#i guess i could theoretically go back and come up with titles for my chapters and rename them

[rhys-ravenfeather]

A moment of silence for the days where I could actually come up with creative/clever titles for my fanfic chapters.

[kiss-inthekitchen]

all that you ask of me | loki laufeyson

summary: you and Loki have a discussion about your kinks, and you learn something about him that you weren’t expecting

wc: 1.5k

warnings: smutty themes!! talk of bdsm, both reader and loki are switches and they aren't chill about it, teasing, light degradation but in a cute way, sub!loki, dom!loki, f!reader. loki has huge bisexual switch energy and i had to put it in a fic

a/n: title is kind of unrelated lol it makes more sense in the next chapter. pls let me know if you like it, i love when u guys leave comments or tags !

It’s been a few weeks since you and Loki had started dating and your sexual chemistry has been insane, which was a surprise to neither of you. You’d started out as friends, and even then, any time Loki had so much as brushed his fingers along your skin you felt something akin to electricity spike through your body. And though he was loath to admit it at first, Loki felt the same. So, once you finally gave in to your mutual feelings for each other, things only got more exciting.

Though the two of you had been having sex for weeks, you hadn’t really done anything too spicy yet, still getting used to this new aspect of your relationship. Now, though, you’d decided it would be a good idea to get it all out there, rather than try to figure it out as you went along. Besides, something about the idea of talking things out with Loki like it was nothing more than a casual conversation was thrilling to you.

You and Loki were sitting on the couch, your legs resting in his lap as he absentmindedly soothed circles into one of your calves. You smiled fondly at the way he always had to be touching some part of you. The two of you had covered a few topics already, going over safewords (you were partial to the traffic light system, and Loki agreed) and some of your hard limits, and now you were on to the fun part. Specifically, a rather exciting interest your partner had just confessed to.

“You know,” you mused, unable to keep the teasing smile off your face, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into submission, what with your whole...thing.”

“My whole thing?” He repeated, raising his eyebrows at your choice of words. You suppressed a laugh. He probably would’ve spent more time on his faux outrage if the look on your face wasn’t so damn cute. “Yes, well. I am full of surprises, aren’t I?”

You hummed in response. “I mean, I had hoped you’d be into it. Or, I guess, fantasized, would be the better w-”

“Did you?” He cut you off, sounding all too pleased.

“Oh, for a while now,” you smirked.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he said, the admiration in his eyes shifting to smugness as he continued, “I wouldn’t expect you to be a dom, what with your whole thing.”

You made a show of rolling your eyes at him. He wasn’t wrong, though. Compared to Loki, you were much more bubbly and warm, not that he was really so cold anymore, but he was still… him. On top of that, your style tended to lean more toward pastel colors, though lately you were known to also rock some dark green tones. You supposed that from the outside, people would assume you to be the more submissive one in the relationship. Which you definitely could be, but your tastes went both ways.

“Okay, I deserved that,” you relented. “Now come on, tell me what I want to know.”

“Okay, well. I’ve no problem with bondage, as I’m sure you know.”

“You do seem to end up in chains quite often, my love. But... not sexually?” You’d meant for it to be a statement, but then you realized you actually had no idea, your voice lilting up into a question.

He fixed you with a look that very clearly told you you’d been wrong.

Well, okay then. “Right,” you responded, a little breathier than before, trying not to let your imagination run wild just yet. Loki squeezed your ankle playfully, bringing you back before you could lose focus. “So, is there anything you’re not okay with, bondage-wise? Like, collars, ties, cuffs…?” You trailed off.

He thought for a moment. “No, it’s all fine with me. What about you?”

“Cuffs kinda freak me out, actually. I don’t have superhuman strength and all.”

“Noted. Oh, one thing I do want to mention- I’m going to have to ask that you refer to me exclusively as ‘Your Majesty’ when I’m in charge,” he said, expression unwavering.

Your mouth dropped open for a second before you asked, “Wait, seriously?”

He broke into a mischievous grin. “No. But if you’d really like to, I suppose I wouldn’t stop you,” he said the last bit thoughtfully, and you playfully hit his arm with the back of your hand in admonishment. “Ooh, harder,” he said, still with an air of mischief, though you got the sense he wasn’t entirely kidding.

“Loki!” you gasped.

“Alright,” he laughed lightly. “Great God of Mischief will work just as well.”

“I am not calling you that.”

“You’re being so difficult.”

