#these are just HEAVILY extended notes. kind of a scene outline

[kerbubbles]

Watching soul eater and cooking up my au because these men have taken over my brain completely

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 25 - Easily

Masterlist; Chapter 24

Summary: Finally.

Warnings: 18+ (a lot of things happening 😌); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Hello 2 am upload 🙈 but at last... here we are. This one took a lot of effort... and getting into the zone. 10k words long scene... who else would be capable of this, huh?  🙃

I think this is as much of a crucial one as the finale will be and so I hope you’ll find it... satisfying. Enjoy (hopefully) and let me know what you think? 

P.S. the song for this one is Muse ‘Easily’ (which is also my favourite song hence you know *wink wink*)

The cabin was silent save for the sound of your shallow breathing. Even if you wanted to break the silence, there were no words for this. Nothing useful in the dictionaries to describe it. Ineffable.

With your heart fluttering nervously within its cage, you returned Neil’s intense gaze. You knew what this was – seeking reassurance. A question whether the kiss did what you needed it to do. In an answer, you could only lift your head and crash your lips into his in search of more. Your hands slid down his neck and arms to rest on the sides, slowly inching underneath the shirt. With Neil’s arms trapping you beneath him, there was nothing else to do but let go. The stifled feelings and desires took the lead as you kissed him with all the urgency of a starved beggar. That took him by surprise. He gasped when you tugged at his lower lip ferociously and grazed your fingernails over the skin on his back. He broke the kiss, darkened irises roaming over your face with evident infatuation. He seemed fascinated, as though the strength of your desire was unexpected. Idiot. After a moment, Neil leaned in again, setting up a slow tempo with his lips brushing over yours almost tenderly, building up the unavoidable heat. You shivered, letting out a quiet whimper that he caught, smiling against your mouth. Your tongue darted out, tracing the outline of his lips, drawing out groans. The overwhelming familiarity settling in with warmth spreading across your chest. It was always supposed to be like this.

Neil leaned down on his forearm, using the free hand to hike up your sweater and trace featherlike touches down your navel, as far as the band of trousers would allow. The simple gesture was enough to make you tremble. He noticed it, smirk adding a predatory gleam to his face, and repeated the torturous move. Teasing, tempting you as though you needed anything more to be convinced. Nothing else mattered. Only this. Frustration boiling over, you took hold of his chin with one hand, forcing Neil to meet your wild gaze. His eyes glistened with a passion that still had the potential to make you breathless. He raised his eyebrow in silent question, hand still roaming freely over your body, causing goosebumps wherever it went. Forcing the brain to work, you whispered out a command:

“More” meeting his gaze with unhidden desire, you licked your lips unconsciously.

He caught it, grin widening as his gaze flicked between your mouth and eyes as though unable to focus.

“Of what?” leaning in, Neil brushed his nose against yours.

“You,” using the hold over his chin, you swept your thumb over his lips, prying them open.

He did not need more information than that. His mouth collided with yours eagerly, wasting no time to deepen the kiss and take everything you had for him. It felt just like you remembered. No unnecessary tenderness as you both got lost in each other. Sighs and groans punctuating the moment with impatience. The pull that always took you aback was still there, making you cling as close as possible. With one hand resting on his side, just next to the familiar bullet scar, you could easily hoist your leg over his hip. You had to get closer. It seemed like the matter of utmost urgency. The change of position made Neil break the kiss. He was breathing heavily as his hand slid down your thigh in a gentle caress. Another simple gesture causing havoc in your veins. You gazed at him, exposing the inner needs by impatiently tugging on his shirt. Closer. Whatever Neil saw in your eyes gave him a clue. A mischievous spark in the blue irises before he started trailing kisses from the corner of your mouth to the jaw and down the neck. With each touch of his lips and brush of the stubble, you inhaled sharply. He always knew what to do to make you fall apart within seconds, expertly using the experience of all those stolen moments to choose the spots that were bound to make you squirm with increasing pleasure. A small peck underneath the ear. A light bite near the collar bone. Nerve endings alight. Defenceless, you exposed more skin for his use by tilting your head, helplessly letting your hands roam over his chest. The firm muscles an object of pure fascination. Yours. Soon you have been resolved to sighs and gasps, bucking your hips against his with undeniable need. The warmth spreading with alarming speed, hazing your mind. Only one clear thought remained. You had to have him. To make him yours.

“Neil, please…” the weak plea was enough to make him stop.

He placed a final reverent kiss on the edge of your jaw and met your eyes. No shame. A teasing smirk dangling off the corner of his mouth.

“Begging for mercy already?” the husky tone sent shivers down your spine.

Aware of your struggles, Neil ran his fingers up and down your thigh. Certain kinds of touches made the fabric seem almost non-existent. You wanted to put up a fight, to find a biting comeback. But that part of your brain has shut down, locked on that one incessant thought – closer. And so, you did your best to let that longing into your eyes, as you whispered:

“Let me touch you,” purposeful, shamefully desperate.

Neil swallowed, shocked by your honesty. The simplicity of your wishes. You caught a glimpse of something strange pass through his features before he once again captured your lips in a breathless kiss. You cupped his cheek, tracing all the sharp angles. He broke away, leaving a breath of space, the perfect opportunity for you to kiss the tip of his nose. You grinned at his stunned expression, filled with fondness that had the potential of shattering your heart into smithereens. It would be worth it. The soft smile assured you of that.

After a beat, Neil straightened, kneeling above you, extending a hand in an invitation to get what you asked. You took it without a second wasted, shifting on the bed so you could face him. A flutter of anxious butterflies swirled in your stomach as you reached out, fingers settling on his shoulders. Neil placed his hands on your waist underneath the sweater, caressing the skin gently. He was observing you curiously, fascinated by the urgency you have shown. You ran your hands down his arms, feeling the biceps, briefly intertwining your fingers. Encouraged by the lack of protest, you gathered up his shirt, lifting it, showing him what was necessary. Neil smiled, placed a kiss on your forehead, and took over your attempts, taking off the garment and throwing it to the side. Your mind went blank as it always did. Eyes darting to admire and devour what was already familiar. Then, as though caught within a dream, you placed your hand over his heart and met his gaze.

“Is this better?” a hint of a smile upon his lips as Neil pulled you closer.

Despite the need pooling in your veins, the heart let out a painful thump. After everything, it was almost incomprehensible. Him with you like this. Like it always should have been. Overwhelmed with love, you pulled him into a tight hug. The warmth of his skin feeling like a revelation, you hid your face in his neck. Without hesitation, Neil returned the embrace, nuzzling your temple with audible relief. Finally, you knew what home felt like.

“I missed you” the whisper felt almost like a confession of something far more substantial.

And you knew why.

Neil froze. Fuck. You could tell that something was wrong. Worries confirmed when he let out a strange choking sound and released you abruptly. Blood turned cold as the panicked butterflies went into a frenzy. Please no. Before you could read anything from his face, he quickly stood up and turned away from the bed. Muscles tense, shoulders squared. There had to be a solution. Fighting to keep the panic under wraps, you stood up, watching him closely. He was motionless, hands covering his face as he let out strained breaths. Whatever you did caused havoc within his mind. You had to help him. That much was clear. Courage, dear heart. You crossed the space, tentatively reaching out trembling hand to touch his back. Upon the contact, Neil gasped quietly, as if surprised you were still there, willing to solve it. Using the lack of objection as encouragement, you took another step closer and pressed a light kiss between his shoulder blades. Your arms wound around his waist as you closed the remaining gap, resting your head against the firm muscles. After a moment of reluctance, Neil’s hands covered yours. That was all the assurance you needed to ask the critical question:

“What’s wrong?” the emotions weighing down your voice, making it come out hoarse and quiet.

His fingers glided over yours, brushing the knuckles with the care you never dreamt of experiencing. Whatever was bothering him could not taint the truth. Your fragile reality locked within the intimacy of the moment.  Neil took a deep breath, tensing again as though bracing himself against something terrifying. Then he started speaking:

“You deserve an explanation after all that… mess, and yet, here I am trying to…” he trailed off, anxiety and frustration permeating every word.

Your heart cracked upon the realisation. Before you could gather enough words to protest, he continued:

“I worry that I’m pressuring you into this… that I’m asking for too much-” the weariness gnawing at your soul with force.

“Neil, stop,” you cut in sharply, tightening the embrace, “Don’t make it sound like it’s one-sided. I want it too,” your voice wavered as your face warmed up.

Obvious and yet… Admitting it felt like a step too far, like you were the one who could mess it all up by being too eager. The doubts were ready to step in, but you could not let them. Lost in the internal battle, you have not realised when Neil stepped away from the hug and turned to face you. He tilted your chin, making you meet his gaze. Conflict painted across the features you knew by heart. He was nibbling on the bottom lip again, eyes roaming across your face with worry.

“Are you sure?” he breathed out a question, blush tinting his cheeks, “Because it shouldn’t… it wasn’t meant to happen like this”

Briefly, you wondered how was it that neither of you could use the words for this. Actual adult words. But maybe those would come later. You understood his worries, feeling your fears creeping at the edge of the desire and love which took hold of every single cell within your body. There would be time to give them a voice after. Now, all that mattered was Neil and making him understand what you needed. Convincing him that what he tried to stifle was what you wanted. You took one of his hands between your palms, gently rubbing the knuckles:

“We will have to talk, but now… now I want to let go” meeting his gaze purposefully, you let the words fill the tense silence “After weeks of feeling unwanted, I want to forget. To let myself believe that this is real…” unwanted tear welled up in your eye “Only promise I need right now is that this will mean something to you” you finished the sentence, fingers thoughtlessly travelling up his forearms.

There it is. An offer he was free to reject. The only truth that mattered. Somewhere within the past hour, you have realised that you were ready. That no matter the regrets that could follow, you had to give in. Let him have everything should he want it. There would be nothing revolutionary about it, just a natural step on the journey that began months ago in that café in London. Unavoidable.

Neil was watching you closely, catching up on the meaning of things you were not saying. He took a step closer, the struggle slowly giving way to the longing you have seen before. And honesty that could easily murder you with its authenticity. He met your gaze before speaking:

“It will. I want you. And not only now. Not until it happens, but always” you felt like drowning in the boundless adoration you could see in his face “It’s just that I’m terrified of fucking it all up because I care… so much” Neil swallowed hard, frowning at his sentence “Christ, that sounds like a terrible understatement…” with the hand shaking slightly he ruffled the hair, betraying nerves “You’re everything I want. The reason why-”

Oh god. You feared that if he said even a word more, you might just about crumble on the spot. From the excess of love, affection, and disbelief. Each consecutive sentence felt like a stab into your heart. But there was no pain, just too much of everything. You wondered whether it was always supposed to feel like this. Like being on fire. Like the chest bursting from the abundance of passion. You closed the remaining gap, fingers curling around his biceps. Before he could utter that final catastrophic sentence, you whispered:

“Shut up” without waiting for a reaction you pressed your lips against his.

It was your time to lead, pouring everything you felt and could not dare say into the kiss. After a second of reluctance, Neil started kissing you back. The idle hands grasping onto the nape of your neck. Fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you even closer. Small sighs and groans he let out into your mouth kindling the spark. The fix for an addiction you were long due. The sweetest of relapses. The taste of absolution. Infinite potential.

After over a minute, he broke the kiss, gasping for oxygen, eyes clouded with infatuation. It was that look in his face that gave you the courage to reach out for what you needed. You took hold of his hands and breathed out the words that could destroy everything:

“Love me,” unable to meet Neil’s eyes you placed his hands on your hips, “Show me what it’s like to be wanted,” your voice cracked, exposing the storm unfolding inside.

You had to find a way of shutting up the doubts, the uncertainties. Of getting lost in him. Of getting what suddenly seemed just as necessary as water and food.

“I-” he choked out the syllable making your gaze snap up to meet his.

You could see it there. The three words ingrained within the blue eyes, lips parted and ready to proclaim what you could not dare believe. Not yet. Now the confession could kill you, delivering that final blow. He had to understand. It was the only way you could make it work. By acting on the instincts.

