, reinforcing the outer hull and plotting a course for their destination. They would have to do an alternative type of liftoff since they couldn’t get the clearance or other information. They would have to blast off horizontally until they reached velocity to ascend to liftoff. He just hoped that there was nothing around them as they charged the engines.

“Well, since we don’t have clearance or even a wide-open space like normal, we’re gonna have to do a blast and run. How comfortable is everyone with G-forces?” He didn’t give anyone time to respond as he threw the switches into gear, the ship propelling forward at an alarming speed. The ship cleared the dock in a matter of seconds, burning everything behind them. They blazed past the shipyards, gaining distance between themselves and the ground far below them. Jin dodged the liftoff platforms that were out there in the fields that they were supposed to be taken to once they had clearance, yet never received it. It was a lot easier to achieve spaceflight once out there but they just had to do things the hard way, didn’t they?

The velocity was rapidly being approached as the G-forces started to press against the crew. Jin took a deep breath as he knew that this would only be the start, his body used to such forces. Setting his jaw, he pressed another set of buttons that increased the output of the engines for their next step. Gripping the sticks, he pulled them towards him as the ship climbed upwards. There was a grunt from just about everyone as the G-forces started to climb as the ascent into the clouds started. The ship started its roll maneuver as it got higher and higher in the stratosphere, passing quickly into the mesosphere. The thrusters had stopped firing and the ship was relying solely on the engines to get them through the layers of the atmosphere at a punishing pace. They climbed through the thermosphere before finally switching to their Drive engines as they exited the planet’s gravity zone.

They were all able to breathe much better in the zero-gravity of space as the ship accustomed itself to the frozen outside. Jin gave a small cough to push more air through his chest as he reached over to prepare the ship for subspace Drive mode. It would take a few minutes for the engines to calibrate and about a day’s journey to the space station that was aptly named Dragon’s Den. After all, all the sharks that traversed the waters of space traveled there for their more serious business as well as other trades. It was more of a spaceport for merchants than the planet Sagittarius was and better equipped to get what they needed for the trip.

Suddenly, alarms started to sound as a proximity warning to let them all know of surprise visitors. Everyone was glued to their screens as they tried to figure out what was going on now, their brief respite had been taken away from them.

“Jin--this is about to turn into a clusterfuck. I’m getting pirates and Federation ships, closing in fast. What do you want to do?” Jungkook called out, swiveling in his chair a bit to look at the pilot. Jin sighed sharply, slapping his cheeks to make sure that that moment was real. They had no real choice, did they? They were just about to piss everyone off that day.

“I’ll maneuver through them, you two blast whoever gets near us and you Miss Client, let me know when subspace Drive is active so I can get us the hell out of here. In the meantime, whatever I call out--I want you to punch in.”

“My name is Nyala and that is Vairuit, not Miss Client or you. And yes, I will do so.”

Nyala responded curtly, eyes pouring over the screen as her fingers flew over the buttons. Vairuit gave a laugh, ready for more action as she swung back to her screen as the weapons array lit up for her. Jungkook grinned and turned back to his as well, the same happening for him. The lights dimmed for Jin to see better and his eyes lit up as he was able to access the helm better. He had connected them to get the best maneuverability possible, that as well as his enhanced reflexes would almost make him the best pilot around. But he wasn’t going to brag in that moment as the ships descended upon them.

Taking a hard right, Jin called out for thrusters on the left to careen them faster so they wouldn’t take a hit from a Federation ship. They took a sharp arc as Jungkook lit them up on that side while Vairuit sent a volley of torpedoes to meet a section of pirates on the other side. Nyala called out that they had one minute left before the Drive would be active. Taking them through a particular dense squad of pirates, the forward cannons didn’t stop as they blew the enemy away when they pushed through. It was honestly helpful that the Federation arrived when they did so that they would be more busy with the pirates, instead of bothering to chase after one ship.

Nyala announced that the Drive was ready and the weaponry was put away, prepping for the jump. Jin took one last look at the planet before punching the buttons needed for the jump to Subspace. Hopefully, they would be out of danger’s way for the next day or so as they made their way to the Dragons’ Den.

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #space!au #space!bts #biasrekkers presents #edge of forever #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #kim taehyung #jung hoseok #min yoongi #park jimin #jung jungkook

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galfridus1 · 6 years ago

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Geldris Week Day 2: Holy War

For the rest of this week I’ll be publishing the remaining chapters of my fic The Call Of Duty, the first two chapters of which can be found on AO3. In the first two parts, Zeldris and Gelda go on a date and then meet some months later at a ball in Edinburgh, where Zeldris fights Gelda’s fiancé, before learning that she does not want the marriage to go ahead. Here is chapter 3 where Zeldris gets to practice his skills as an orator and the demons make a move to secure victory in the Holy War.

The throne room was dark, the only light seeping from the few torches that dotted the walls, their blue flames casting most of the vast space into a deep shadow. Zeldris stood his ground, unintimidated. The vampire king was evidently trying to unnerve him. Izraf was sitting on the throne, his hands curled into fists atop of armrests fashioned from skulls. Tasteless he thought, but made sure his disgust did not show on his features. He had attacked the princess’ fiancé, in the vampires’ own kingdom and he was likely in for a significant dressing down. It would be a miracle to keep it from Meliodas’s ears.

Still, he stood his ground as the vampire king narrowed his eyes, his mouth twisting up a touch at the corners. “Your little display was very interesting,” Izraf mused, “and unorthodox certainly.”

“I apologise for my outburst,” replied the demon stiffly. “I considered the conduct I witnessed to be unconscionably degrading towards the princess, but I accept that it was an internal matter. It was not my place to intervene.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologise, it was most entertaining!” Izraf leaned a little forward in his seat as Zeldris sucked in a sharp breath. “But what I want to know is this. Why did you do it? What does my daughter mean to you, exactly?”

[[MORE]]

Zeldris felt his blood run cold. He hated to lie, the idea of doing so leaving a taste of cotton in his mouth, but he could not say anything that might cause Gelda harm. The silence stretched on, Izraf’s smirk morphing to a leer as he looked down at the demon from his place on the throne, lightly drumming his fingers on the armrests in a way that very clearly marked the passage of time. “I choose not to answer that question,” Zeldris finally stated, feeling heat on the back of his neck.

Izraf let forth a loud guffaw, the sound echoing in waves off the dark, stone walls. “That tells me all I want to know. Not that I needed your verbal confirmation. I can tell you’re in love with her. Don’t try to deny it, I recognise the symptoms. You are not the first to look at my daughter with ardent eyes.”

Hearts skipping their beats, Zeldris took several breaths, trying to determine how best to respond. “Even if your observation was correct, it makes no difference,” he finally muttered. “Gelda is engaged…”

“Oh no she’s not, not in a binding way at least,” Izraf boomed heartily. “I’ve not sent a dowry to the Transylvanians yet. According to our customs, until the agreed dowry is received by the groom’s party, the engagement is nothing more than a verbal agreement. Easily made, easily broken.”

The assault of raw emotion was completely unexpected; hope and excitement bloomed within him, making his chest ache, before being dampened almost immediately by overpowering doubt. Zeldris looked hard at the king, trying to scrutinise his rather jovial expression. It was as if he were seeing the pieces move on a board but had no way of discerning their strategy. “I... do not understand,” he eventually murmured.

“Then I will make myself plain,” Izraf declared. “If Gelda prefers your suit over that of Karayan, I am not minded to stand in her way. You are, after all, the third son of our most powerful ally. I would have preferred Meliodas,” the King mused, and Zeldris felt his teeth grind hard together, “but you are a perfectly acceptable alternative. Indeed, you proved as much when you won your fight.”

“So that is why you allowed it.” Zeldris’s pressed his lips together as the events of the previous evening suddenly shifted into focus. “You wanted me to challenge that vampire.”