“Will you just tell me what you like to be called already? If you carry on like this, I swear, I will call you Captain.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, glaring at you, and you raised an eyebrow as if to ask, care to test that theory? “Okay, I yield. But, honestly, it depends on the scene. If you’re comfortable with it, I’ll have you call me ‘sir’ most of the time, ‘daddy’ on special occasions. You’re a smart girl. I trust that you’ll know when those occasions come about.”

You just nodded, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. Why were you having such a reaction to Loki calling you a smart girl? He’d definitely noticed.

“What would you like to be called? When you’re the dominant?” Loki asked, saving you from your thought spiral.

“Oh, um. Ma’am is fine. None of the other terms really work for me, I don’t know why, they just seem kind of… too much, I guess,” you over-explained, feeling your cheeks start to heat up.

“Ma’am is just fine?” Loki pressed.

“No, it’s- it’s good. I, um, really like it.” Your cheeks flamed even hotter now, your gaze trained on the couch cushion.

Loki reached out and lifted your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him. “Come now, you were doing so well. Don’t get shy on me now,” he said, voice taking on that deep timbre that made you feel like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Okay,” you breathed, your mind gone completely blank as you looked at him.

“Good girl,” he said softly. He didn’t miss the way your body reacted to the praise, a smug smirk plastered on his face.

Bastard. You narrowed your eyes at him, shaking your head slightly to clear it. “That’s not fair,” you countered weakly.

“Isn’t it? I’m just trying to figure out what you like,” he feigned innocence.

“Right,” you said, only a little petulantly, trying to think of what else you wanted to ask him before he’d distracted you. “How do you feel about degradation?” You blurted out. “Receiving, I mean.”

That caught him off guard, to your great enjoyment. “I- I’m not sure. No one’s ever tried it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been tied up but no one’s ever called you names?”

“No,” he responded, frowning slightly. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. “I think I might be okay with it.”

“My honey, you’ve been so deprived,” you said with a pout. It was your turn to have a little fun now. “So,” you started, trailing your fingertips up his forearm, drawing his attention to your touch before you continued. “If, for example, I had you on your knees, and you were being so good for me, and I just happened to call you my obedient little slut-” he inhaled sharply, and you couldn’t help but grin, “-you would, theoretically, be okay with that?” You looked up into his eyes, seeing the flash of desire that had settled there.

“I think that would be acceptable,” he spoke, clearly putting in effort to keep his voice even.

You smiled, pleased with yourself. It was cute that he still tried to seem unaffected when you could literally feel the way his cock had stiffened against you. You shifted the position of your leg in his lap, lightly brushing against him, and he gasped.

“Pathetic,” you chide.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As much as he may try to seem unimpressed with your teasing, he was certainly susceptible to it. “If you want us to get through the rest of the conversation, you’re going to have to stop that,” he says, but it comes out more like a plea than an order, and he’s sure that you’re going to be the death of him.

You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.”

“It seems I’ve underestimated you, dearest,” he says, tone laced through with affection.

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, drawing him closer to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Well, that’s a mistake we won’t make twice. Isn’t it, love?”

[bettsfic]

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 12

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 12 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 12/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

“Am I safe now?” Rupert asked from his bed.

Clara sat on the edge while the Doctor played with Rupert’s orange robot.

“Nobody's safe, especially not at night in the dark, Anything can get you. And all the way up here, you're up here all alone.”

Clara smacked the Doctor in the head, causing Elise to smile.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Shut up, leave this to me,” Clara told him. Clara picked up a box of plastic soldiers. “These yours?” Clara asked Rupert.

“They're the home's.”

“They're yours now.”

“People don't need to be lied to,” the Doctor said.

Elise hit him on the arm and gestured for Clara to keep going.

“People don't need to be scared by a big gray-haired stick insect, but here you are. Stay still, shut up.” Clara started to set the toy soldiers around Rupert’s bed. “See what I'm doing? This is your army.”

The Doctor started to stand up. “Plastic army.”

“Sit!”

The Doctor sat back down.

Elise smiled. Clara commanded him like River once did. Elise could only imagine having that much sway over a person.

“And they're going to guard under your bed.”

Clara held up one in particular. “You see this one? This is the boss one, the colonel. He's going to keep a special eye out.”

“It's broken, that one. It doesn't have a gun.”

“That's why he's the boss. A soldier so brave he doesn't need a gun. He can keep the whole world safe.”

Elise noticed the look on the Doctor’s face and wrapped her hand around his arm, giving it a light squeeze.