That is exactly what you did, rendering Neil speechless with something as simple as a kiss placed on his shoulder. Then more all along the collarbone, taking the sharp inhales and tightening hold over your waist as consent. At times you would let your teeth lightly graze over the skin, reminding him of the potential. Stopping at the sternum, you glanced up, only to be met with Neil’s piercing gaze looking down at you without any guards present. Only unbridled desire and love. Bravery filled your veins as you continued the meticulous exploration. Your hands gently caressed his stomach, tracing the various scars and imperfections. Once you reached the other shoulder, pressing a pious kiss on one of many beauty marks scattered over his skin, Neil lifted your chin. He kissed you on the forehead softly, drawing out a sigh. A thank you for something you would have given him anyway. Then, without breaking the eye contact and making sure you noticed every single emotion visible in his face, he cupped your cheek:

“May I?” one single question whispered with enough certainty to make your heart stumble.

Somehow you knew what he was asking. With blood pounding in your ears, you nodded. Once, curtly, decidedly.

“Yes,” a little breathless, cheeks turning pink.

Anything. Always.

In response, you got one of those smiles that lit up his whole face, making everyone understand why Neil was worth dying for. Without wasting time, he tugged at the borrowed sweater you were wearing and took it off over your head in one swift move. For once you were glad there were no layers. His eyes flitted over your torso covered only with a black sports bra. No judgement or calculation. Just as if he wanted to commit you to memory. As if you were an object of art one could fall in love with. The blush darkened as your breath hitched, awaiting the next move. Neil took a step closer again, a curious glint in his eyes as he leaned down. Featherlike touch all over your chest, followed by gentle kisses on the collarbones and shoulders. You gasped, the softness of his lips contrasting with the scratch of the stubble and the light bites. Testing the waters, returning the favour. You closed your eyes, focusing entirely on the moment, resting your hands on his sides. It felt almost too blissful, slowly making you crave more. Experimentally, you ran your fingers over his pelvic bones, grateful for the low-rise trousers and the possibilities given. Neil finished his study with a kiss on your neck, choosing the spot that always made you shiver with anticipation. You opened your eyes only to be met with a look of adoration:

“Thank you,” his words breaking the heavy silence.

There was something new in his expression. As if now, after everything, he realised that there would be no more hiding. And he was not afraid of whatever would happen. Blind conviction. Belief in you and whatever you had. Afraid of disrupting the moment, you lowered down your voice to ask:

“For what?” your brow furrowed, trying to understand what he meant.

Or why was he suddenly looking at you as though you were the centre of his universe. There was no getting rid of the blush tinting your cheeks. Of the nervous flutters in your stomach and fire flowing in your veins. You knew it would only get worse. Neil watched you closely, a small smile on his lips. Then he finally answered, with more confidence than you could ever deem possible.

“Being extraordinary,” he whispered the words softly, inches away from your mouth.

Oh my god. You did not even try to school the features, showing the boundless extent of shock, disbelief, and astonishment. He meant it; that was undeniable. Your heart stopped for a millisecond, unable to process a compliment like that. Far from a cliché. Exactly what you could need. Before your vicious brain could come up with a disagreement, you closed the gap, expressing how it felt through the kiss. A long, chaotic one that meant you soon lost the coherence and perception of surroundings. Everything was Neil, and Neil was everything. He always gave you his all in those kisses, opening his mouth almost instantly, brushing his tongue against yours. It was as if for him this was a way of getting lost. You could not help but wonder whether he would be like this further down the line too. In desperate need of oxygen, you took the breath from his lungs, earning a muffled groan along the way. You smiled against his mouth, certain that this time you would have the upper hand. An advantage.

That is until you suddenly felt something soft against the back of your legs. The bed. Your brain caught up at the last minute, a small yelp slipping out as Neil pushed you down to perch on the edge of the mattress. How even… Exasperated, you opened your eyes to understand the intentions. That too was a mistake. In a second, you were struck with the sight of Neil deliberately kneeling on the floor at your feet. He met your gaze with a tiny shrug as if you should have expected it to go this way. Any thoughts of blonde bastards and their antics could not win with the overwhelming fondness. He was quite the image. Shirtless, dishevelled, and bewitched. By you, of all people. The devilish glimmer in his stormy eyes added an edge to the look. A fallen angel determined to take you with him. As if you wouldn’t want to take the plunge anyway… On its own accord, your hand darted forward, fingers carding through his long golden strands. His gaze darkened; you could almost see the thoughts swirling, ideas about the next steps. Then, as you cupped his cheek, something clicked. Neil took hold of your palm and angled it to kiss the pulse point. You held your breath, unable to break the eye contact. The hints of a smug smile as his lips trailed down the tracks of your veins, leaving pecks every few inches. You never knew skin could feel like that. Like being ablaze.

As his study neared your upper arms, you could not stop yourself from blurting:

“Why-” the attempt got stopped with a finger against the lips.

“Shush” fuck.

Your eyes widened upon the command. It was the combination of the steel resolve and his low tone that did it. Or so you told yourself as you felt the familiar jolt within the core. Neil’s finger brushed over your mouth, tracing the outline of your lips. He must have noticed the increasing hunger in your eyes, for he grinned and resumed the caress.

You were not sure how the next few developments happened. In one moment, Neil was leaving kisses all over your forearm, leaning over your knees to get access. The next, he was comfortably positioned between your legs, one hand resting atop of your thigh, the other causing shivers all along your stomach with the careful strokes. From this position, he could easily do whatever he wanted. Which he did, his mouth travelling southward of the familiar territory, lips brushing the swell of your breasts and then below the band of the bra. You felt worshipped, seduced with utmost care. Another light kiss over one of the upper ribs was enough to make you whine in frustration you could not control. Neil’s eyes snapped up to your face, taking in the longing and frenzy painted all over. No smile this time, only a soft brush of his lips against yours and then:

“Can we go slowly?” the question was whispered almost shyly, “I want to learn you” to prove the point, his fingers ran down your side, checking the reaction.

You shivered, swallowing hard at the obvious implications behind the question. Somehow the idea that Neil did not mind your slow pace felt too good to be true. No one has ever been that generous before. Not daring to take chances upon him changing his mind, you nodded, lost in the way he was glancing up at you. Undiminished trust and fascination. So much love. Afraid to spill too many words, you retorted quietly:

“You know me pretty well,” the nervous smile tugging at your lips uninvited.

The electrifying mixture of tension and excitement travelling down your veins. You would not wish to be anywhere else, and yet the nerves were there too. A little anxious voice you had to get rid of as soon as possible.

It seemed like Neil had the same idea.

“Not like this,” he smiled softly before leaning down again.

This time he started kissing down your stomach. Each brush of his lips resonating through your body, culminating deep within. Adding on to the pile of issues. All of them relating to the man so religiously caressing your skin. You wondered how much longer you could survive without having to ask him for more. For help. Focusing on the golden mane of hair, you distractedly tangled your fingers in his strands.

“Is that a promise?” barely reaching the end of the question, the breath getting trapped in your throat with a sharp inhale.

Neil stopped right where the band of your trousers met the exposed skin. He glanced up from underneath the long eyelashes. His eyes were dark, filled with a proposition of much more than this. If you were willing to wait.

“It might be…” a murmur and then a gentle kiss on the navel.

You sucked in the remains of oxygen. Oh god. His lips glided over your skin carefully, showing the potential. The knot tightened as you released a shameless moan. Your body felt as though it could go up in flames at any given moment. Neil had other plans, however. He raised his head and stole a quick kiss without giving you a moment to recover. Then he slid down the straps of your bra one by one and reached for the clasp:

“Is it alright if I…?” a tentative question as his fingers trailed over your back.

Insecurities were one thing, the fact that he was waiting until you gave him permission was another. Too generous.

“Yes. You don’t have to ask” breathless, bothered, yet unable to care anymore.

Your dismissal got met with a serious affirmation.

“I always will,” punctuating the sentence with the action he got rid of the garment.

It was different in Oslo. Back then, you were too caught up in the haze to care. Now you felt exposed, seen by the person that mattered most. Neil was openly admiring you with an enigmatic expression in his eyes. That caused a spike of anxiety as you unconsciously started to cover your torso with your arms. Only to be stopped with a firm grasp over your forearm. Shyly, you met his piercing gaze. Your heart was racing, pulse pounding in your ears. There was no going back from this. Not for you. Before your brain could kick into panic, Neil tilted your chin to make sure you saw the adoration in his eyes:

“You’re beautiful” voice full of conviction.

You wanted to believe him, pulling Neil in for another kiss, letting him envelop you in an embrace. The skin on skin. Closer. Almost there but not yet. You still needed more than this. But it had to wait. Getting lost in the kiss was too easy at this point, the only way of making you forget about everything else. Following instincts, you drew him even closer and then fell onto your back on the bed, pulling him with you. Neil broke the contact, breathing hard, pupils blown wide by surprise and want. He stared down at you, speechless.

That is until you grinned, encouraged by the rare advantage. Your bold touch over the front of his trousers was what kicked him back into action. A groan, flash of something dangerous, and a slight change of position so that he could continue the work from earlier. Hands and lips united in one simple purpose – to make you understand that there was no room for self-doubts. It did not take him long to leave you breathless. A mess of gasps and shudders as he covered every inch of your skin in kisses. Light bites only making everything worse twice fold. Helplessly, your fingers scratched his back, urging him to get closer. The pressure was rising steady and strong, every touch of his lips in all the right places reminding you of what you were trying to ignore. Only it was getting more difficult. Following mind of their own, your hands travelled down his sides, fingers hooking under the band of trousers, pulling them down by an inch. Neil raised his head, eyes dark, predatory gleam shining through. His gaze flitted over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks and heavy breaths. Then grinned, satisfied with what he has done to you. Teasing fingers trailing ghostly touches down your navel, never going where you wanted them. Infuriating. Huffing in irritation, you got back to the futile attempt of getting rid of his clothes. Only to be stopped with a smug smile and a hand grabbing yours:

“What is it?” the sparks told you that he knew exactly what was going on.

And yet… Bloody bastard. Before you could articulate the thought, he gave you even more reasons for hatred. His hand ventured between your thighs, rubbing the skin through the fabric, getting closer. That combined with the attention given to your breasts was enough to cause another shock to the system. Your thighs clenched on their own accord, embarrassment and irritation flashing from your eyes. Enough. You knew what to do. What was necessary. And he would have to obey.

“Just… take them off. Please,” the intended force got lost between gasps.

To indicate the meaning, you sharply drew his trousers down, exposing black briefs. Fuck. Shameful blush spreading over your cheeks as you let yourself stare with fascination. It was nothing new, but it felt like it was. You dared not meet Neil’s gaze; it was enough that you felt its weight settled on you without mercy. Unconsciously your curious hand brushed over his navel. The darker trail of hairs, the protruding pelvic bones and-

“Thanks for adding the please there” his chuckle threw you out of the zone as your eyes snapped up.

Way too confident. And satisfied with himself. You considered punching him in the teeth, but that could be anticlimactic. Instead, you did what you wanted as you tentatively skimmed your fingers over his crotch. Just as expected… Swallowing hard, you faced him with the newly found resilience.

“Didn’t want to sound rude,” a cocky tone added in to show you meant it.

The only indication that it worked was in the way he hesitated, a strangled groan escaping through the parted mouth. You repeated the touch, just so he understood.

“Only eager?” the strained voice adding further encouragement.

Suddenly it did not matter how needy you seemed. There was no need to hide it. Getting what you wanted was much more crucial. Not letting a second go wasted, you used your hold over his hips to pull him down.

“…Yes,” lips crashing into his with hunger you did not want to control.

Chaos. Everything all at once. Neil’s hands roaming over your body, tongue entangling with yours. The beginning of the end. Somehow, he managed to lower down your trousers, the movement urging you to break the kiss to finish off what he started. Kicking off the garment, you waited for Neil to do the same, watching the messy moves with a grin on your face. It was good. Hopeful even. As soon as he was done you extended a hand, pulling him back onto the mattress. Using the lack of irritating barriers, you embraced him tightly. Your bodies flush against each other, save for the underwear. That too had to go. Soon. Another turbulent kiss as your hands explored each other, searching for places to worship and study. Lying like this, side by side, tangled in each other, you understood why this was only a natural step. It made so much sense. You took your time, gliding all over his stomach and chest. Fingers tracing the scars. Lips trailing down his neck in reverence. He was a masterpiece, and he ought to be treated like one. Neil kept on kissing you, taking all that you were offering, slowly inching down your stomach with careful caress. Then, as he bit your lip, drawing out a moan, his hand palmed your underwear. Christ. One flash of surprise in those blue eyes told you what you knew already. It was bad. Soaked fabric clinging to your skin, increasing the frenzy. Answering the unasked question, you let him get rid of the panties; insecurities and uncertainty nowhere to be found. Slowly Neil shifted so that he had you pinned beneath him again. Hand brushing over the navel, jolts of electricity travelling down your veins at the simplest of touches. As his fingers dipped between the folds, you could only shudder, helplessly staring back into his eyes. There was no pretending.