Izraf shrugged his shoulders, then relaxed back in his chair. “I’m pleased to see you’re not totally devoid of intelligence. I’d hoped Gelda had managed to attract Meliodas’s eye when we were in the demon realm and that this engagement would flush any feelings he had for her out of the woodwork. No harm if he didn’t of course, but a bit of me hoped he’d try and assert a claim. For all his cold blood, he’s well known for being impetuous. You on the other hand are supposed to be a study in control, is that not so? The fact you’ve shown your cards so plainly is proof enough of the depth of your feeling. Well, that’s good enough for me, as is your position as one of the most powerful of your clan, and a member of the demon royal family. You’re clearly a better specimen than Gelda’s current betrothed.”

Zeldris had to swallow hard to keep the rage off his features. He had been used, manipulated. Had Gelda too been in on this plot? Perhaps the tenderness she had so recently shown him was all part of the same ruse. “I am no one’s pawn,” he hissed as anger curdled in the pit of his stomach.

“Understood.” Izraf was not quite able to keep the smirk off his face. “But there’s no need for hostility. The choice is yours,” he added as he spread out his hands before him. “I am merely suggesting that if you ask for permission to court the princess, I’ll listen to you with an open mind. And before you decide, I can tell you the dowry attached to her is… significant.” Zeldris watched as Izraf nodded sagely. “I think you’ll find it’s sufficient to finance your clan’s military plans. And you need the money,” Izraf added darkly. “There’s no reason for you demons to have forged an alliance with me unless it was for the tribute.”

Zeldris folded his arms across his chest. The vampire king was more astute than he looked; the alliance between their clans had indeed been motivated by money. To get access to more would do his own standing at court no harm at all. “I will even increase Gelda’s dowry from the amount I planned,” Izraf said carefully, and Zeldris realised his thoughts must have shown on his features. “Recognition of your superior situation. But, in return, I must ask that you give me an answer now. I cannot keep the Transylvanians waiting.”

He should say no. Zeldris knew he should say no, but it was hard to ignore the way his hearts pounded in his chest. Visions of the future, their future, flashed through his brain: her golden head resting on his shoulder as the two of them gazed out over a starlit Britannia, his arm pulling her close as they whispered love to one another. His throat tightened, and he tried to swallow, stomach turning as the vampire king chuckled.

“I…” Zeldris began. But before he could give voice to the jumble of thoughts he was trying to make sense of, muffled voices percolated through from outside the throne room, followed by a loud creak as the great doors swung open.

“Your Majesty,” a servant stuttered and Zeldris felt his hearts lurch as he spied Gelda approaching, her long braid swinging gracefully with her movement. She was even lovelier than he remembered, her face a little flushed and her lips parted. The world spun on its axis as he drank her in, the brief exchange between the servant and king going completely unnoticed as he watched her walk towards him, eyes locked in his. The doubts he had entertained were gone in an instant, his resolve firm as he turned back to face the dais.

“I ask for your permission, Your Majesty.” Zeldris felt his ears burn red, but was pleased to have kept the threatened tremor out of his voice. “If Princess Gelda permits, I would be glad of the opportunity to court her.” He sensed the princess still her approach, hearing her gasp, but he kept his eyes resolutely on the king. “If the princess is in agreement, I will have to gain the consent of my own clan, of course. But I will not proceed unless she is happy with the arrangement,” he said firmly as Izraf smiled beatifically.

“And what do you say, Gelda?” Izraf asked, the words sound casual but Zeldris could hear the bite behind them.

Gelda took several paces forward until she was standing at his side, and he could see the look of anguish etched on her features. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This is a mess and…”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Zeldris murmured. He reached out, tentatively taking her hands in his own, relief flowing through him when Gelda did not draw back. “I am well aware that we have both been used, and yes, I wish it could have been otherwise. But this is what we both want, is it not? It is what I want at any rate. I promise.”

He felt her pause, before her fingers interlaced with his. “I want it too,” she said softly.

“That’s all settled then!” Izraf pushed himself to his feet and stepped down from the dais to loom over the couple. “I am delighted to give you my blessing. You had better go make it happen,” he added quietly to Zeldris, the demon giving a nod in return.

***

It was as if he were walking on cloud, his feet barely touching the floor as they passed through the throne room. Gelda’s arm was looped round his own, and he could feel the warmth of her body pressed to his side. He swallowed hard, wondering if he should break the spell; they had much to discuss but the moment he opened his mouth he knew their moment of peace would be over.

In the end it was Gelda who was the first to speak. “The Transylvanians are gone,” she said softly, her voice little more than a whisper and he could hear the melancholy in her sonorous tone. “When I made that discovery I came to find you, to warn you there was some sort of trap. I… I think my father must have planned this all along.”

Zeldris sighed, then turned her to face him, running his hands up and down her arms. They were standing in one of the grander hallways, large, colourful tapestries hanging like banners on the walls. Judging by the light streaming through the stained glass windows the day was now firmly established, and the castle was quiet, only their voices echoing through the space. “I had divined as much before you arrived, and I meant what I said. Assuming I can somehow persuade my family to agree.”

“Do you think they’ll object?” asked Gelda.

Zeldris bit his lip, lifting his shoulders a little. “Possibly. The dowry will help. As long as that is a solid promise…”

“It is,” Gelda said, her eyes snapping to his. “The amount was set aside in the treasury. I was surprised it hadn’t been sent, but I assumed Karayan’s family wanted to inspect it or something. Please believe me, I never dreamed my father had an ulterior motive.”

“I know.” Zeldris felt Gelda’s lips press to the corner of his mouth, the scent of roses and the feel of her hair against his cheek pulling him back to the dark hills of Edinburgh. “I love you,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, never wanting to let her go. But before she could respond, there was a sudden rush of wind, shadow passing over them as the windows went black and a menacing power pushed through the air. “Stay back,” Zeldris barked as he moved Gelda behind him, drawing his sword with a harsh grate as a louring presence strode into the hallway.

“Well hello little brother.” The sneer on Meliodas’s face was enough to make his blood boil. “Cusack told me you needed a rescue. Something about how you were making a fool of yourself. Usually he’s full of so much hot air but this time I see his panic was justified. What the hell is going on?” Meliodas looked Gelda up and down, his eyes bright with dark flame.

Zeldris stood more firmly in front of Gelda, placing himself between her and his brother. “This is none of your concern,” he barked. “As it happens I was about to return home. I have something I wish to speak to father about.”

“So it’s true.” Meliodas took several paces forward, his power cracking like lightning. Zeldris could taste the electricity on the air, feel the hairs stand on the back of his neck. “You’ve been tricked into proposing marriage… to her.”

“This is no trick,” Zeldris said calmly, though he sensed Gelda fidget behind him. “It is a straightforward arrangement to our clans’ mutual benefit, one princess Gelda and I both wish to enter into. I was on my way to tell father the good news. The vampires have promised a dowry large enough for him to find useful.”

“You are a fool!” Meliodas snapped. “I suppose you are aware that she tried to ensnare me first,” he remarked, lip curled to a sneer. “I was wise enough to stay clear, for all her title is The Thousand Temptations...”

Zeldris held up a hand to stem the flow. “You would do well to watch your tongue,” he managed to rasp out through clenched teeth. He realised his sword was still in his hand, and he could feel himself ready to spring, however reckless such a move would be. It was with some effort that he left his feet planted firmly on the floor. “When our father agrees to the match, as I am confident he will, you will regret you have spoken of my betrothed in such an uncouth way.”

“You always were such an ass,” Meliodas said with a sigh. “But I never had you pegged for an idiot as well. This is folly,” he scolded as he crossed his arms over his chest, his scowl directed firmly at Gelda. “Love is no more than a pathetic emotion, an illusion that ensnares your mind and makes you weak. And you are not weak,” he added with a low hiss. “You have the potential to be one of our most accomplished warriors. One of the best we have ever cultivated. And you would throw it all away for some slip of a girl?”