“What shall we call him?” Clara asked.

“Dan.”

Clara’s head snapped up. “Sorry?”

“Dan, the soldier man. That's what I call him.”

“Good. Good name.”

“Yeah. Would you read me a story? It'll help me get to sleep.”

“Sure.”

The Doctor stood up and walked over to Rupert. “Once upon a time…” He touched Rupert’s forehead and he fell back on the bed, asleep. “The end. Dad skills.”

Elise frowned. “You never did that to me.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Never had to.”

They went back to the TARDIS.

“So is it possible we've just saved that kid from another kid in a bedspread?” Clara asked.

“Entirely possible, yes. The bigger question is, why did we end up with him, and not you?”

“I got distracted.”

“But why that particular boy? You don't have any. You don't have any kind of connection with him, do you?”

“No. No, no, no. Of course not. Why do you ask?”

The Doctor tinkered around with the console. “The TARDIS was slaved to your timeline. Theoretically, there should have been some connection.”

“Will umm, will he remember any of that?”

“Scrambled his memory. Gave him a big old dream about being Dan the soldier man.”

Clara sighed and put her head on the console, letting out a pitiful whine.

The Doctor carefully approached her. “Are you okay?”

Clara raised her head. “Doctor, I am sorry to ask, and, you know, I realize this is probably against the laws of time, umm. Er, could you do me a favor?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They stepped out of the TARDIS. They saw past-Clara walking away.

“Is that what I look like from the back?” Clara asked.

“It's fine,” the Doctor told her.

“I was thinking it was good.”

“Really?”

Clara walked back into the restaurant and they watched Clara interact with a man.

Elise sighed wistfully. Ever since Trenzalore…

“Oh, not you too!” the Doctor groaned, “I don’t need two starry eyed girls on my TARDIS.”

Elise would never understand why the Doctor made falling in love sound so horrible. The older Elise got, the more she wanted someone to spend her time with.

“I’ve got an idea. Come on,” the Doctor said.

“Wait, what?”

The Doctor wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her into the TARDIS.

“Oi!” Elise tried pulling away from the Doctor, but his grip was too strong. She was a second away from biting him when he let go of her.

“Now, the TARDIS is still slaved to Clara’s timeline, so…” He threw a lever and the TARDIS took off.

Elise missed the days where the TARDIS would shake and sway as they traveled through the vortex.

The TARDIS landed and the Doctor left, coming back with a man in a spacesuit. They landed back at the restaurant and the Doctor sent the spaceman into the restaurant to find Clara, while he disappeared somewhere into the TARDIS. The spaceman returned a few minutes later, Clara following.

“I am trying to have a date. A real life, inter-human actual date! It's a normal nice, everyday, meeting-up sort of thing. And I would just like to know, is there any other way you can make this anymore surreal than it already is?”

The spaceman took off his helmet. He looked exactly like the guy Clara had been on a date with.

“Hello,” the spaceman said.

The Doctor re-entered the control room. “Ah, Clara! Well done, you found her. Now this is really a bit strange.”

“Danny?” Clara asked, with wide eyes.

“What's gone wrong with your face? It's all eyes! Why are you all eyes? Get them under control,” the Doctor told her.

“Er, who's Danny?” the spaceman asked.

“This is Colonel Orson Pink, from about a hundred years in your future,” the Doctor explained.

Clara let out a nervous laugh. “Orson Pink?”

“Yeah, I laughed too. Sorry. Do you have any connection with him?”

“Connection?”

“Yes, maybe you're like a distant relative or something?”

“How, how would I know?”

To someone like Elise it was glaringly obvious.

“Right. Okay.” The Doctor turned to Orson.” “Er, well, do you have any old family photographs of her? You know, probably quite old and really fat-looking?”

“I don't,” Orson said.

“How did you find him?” Clara asked.

“Well, you left a trace in the TARDIS telepathic circuits. I fired them up again and the TARDIS brought me straight to him. So he is something to do with your timeline,” the Doctor explained.

“Okay.”

“And you'll never guess where I found him.” The Doctor fired up the TARDIS and they landed in a capsule.

Clara walked over to one of the windows and looked out onto a desolate wasteland. “Where are we?”

“The end of the road. This is it, the end of everything. The last planet,” the Doctor said.

“The end of the universe?”

“The TARDIS isn't supposed to come this far, but some idiot turned the safeguards off. Listen.”

“To what?”