“Christ, you’re so-” the raspy voice causing an additional wave of sensations.

Without finishing the sentence, he searched your face for something. His hand backtracked, traces of shame preventing you from looking at the mess you have made already. Forcing the brain to cooperate, you breathed out a question:

“Are you surprised?” you stared up at Neil with confidence you did not feel.

Whatever was bound to happen would probably kill you. That much was expected. The relentless throbbing between your legs only reminding you about the evident fact – you had it bad for Neil. And he knew that, eyes slowly roaming across your naked body, taking in everything new and about to be claimed. In the flesh this time. Finally.

“No,” Neil offered you a confident smirk, hand delving between your thighs once again without warning, “But this is still very… gratifying” lazily, his fingers parted the folds, collecting some of the wetness.

You huffed, attempting to force him to do more than that. To act. But to no avail. The satisfied look on his face was frustrating.

The fire in the pit of your stomach was building steadily, increasing with every passing second. You had to do something. To have him. Ideally. At the moment, it seemed like the matter of life and death. Everything else be damned.

“I’m glad I can amp up your ego,” managing to string together a coherent sentence, your hands settled on his hips, pulling him down again.

Your lips met in a sloppy kiss, your hazed brain barely able to keep up the rhythm. Using the distraction, you threw your leg over his hip, bringing your lower body flush with his. A clear signal.

But he, naturally, had other plans.

“Not yet. That has to wait a little” Neil pushed you back down, a visible frown etched between the furrowed eyebrows.

Oh for fuck’s sake. You let out a frustrated groan and leaned back to study his expression. You knew enough to know that he was more than ready. The front of his briefs told you as much. But torturous bastards always had to know better.

“Why? You-” your protest got stopped with a kiss you could not deny him.

Those never got boring. Each one bringing a new wave of need and desire. Your whole being focused on him and what you could receive. It never felt quite like this with anyone else.

Neil broke the contact, cupping your cheek tenderly:

“Yes, but first I want to take care of you,” terrifying depth of affection in his eyes doing nothing to extinguish the burning fire, “As you deserve. Like I promised in that one alley in Tallinn,” the telling smirk bringing back the memories with force.

Oh my god. The implication made you gasp loudly, widening his grin in the process. Of course you remembered that one promise. The specifics of what he wanted to do. The thought itself was enough to make you shiver, thighs clenching tightly. Before you could articulate how that proposition made you feel, he added:

“Don’t worry, the mess I’ll make out of you will only help me in this situation” a flash of the devil in the beautiful face and then a kiss laid with astonishing gentleness on your forehead.

Fuck. The shock must have painted on your face for Neil grinned, a tip of the tongue poking between the teeth like a bait. An enticement. As though you would need any of that. Without waiting for a further reaction, he started leaving kisses down your body.

“You’re...” he got as far as the sternum before you could choke out the word.

One of your hands tightened on the bedsheets, knowing well that what will happen will need holding on. A shiver ran down your spine when he reached that well-explored spot on the navel. Neil looked up, eyes dark and merciless:

“What?” a hand running up your thigh, prodding you to part your legs for him.

Like you had a choice. Forcing out a word seemed like a godly feat, and so you settled on the simplest of them:

“Insane,” spitting it out with intended strength, making sure he heard the frustration.

He did. The trademark smirk confirmed it. His hand travelled up your body in a purposeful caress. The learning did not take long; he already knew how to take you apart.

“I’ll show you what insanity feels like” the remark fell upon your fogged up conscience like a guillotine.

Any further words got trapped in your throat as he leaned down again, kissing down the navel, eyes searching yours for consent. A fervent nod had to do.

It was hard to prepare for. Your cheeks were burning as you watched the blonde head bowing between your thighs. For a second, the panicked voice wanted to remind you that this was a potentially life-ruining mistake. That you were letting Neil have it all. That it could end badly. The voice was silenced with a flash of lightning as you felt the offensive tongue part your lips in an exploratory move. Your fingers tightened on the material, the other hand instinctively grabbing onto Neil’s hair. He groaned upon the sensation, the vibrations making you buck your hips into his face. As though he was expecting that, he slung his arm over your thighs, keeping them in place. Keeping you helplessly spread out for the act. He began slowly, giving you all the time to get used to the thrill. It took less than a minute for you to start writhing under his strong hold, pathetic moans piercing the silence. As expected, Neil knew what to do. How to destroy you with the use of his mouth alone. His lips slowly enveloped your heat, free hand finding yours and lacing the fingers together. A grateful sigh escaped your throat, thumb brushing against his knuckles in appreciation. It only got worse then. The coil tightened. A peril of sweat appearing on your brow as the heat kept rising. Just when you thought you could hold on a little longer, Neil switched the technique, delving the tip of the tongue in. Christ. You yanked on the golden strands, showing how well that was working. He chuckled, the low sound making everything even worse. He kept on confidently penetrating the most sacred of places. Mindless of your forceful tugs on his hair or the cries you could not hold in.

Soon it became a losing game. You could only interweave curses in between moans and gasps. You were sure you were close to crushing his hand with the strength of your grasp, tightening upon every single move he made. There was no mercy here. Just the most primal of needs taking over everything else. As Neil directed all of his attention onto being the sole reason for your downfall, one persistent thought appeared in your hazed brain. You wanted him. To feel him everywhere. To chase that high and then claim it with him. His tongue expertly flicked against your clit. A whimper. Hips rocking forward on their own accord. More. All of the words getting stuck in your throat as he started lapping at your heat, taking everything you could offer. Like you were his object of unconditional adoration. As though giving you the pleasure was everything he wanted. A tiny voice in your brain reminded you again of the burning need. You were sure to lose sanity if this continued. Absolution needed and necessary. But not like this. It had to be with him. Feeling the end approach with the speed of light, you brushed your thumb over his knuckles and used the hold over his hair to bring needed attention.

“Neil… don’t…” the ability to speak was long gone, heavy breaths interrupting the intended sentence.

He raised his head, the glistening lips catching your attention with an additional spark of electricity within the veins. Oh god. He licked them unconsciously you shuddered, unable to look away. Fascination almost as good as what he was doing. Almost.

“Why? You haven’t-” his eyebrows furrowed as though completely lost on you.

You wanted to show him. To make him understand. But it was increasingly hard to do with the fire consuming your body and unresolved frustration nipping at the core. Insanity like no other. Speechless, incoherent, you forced the words out:

“Not without you” surely he could not miss the longing in your eyes.

You could point out the exact moment your word sank in. Neil’s pupils widened; lips parted a little letting out a sharp gasp. The blue eyes showing you boundless infatuation and astonishment as though your desires were unexpected. Swallowing hard, he found the voice:

“… Jesus, you-” a gulp, unable to finish the sentence and then a flash of something strange “Are you sure? Because we don’t have to. I can-” oh no.

Not this time.

“Neil” cutting in sharply, you made sure to show him the extent of urgency through the look in your eyes, “Please, I need you” as simple as that; the regrets would come later “I can’t- Don’t deny me that” you raised his chin, thumb brushing over the lips.

Collecting the remains of your fall from grace. Nothing else mattered. Neil looked as though what you said has crushed his heart. He moved back up to face you, careful hands leaving caresses along the way with breath-taking precision. As his eyes met yours, he breathed out the confession:

“I love-” not yet.

You took the words off his mouth with a kiss, tasting yourself in the process. It had to wait. This moment had to be about getting lost, about letting go of everything that was weighing you down. Words like those could only bring harm. Letting go, you whispered the explanation:

“Tell me after,” a resolve to break down his doubts.

It worked if that half-smile was anything to go by. He seemed to consider something quickly before shifting to a kneeling position above you. Following the simplest of needs, your hand darted forward, courageous fingers tracing down his stomach. Stopping at the familiar scar, you mused:

“You never told me why you did that” there was no need to clarify the meaning his eyes met yours with clear understanding.

And something else. A faint laugh as if Neil was amused you have not caught up with the obvious just yet. And then a glimmer of joy, looking down upon you with fondness:

“You’ll know… after,” he grinned, using your moment of confusion to take off the final piece of clothing.

It took your brain an additional second to catch up with everything. After… could that mean- And then, distracted by the thoughts too good to be true, your eyes landed on him again. Only to be shocked by the picture. Your reckless quip from a few days previously coming back to haunt you with vengeance. Compensating for something… yeah, no. A nervous chuckle built up in your throat as you bit down on your lip, unable to tear your eyes away. Not that you expected anything different. Someone this beautiful was ought to be also… lucky. Slowly shaking off the paralysis, you met Neil’s eyes. He was observing you with something akin to uncertainty. As though he had a reason to doubt himself. You took his hand in yours, murmuring:

“Come here,” a faint pull to give him back the confidence.

A flash of a grateful smile as he tumbled back into your arms. Carefully, you wrapped him in a tight hug, your racing hearts beating in the same tempo. Finally getting what you have been craving for so long felt strange. Almost unreal. But it was real, and so you let yourself breathe him in, hands caressing the skin slowly, with purpose. After a moment of quiet tenderness, you leaned back, cupping his cheek, you gazed into his eyes. Nothing to hide, only all of the feelings that you did not dare put into words just yet. Hope, love, faith. With the courage kindling within your heart, you allowed yourself to explore all that he revealed. The simplest of touches darkening his pupils, the hold over your waist tightening. A sigh here, tremble there. Enough to make you braver, kissing down his throat, fingers continuing their dance. Giving him back all of the pleasure and attention. Even if it was only a quarter of what he deserved.

Suddenly Neil tipped your chin, forcing an end to your ministrations, a hint of something strange in his eyes. That same uncertainty. Hesitation. Your chest tightened; heart unable to process the meaning without risking another crack. Finding words, you asked:

“Are you nervous?” gently, you ran your hands over his chest.

Feeling the steady beat beneath the fingertips, the warmth of his body giving security and protection from whatever could harm you. Home. The gratefulness in his eyes increasing the feelings.

“A little…” a hint of an insecure smile, “This is you and-”

Oh. A tiny pinprick of pain resonating through your heart. It never occurred to you that he could be anxious. Because of you, at that. But there was no need to be, no expectations to match up against. All you needed was for Neil to be there, to lose the inhibitions and just let it go.

“It’s only me” interjecting, you added the necessary emphasis “Nothing to worry about” a reassuring squeeze of hand as you made sure to show him the conviction in your eyes “I’ve got you” ending on a whisper, you offered him a small smile.

Before you could process anything, Neil kissed you hungrily, pouring all of the words into the act. It was gratitude and acceptance. As if what you said was exactly what he needed. Only once there was no breath left, he broke the contact, pressing his forehead against yours. Eyes boring into yours with unspoken confessions. And then, as though a switch has flipped, he allowed his hands to resume the familiar moves. Slowly building back up the tension, showing you that there were no more doubts. That was the needed cue to give you back the boldness, studying Neil with the necessary detail. You never knew it was possible to get so lost in something as straightforward as touch, the feeling of naked skin, the look in each other’s eyes. Maybe that’s what love should be.

As though sensing your changing mood, Neil searched your face before following the gentle pull of your hand towards where you needed him most. Just to show how bad it was. How urgent it felt. The flash of understanding in his eyes told you he knew what to do. A sigh escaped your lips as he carefully parted your folds with the fingers. The slow movement, teasing and preparing for what was to come. Letting go felt easy, effortless even. Listening to the most basic instincts, you used the hand that was not tangled in his hair to keep Neil wanting more. To remind him about his desires. Hiss in an answer was gratifying, making your lips twist in a smirk. It was good to know you held power too. Before you could become even more daring, Neil met your eyes with dangerous sparks in his gaze. It could only get worse. And you were right. Retracting his hand from between your thighs, he raised his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. Never breaking the eye contact; a rogue smile making everything worse. Fuck. A violent jolt shook your core at the sight. Bastard. A strangled groan escaped through your lips, frustration rising at the self-satisfied face expression.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you rasped out, showing him the extent of annoyance through the look in your eyes.