The blow was hard. Zeldris inhaled a cool breath as he struggled to maintain his composure. “This is what you have trained for your whole life,” Meliodas said more gently, taking a few steps forward and moving the sword Zeldris pointed in his direction away with his hand. “You are close to succeeding. Do not give up now.”

“I will not be giving up,” Zeldris muttered, though the drop of his stomach robbed his words of the full force of conviction. “Zeldris…” Gelda murmured behind him, but he cut her off with a snarl. “This union will give our clan victory. That is what my duty is, is it not? To bring us success in this damned war. There are more ways of achieving that than the bloodlust you revel in. Unlike you, I have fought because it is my task, not my pleasure. And where has it got us? A spiral of eternal conflict with no hope of an end. The vampires’ wealth will give us surety of victory. So tell me this, Meliodas, when history is written by the survivors of our clan, which of us do you think will be judged more harshly?”

The laugh that followed was a familiar sound. “You should give up oration, it doesn’t suit you,” Meliodas said with a grin. “But very well, more glory for me, I suppose. I will support this… whatever you chose you label this nonsense. Estarossa can take your place at court.”

Before Zeldris could reply, Meliodas pulled the strands of darkness that had bled from his form back into his body with a snap. “I will sort things out for you with the king,” his brother said brusquely. “He will agree to this arrangement if I give it my backing. But I will need to take the dowry now,” he added, glaring at Gelda as he spoke. “His Majesty will need proof of its worth before he consents.”

“Are you sure, Zeldris?” Gelda’s voice sounded choked, piercing his hearts. “You… we don’t have to go through with this is it’s not what you want. Once the dowry is sent there’s no going back…”

“Then send it.” With a last look of disdain in Meliodas’s direction, Zeldris turned to face her. Doubt swirled through him, but the nagging sensation subsided as he smoothed his hand over her porcelain cheek. “Now you see you are being used as much as me,” he said flatly. “We spoke about this the first time we met, remember? How neither of us will ever have freedom. But I choose you,” he added as his eyes locked onto hers. “I said I love you, and I mean it. I will do my best to make you happy.”

Gelda swallowed, her throat moving as she nodded. Looking over Zeldris’s shoulder she addressed Meliodas, her voice full of authority. “Your Grace, if you seek an audience with my father he will make arrangements for the dowry to be sent with you. You will want a convoy for its secure transport. It is permitted by our customs for an inspection to take place, but if the dowry is not returned by sundown tomorrow, it will be assumed that your clan have consented to the match. Once that has occurred, the engagement is binding by law.”

“You do not need to lecture me, Princess Gelda, I am more than aware of the customs of your clan.” Meliodas narrowed his eyes, then grinned. “He’ll say yes alright,” he added loftily and Zeldris felt a strong urge to kick his brother in the teeth. “He always gives me what I want.” With that, Meliodas strode through the corridor, retracing the steps Zeldris and Gelda had made from the throne room. “Gods forbid I should ever make such an exhibition of myself, it is totally degrading,” he said with a chuckle before, finally, leaving the couple alone.

#nnt #zeldris #gelda #geldris #geldris week #izraf #meliodas #fanfiction #the call of duty

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: Emma (Chapter 4)

Notes: Thank you as always for your comments and feedback, though I confess I've been a bit taken aback by the vehement reaction to Emma and Walsh's cursed marriage. It seems that people hate Walsh in a much more visceral way than I anticipated.

I do truly appreciate all of you who are reading this, and especially those who have made supportive and encouraging comments. I’m really putting a lot into this one in terms of style, plot, and detail, and it’s hard not to get discouraged when I pour blood and sweat into something only to have everyone focus on one tiny thing. So to ease your minds, here is our first chapter from Emma’s POV. I think it will go a long way towards assuaging your fears about her circumstances under the curse. If you are considering bailing on this fic because of the Emma/Walsh situation, I would ask you please to read this chapter before you make a final decision.

As before, there are allusions to cursed relationships, and a potentially distressing scene of aggression within a cursed marriage.

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615@tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer @lfh1962

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please let me know!

Read it on AO3

Emma:

Emma hesitated outside the door of the old cannery. She wasn’t quite certain of why she was there, or the reason behind the irresistible compulsion she felt to see its disconcertingly attractive new owner again. He had invited her to come by, though of course he’d meant later— the bookstore wasn’t even open yet. But Emma hadn’t been able to wait. Two days had passed since they’d met, since that brief but oddly intense conversation in Granny’s, and she had been unable to get Killian Jones and his son out of her head. Something about them, about him, pulled at her, and it wasn’t just his striking looks, not even the beautiful blue eyes with their expression of profound, compelling sadness. It was something deeper. She felt somehow as though she knew him, and more astoundingly that he knew her, better than anyone, better even than her own husband. Although, she thought with a small start, as though the idea had only just occurred to her, Walsh barely even took the trouble to speak to her these days, much less keep up with what was going on in her life. She’d been meaning to talk to him about that, she remembered suddenly. Yes. She’d been meaning to talk to him about a lot of things, but when the time came to do so she always seemed to forget. Tonight, she promised herself, making a mental note. Tonight they would finally talk. She wouldn’t forget this time.

Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the doorknob with her right hand, the palm of which still tingled from her brief handshake with Killian two days ago, and as she opened the door she remembered how the night before last her sleep had been troubled by disturbing dreams. She could recall only wisps of them, but she was certain he had been in them, he and his eyes, doing things to her that she couldn’t bear to think about in the light of day. Things she couldn’t bear to admit she had loved.

She really should stay far away from him. And yet here she was, in his shop.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, gasping at the sight before her. The room was simply lovely, bright and airy, with sunlight pouring in through the wide windows, dancing across the exposed brick walls and the antique looking dark-wood shelves that stood tall in four distinct sections around the room. A heavy mahogany desk sat opposite the door, elegantly carved with nautical designs: ships and storms, mermaids and other sea creatures she couldn’t put a name to, all rendered in exquisite detail. Atop it was an antique metal cash register, as elegantly decorated as the desk, sitting alongside, Emma was amused to note, a decidedly modern portable card reader attached to an iPad. Someone had a taste for the ancient but enough sense to appreciate the modern, she thought.

She was so caught up in admiration of her surroundings that she didn’t notice Killian’s arrival until he spoke.

“Swan?” The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around her, as deep and sonorous as she remembered, almost caressing her name. She turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” she said, feeling abruptly hot and itchy. How was it possible that he could be even better looking than she remembered? Admittedly she hadn’t really had a good look at Granny’s, though she had definitely noticed his face, but now as he stood by the black wrought-iron staircase that wound in a perfect helix up to a hole in the ceiling, his expression briefly unguarded and searingly intense, she had an opportunity to ogle.

He wore dark grey trousers in a soft woolen twill and an equally soft looking v-neck sweater in a shade of blue that made his eyes stand out even more. A tuft of dark hair peeked out just above the vee, and the itch in Emma’s palm flared to life again with the desire to touch it, to touch him. Everything about him seemed so eminently touchable. The sweater clung to his lean frame just tightly enough to show how fit he was, and his hair was tousled in a way that looked both deliberate and as though it could have been caused by fingers being run through it in the heat of passion.

What? Emma shook herself. Where the hell did that come from? Remember you’re married. And it��s not like you know anything about the heat of passion, anyway. At least, that’s what Walsh always told her, what he always gave as an excuse for why he didn’t want to touch her. She was cold, he said. Too hard. Not enough. She forced back those thoughts, promising herself once again that she would sit down with Walsh that evening and discuss the problems in their marriage. She dreaded it, but she had to try. They couldn’t go on much longer like this.

“Uh,” she tried again to respond to Killian’s question. “You said I should come by.”

“So I did, though I didn’t expect you quite so soon. I’m afraid we’re not open yet.”

“Yeah, sorry, it was stupid,” she said, turning away. “I was just passing and I thought— never mind, I’ll go—”

“No!” She looked back at him, startled at the vehemence in his voice. He flushed faintly pink and reached up to rub at a spot behind his right ear. “No, you don’t have to go. Please don’t, in fact. I’d be happy to, um, give you a tour? If you’d like.”