A contradicting hand tracing invisible confession onto his back. The words would come soon enough there was no doubt about it.

“Don’t be so dramatic” Neil flashed you the happiest of grins.

Of course. With a ridiculous laugh bubbling in your throat, you stared back at the blonde man, overwhelmed with every emotion on the spectrum. Too much and yet not enough. Now.

“You’re an idiot” tipping his chin you captured his lips in a short kiss.

The relief and devotion in the blue eyes were palpable.

“Yours though,” he cupped your cheek, a soft smile lightening up his face.

With the three words on the tip of your tongue, you whispered the command:

“Show me” the resolution in your eyes aiming to tell him all that you could not express.

Neil nodded, placing a final kiss on your forehead, and shifted to hover above you. The nervous flutters in the pit of your stomach slowly getting consumed by something else. Need, conviction. It was simple. Never breaking the eye contact, your hands ran up his back to tangle the fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’ll be gentle” a whisper passed from his lips to yours coupled with a kiss.

Finally. A flood of feelings threatening to overspill at any given moment. There was only one answer.

“I know,” the affirmation swallowed by a sigh as Neil covered your body with his.

Easy. Then it was almost natural. A gasp from your mouth mixing with his sharp inhale. Lips brushing but not quite kissing. Your fingers digging into his shoulders, bruising the skin. It felt right somehow. Good. Neil slowly inched in, giving you time to adjust. One of his hands tenderly cradled your head, thumb caressing the flushed cheek. His eyes locked on yours without a second of exemption. Assurance and affection.

Once you could feel him inside you completely, a nod was all he needed. Slow thrusts, building up a rhythm. Kisses interrupting the shuddered breaths. Your hand found Neil’s again, interlacing the fingers and pinning your joined palms to the bed. The feeling of his pulse alongside yours was like a revelation. The closeness you have craved for so long was finally within your reach. He was yours. With the fire steadily building up, you bucked your hips to meet him halfway. An answering moan was good encouragement to do it again. And again, matching his pace. And then speeding up. No words were found for any of this. Instead, you kept on gazing into his eyes, letting your breaths match and mingle in the space between. The unguarded look telling him all he needed to know. The feeling in your chest letting you know that there is no coming back from this.

It was the sudden wish to get even closer that prompted you to change the angle. Hoisting your leg over his hip, and then the other. Crossing them over his back, bringing your pelvis flush against his. A telling guttural groan and the darkening pupils told you it was the right move. The chaos that followed was expected. With the different position, it did not take Neil long to find the spot that made you cry out in pleasure. Your fingers scratched his back, nails tearing at the skin, claiming him in the darkened room. He kissed you roughly, lips bruising yours without traces of moderation. That was no longer necessary. You knew it would not take long. The string tightening and straining. The fire within your veins raging and consuming. Soon.

As Neil upped the tempo, your laced fingers untangled to resume the abandoned caress. Your fingers were trailing over his back with increased urgency. Mindless of the bruises and scratches, you wanted to mark him for good. Your heart was close to bursting with the amount of love, the excess pouring out with every sigh and kiss. You peppered kisses all over his neck and shoulder, using the newly found closeness to adore him in new ways. It felt perfect, pleasure swallowing every thought and idea. Till it was just Neil, his hands cradling your body, his warmth keeping you safe. Simple, primal even. As you responded to his forceful thrust with a circular movement, he met your gaze again. Eyes dark, the blue hazed with lust and adoration. Lips parted to let out quiet moans and gasps. The unspoken confessions passed through your locked gazes. Waiting felt worth it. Even if for moments like this when you knew that giving yourself away was the only logical solution. You were his no matter what, this act only signing off the fact.

It was a long kiss that he gave you then that tipped the scales. The heat became unbearable, so many words getting stuck in your throat. Urgency causing you to lose the rhythm, fingers digging into his biceps for support. Your muscles clenching around him on their own accord. The edges of your vision darkened, helplessly meeting his questioning gaze.

“Neil…” a half sigh, just enough to let him know.

A whimper interrupted whatever else you could want to tell him as he reached down between your bodies. The additional pressure placed on your clit to make sure you could get what you needed. The gratefulness passed on a louder moan, fingers tangling in his hair, bringing him closer. Close enough to whisper in his ear:

“You’re mine,” just like that.

That was all you were capable of afore the world exploded before your eyes.

“Only yours,” the affirmation falling on your ears like liberation.

Nothing else was needed. Your muscles tightened, clinging to Neil as though that was everything you were able to do. A sharp cry breaking the silence. Absolution. Everything leading up to this, the moment itself worth every second pain. The ultimate sacrifice in the name of love. You could see it in his eyes, drinking in your downfall with undivided attention. Strained breaths and chaotic movement telling you he was not far behind. Using the last sparks of the high he brought you to, you captured his lips in a slow kiss.

That was the needed push for Neil. He moaned your name, forehead pressing to yours as his eyes screwed shut. His body stiffened and then relaxed with a groan, holding you close. Recovering from the experience, you embraced him tightly, offering any comfort you could think of as he trembled, riding out the high within your arms. The vulnerability of the moment striking you with an unexpected wave of feelings. There was nothing beyond this for people who were not even together. A little voice in your head suggested that perhaps now you were. That maybe this was it. Before you could pay it more attention, Neil raised his head, eyes meeting yours with a haze still darkening the pupils. There was something new in his expression. Relief, certainty, as if nothing could sway him anymore. As if his creed came true, and he did not need any proof. You cupped his cheek, drawn in by the sight he presented. Blush tinting the cheekbones, golden hair falling into his eyes. Gaze focused only on you. And…

“I love you,” the words interrupting the silence with their clarity.

Your pulse picked up, heart hammering in your chest as though triggered by the confession. Speechless, you stared at Neil, trying to find an answer. But the small smile upon his lips told you he was not looking for a response. It was only a formality, just as you asked. To be told after. Now. It could not be… but it was. It was real, he was real, his heart belonging to you just like yours was his.

With the facts slowly sinking in, you pulled him down into another long kiss. As a way of saying all that you could not just yet. As an acceptance. Lips moving in sync, unrestrained, and entirely open to one another. As Neil broke away, breath ghosting your mouth, nose brushing against yours, you stared right back, unable to stop the worry from voicing its problems:

“I can’t-” say it.

Because you could not. Not with the heart bruised and shattered. Not with the fire still burning in your veins. If it was the right one at last, then it had to be proper. As though sensing your growing unease, Neil interrupted you, soft sparks in his eyes:

“It’s okay,” gently brushing his thumb along your reddened cheek, “There’s time,” finishing off with a kiss on the forehead.

Without waiting for you to find the needed words, he slid off your body, settling on the side with a quiet, contented sigh. You glanced at him curiously, desperate for a distraction from the sudden onslaught of feelings and thoughts. What if you’ve fucked it? What if he wanted you to leave? What if-

The monologue of qualms got cut short with an arm encircling your waist and pulling you closer to him again. The intense gaze searching your face before he tightened the hold and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. The tenderness could be lethal. With your heart racing, tongue threatening to spill everything it has been forced to hold back for months, you fought for clarity. Anything. And then… maybe this was okay. Maybe this was it. Sparks of hope triggering the playfulness you have dearly missed:

“Am I not allowed to leave?” eyeing him with an arched eyebrow, fingers idly tracing symbols onto his chest.

The warmth and the steady heartbeat everything you could need to anchor in the moment. The mirth in his eyes telling you that too was requited.

“I’d rather you didn’t…” he trailed off, the flash of something darker in his gaze making you breathless “I… I might have some plans for later,” he added, one of the hands stroking your thigh deliberately.

Right… You could only blame that sudden wave of excitement on his charm. And the look in his eyes, suggesting that this was not the end. That he wanted more. The idea alone made you shudder.

“Christ… Neil, you-” ignoring the satisfied smirk, you stared at him in feigned exasperation.

His grin widened, fingers teasingly running up and down your stomach causing the butterflies to awaken. Not that they had a longer break…

“Yes, my love?” picking up your open-ended frustration, Neil traced the outline of your lips, bruised and swollen from the multitude of kisses.

My love. The endearment on its own was enough to shut up the potential doubts. Unable to stop the grin from spreading on your face, you buried your face in his chest.

“… I see how it is,” your murmur triggering a low chuckle as he pulled you even closer.

You took it slow then. More breathless kisses, hands tangling in hair, sighs, and silent confessions taking up the non-existent space between your bodies. Once kisses and touches stopped being enough for either of you, Neil gave you the control with desire burning bright in his eyes. You claimed him again, making sure he could not forget it even if he ever wanted to. What you received in return assured you that your heart would never let go. It could not. Falling asleep after everything was almost too easy. For once, no fears creeping in the darkness. No regrets gnawing at your heart. Only the steady pulse, a hand holding onto yours, fingers gently caressing your skin. A promise of home.

[archaeopter-ace]

1-3, 13, 16? (ps I will get back to ur message soon)

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction?

I technically read my first fanfic when I was in middle school, I think – on Mugglenet, and then a little bit on Neopets, but I didn’t know it was called fanfiction and I didn’t pursue it further. I discovered fanfiction.net and had my fanfiction awakening in college, in 2008 (and then I lurked for like, a year, before making an account). I started putting effort into writing fanfiction in 2014, when The Flash fandom was just getting off the ground.

2. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

I skew very heavily towards being a fanfic reader. On average I read maybe 100k a week? Reading fanfic is probably how I spend most of my leisure time, if I ever measured it out

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do?

I would definitely have to cite Vathara’s works as an influence. I saw how she kept a very close POV and adjusted not only dialogue but also prose to reflect that character’s background, and how a person’s professional experience can be imprinted into situations and how they make sense of things. Also, one of the first authors I encountered who Showed Their Work when it comes to citing sources and incorporating research into fic.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

If it’s going to be multi-chaptered, I’ll make an outline as a way of getting my thoughts in order. Nothing so sophisticated as ‘rising action’, ‘climax’, etc., mapping the story structure, though some writing resources I’ve seen make some very compelling points for trying it that way. I structure my outlines a lot like I structure my essays, with a ‘thesis’ of a chapter arc and then topic sentence ‘scenes’ supporting that thesis.

What I find is that sometimes I’ll make a note that’s like ‘expand/flesh out this section,’ but then be unable to think of how that scene could be extended – and then I realize that the reason that I can’t think of a way to expand it is because I actually don’t have much to say about it. Maybe it isn’t as interesting as I thought it ought to be, or maybe it really is just transition to get from A to B. So then I demote it from a Scene to a transitional paragraph, maybe a time skip. So in this way I find outlines most useful for figuring out what to cut out ;D

In my current as-yet-unnamed WIP (the working title is Apoptosis, but I expect that will be too confusingly similar to Autoeponym to actually use, since both are unfamiliar polysyllabic words beginning with A), my most ambitious plot to date, I’m trying something new. This time I’ve got color-coded index cards and a huge board to pin them to. I’ve also got a whole bunch of post-it note sized squares of paper, where I wrote ‘things to include/keep track of’ waaaay back when I first conceived this fic last year. So now I’m sorting those out onto the index cards: orange is a story arc (I’ve got five of those), Lavender is a scene, Green is a plot point, Yellow is continuity note, and pink is a scene that could go one of two ways without changing the rest of the story.

So the difference between a plot point and scene: a plot point is like, the bits of conflict that make up the story, whereas scenes are the How. A plot point I have is ‘Claire finds out about NotEnrique,’ and this is resolved over multiple scenes.

Continuity notes are where I keep track of the passing of time. So like, ‘Jim’s Vespa is completed.’ I probably won’t write a scene with him completing his Vespa, but I find it useful to know whether it would be available to use at any given time.

I have yet to finish my outline with this method and move on to drafting, so it remains to be seen how useful it will be. Already it’s helped a lot with resolving certain plot points that I wasn’t sure what to do with.

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

Hooo boy, do I ever go down rabbit holes. My search history, I can’t even. Probably one of the worst offenders was when I was writing a Merlin x Flash crossover oneshot, and needed to research ‘interesting yet overlooked history things from the past 900 years,’ with an emphasis on jazz history and scientific invention. Oh, or the time I was writing a ghost story au (also for The Flash) and learned all sorts of interesting things about: Christina queen of Sweden, what kinds of records are public domain and how to access them – special focus on inquests and service records (and then trying to figure out whether the fictional files in question would have been lost in the 1973 fire at the National Personnel Records Center), how to do a walk-around of a B-25 bomber (WWII training videos are public domain!), how to operate a reel-to-reel player, and more!

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever not fallen down a research rabbit-hole, even when I am deliberately challenging myself to writing without looking things up. We live in such an information age, I am constantly surprised by the specificity of information available. Like that time I found the wikipedia pages for when which syndicated shows were airing on TVLand or Nick at Nite, to determine what old show could conceivably be on tv in 2005 at 11:00 at night - and then I had to go and find episodes of the potential candidates to see which one would suit the characters.

Research is how I roll *pushes up sunglasses*

Fanfic Writer Ask Game

[pluskirishima]

The Runaways [ Prologue ]

[Fic Masterlist ] | [ Masterlist ] | [ Send in requests! ] | feedback is great :3

“Give me your hand, Shoto. I want to show you something.” The red haired man whispered softly to his little brother, squatting down and extending his larger hand to the smaller boy. Teary, heterochromatic eyes glanced up at the piercing blue, the shaky body putting his hand face up on the other’s. 

Touya smiled at his little brother, using his other hand to wipe his tear stained cheeks. He held his youngest brother in his arms, flickering the light blue flames in his larger palms. “Take deep breaths and look at my hand.” He said into the boy’s hair. 

Small red flames joined the blue, intertwining in a larger flame as Shoto burst into a fit of giggles, his tears long forgotten. “See? Isn’t it pretty?” Touya reassured his younger sibling, smiling down at the boy who’s gleam and adoration flashed in his heterochromatic eyes as he looked up at his older brother. 

“Do it again!” He said in amusement. Touya gave the boy a lopsided smirk, rolling his faintly scarred wrist as he ignited an even bigger flame in his palm. He was graceful in his movements, letting the flame dance along his fingertips and swirled it in the air, creating small shapes that brightened Shoto’s mood even more as he chased the fire gleefully, sparking small red flames of his own. 

“Shoto!” 

The corner of his lip curled into a smirk as he glanced at the corner of his eye, halting the flames as he saw Enji’s figure glaring at him from the top of the balcony. Tiny bright blue embers disappeared into the air as Touya knelt down to pick up Shoto in his arms, rubbing the boy’s back as he lead him inside. 

“Let’s go take you to mom.” Touya mumbled, glaring at Enji from his spot on the grass, pulling down at his bandages to hide the fresh, purple, burns licking up his arms. Shoto looked up, shuddering lightly at the harsh glare their father returned. 

Touya sensed his little brother’s fear, gently pushing his head into the crook of his neck, hushing the small boy as he smooth his hair down. 

“Just remember, Shoto. Fire isn’t always scary.” 

Embers fell from the sky like fresh snowflakes, the light of blue flames ate away at the decorations as the tall man walked away from the heavenly white altar. His coat trailed behind him as he walked away from the shadows he was hiding behind. Screams and whimpers echoed in the air around him as he froze, his heart clenching at the screams of the bride that shook his very core.

He shut his eyes, shaking his head as the groom rushed to his beloved’s side. Dabi scoffed at their interaction, shaking out his onyx hair as the embers burned hotter behind him. His calloused and aching fingertips grazed themselves along the many city buildings, igniting them in a beautiful blue heat as he strode down the empty streets. 

“You can get caught, I hope you know that. You blubbering fool.” Shigaraki’s hoarse called to the cremation villain, who shrugged his shoulders as he glared at the other from over his shoulder. He smirked as Shigaraki’s silhouette was outlined by his destruction, his staples tugging at his skin as he watched the altars and flowers burn to the ground. 

Dabi shrugged off the constant complaints of his partner, waving it off as heroes began swarming to the scene, making sure everyone got away from the area safely. “Come on, you idiot.” Shigaraki hissed, already halfway in the portal heading back to their hideout. 

The onyx haired male huffed, burying his hands into his pockets as he walked towards his impatient partner. His footsteps halted when he heard a familiar voice speaking to the citizens in such a kind, gentle manner. His head craned over his shoulder ever so softly, eyes locking with (e/c) ones as he smirked even more. 

“Wait-Wait! Stop!” The girl yelled, gently handing the citizen to the hands of the nearest hero and chased after the dark clothed figure. Her hand outstretched towards his long coat, barely grazing the rough material before falling forward as the portal vanished into air. 

“(H/N)!” The others yelled as they ran towards her as the girl stood up, brushing off the dirt and soot off her body. She panted heavily from running, running her hands through her unruly hair as she looked faintly at the damage, her eyes darkening at the subsiding blue flames that enveloped the white decorations. 

Her feet moved by themselves, bringing her back to the wreckage as the venue fell apart at the seams. She knelt down, brushing off the rubble and soot as she collected the bride’s bouquet, which had been burnt and torn from the panic and commotion. 

“Brings back memories?” (Y/N) heard from behind her, taking note of the blank look in her eyes. The girl sighed as she reached for the chained ring around her neck, shaking her head in response. 

“Not good ones. It just seemed familiar.” She mumbled, turning back to gaze at the spot where the man entered the portal, how he looked at her as if he knew her. 

“Way too familiar..” 

[yasuda-yoshiya]

Hey there. Sorry to bother you. I read your write up on The House in Fata Morgana and I really love how you go into such detail on the second half, especially with The Maid. I agree with her being wasted potential, especially when Michel’s love is enough to erase centuries of psychological and emotional trauma and amnesia in the span of one minute. My question is, how would you handle the Maid’s arc while keeping the setup the same? This got long, sorry. But I have a lot of thoughts about her.

Aaahhh, it’s absolutely no bother at all; thank you for getting in touch! It’s great to hear from you, and I’m very grateful for the kind words about my incoherent babbling. Giselle/the Maid is honestly one of my absolute favourite fictional characters and it’s really hard to find any real discussion or meta around her within Fata’s tiny English-speaking fandom, so I’m always super excited to hear from other people who feel the same way about her!

Okay, this got really long so I’ll stick it under a cut:

I have actually put a lot of thought into how the Maid’s story could have been handled and resolved better (and even drafted elaborate AU fanfic about it, for that matter), so I’ll try and put some of that into words here. Prior to door 8, I honestly feel like the broad structure of the Maid’s arc as it exists ingame does actually hit most of the major emotional notes that it needs to; it just rushes through each of them so fast and gives them so little narrative weight that they’re not really able to have the impact that they should, especially when door 8 then goes on to completely ignore the whole thing. So for the most part, I’d lean more towards heavily fleshing out the existing content rather than making any real changes to the structure of the plot overall. Door 8 is the point where I feel that her writing completely falls apart and needs to be rebuilt from the ground up.

As for how exactly I’d want to flesh things out, the main thing I’d want to do is to heavily extend door 6 - both the backstory itself and the conflict between Michel and Giselle in the aftermath. As I think I said in that big old write-up, to me the whole door felt more like a quick checklist of events more than a real fleshed out narrative.The way I see it, Giselle’s character arc is fundamentally about her relentlessly trying to hold on to her optimism and the core of her “self” in the face of traumatic experiences - to not let her suffering take away her smile, her energy and positivity and upbeat personality, the things she saw as defining who she was before all of this happened to her. This is portrayed very well throughout door 5, where we see Giselle very consciously deciding multiple times to try and put her suffering behind her and start over from a clean slate with positive expectations - first when she’s sent to the mansion with Michel, then at the village with Amedee, and then again when she reunites with Michel - and it’s also very effectively conveyed that the effort of constantly keeping up that positive attitude and trying to block out the scars of her trauma puts a significant strain on her (one that Michel tries to ease by explicitly accepting her scars as a part of her and telling her that she doesn’t need to hide them from him).

What ends up breaking Giselle and forcing her to detach from herself entirely and become the Maid, then, is the feeling that she’s finally collapsed under that strain and “lost herself” to the point of being unrecognisable as Giselle, of having lost everything she used to define herself by. The fact that even “Michel” doesn’t recognise her any more, the fact that she herself is barely able to keep a hold on her memories of the past and who she used to be, her body becoming cold and lifeless and losing its old warmth and energy, and the weight of the years slowly wearing down her ability to stay positive and keep believing in a happy ending - all of those pressures end up breaking her self-confidence down to the point that she can’t manage to see herself as “Giselle” any more, and the burden of even trying to keep being “Giselle” becomes too much.

In that state of mind, it’s no surprise that the alternate story that Morgana tells her - that the Maid was always just a lonely witch haunting the mansion, an impostor who became fascinated by the real Giselle and Michel, and deluded herself into believing that their story was hers - becomes so much easier to believe in. Of course she’s failing so hard at being “Giselle”, because she never was Giselle to begin with. Accepting this narrative allows her to detach herself from the weight of having to try to be Giselle, and to project those feelings and ideals from a distance on to the White-Haired Girl instead, who is everything the Maid thinks “Giselle” should be. Note the Maid’s fixation throughout the stories on the WHG’s “purity” and her unchanging nature that stays constant across all times - the qualities that she feels she herself has lost. Of course, Giselle is also very much still subconsciously projecting her own lingering feelings for Michel on to the WHG as well, as she assigns WHG the role of her “master” and “the person she waits for” - but in a context that allows her to safely detach herself as a guide, watching over the real Giselle and feeling pity for her suffering. It puts her in a position where she can be the one to reassure someone else that it’s okay for them to give up, to forget about waiting for Michel and find whatever happiness they can for themselves - without having to shoulder the shame of making that decision herself. The things she can’t accept about herself as “Giselle” become acceptable if she takes the outside role of a witch. As Fata repeatedly puts forth, tragedy becomes a lot more bearable if you think of it as “someone else’s”.

Okay, I basically just wrote three paragraphs of meta here and I’m still not much closer to actually answering your question, so it’s about time I looped back to the point. Everything I’ve outlined above is the basic outline of what I feel is intended to come across through the Maid’s arc. Now let’s talk about where I feel that door 6 fails at actually making that arc really hit home as strongly as it could have. I think the essence of the problem, at least to me, is that door 6 does a perfectly good job of laying out a very believable sequence of events that lead Giselle to become the Maid, but it doesn’t really do such a great job at portraying Giselle’s reactions in any real depth. The narration doesn’t really bring to life the feeling of someone fiercely struggling with themselves to stay positive in the same way that door 5 does, and the process of Giselle’s desperate attempts to keep hold of herself being slowly being worn down over the years gets skipped through so quickly that it’s hard to really feel the weight of it from her perspective. Just going more into depth with Giselle’s internal thought processes here, showing more of her individual reactions to the events of the first three doors and things like her frantic attempts to rationalise it as maybe being okay that the WHG doesn’t recognise her, showing the strain it puts on her to have to keep trying to find ways to frame her story in a more hopeful and positive way until she finally just can’t do it any more, would really help make the door feel like more of a complete experience.

Again, though, as I said in my old write-up, I do think a lot of what is there in door 6 is really strong and effective - a lot of the individual scenes do genuinely feel really powerful in their own right - but there’s just not quite enough there to make the whole thing really hold together as a fully realised narrative. (To put it another way, when you have even a weird side character like Yukimasa getting such a slow, thorough and nuanced exploration of his gradual descent into madness, but your main heroine’s central identity conflict and breakdown of her sense of self is rushed through in about half an hour, something has gone terribly wrong.)

The other problem that I have with door 6 - and this might be more of a personal thing - is the point it chooses to end at. The pivotal moment where Giselle actually finally chooses to disown her old identity and accept Morgana’s story as the truth goes by so quickly that you could almost miss it, and then after that the door is pretty much over, short timeskip to the end of Jacopo’s era aside. Considering how much emphasis the earlygame puts on the Maid’s preoccupation with stories, and how important the story of door 4 is to her in particular, I always felt more than a little disappointed by how little time is given to Giselle’s internal reaction to Morgana’s story when she hears it, or to how she processes it and sorts out her feelings about it afterwards; how she uses it as a way to reframe her own story in a way that’s more manageable to her, and how it hurts to let go of it. Even the most basic point of the Maid passing her old identity on to the WHG isn’t actually touched on by the text of door 6 at all. It just really feels like a lot of wasted potential, since the Maid’s relationship with the narrative of door 4 is probably the single most interesting part of the character to me, and I think it could easily have been elaborated on a lot more here in a way that would make the arc as a whole much stronger. (Although now that I think about it, I think I might have pretty much made a lot these points already in my old write-up, so I might just be repeating myself now? Whoops? It’s been a while, sorry!)