He looked hesitant but also eager, like he really, really wanted her to stay. She smiled. It felt like a long time since anyone had actually desired her company.

“Okay,” she said, a bit shyly. “I’d like that.”

A bright smile broke across his face, warm and soft and with just a hint of something wicked beneath it. For a moment Emma forgot to breathe. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Well, why don’t we start here?” he said, coming to stand beside her and indicating the near corner of the room with his left arm. His sleeve was pushed up slightly and she could see the seam where his prosthetic hand joined his arm. She realised with surprise that she hadn’t noticed the other day that he was missing his left hand. He’s missing his left hand. Why did that fact seem so significant to her? It tickled at the back of her mind, like something she needed to remember but couldn’t quite pull from her subconscious.

“So we’re still waiting on some inventory, but you can see the general layout of the shop,” he was saying. “Reference material is here at the front, with theory guides just here behind it. The practical manuals we have to be a bit more careful with, so they’re back in this corner, some of them will be locked in a special glass cupboard, available on request only. Then here in this corner we have the historical context.”

Emma frowned, looking more closely at the titles of the books that already graced the shelves. Rare volumes, he’d said the other day, but these were all—

“These are books of magic!” she cried.

“Oh, aye, did I not mention? That’s our specialty. Books of and about magic.”

She started to laugh, then trailed off when she noticed he didn’t join her. “But you’re not serious?”

“Very serious.”

“Books of magic.”

“And about magic, aye.”

“But— magic isn’t real.”

“There are quite a number of people who would disagree with that assessment, Sheriff.”

“And you’re one of them?” Her voice was rife with disbelief.

“Aye,” he replied, and the sincerity in his face and tone were unmistakable. “I am.”

She shook her head. “I would never have pegged you as someone with an interest in the occult. You seem so, I dont know, practical.”

“Oh, I’m very practical, love, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in magic.”

She wanted to deny his words, really it was so absurd, but she realised with another start of surprise that she was genuinely interested, almost despite herself, curious to the point of fascination. “Will you tell me about them?”

He exhaled deeply, almost as if he had been holding his breath waiting for her reaction, and gave her another dazzling smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

Nearly two hours later they were sitting on the floor surrounded by books, and Emma’s head was buzzing with stories of witches and wizards, covens and cults, fascinating details concerning the history and practice of magical arts. She felt like she had learned more in that short time than she had before in the whole of her life. Of course, her earlier education had been… it had been… what? She couldn’t recall. Frowning, she tried to remember where she had gone to school, the names of her teachers, fellow classmates, anything, but it was all a blank.

“Emma?” She turned to see Killian looking at her inquiringly. “Are you all right, love?”

She should really object to that ‘love’, she knew, but couldn’t bring herself to. She liked it. It made her feel warm inside.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted.”

He nodded, and reached out to close one of the books. “We’ve been talking for a long time,” he said. “Perhaps we could take a break?”

She watched carefully as he used the prosthetic hand to close the book. The hand moved, she noticed, clearly it had some sort of mechanism operating it, but he seemed to mange it awkwardly, as though not quite used to it. She wondered how long he’d had— “When did you lose your hand?” she blurted, then flushed. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

He looked startled, then smiled. “No, it’s fine. It’s been so long, I don’t mind speaking of it anymore.”

“How long?”

“Oh, years and years.”

“What happened? Er, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all. It was stupid, really. I was young, I got in a fight. Over a woman. Woke up the next day with no hand.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Like I said it was years ago.”

“Mmmmm.”

“What is it, Swan?” He looked almost expectant, like he knew the gears were turning in her head and was excited to see what they would spit out. She felt again the odd, unfamiliar sensation of being the focus of genuine interest. He truly seemed to care about what she had to say, for no reason other than that she was saying it.

“It’s just— well, you don’t seem very comfortable with the artificial one. If it’s been so long, I guess I would have thought you’d be more used to it by now.”

“Ah, well that’s explained easily enough. I lost my hand so long ago that the prosthetics that were available to me at the time were, um, let’s say primitive. This one however is quite new. State of the art, they tell me. It works by interacting with the electrical impulses in my muscle fibres, apparently. So you see, until quite recently I had a much simpler one, and this one, while far better in many ways, is taking a bit of time to adjust to.”

Every word he spoke was the truth, she could detect no dishonesty in his face or manner, yet she sensed it wasn’t the whole story either. He was leaving out important details. And she wondered why.

As he spoke he adjusted the prosthetic with his right hand, drawing her attention to the thick, engraved silver band he wore on its ring finger. A wedding ring? she wondered. It must be. A man with no left hand would naturally wear his wedding band on his right, wouldn’t he? Especially if until recently he’d worn a simpler prosthesis, one with no fingers.

She wondered, and not for the first time, about Henry’s mother. Killian’s face when he’d spoken of her in Granny’s had worn for a brief moment such a devastated expression, her loss must still be fresh and painful for him. In a weird way that made her feel better about having sought him out and spent so long talking with him. She was married, he a grieving widower, what harm could there be in a friendship between them? She certainly wouldn’t have to worry about anything coming of the fierce attraction she felt for him. Even if he felt it too, he would never act on it. He was very obviously still in love with his wife, and Emma somehow knew beyond any doubt that he was not a man to betray those he loved.

“So, um, it’s ah, lunchtime,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. “And it seems we both could use a break. Would you care to join me? For some lunch?”

“Sure, I guess. Where were you going to go?”

“I—, uh, we live upstairs,” he gestured towards the staircase. “The third floor is a loft apartment, I was just going to go up and make a sandwich.”

Alone with him in his apartment. Emma’s heart thundered. “A sandwich sounds great,” she managed to say. “Can you do grilled cheese?”

His face twisted for a moment into the strangest expression, half blissful happiness, half like he wanted to cry. “I can,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s my son’s favourite.”

“In that case, I’d love to join you.”

The grilled cheese was perfect, exactly the way she liked it. She told him as much, and was rewarded with another half-delighted, half-sad expression. “I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch,” he said, almost to himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Grilled cheese is— Henry’s mother’s favourite as well,” he said quietly. “Since we lost her we don’t make it as often as we used to.”

Emma didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she crunched her sandwich in slightly awkward silence as he busied himself at the stove, avoiding looking at him until he slid a cup in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked in surprise.

“Traditional Jones family accompaniment to grilled cheese,” he replied.

She picked up the mug and inhaled over it. “Hot chocolate with— is that cinnamon?”

“Aye. It’s a bit odd I’ll grant you, and if I’m honest I prefer it plain, but that’s how Henry likes it.”

“Seriously? You’re telling me your son likes cinnamon on his hot chocolate.”

“Aye.” He seemed to be watching her carefully.

“Grilled cheese and hot chocolate with cinnamon is my favourite lunch,” she said. “You’re basically telling me that I have the same tastes as your thirteen year old kid.”

“Would it help if I confessed to an affinity for it as well?” he asked, his face deadpan but with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“It might.”

“Very well, I confess it, but you mustn’t ever tell Henry. I’d never get him to eat a vegetable again if he thought he could wheedle grilled cheese out of me every night.”

“It’s a deal.”

The earlier awkwardness was dispelled, and as Killian sat down to eat his sandwich Emma sipped her chocolate —it too was perfect— making it last as long as possible. There was no way she could justify staying any longer once lunch was over, and she didn’t want to go. She felt comfortable with Killian, and happy, things she couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Later she knew she would need to analyse these feelings, but for now she simply wished to feel them.

When the last drop was finally drained she set the cup down on the counter, then realised it might be nice if she took it to the sink instead and went to pick it up again, at the same time as Killian reached for it himself. Her hand closed around it first followed a second later by his, his fingers linking with hers in a way that felt so natural that it didn’t even occur to her to question it, simply laughing lightly as they released the cup but not each other’s hands. His thumb caressed her bare ring finger. “You don’t wear a wedding ring,” he said softly.