So that pretty much covers my feelings on what I would have liked to see from the Maid’s backstory. Now I can move on to talk about how I’d want to handle the resolution, which was probably the main point of your question to begin with! I think the biggest problem with the Maid’s turnaround as it stands is that it feels so easy, with very little real struggle or conflict - as you said, it really does feel like all of Giselle’s issues as the Maid are just flat-out “erased” in a matter of minutes, and she just reverts back to her old self entirely. And that feels incredibly wrong to me, because it seems to basically uncritically validate Giselle’s ideal of herself as someone who can hold on to her cheerful attitude and just block out her suffering entirely as if it never happened - which feels totally at odds with the the rest of her narrative up to that point stressing how much of a burden she placed on herself with that unrealistic expectation and how trying to live up to that impossible ideal ended up tearing her apart completely.

I think it would have worked a lot better to instead put the focus on Giselle’s resolution on challenging that ideal for herself, and letting her realise that she doesn’t have to be that ideal unchanging person she wants “Giselle” to be - that even if she has changed, she’s still Giselle, and still the same person Michel loved (Requiem’s epilogue briefly touches on this idea too). To accept the Maid as something that came from her, that’s a part of her, and that she doesn’t have to be ashamed of or make into an entirely different person to accept. The Maid believed that she’d lost her humanity entirely and become unrecognisable as herself, but when it came down to it, Michel did still recognise her, and still sees the person he loved in her. And some part of Giselle evidently still recognised and reached out to Michel as the person she had really been waiting for, too, even after she’d supposedly rewritten her story entirely to put the WHG in that role. The way her suffering ended up shaping her into someone like the Maid doesn’t make her inhuman; the ways she’s reacted to her suffering by trying to change into someone else are themselves human and relatable, they’re understandable and okay reactions for Giselle to have had in her situation, and the Maid is still someone Michel is perfectly capable of deeply empathising with and feeling love for.

Because in the end, the heart of Michel’s love for Giselle wasn’t ever really dependent on her always staying a bright and cheerful person who never stops smiling and always stays positive and never gives into despair; it was a relationship between two deeply wounded people who connected with each other through their shared experience of suffering. In blocking out and trying to forget the painful aspects of her past, in replacing them with a gently beautiful fairytale of a tragic love between two totally pure and selfless people, Giselle ended up losing what was really important about their relationship - that neither of them had ever been perfect, that they’d both been irreparably hurt by their trauma, but they still loved and understood and accepted each other, scars and all. Her remembering Michel as such a perfectly pure and flawless person is very sweet in its way, but it actually ended up turning her memory of him into someone so perfect that she couldn’t possibly live up to him or keep believing that he’d love someone like her - as is a running theme in Fata, blocking out the pain of their past ended up also blocking out the real significance of the connection they’d managed to make with each other through that pain.

So, approaching the end of door 6 and the Maid’s final resolution through that lens, I think I would put a lot more emphasis on Michel getting through to Giselle by his understanding and acceptance of what she’s been through and how it’s changed her, and by his own simple empathy with her and love for her as a fellow flawed and scarred human being. I think I’d also want to make that process of him getting through to her and coming to understand her a lot more difficult and painful than it came across in canon - I think a lot of things about the Maid’s attitude should have been difficult for him to understand and come to terms with for a while, especially when it comes to her wanting to cling on to her own story and push a false identity on to him instead of confronting the truth, which would hit a particularly bad spot for Michel at first. For example, with those small breakpoint scenes midway through door 5 where Michel and the Maid are reacting to the retelling of their memories, I’d want to have the Maid be a lot more fierce and persistent at first about denying that these really are her true memories, and denying the idea that the Giselle she sees in door 5 could ever possibly have been her - I’d want to see her trying a bit harder to defend the protective narrative she’s built up for herself in the face of Michel’s brutal attacks on it, and Michel maybe initially lashing out in frustration at that, until he slowly comes to recognise the basic emotions behind her actions as essentially sympathetic and familiar from his own experience of severe isolation, recalling how it had made him want to shut his heart off in much the same way.

Michel having to accept his own responsibility in leaving Giselle alone to deal with all this in the first place - for underestimating just how much she needed him - is also something that’s going to be difficult for both of them to deal with, but it’s something that I think they needed to more explicitly acknowledge and work through with each other because it’s important in the sense of Giselle being able to remember that Michel is a flawed and imperfect person too. (The Michel in door 4 explicitly did make the choice to die together with Giselle instead of leaving her alone, again reinforcing Giselle’s inaccurate memory of him as someone pure and perfect.) The Maid’s issues with her repressed resentment for Michel and with her own self-image are obviously very deep-seated to an extent that actually fully “resolving” them in just one conversation with Michel isn’t at all realistic, but I do feel that the process of actually having to talk things through with the real Michel would start to remind her of what their connection actually felt like after all those years of turning it into an abstract archetypal love story, and of how Michel was always someone she loved for being an approachably flawed and awkward person rather than any kind of perfect ideal - and to start to believe that maybe it’s okay for her to be flawed too, that her flaws could still be a part of her humanity and part of “Giselle” rather than something that makes her inhuman. As has always been the case with these two, humanising each other helps them to humanise themselves. Dealing with everything that’s happened is inevitably still going to be a difficult process for both of them, but I think Fata could have believably gotten them to a point where they’re at least starting down the right path without just lazily erasing Giselle’s issues and brushing the whole thing off. It’s a difficult balance to strike, but I do feel that Fata manages that delicate balance in other places and could have done so here, if a bit more care had been put into the writing.

From there, I’d keep the flow of the story as it stands - Michel and Giselle try to leave the mansion, Morgana stops them, and Salvage and Door 7 proceed as before. So the next thing to talk about here is Door 8. As it stands, the portrayal of Michel and Giselle’s relationship in door 8 is basically all about Michel gradually breaking out of his shell with Giselle’s support; as I think I said in that old write-up, I think it would have been much more effective if the focus was instead on the two of them supporting each other to start to break out of their respective periods of isolation and reclaim themselves as human beings who are still capable of living in the world and connecting with other people. Rather than Michel and Giselle’s dynamic just reverting to how it was in door 5, I would have liked door 8 to have them starting to develop a new dynamic to reflect how Giselle has changed, and to present her having to learn how to act like a “real person” again as more of a difficult and gradual process. Giselle really has irreversibly changed in many ways, but she’s also far from actually being unrecognisable, and I think the basic idea of her starting to naturally take on some of her old mannerisms again as she talks to Michel could have been genuinely sweet and touching if it felt a bit morenuanced and earned in its execution - starting to reclaim her identity as a human rather than a witch, as someone who’s still capable of feeling human emotions and having human connections, in the same way that Michel is gradually brought out of his shell by the events of door 8 and starts to be able to believe in himself once again as a person who’s capable of living in the world without being rejected or treated as an outcast. I think my ideal version of door 8 would focus a lot more on Michel and Giselle helping each other through that process.

Well, if I permit myself to indulge in full-on wish fulfillment here, my real ideal scenario would honestly be for Giselle to actually be physically there in door 8 and have her and Michel working together to save Morgana, with both of them getting to interact with the other characters and play an equal part as co-protagonists in the truest sense - but honestly, even without radically revising the structure and just keeping Giselle as a voice in Michel’s head, I think she could still have easily been given much more of her own personal arc within door 8 rather than just serving as an extension of Michel’s. One thing that’s really potentially interesting to me about door 8 is Giselle having to come face-to-face once again with the people from doors 1-3 who she had so strongly detached herself from and treated as supporting characters in the WHG’s story, to be picked apart from a distance as tragically flawed protagonists. I feel like the Maid was pretty clearly projecting a lot of her own feelings on to these people’s stories, using them to explore her own issues in a way that felt safer by framing them as “someone else’s problem” - so how does she feel seeing these people again, now that she’s self-aware enough to realise what she was doing? I think there’s a lot of interesting material to explore there.

With Yukimasa’s story, for example - before, as the Maid, she wouldn’t have been capable of articulating that her complex feelings about Yukimasa’s narrative and her wish for him to find happiness as Bestia were projections of the way she felt about herself and the way she also tried to find comfort in her own dehumanisation through a false narrative, because owning those feelings for herself would have meant acknowledging the fragility of her own coping mechanisms. But now that she’s started to come to terms with who she really is, I could see her having a lot of difficult and insecure reactions to seeing Yukimasa again, and having his story bring back Giselle’s own deep-seated fears that she’s fundamentally “not human” and deluding herself about her humanity in the same way that Bestia was. Of course, Michel would be there to help her talk through those feelings and remind her why that isn’t true - even as the Maid, she was still very recognisably human at heart - but I think that Giselle actually getting to talk those things out with Michel would go a long way toward giving proper narrative weight to her struggles and making it clear that the deep fears and insecurities she felt as the Maid aren’t just going to magically go away, the way they pretty much seemed to in canon. In the same vein, there’s plenty to explore with things like the Maid’s fixation on the theme of childhood innocence being inevitably lost with Mell and Nellie’s story, and her identification with Jacopo as someone who also tried to kill off his old self completely.

I think it would have helped tie the game together a lot better to have Giselle’s own resolution running parallel with that of the three men in this way, that seeing them being able to reach a more positive conclusion would help her to feel a bit less hopeless about her own story as well - as well as to start to see herself as her own person again, whose story doesn’t have to mirror theirs in the first place. In my ideal version of door 8, I kind of see working through their resolutions as a process of letting Giselle free herself from defining herself by these stories and from the story of the mansion’s curse as a whole, to be able to start to see herself and those around her as real people with real agency rather than as actors in a doomed, unavoidable tragedy.

But I also feel like this scenario has all kinds of potential in terms of allowing Giselle to maybe be able to reframe some aspects of “how she’s changed” in a more positive way, and to see some of the Maid’s characteristics as genuine strengths that she can draw on as well - the ability to emotionally detach from a situation and critically evaluate people and their relationships from afar can be legitimately useful in some situations too, you know? So I’d really like to have seen the Maid’s worldweary cynicism and piercing insight into people’s flaws get to be played as a strength at times, as an important complement to Michel’s lack of experience and knowledge about the world and people, rather than just a shameful phase that she has to move on from. (I think I’d definitely have liked that dynamic a lot more than the “Aww, Mell is like our best friend! We can definitelytrust him!” nonsense that canon pulled, which was just ridiculous. The Maid was absolutely brutal about Mell! Who is this person?!)

One part I really liked from the actual door 8 (and wished had been given more weight and expanded on a lot more) was Giselle saying after Mell and Nellie’s resolution that she felt bad for how she’d treated them as the Maid, sneering condescendingly at their flaws - but Michel responds that her story cutting right to the heart of their problems in that way actually helped him to fully understand them as people and how to help them, and that he couldn’t have done it without her. Making that into more of a fleshed-out arc about helping Giselle to reclaim some of the Maid’s attributes as something positive, not something she has to run away from, would have been a really satisfying resolution to me - there are absolutely real problems with dehumanising people and arranging people’s lives into a neat narrative, but there are also times that being able to detach and get that kind of overarching perspective can actually really help, if it’s done in a more balanced and self-aware way. I think going deeper into exploring this would have really done a lot to integrate Giselle and the Maid, and to tie together Fata’s whole themes as a story about people’s relationships with narrative in general.

Also, I would have really liked to see Giselle involved with the WHG’s resolution too! She spent 400 years obsessing over the WHG and defining herself in terms of the WHG’s story, after all, so I think it only seems fair to give her some closure on that and to let her play her own part in putting her to rest. Michel, Giselle and Morgana’s narratives are all connected together by each of their relationships with the WHG and their respective struggles with the pressure of the ideals she represents, so I think it would bring the whole game together nicely for the three of them to get to let go of her together.

So, I think that’s pretty much the outline of what I would have liked to see from Giselle’s arc in Fata! I hope this all made sense since I am kind of half braindead at the moment, ahaha. I would really love to hear your own thoughts about her too, though, so please don’t hesitate to share them if you can! I’d be super interested to hear your take on the character!

[resbang-bookclub]

AMA Transcript: Simple Melody

For our final AMA of Resbang 2017, @alliope, @bbbutterfingers & @daciafu stopped in to answer questions about their Resbang, Simple Melody! Here’s some of what went down:

Q: My first question for Allie is what inspired you to do this AU?

Allie: Well I've generally had the idea for an Over the Garden Wall AU for a while, not necessarily for SE, but as the first check-ins deadline was approaching I ended up rewatching bits of Over the Garden Wall and it just kinda clicked? Mainly I think it came from Crona's betrayal and Beatrice's betrayal and everything fell into place from there. I thought the eerie atmospheres would work well together! So I ended up scrapping my previous idea and wrote 3k plus a summary like three days before the first check-ins, rip.

Q: For butter/dacia, what went into how you decided which scene(s) to art?

butterfingers: HM well there was some chitchat when we started about what kind of work we wanted to do and I said that I loved the Boom comics covers, and then I shouted WHAT IF I MADE  COMIC BOOK COVERS! and I think Dacia went WHAT IF I DID BACKGROUNDS and I guess we just approached it as if we were doing something comic-y haha!

Allie: You two were the power duo.

daciafu: I've always been in love with the style of the backgrounds of OTGW since that's where all those cozy and spooky feelings of fall and the Unknown really shine and I'm honestly HORRIBLE at designing backgrounds so I wanted to take the challenge and push myself to get better! Mimicking other people's styles really helps me break down how they make their choices and teaches me how to make things look Decent so I was super hyped to pick up the OTGW style! And then when Butters and I were trying to figure out What Do and she said she wanted to tackle covers, I decided to do background-heavy scenes. 😊

Q: What is generally your guys’ process (writing for Allie and arting for butters and dacia)?

Allie: Well, I wrote in little scenes, like I would get an idea for a scene and just go for it, the fic wasn't at all coherent until maybe a few days before posting. This actually posed a problem since linking scenes took longer than I thought it would. Because I had most of my scenes written, I thought I had more finished than I really did. By the end of Resbang, I had 56k written but only 20k remotely post-able. I'm a super obsessive planner though, so my whole fic was outlined in detail early on, which was nice cause I knew what I was doing lol

butterfingers: I loved going through Allie's notes, I was always excited to see how they'd connect the dots! My art process is as follows: scribble something, put it aside, look at it a lot throughout the day with the thought that maybe I can surprise myself into seeing something new, find something I hate, fix it, rinse and repeat. For this project I actually... have a friend who works with Boom Comics and she was able to hook me up with a nice little gallery of illustrations for the OTGW comic so I got to go through and put together my mood board for it 😊

daciafu: I read over the gloriousness that was Allie's draft and immediately picked out some neat scenes or wanted to reimagine the classic OTWG ones. I spent a lot of time studying first! Looking at the art books, and poring over the show’s scenes and kind of getting a feel for the color palettes, textures and compositions. Then I watched a tutorial on Youtube where someone just deadass uploaded their painting process on a piece of official art that made it into the show. So that was EXTREMELY helpful to watch the way they painted back-to-front and kind of blended the planes without like, losing depth?? The internet is so, so wonderful. And then I got to work! Started with a soft brush for lineart so it wouldn't be too prevalent, moved onto base colors, then shading, and then really trying to establish textures and make the atmosphere Just Right(tm).

butterfingers: Genius!! Oh damn that sounds like such great advice vis à vis backgrounds. /takes notes

Q: You sound like the dream art partner Allie, I weep for my artists and my last minute HERE IS 10K I JUST TYPED UP BC IM A MESS.

Allie: Ahh geez, these two were the dream partners honestly, like I'm so glad they could gather stuff from my notes, cause I've always got everything together in my head, but then it gets out there and it's a mess, these two deserve all the love.

butterfingers: There was one thing I regret that I didn't have the chance to draw and it was like a throwaway line somewhere in your notes about Maka presenting Soul with a praying mantis and him freaking out. I resonated with that so hard hahaha.

Q: What was the hardest scene for you to write?

Allie: The hardest scene to write that's actually posted was anything with Justin really, I don't get his character and it was tough to write him. There were a few scenes that were hard to write because I rushed them, but I wouldn't say they were genuinely difficult scenes, I just gotta rewrite 'em! But overall the ending scene I'm still struggling to write and there's a dream scene that occurs which has been difficult to write just for making it dream-like enough?

Q: And what was the hardest to art? :o

butterfingers: I had a hard time with Maka's expressions. I had many scribbles designing a Ragnarok lantern, too, but it was very fun!!

Allie: Your design for the Ragnarok lantern was so good, I still cry over it.

butterfingers: Ahaha thank you! He was very Calcifer inspired ;)

daciafu: I struggled quite a bit with the first one I painted, just because it was all so new to me. I had to base color 3 different times because the soft lineart bothered me if something extended too far, or there was white background peeking through. And then reimagining the texture in the leaves and the ground to try to separate the planes there but also wanting them to be cohesive was a bit of a headache. If I had to go back and do that one over again I think I'd be more prepared to deal with the foliage lmao.

butterfingers: Your textures were very excellent, that was a quality I struggled with as well!

daciafu: The first one I painted was the Golden Light scene where Maka and Soul are leaving the woods and entering the fields.

butterfingers: Trees r hard.

Allie: They all came out so incredible though, I'm in awe of how you were able to create those leaves.

daciafu: Omg ;;;;; At the same time trees are so organic and flowy and the chances of getting them wrong are pretty slim considering they can get janked as hell lol they're super fun to just zone out to. "I’ll just put a happy little leaf here, ooh and how’s about another one right next to it. They can be happy friends. Oh look, the squad showed up!!" Channeling my inner Bob Ross... but yeah you can just do whatever with them and they somehow come together.

Q: Daciafu how do u.....background, like you did so well and all I hear from art friends is various levels of pterodactyl screeching when the word background is mentioned.

daciafu: I heavily based the Leafing the Forest scene and the church scene after stills from the show so I don't get composition points there, but I built the pumpkin fields just based off of the environment’s design elements. I really wanted to push the depth of that scene but also give it that same never-ending quality to it, and I'm super happy with the results. Another note is that I omitted the characters entirely while building the backgrounds. Since I'm usually a pretty character-heavy artist, I wanted to tackle it like I was preparing the scene for an animator later. And then once they were done, I added in our sweet kids. Doing it that way first really helped to cement the characters in the space rather than my usual "character is done, how can I put them in an interesting physical space?" struggle lmao.

Q: Did you guys feel like your writing/arting changed at all or that you learned anything/picked up new skills/honed old ones etc. etc. during Resbang?

Allie: Gosh yeah, it changed a lot. In hindsight a bad idea, but this was the first fic I'd ever written with intention of posting and the longest piece I'd ever written. Before this I had written very little and my longest piece was maybe 10k. Throughout Resbang I've learned most of everything from the ground up, it's taught me a lot about my limits, how I work and writing in general. I've definitely improved a lot from the experience!

butterfingers: Let me tell you all about the airbrush tool that I discovered during Resbang. Amazing. Incredible.

daciafu: I learned how to paint backgrounds!!! Which is something I've always wanted to get better at. And I got super comfortable in Clip Studio (I'd just gotten it) as well as using texture brushes, so overall it was a very helpful and wonderful experience as a Resbang participant and as an arteest.

Q: Oh that reminds me butters, what program do you use?

butterfingers: Paint Tool SAI for the most part, and then Photoshop for color correction, borders, and, like, finesse things! :)

Q: Did you guys listen to any music that inspired you or helped you create?

Allie: Ah, yeah! I had a playlist actually! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjTCaFkFU6rkD1edJwCZmHvJiUwlSUeGZ

If you want I can explain some bits of it? I use music a lot when writing aha. I like to associate certain songs with characters and character relationships, so most of the songs are connected to a particular part of the story. The Monroe Transfer, Wayfaring Stranger, and Mountains were all more general atmosphere stuff. Blame was very much related to Maka, which may not be apparent now, but yeah. Ragnarok I actually connected a lot with Willow Tree March. Soul was probably closest with A Lady. Crona had a lot of songs, but Neptune was most specific to them, as was probably Ghost Towns. Some character relationships I associated with certain songs, Crona-Ragnarok and Soul-Maka were both pretty connected to Always Gold, especially that dang last line "there were holes in you, the kind that I could not mend" oh man. Crona-Maka was definitely We Could Be Friends, Bloom, and Spell. Meet Me in The Woods I thought was a pretty good group song! Those are just some general bits of my thinking with the music aha.

daciafu: Definitely checked out Allie's dope playlist. For most of my working time, tho, I was either listening to TAZ: Commitment or MBMBaM oddly enough lol. I will forever think of Justin's uproarious laughter whenever I look at them lmao.

Q: Were any of the relationships difficult to characterize?

Allie: Mmm this may sound weird but early Maka-Crona was weird for me, cause they were kinda at that point where they want to (or at least Maka wants to) like each other, but they don’t like or trust each other at all and it's a weird spot for them. I'm used to writing them as at least interested by one another, if not enemies or already fond of one another, so this felt like a very odd place to start with them.

Q: Do you guys have future plans for writing/drawing? Aside from polishing and posting the rest of the fic!

Allie: I have,,, too many plans,, I need less plans,, someone please take them away from me, I can't be trusted with them,,,, I do want to do a sequel for this when I get it finished, playing on the detail about crows memory lasting five years so. Beyond that I have a SoMa fic to finish for the prompt challenge!! I'm working on a gift for Crescentcrona, which is a fantasy Kirona fic called Eat The Rich. I have polyam week fics that I'm cleaning up, I think my favorite so far is a Azusa/Naigus/Sid/Mifune one for Through The Seasons. And God I have so many CroMa fics I want to write, I gotta fill the AO3 tag. I think the biggest one right now is a wings-related soulmates au that I've been working on on the side since October I think?

daciafu: Yo there's one scene that I'm like sUPER hyped to do if Allie does the sequel because I already know exactly how I wanna draw it but I wasn't able to fit that in near the end, and it didn't end up in the first part. But there are a couple of other scenes Allie and I workshopped that would be super fun to do and I would love to draw them. Other than that, my drawing plans are pretty much working on commissions as they come in. Surprisingly my queue has been maxed out and I just got a full time job so of course now I'm like.... hm.... I'll get 'em done eventually!!

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That’s the end of the AMAs for the 2017 season! Thanks again for reading along with us, and see you next year! :)

[artdjgblog]

​Innerview: Richard Noggle / ​Larryville Life ​Feb. 2012​

Image: DJG (via Michael Bay action film generator)

Note: Questions on art and a forthcoming exhibition.​

01) Can you give us a general sense of your style and techniques as an artist?  And who are your influences?  And could you please incorporate one of those "my work is like _________ meets ___________" comparisons that critics love so much?