She could barely breathe her heart was pounding so hard, the gentle movements of his thumb sending sparks coursing up her arm, reverberating through her whole body. “Um,” she said, trying to think. “No, I — I have one of course, but I don’t wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Er.” She tried to remember. There was a reason, surely? “I can’t with— with my job. It gets in the way.” Yes, that must be it.

“Ah.” Something in his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe her, but before she could reply he had released her hand and turned away, picking up the mug and putting it in the sink.

“I like yours though,” she said abruptly. Where did that come from?

“What?” He turned, giving her an odd look.

“Your wedding ring.” She reached out and took his hand again, this time caressing the silver band upon the third finger with her own thumb. “It is a wedding ring, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Aye.”

“Henry’s mother.” It wasn’t a question and so required no answer, but he gave one anyway. “Aye.” The sadness was back in his voice, this time untempered by any joy.

Emma smiled, feeling suddenly swamped by sadness herself. She felt such a connection to this man, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and she hated to think of him hurting.

Briefly she allowed herself a rare, uncharacteristic moment of self-indulgence to wonder what it would be like to be loved as devotedly as Killian loved his wife. To be loved even after she was gone. To have such an emotion, from such a man. Swallowing back tears, she looked up at him. “She had good taste. This is exactly the sort of ring I would have chosen.”

“She’s an extraordinary woman,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes blazing with it.

Emma nodded, wishing she knew why that remark left such a clutching, squeezing sensation around her heart.

“Well I should go,” she said, releasing his hand.

He swallowed hard then gave her a small smile, a tight, guarded thing that squeezed her heart again. He looked so sad. She wanted to see the bright, wicked grin from earlier.

“May I see you out?” he asked politely, his emotions under control again.

She shook her head, already moving towards the door. “No, it’s fine. But thanks.”

“Any time, love.”

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. “Emma.”

She looked back at him, gripped by the wild, irrational hope that he might ask her to stay. “What about your husband?” he asked.

“Who?” She frowned in confusion, then remembered. “Oh, Walsh.” Why had she forgotten him? “What about him?”

“Does he not wear a ring?”

“Of course he does.” Didn’t he? “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you said ‘would have chosen.’” Killian’s face was calm, but that intensity was back in his eyes.

“What?”

“Just now, when you looked at my ring you said it’s exactly what you would have chosen. Not what you did choose.”

There was that confusion again, swirling through her brain and blocking her thoughts. Why couldn’t she think? “I— I must have misspoken.” She rubbed her forehead, which had started to ache.

He was silent for a long moment before replying. “Of course, I’m sure that’s it. Goodbye, Sheriff.”

Emma smiled tightly and left.

When she arrived home that evening, Emma sought out Walsh in his study. He didn’t like her bothering him there but she was confused, her head spinning with questions that needed answers. She’d spent the afternoon in her office with the lights dimmed, nursing her headache and making a list of all the questions she needed to ask him, everything that was odd in their relationship and in her life. It was a long list. Why hadn’t she ever talked to him before? She’d been unhappy for so long…

“What is it, Emma?” Walsh’s voice was cold.

“I just— wanted to talk to you. About some things.”

He turned and fixed her with the icy, probing stare that never failed to make her tongue-tied and anxious. She wanted to flee, back to the relative safety of the living room, where Walsh rarely went. No! You need answers! Stay strong!

“Some things,” Walsh repeated.

“Y-yes.”

“Well go on,” he waved his hand at her and adopted an expression of exaggerated patience. “We haven’t got all night. What are these ‘things’ that are suddenly so important?”

Emma had spent an hour memorising her list of questions, but now she could only remember one.

“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” she burst out. “Why don’t I?”

“Of— of course I wear one!” Walsh looked genuinely surprised, his composure slipping enough to rejuvenate her resolve.

“Walsh I am looking at your hand right now and it is bare,” she said. “Neither of us wear rings. I’m certain I have one, I remember it, but where is it? Why did I stop wearing it?” He gaped at her and she seized her opportunity, letting months worth of questions flood out. “And why don’t we do anything together any more? What happened to our friends? I remember— I think I remember that we used to go out, do things as a couple, with other couples. But we have no friends now, and I stay in alone every night. I feel like I never see you these days, you’re hardly ever home, you never want to have sex—” she broke off as a look of revulsion crossed Walsh’s face, crushing her, stopping the words in her throat. Your own husband finds you repulsive, she thought bitterly, and a small voice at the very back of her consciousness piped up with a single word. “Why?”

What? thought Emma, and the voice elaborated. “Dont you want to know why?”

A memory flashed through her mind, although no, not a memory, it couldn’t be, but it felt like a memory. The blue, blue eyes of Killian Jones, warm with adoration, his deep voice, his hand in her hair. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he whispered. “So utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful.”

“Walsh, what’s going on?” she asked, suddenly angry, furious, incandescent with rage. “There’s something very wrong here, and I think you’re behind it. Tell me what it is. Tell me what you’ve done to me!”

Walsh’s face twisted into a terrifying snarl and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him until they were nose-to-nose, drowning her anger in fear. “Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?” he hissed, “Does it by any chance have something to do with our new neighbourhood bookseller?”

“Wh— what?” Emma scrambled to lie, to protect Killian. “No! Of course not.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Emma.” Walsh sighed, his face falling back into its usual supercilious, condescending expression. Still holding her arm he turned and picked something up from his desk, a small box in silver filigree, beautiful in a cold and terrible way. “Fortunately it won’t matter. Come morning you’ll be yourself again. Or one of your selves, anyway.” He opened the box with a flick of his thumb and blew a harsh puff of air into it, sending a shower of glittering grey particles flying into Emma’s eyes. She gasped, then collapsed. Walsh held her up with his grip on her arm, then gave her a shove back into the sofa behind her. “That should take care of you for now,” he muttered, looking down at her unconscious form. “It appears that the pirate works faster than I had anticipated. Of course very little that we anticipated about him has turned out to be true. How he even managed to get here in the first place is something I would very much like to know. He is supposed to be stuck in Neverland.” He paused, smirking. “The power of true love, I suppose,” he said, sneering the words. “But he’ll soon be dealt with, him and your son. And now, ‘wife’, off to bed with you.” He waved his hand and Emma disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

When she awoke the next morning, alone in her bed as always, all her doubts and worries about her marriage along with all recollection of her confrontation with Walsh were gone.

Her memories of the time she’d spent with Killian Jones, however, were not.

Notes: I hope this makes you feel a bit better (but still interested enough to want more!).

#cs ff #cursed storybrooke #captain swan #captain cobra #cursed captain swan #mystery #angst #canon divergence #alternative 3b #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff

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queencamellia · 7 years ago

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FMA!AU BNHA

Note: This fandom has taken over my life. This is a longfic. Lots of plot. Lots of ship. Todomomo centric, but LOTS OF GODDAMN SHIPS.

Oh, and traitor theories. That too. Mystery. Huzzah.

"look like the innocent flower” Summary

...but be the serpent under't.

In a world of alchemy, revolt plots, and civil unrest, Colonel Shouto Todoroki and Lieutenant Momo Yaoyorozu must find a way to preserve the peaceful regime of All Might.

Unfortunately, the Homunculi are lurking. And they’ve already taken action.

“I wonder...who is the traitor?”

[Fullmetal Alchemist AU]

[TRAITOR THEORIES WOOO]

[Plot] [Almost Gen tbh] [Lots of pairing hints tho]

LINKS

Ao3 LINK HERE

FFN LINK HERE

Alternatively, you may read it under the cut!

In his childhood, when Shouto dreamt of becoming an alchemist, he imagined defeating evildoers and saving civilians like the tales his mother used to tell him. He never dreamt of bringing honor to the family, of proving himself worthy of the Todoroki name, of his name reverently spoken over drinks, and of a brilliant future filled with glorious victory.

Shouto never needed that. He never cared for that. He never wanted that.

He just wanted to help.

He dreamt of children who would thank him for saving their parents life; he dreamt of the poor who could lead better lives in peacetime. He dreamt of a world where love, compassion, and kindness didn’t have to be snuffed out because they were considered “weak” or “useless.”

Shouto did not dream of tears, loss, anger, and despair. He did not dream of the futile battles in which he fought to live, not protect. He did not dream...no, he never quite realized that there would be blood on his hands.

Before him was nothing but an obscure cloud of smoke. Black specks of ash fell upon his navy blue uniform like gentle snow, but he paid no mind to them. Shouto stumbled past a pile of rubble, his soot-covered hands reaching out and searching. The thin layer of frost covering his fingertips suddenly burst into action, travelling down the devastated city block and covering the grimy street with ice.

Revitalized, Shouto continued to make his way down the street with renewed vigor, pushing past rubble and coughing. “Bakugou,” he called, carefully stepping over a piece of demolished concrete. “Bakugou, I know you’re there.”

To his relief, he heard a cough resound from underneath the remains of the ruined building. “Fucking snipers,” his fellow alchemist cursed, looking rather unfazed as he threw a rock off himself towards the side. The blonde grumbled under his breath, attempting to pick out the pieces of plaster in his hair. “I hate fucking snipers. They always have to pick the tall buildings. Shitty bastards just want to make themselves harder to catch.”

“That’s what snipers typically do,” Shouto deadpanned, unimpressed by the Explosions Alchemist’s stellar vocabulary. He glanced around the building, unable to detect any signs of life; even so, Shouto remained vigilant, his right glove off and prepared to freeze anything at the slightest notice. His left glove, as always, remained on but firmly useless.

Bakugou’s cold eyes, which so severely contradicted his fiery personality, were a jarring reminder of their situation. They were State Alchemists at war.

“This fucking sucks,” Bakugou complained, kicking at a rock. His voice lowered. “I didn’t sign up to be an alchemist so that those government bastards would ship me off to do their dirty work.”

“What did you expect?” Shouto couldn’t help but ask.

Bakugou sent him a disbelieving look, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long, dark blue trench coat. If Shouto looked closer, he could make out the faint glint of silver. They had all been issued their special State Alchemist uniforms only a few days prior: it was easier to identify the amount of significant casualties, then. “I don’t know,” Bakugou growled. “But not this. I didn’t sign up to fuck over some weak bastards who can’t even fight. I thought I was gonna actually fight someone halfway decent at fighting.”

Shouto, too accustomed to the crude alchemist's speech, automatically translated the words in his head. It was Bakugou’s way of expressing his distaste for murdering civilians; despite his abrasive nature, Bakugou never wanted to be a villain (a war hero). He just wanted to be a hero.

Shouto let out a noncommittal hum, glancing upwards at the sky in hopes that it was dark enough for them to return to camp. Although he tolerated and (dare he say it?) enjoyed Bakugou’s company (on rare occasions), Shouto felt unease well in his chest. Something about today had been far too easy: they had only encountered one Ishvalan alchemist in the early morning. The alchemist had been weak; Bakugou was more than enough to defeat him while Shouto evacuated the civilians.

“Oh, sure. Bite me with your fucking holier-than-thou attitude, Pacifist Alchemist.”

Shouto’s lips curled downwards. Although “Pacifist Alchemist” was hardly his official epithet, the moniker had stuck after soldiers witnessed him evacuating several civilians: people quickly realized that Shouto actively avoided causing direct harm to civilians and the landscape if possible, which was how the title was born. Although he didn’t particularly mind it, he knew that his father would be less than pleased. Endeavor had always favored the logical, quickest, and most efficient solution. It was a trait to be both admired and feared.

But Shouto...Shouto wanted to use his Ice Alchemy for good, if possible. He didn’t want the alchemy that his mother had so lovingly taught him to be used for murder.

“I’m called the Freezing Alchemist.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pacifist,” Bakugou snorted, the fight in him essentially sapping away as he squinted at the sun. “How much longer? Two hours? Three hours? You think the old geezer would care if we came back early?”

Shouto considered the notion logically, then replied, “Brigadier-General Aizawa won’t care, but the troops will.”

Bakugou looked like he was about to launch into a tirade about how he didn’t give a shit about the morale of the troops, but surprisingly closed his mouth and decided against it. Even the often-irate Explosions Alchemist knew the importance of maintaining the all-powerful image of Amestris’ State Alchemists: they were the elite of the elite. Every country had their set of state alchemists; if their alchemists were weak, then it reflected badly on the country’s strength.

Instead of blowing up, Bakugou narrowed his eyes and searched the perimeter. Shouto took that as a signal that they were going back to work; immediately, the Freezing Alchemist exhaled, shutting his eyes. A flurry of cool air sent the dust flying once more, ice forming in the cracks of the broken buildings; as instructed, it was a way for Amestris to quickly mark its newly acquired territory until the troops could advance and secure the area.

While Shouto had been securing the premises, his fellow alchemist had climbed onto one of the piles of concrete blocks in order to survey more of the area. They quickly fell into their usual after-battle routine: Shouto was to search for survivors, while Bakugou was to check for enemies. Although they had their differences, the two alchemists moved as a single movement flawlessly with an ease acquired only through weeks and weeks of practice.

Silence presided over the clearing for several minutes until Bakugou let out an annoyed grunt. “Fuck,” he cursed, drawing Shouto’s attention immediately. The ice user quickly strode over to the rubble, climbing up the pile with relative ease. His eyes surveyed the area, searching for what Bakugou might have seen, when they landed upon a group of badly-concealed soldiers approaching the west.

“They're heading for the camp,” Shouto concluded, already halfway down the pile of rubble as he rushed through the street. They rounded the corner, intent on stopping the squadron of soldiers when—

“Half-and-half!”

Shouto had barely a second’s warning before Bakugou literally launched over to him and knocked him to the ground, a bullet whizzing over his head. “Fuck, it's an ambush!” Bakugou cursed, scrambling off of him and ducking behind a piece of rubble. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Shouto found his voice. “We're sitting ducks out here; we need to find cover,” he murmured under his breath, examining the fallen bullet. “But where?”

“Less thinking, more fighting. Get on your feet!” Bakugou barked, clapping his hands and slamming them into the ground. Shouto knew what that meant; immediately, he scrambled away, Bakugou at his heels as the ground exploded behind them. The dust kicked up by the explosion was enough cover to give them a few seconds of respite.

Suddenly, the air felt warmer, the frost nipping at Shouto’s fingertips melting away. A ferocious gale of wind blew away the smoke, exposing their location.

“There’s an alchemist,” Shouto realized. “Two alchemists, perhaps.”

And if the previous move had been any indication, it wasn’t a coincidence that the enemy alchemists had the type of alchemy to directly counter theirs. Bakugou and Shouto had grown rather notorious amongst the alchemy world. They were in an open area, surrounded by snipers and enemy alchemists who they couldn’t even spot.

All in all, Bakugou summarized their shitty situation rather pleasantly. “We're fucked.”

An onslaught of bullets flew over their heads; immediately, Shouto formed a protective wall of ice, only for it to melt away again. Bakugou cursed, dragging him behind a stone pillar before he could get shot. The rocks in the explosion-user’s hands morphed into his ever-trustworthy grenades; it wouldn’t be enough.

Shouto’s mind raced at lightning-quick speeds. Was this how he would die? Covered in soot, in the middle of a foreign country beside his loudmouth companion? He couldn’t die: Shouto wouldn’t die until he ensured that everyone (his siblings, his mother) could live peaceful, prosperous lives. What could he do?

It was almost comical how Endeavor’s voice popped up in his mind; despite everything, he had learned many important things from his father. Think logically. Survey the area first, Shouto. Think from the enemy’s point of view. How would they strike you?

Maybe...maybe I should…

He glanced at his left hand.