My style typically consists of whatever mood/feeling I'm in or whatever sorts of things I've got to work with around me. I guess there are some consistencies as I keep coming back to found objects, collage, scribbles and junk. Range of like-minded artistic kin stretch from my grandma to folk art to Henryk Tomaszewski to Seymour Chwast to Ray Johnson to Basquiat to Saul Steinberg and even Pee-wee Herman, Dr. Demento and Jim Henson. Daily influences include a mixture of intuition, conversation, observation, humor, stains on teeth, animals, anxiety, faith, layered language, worlds interacting with worlds, things that look better weathered, markings on pavement and beyond blah-blah. I watch a lot of movies too. It's hard answering the "comparisons" question as I'm not always on the outside looking in. What do you think? I've had some people compare the found object work to Robert Rauschenberg. That's a pretty tall order though. I never really think about that stuff. Steve Brisendine of Art KC 365 kindly put me at, "He isn’t just in touch with his inner child; the two of them must hang out on a regular basis, playing with scissors, magazines and construction paper…Some of his creations…are meticulously assembled. Others look as though they were fueled by half a box of frosted cereal, washed down with a two-liter bottle of something sugary and caffeinated." Can I just say, "My work is like the Garbage Pail Kids meets Ren & Stimpy."?   02) Your newest First Friday exhibition in KC is titled "Mouth Breathing at the Wick to the Apocalypse."  What is the show about and is it going to convince us (or convince us even further) that the world is ending in 2012? I was actually quite anxious titling it this, but I kept coming back to it/it kept coming back to me. And it extends further than just the 2012 stuff. There's a lot to chew on and this title just works for the times and within my own body of work. It's definitely a conversation stimulator. The following is what I wrote for Chad Thomas Johnston's web site (@Saint_Upid). Actually, this one was slightly revised for my own blog: Every living thing has a date of expiration. When that date comes, I believe, is in much bigger hands…as well as with a personal healthy dose of daily walk and decision. And Lord knows we’re all trying to put the wicks out to something we have to face, large or small, Earth or individual. We love to control, alter, even bring about more things in the process. Let’s all truly breathe and make space instead of picking up the pace and filling up out pants. Put the hand to the mouth…you’re still breathing. All of this also goes towards those who stand around waiting for things to happen on an individual level. I don’t know, life is about balance. I struggle every day. People are so focused on 2012 predictions and doom ‘n’ gloom when life is still in the now. For those wishing to sidestep the recent holiday cheer, there was even an “Armageddon Week” during Christmas on the History Channel. Yeah, fascinating, but let’s not over do it. If this is our last official year, then let’s just take one long holiday! Who knows? I don’t think any man truly does. But, when that day comes we will be there with the cameras rolling, breathing heavily, awaiting to capture and recapture a thing that we’ll either be too dead to see or won’t have the grid or battery power to reconnect with. Let’s find the art and beauty in the rubble that is the now. This all sort of fits into my exhibition title “Mouth Breathing at the Wick to the Apocalypse.” It also just speaks for the body of work I’ve been creating the past year, perhaps many years. I don’t aim to alarm or hoover heavily. If anything, the spirit in the art is quite jovial and optimistic. Per usual, I want people to have a soak and smile. Some of the ideas initialized in a 2002 sketchbook I did as a janitor as well as writings over the past half decade. In the end, it just has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? 03) We've been examining some of your pieces over at the gallery on @Saint_Upid's site and Chip, quite frankly, doesn't "get" some of it.  Can you explain that Fox Food 2/ bunny piece to him? I've been saving up each week's grocery store ad papers. I like to cut out the meat and various food chunks and make animals. I've got a fox and a rabbit. The fox is titled "Fox Food No. 1" and the rabbit is "Fox Food No. 2." So, eventually the rabbit gets eaten by the fox. Get it? 04) What other projects do you have in store for what may well be the last year of humanity's existence as we know it? I made a life-size bison (on paper) outlined in grocery store meat ads and splattered with coffee. He'll be at the exhibition hiding in a corner. I've also got a snake on a board made out of chewed up Dubble Bubble. My jaw is kind of sore this week. I think that's it for the gum art. There will be a few others in the show too. Other projects in the coming months? Well, I'd like to knock out another music video this year. I'm trying my hand and patience at stop motion animation. Emphasis on "trying." I'd like to have a 2nd exhibition at 1819 Central this year. I'm thinking of doing a photography show, but I'll just see what art I make between now and the fall. Ultimately, I'd like to make some money on this art thing. We'll see. I'll also have a piece in the forthcoming Middle of the Map Fest art show in April. I still need to make that one. 05) We know you are a huge movie buff, since we talk movies with you on Twitter quite often.  What's the best off-the-beaten-path film that you've watched recently that our readers should see and then talk pompously about at the Pig while  pretending like they discovered it themselves? Uh, Transformers? I watched that and Take Shelter recently. Michael Shannon could destroy a Transformer by staring at it...sure to be an Academy Award favorite. 06) When are you going to make a Larryville visit and drink a PBR with us? I don't have the street cred to call it Larryville just yet, but maybe I will after I come hang with you guys? Lawrence used to be a short hop, skip and a jump traveling to concerts in my youth. It helped that I rarely drove then. At 33, Lawrence seems so far away from Kansas City. One of these days though... 07) Bonus Round--Do you have a favorite show from your Lawrence concert-going days? Some of my most well-lit memories of Lawrence concerts would be the "game day" excitement building up to and then wedging in-between band equipment in the Elevator Division van. I was their live-in art director and it was a treat to tag along. It was an adventure on the road as well as lurking in the shadows of the Bottleneck, Replay and Granada. The sleep on the ride home was the best I'd get. Those trips would destroy me now. My most memorable concert moment in Lawrence would have to be meeting Elliott Smith in the Granada back alley after his show. We shook hands and both said, "Thanks." at the same time. Also in the alley were The Flaming Lips who happened to be in town, and previously on stage performing "Don't Fear the Reaper" with Elliott. What a way to end it. I was sad the day Elliott smith passed away and still am. Oh yeah...before that show my eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the indoor lighting and I waved an excited hi to some old friends upon entering the venue and immediately tripped over two people sitting on the floor. Another high ranking concert moment was seeing The Sleepy Jackson open for The Polyphonic Spree at Liberty Hall. I had no idea who they were and they completely blew me away. 08) How familiar are you with the Lawrence art scene these days?  Any favorite artists working in our fair city? I'm a tad familiar with the Lawrence art scene. Notably, those running/making art at Wonder Fair. Great guys/great artists. I need to get out to Lawrence more often these days. I enjoy your fine city. Though, being a Missouri boy you may have to check my MU Tiger fan badge at the Lawrence border. 09) We've noticed that KC has a strange new event called Hot Tub dialogues, in which the audiences pays to watch artists sit around talking about art in a hot tub.  Would you don your bathing suit to participate in such shenanigans? This is new news to me! And weird at that! Especially the audience pay part. I don't think I'd be up for such an event unless said hot tub was a time machine. I'm also a bit of a nevernude and still barely sticking my toes in the Kansas City art pool as it is! 10) There's a very controversial public art event currently generating a lot of controversy in Lawrence. Lice chickens will be exhibited for a month in spots around town, letting people "get to know them, the they'll be killed and cooked for a community project at Percolator art gallery? What are your initial thoughts on this project? Like the hot tub talk, this is weird and new local art news to me! I really am out of the loop/pool. Growing up on a farm in rural Missouri, I knew many of my animals before they were butchered. I guess, like anything, it's a matter of public opinion. If you're not comfortable with it, then don't attend/support? Is this commentary on the whole local/get to know your food and where it comes from thing? Very interesting. I don't quite understand the need to make it into a public art event. Seems like something destined ftp stir the poultry pot, so to speak! I guess I need to know more about this. Thanks! -djg  

[armchairrevolutionary]

On 9/11

There are some people who realize that the physical evidence indicates that the official story is wrong, but don't understand what purpose or interest the government may have had in carrying out the attacks and thus have a psychological relation to the entire event as remaining quite mysterious even though the government's claims are patently absurd. I'll resolve that for you.

On 9/11/91 Bush Sr. spoke before Congress calling for a new world order. Alright, so the president is announcing a major initiative to the world. What could he be up to?

As the USSR was collapsing, there were major operations underway to seize control of their industry. We need to lay down a little historical context for those unaware before proceeding.

Throughout the 1980s the CIA was heavily involved in cocaine and arms trafficking, money laundering, etc. The most famous name here might be Oliver North, but Bush Sr. is neck deep. Mena, Arkansas is a major hub for this operation under the jurisdiction of Bill Clinton. Long trail of deaths surrounding North, Clinton, Bush, Mena, etc. You can educate yourself on those details.

This scandal goes mainstream around 1986. In 1989 you get the first major form of collateralized debt obligations in the form of Brady Bonds, invented by Bush Sr.'s treasury secretary. Minimally informed people are aware of the centrality of CDOs to the 2008 financial panic and the endemic fraud to securities trades of this type.

One of the Bush/North associates is Neil Livingstone, who acts as a go between to Semion Mogilevich. Mogilevich is one of the biggest mafia leaders in the USSR at the time. Mogilevich has had money laundering through the Bank of New York exposed to the tune of $10 billion. He is a major arms dealer at the time, and also heavily connected to al-Qaeda. Part of a bargain Livingstone tried to broker with DoJ involved Mogilevich handing over a bunch of his al-Qaeda connections.

Around 9/11/91 a bunch of fraudulent Brady Bonds are issued through the Bank of New York, Mogilevich's personal money laundering machine. This manifests ten years later. If you go back and look at the settlement imbalances at banks after 9/11, even the banks operating out of WTC complexes don't have any real settlement issues. There is one major exception however: Mogilevich's money laundering hub, the Bank of New York, is reporting book imbalances in excess of $100 billion per day following the attacks. The rules governing security clearance were lifted immediately after 9/11 - allegedly due to widespread problems - but really just to allow BoNY to clear it's balances without a record. It's worth noting that BoNY did not sustain structural damage on 9/11 - not in the WTC.

So these 100s of billions of fraudulent securities that were not clearing in the days after 9/11 - where did they come from? What were they used for? This is how the west launched their invasion of Russia following the collapse. You'll find exposes about crates of freshly printed US bills being shipped to Russia like The Money Plane in NY Magazine, used to buy influence; the other side of this is the securities fraud used to buy assets. It's estimated that something like 40-50% of Russia had been bought up through the mafia by late 92 or 1993.

In 2000/2001 Putin comes onto the scene. He starts nationalizing Russian assets that were seized by the US via the above mentioned securities fraud / money laundering and putting pressure on the mob. Next thing you know 9/11 happens. There are a lot of bones to pick with the official story, but rather than taking up those issues I'd like to highlight the importance of some officially acknowledged but underreported facts.

On 9/9/01 Ahmad Massoud is assassinated by a fake TV crew that disguised a bomb as a TV camera. Two days later the secret service denies access to a couple of guys claiming to have an interview lined up with Bush in Florida on the morning of 9/11. This is our first direct threat against Bush of the day and indication of some larger plot than hijacked planes. Upon learning of the attacks, Bush insists on returning directly to Washington. In flight, a threat is received in the form of a call from an unknown source saying "Angel is next," angel being code for the president that only insiders would have. (* "Can you confirm the substance of that threat that was telephoned in...that Air Force One is next and using code words?" Fleischer: "Yes, I can. That's correct."(September 13)* )Bush is at this point aware that there is some sort of coup effort going on; for example, all the reporter's onboard AF1 are required to turn their cellphones off because they are worried about the attacking faction tracking cell signals - a capability we can all agree is well beyond that of al-Qaeda.

So Bush is under threat from people with high level insider knowledge. Press secretary acknowledged all this on national TV the day after (Angel is next being called in). Bush diverts to Barksdale which is basically the #2 nuclear command site. After a couple hours there he proceeds to Offutt, which is the #1 nuclear command site. You should also be aware of a variety of drills running on the day of 9/11, Vigilant Guardian. This is a full scale mock up of nuclear war; the whole infrastructure is activated for first strike (incidentally, part of the Vigilant Guardian drill in 2001 included a hijacking of planes as the instigator of the conflict). So what is Bush doing going to Barksdale and Offutt? Clearly trying to bring the nuclear forces to heel in light of learning of high level insider power plays.

This might be starting to sound a bit over the top - high level insiders seizing control of nuclear infrastructure and threatening the president with it. But only a few years later we have a similar incident in 2007 as 6 nuclear weapons are seized, generally regarded as intended for use starting the war in either Iran or Georgia. Later, in 2013, we again have nukes going off base unauthorized. Hours after it was reported in the media Sen. Graham is on TV warning of a nuke hit on South Carolina to be blamed on Syrian rebels; two of top nuclear commanders get dismissed in the following weeks. So high level insider fighting over the nuclear arsenal is pretty standard stuff, well known to the public.

With the question of a struggle over the nuclear arsenal now being common sense rather than shocking, we consider Bush caving to the terrorism line and starting the whole war on terror. You have Putin immediately backing off the seizure of assets in Russia. It won't be until the last couple of years that Putin resumes his assertion of authority over Russia; the US responds in kind with attacks on Syria and Ukraine but Russia has since quietly updated it's missile program and is prepared for nuclear war this time around; you now see a defiant Putin in the face of the 9/11 coup faction. Alongside this remarkable shift in geopolitics, there is an emerging anti-dollar block with the BRIC countries establishing an infrastructure bank last year. Just weeks ago, Glazyev announced this and is widely regarded as being the mouth of Putin; he organized the recent gas deal with Chin for example.

So you see 9/11 was a pivotal event used to extend the US dollar empire under threat of nuclear war for another 10-15 years in the face of an assertive Putin back in 2001 and growing domestic problems for the US Government. (You may recall the 90s was full of anti government militancy, concern over globalization, NAFTA, extraordinary distrust, in general what you would expect of citizens in an empire with no apparent external threat ... the cold war had ended)

So now that broad outline of purpose and motivation for 9/11 is clear, it's easier to come to terms with what your eyes tell you looking at Building 7 implode into its foot print at free fall for example. You don't even necessarily have to view it as an evil thing; the US people are quite severely fucked without something being done to backstop the US dollar.