Suddenly, a loud series of screams resounded. As quickly as they had started, they abruptly stopped. Bakugou and Shouto exchanged wary glances, but when the temperature suddenly died down, the Explosions Alchemist must have realized something. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bakugou snorted, a smirk curving on his lips. There was an almost fond note to his voice. “The Hawk’s Eye strikes again. Prissy bitch. She always had the best timing.”

Shouto had heard of the epithet before. After all, soldiers talked. “The sniper, correct?” he question, tilting his head. “I heard that she’s quite accurate.”

“Accurate is an understatement,” Bakugou countered grudgingly. “She never fucking misses, no matter the target nor the distance. She’s probably at least a thousand meters from here.”

Shouto sighed, nodding at him. “We should probably head back to camp and report about this to Brigadier-General Aizawa: that’s two more alchemists down. If they’re aiming for us, we probably shouldn’t wander around here for too long.”

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou muttered under his breath, stalking off. “Come on, Half-and-Half. I’m sick of these fucking ruins.”

----

To Bakugou’s growing annoyance, they never made it back to the camp. Instead, they ran straight into the squadron of enemy soldiers they had spotted before; apparently, the fuckers weren’t planted there simply for the ambush. The Ishvalan soldiers were busy engaging with a squadron of Amestrian soldiers: from the looks of it, the Amestrians were heavily injured and losing. Bakugou cursed, glancing to his left to where Half-and-Half stood.

He never understood why the alchemist was so fucking calm. It irritated Bakugou to no ends; no matter the situation, Colonel Shouto Todoroki always maintained his same annoying deadpan face. They were even on the brink of fucking death minutes ago, and all the ice-user could do was stare apathetically at his hands!

“Shitty ice bastard,” Bakugou grumbled. Then, louder, he declared, “HEY, YOU BASTARDS! GIVE ME A CHALLENGE, WILL YOU?” Immediately, heads turned to face him.

Unhesitatingly, Bakugou jumped into the fray, baring his teeth at the Ishvalan soldier in front of him. “Well? Come on,” he invited, his fingertips itching to make things explode. “Let’s do this.”

---

“Thank you so much!”

Shouto blinked, unable to mask his surprise as he pivoted on his heel to face the bowing Amestrian soldier. He silently gestured for her to stop bowing, examining the soldier analytically. She was a petite girl, chestnut brown locks framing her cherubic face quite nicely. Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as a grateful smile graced her lips. “You and Lieutenant-Colonel Bakugou saved our lives, sir,” she added.

“It’s no problem…” Shouto said hesitantly. He wasn’t used to interacting with anybody outside of their small group of State Alchemists. “Your name?”

The girl gasped, mortified. “My apologies, sir! I forgot to state my name and rank. First Lieutenant Ochako Uraraka! It’s an honor to meet you, colonel.”

“Just Shouto is fine,” Shouto allowed. “Are...your squadmates alright, Lieutenant?”

“Then, just Ochako is fine. Or Uraraka, if you prefer that. Most of them are alright, although we should be heading back to camp as quickly as possible,” she replied dutifully. Uraraka gestured to two soldiers to her right, who had been lingering awkwardly. “I think two of my friends would like to join the conversation. Meet Captain Tenya Iida and Second Lieutenant Izuku Midoriya.”

“It’s an honor,” Iida, said, nodding his head. “Thank you for helping us. We were caught unprepared, and I hate to think of what might have happened without your assistance.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shouto offered. Then, he turned to the second lieutenant. “And you as well.”

As if he couldn’t hold back any longer, Midoriya blurted out, “You’re the Freezing Alchemist, right? How exactly does your alchemy work? Does it work in all climates? How do you form the ice in the desert like this? I assume you use the water particles in the air, but it still doesn’t explain how you—”

“Midoriya!” Iida hissed under his breath, jabbing the soldier with his elbow.

Midoriya blinked, then blushed when he realized the torrent of words that just escaped his mouth. “O-oh, I’m so sorry!” he stammered immediately. “Alchemy just fascinates me a lot, and I’ve heard so many stories about you—”

“Instead of focusing on Half-and-Half’s alchemy, why don’t you spend more time developing your hand-to-hand skills, Deku?”

As always, Bakugou’s arrival was dramatic, his voice marked with annoyance as he literally landed beside Shouto, having jumped off a stray boulder to intervene in the conversation. Shouto liked to think that the explosions-user could have done well in drama, but he couldn’t imagine Bakugou spouting off Shakespeare with a straight face.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaimed, a hesitant smile blooming on his face. “You were really cool out there.”

Bakugou snorted. “I’m more than fucking cool,” he declared arrogantly, crossing his arms over his chest and effectively cutting off whatever conversation they had going on. Shouto let out a long, suffering sigh.

“Bakugou…read the mood…”

“Well isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Bakugou shot back. “You can’t socialize for your fucking life, Half-and-Half. It’s a miracle the guys back in the military academy didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

Shouto blinked, then tilted his head. He chose not to address the socializing jab as it was somewhat true. Instead, he revealed, “I didn’t attend military school.”

“Eh?” came the surprised voices of not only Bakugou, but also the other three soldiers.

“My father sent me to a private academy,” Shouto explained. “The people there were very amiable.”

Bakugou looked unconvinced. “You had friends?”

“I suppose,” Shouto said slowly, “I had one friend.”

Before any of them could respond, however, Shouto’s eyes caught upon a shock of black hair approaching the group of soldiers. Plenty of people had black hair, but he could never forget that ponytail—

“Fucking finally, Hawk’s Eyes!” Bakugou exclaimed, drawing her attention. “Taking your damn sweet time, weren’t you? Where the hell were you during the scuffle?”

“I believe that was hardly a scuffle, Lieutenant-Colonel Bakugou,” came her voice, lined with amusement. “And I see that you all handled yourselves just fine.”

Bakugou scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Half-and-Half, meet—”

“Yaoyorozu?” Shouto asked, cutting off the explosions-user as his eyes drunk in her appearance. Yes, even though she was wearing the navy blue coat of the Amestris army and had cut her hair shorter, the woman standing before him was undeniably Yaoyorozu. His chest felt tight; it felt as if he could hardly breathe as his eyes remained steadily trained on hers.

Silence had fallen over the group. The female sniper pursed her lips together tightly, stepping forward.

“Todoroki,” she acknowledged, her cool eyes softening the slightest fraction as they met his. Slowly, a smirk curved over her lips as she pushed a stray strand of ebony hair behind her ear. “Or...should I call you colonel, now?”

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possibilistfanfiction · 7 years ago

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put down your sword & crown (come lay with me on the ground)

[this is rly late for clexa week but whatever it’s here (day 7 bc this is like future canon world but like nothing happened past 304) - clarke rly wants lexa to rETIRE partially bc her wife is hurt & stubborn abt it. also they have a baby. its soft & theres not a lot of plot. ao3.]

put down your sword & crown (come lay with me on the ground)

achingly beautiful how the sky/ looked as i stood after they left. nicer somehow/ in the middle. all the trees tucking blackbirds/ into their darkness. it really did take this long.

—gabrielle calvoccoressi, rocket fantastic (poems)

she has a limp. it’s more pronounced during storms, especially in the winter, and sometimes you think your wife is far too young to have a limp. other times you think it’s amazing she’s made it this far, alive and mostly in one piece.

you’ve been together for fourteen years, been married for ten of them. lexa is kind, attentive, and very funny—sides of her most people don’t get to see, but ones that you know almost better than any of your own moods. hers come with some warning: a tick in her jaw, solemn, sad nods, hours of swordsmanship when she’s upset. you think she’s more beautiful now than ever, a few laugh lines around the corners of her eyes; she takes you to the ocean whenever she can, and you think her eyes are the sort of jade—clear and depthless—as seaglass, as lightning left here for you to see.

she’s the most incredible, tender, intelligent person you have ever met, and she has a limp, shuffling in from training, again—and you. are. furious.

hale is babbling away in the corner, playing with some toys your mother had brought during her last visit. you watch her carefully because she’s walking now, and sometimes she looks at you before she darts off across the room with an expression that reminds you so much of your wife that you have a hard time believing that lexa didn’t bear this child herself.

but today, soothed by the rain or the smell of bread you’re baking, she seems content with the small stuffed dog in her tiny hands. she looks up when lexa barges into the house, soaking wet and grimacing, but then goes back to her little game.

you open your mouth to say something, to snap at your wife, but she only holds up her hand exhaustedly before limping past you toward your bedroom quarters. you hear a stone sink into the bath you had started to draw, and then her first boot hit the ground. you wait for a moment, think about the old saying—wait for the other shoe to drop—and then, unsurprisingly, your wife’s does, softly and finally onto the worn hardwood of your bathroom.

you put hale in her little playpen—she doesn’t protest, just clings to her stuffed toys, and you brush back the mess of dark curls on her head and kiss her forehead when she smiles up at you—and then sigh. she’s the brightest, most special thing in the world and it had been lexa, surprisingly, who had advocated so passionately to adopt this tiny baby, abandoned in the woods near her home village. you had been hesitant: the ground is still not a gentle place, and it is not easy to love the most powerful person in the world. it is not easy, not really, for you to be mothers.

but she smiles, little dimples and all, and you hold her cheek for a moment before turning to go tend to your wife.

when you walk into your bathroom, lexa is naked, sort of staring at the tub. she’s put oils in it, and a few dried flowers; the room smells like lavender, like milk and honey, and if you weren’t already so mad you would be struck by it all, how beautiful and long and toned your wife is, wiry muscles and gentle curves, the steam causing her sun-kissed skin to flush gold. but lexa is crying, heaves a sigh, and then looks at you sadly, and some of your anger melts away.

‘i can’t get in,’ she says, quietly, and you’re surprised she’s speaking in english. perhaps it’s to feel further away from the words. she does this sometimes, when things are especially difficult for her to admit.

you don’t say anything, just take your shirt off and lay it on the chair. you slip out of the loose pants you have on, then your underwear, lexa watching you with an unreadable expression, one full of apology and relief.

‘hale?’

‘she’s in the playpen. she likes the toys my mother brought.’

lexa nods once, and then you step into the tub, and hold out your hands.

she takes them, is graceful with one leg when she steps into the relief of the warm water, but then it is slow going for a few moments, and her hands grip yours tightly, almost frantically, while she gets her other leg over the edge of the tub, her hip not bending like it should.

you stay quiet when you settle in, and she leans back and closes her eyes. her hand massages the muscle above the sore, stiff joint, and you know you need to wait, no matter how much you want to berate her, or argue, or yell.

‘you’re angry with me,’ she says, after a while, sitting up and looking at you. she does so with tenderness and no trace of anger herself.

‘yeah.’

‘we’ve been fighting for a while, now,’ she states, no question, and reaches for your hand.

‘we have been,’ you agree.

you take her hand, her gentle, calloused fingers, turn it upside down and trace the scar on her palm from so many years ago.

‘i do not know how to stop,’ she says, shakily, after moments of quiet.

‘you don’t have to stop being a leader, lexa,’ you say. ‘i’ve never wanted that for you.’

‘how can i be commander, though, if i do not fight with my people?’

a rush of frustration wells up in your chest, but her eyes are wide, and she looks young and lost and scared. and you are her wife.

‘we are at peace.’

she stares down at the water, swallows. ‘the other clans cannot revolt, if i were to relinquish power in any way.’

‘you are a brilliant leader,’ you say, and reach toward her to raise her chin. you nod when she meets your eyes. ‘you brought them together when you were 16. you overcame a shit show when we fell to the ground, and the mountain, and the ice nation.’

she sighs, nods minutely.

‘things will not fall apart of you give some power to aden. if you usher in someone capable and guided by your own hand.’ you squeeze her hand. ‘you are a brilliant leader, my love.’

‘he is quite capable.’

‘you’ve trained him since he was a boy.’ you smile, because you very much do like aden, and he’s grown into a fine warrior and strategist, perfectly adept and passionate and willing. ‘he will be good for polis, good for your people.’

‘i still want to lead,’ she says, looks at your seriously, tilts her head in a challenge.

‘you will,’ you say. ‘just with a little more help.’

you give her the few minutes she needs; you stay quiet and wash her hair gently, massage her hip.

‘okay,’ she says, finally, resolved and upset and relieved.

you kiss her—tender and kind, rough, a mess of a kiss, the first of a certain kind—and she kisses you back.

when you back up, your foreheads pressed together as you both breathe, she says, ‘i do not trust your machines, and i only vaguely trust your mother’—you laugh, nod—‘but i think i may want to learn more about the procedure.’

you want to sing, or shout or dance or something, because your mother has offered surgery to fix lexa’s hip for months, since you forced lexa to go to arkadia for x-rays and a consult.

‘we can do that,’ you say. ‘i’ll radio her.’

lexa shakes her head, kisses you again. ‘tomorrow,’ she says, and when you lift a brow, she sighs. ‘i give you my word, clarke.’

‘alright.’

‘just,’ she sighs, stands slowly, less stiff than before because of the warm water, ‘i need a day. i want a day with you, and with hale. to—to, i think, know what i can have.’

‘we do want you around, you know.’

lexa smiles, and, almost as if on cue, hale starts wailing for both of you, her little voice full of over-dramatic sobs. if you had to bet, it’s because she tossed her toy over the side of her playpen.

‘your daughter, undoubtedly,’ she says, as you help her out, and you flick water on her with a laugh before you follow.

she wraps her hair up in a towel and puts on a robe before walking out and collecting your mess of a child, her eyes brimming red. hale sniffles in lexa’s arms and you bend down and then hand her the little dog, wipe her tears before she hugs it tightly against lexa’s shoulder.

‘come on, strikon,’ lexa says softly. ‘mama made us breakfast.’

she situates hale at the table in her little chair, and you bring the fresh bread and cheese over with some fresh berries you’d had to trade a significant amount of venison for, but you are the commander’s wife, after all.

and you have breakfast with your family, lexa breaking the bread into pieces small enough for hale, and trying to get her to speak in complete sentences, and making both of you laugh. lexa looks at you after one particularly stupid joke that had pulled a snort out of you, and she says, ‘i am glad to no longer argue, niron.’

‘you’re an exhausting person to love,’ you say, but you’re smiling and she kisses your hand.

you clean up together, in rhythm and quietly, and hale starts to nod off in her chair, so you take her and put her between you in bed, watch her little chest rise and fall before you look at your wife.

‘she will need braids soon,’ she says, sifting her fingers through hale’s soft hair.

‘that’s all on you.’

lexa laughs softly. a weight has been lifted from her, you know, years and years of pain and being in a lifetime of forced debt to her people. she has fought for peace, and been willing to die for peace, and all you want—all you want for her, for your love, more than anything—is the same grace she has given to everyone around her.

you brush a strand of hair behind her ear, trace down her jaw. ‘you can rest,’ you tell her, and she closes her eyes like it’s some kind of holy benediction. a few tears leak down her cheeks but you let them, and then she dries her eyes and nods and props herself up so she can reach over hale to kiss you.

‘ai hod yu in,’ you say, quietly, and she smiles softly, tiredly.

‘i love you too.’

you put your hand on her hip, rub gentle circles below the waistband of her loose pants, her skin smooth and soft. your mother will cut it open, fix her bones and her nerves, and after that you will trace healing into her scar.

but for now you are all whole, and the rain has turned to heavy snow outside the windows. the fire is full and burns away; hale sighs and lexa’s breathing evens out. you watch them, and the wind howls outside, but you are warm.

#possibilist #possibilistfanfiction #clexa week 2018 #clexa fanfiction #clexa fic #BABIES #they r a lil old!!!!!!!! i love them so much

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