“Nothing. There's nothing to hear. There's nothing anywhere. Not a breath, not a slither, not a click or a tick. All the clocks have stopped. This is the silence at the end of time.”

Nothing could be heard except the sound of Orson transferring things from his locker to his backpack.

“Then how did he get here?” Clara asked, “If he's from a hundred years in my future.”

“Pioneer time traveler.” The Doctor sonicked one of the computers to show some news footage. “Rode the first of the great time shots. They were supposed to fire him into the middle of the next week.”

“What happened?”

“He went a bit far.”

“A bit?”

“A big bit. Look at him now. Robinson Crusoe at the end of time itself. The last man standing in the universe. I always thought that would be me.”

“It's not a competition.”

“I know it's not a competition. Course it isn't. Still time, though.”

Clara looked over at Orson, who was still stuffing things into his backpack. “He looks like he's packing.”

“He's been stranded for six months, just met a time traveler. Of course he's packing.”

He ran over to them. “You can do it, then? You can get me home?”

“I just showed you, didn't I? A test flight to a restaurant,” the Doctor told him.

“Yes, but to my family, to my own time?”

“Easy. I can do that, can't I, Clara?”

“He can, yes.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I'm fine.”

“Do I know you?”

“No. Nope.” Clara was still staring at Orson with wide eyes.

“Is she doing the all eyes thing? It's because her face is so wide. She needs three mirrors,” the Doctor said.

“Doctor!”

“We can't leave immediately, though. The TARDIS needs to recharge.”

Elise looked at the Doctor. The TARDIS doesn’t need to recharge.

Of course she doesn’t.

Elise rolled her eyes. You’re curious about something, aren’t you? Of course I am.

“Oi. Stop doing that Timelord mind thing,” Clara said.

“Overnight, that should do it, shouldn't it, Clara?”

“Overnight?” Orson asked.

“One more night. That's, that's not a problem, is it?”

Orson hesitated before answering and it made Elise think that maybe the Doctor was onto something. “No. No, no problem.”

“It's a shame, isn't it?” the Doctor asked.

“What's a shame?”

“There's only four people left in the universe, and you're lying to the other three. It was the first thing I noticed when I stepped in here. You must have seen it, too, Clara. You've got eyes out to here.”

“Seen what?” Clara asked.

“The universe is dead. Everything that ever was is dead and gone. There's nothing beyond this door but nothingness forever. So why is it locked?”

“Please, don't make me spend another night here.”

“Afraid of the dark? But the dark is empty now.”

“No. No, it isn't.”

[aster-aspera]

One love, one house

CW: food mention, loads of fluff

Relationships: romantic DLAMP

Chapter title is from sweater weather by the neighbourhood

read on ao3

Masterlist for my superhero AU

Patton loved his roommate, he really did, but he was just a little eccentric. Patton could deal with the sneaking in at hellish hours in the early morning, and the mud he tracked into the appartement and the faint smell of antiseptic and blood that was always present in their bathroom.

He could even deal with his roommate occasionally forgetting his tasks or even disappearing for days on end.

But this was just unacceptable. Patton stood in front of a near empty fridge, only a refrigerated tupperware full of noodles and a jar of pickles left.

“Virgil?” He called.

His roommate looked up at him from under his messy bangs, dark circles that seemed to take up half of his face under his eyes. He really should stop sneaking out at night. Patton had hoped he would have gotten more sleep during the holidays, but it seemed his roommate was determined to work himself into an early grave.

“What have you been eating?” He asked, pointing to the fridge.

Virgil gaped at him for a moment as the question made its way into his sleep deprived brain.

“Uhm, noodles?” He said, sounding unsure of himself.

“Just noodles?”

“And pickles, I guess.”

“During the holiday season?”

“Yes?”

Patton sighed. Virgil just continued staring at him, seemingly unaware of why Patton was so upset.

“You did eat something other than noodles on Christmas, right?” He asked, his voice edging on desperation.

“I dunno, when was Christmas?”

Patton snapped.

“Nope, this is unacceptable. I don’t care if you celebrate or not, but you should at least eat something.”

“I ate.” Virgil grumbled.

“Noodles!” Patton interjected.

“And it’s not like I had a lot of time on my hands to cook an elaborate meal.”

“One, it’s not that hard to throw some vegetables into a wok and two, what are you even doing during the holidays, it’s not like we have classes.”

Virgil looked down.

“Studying.” He mumbled.

“More like studying , with the way you look.”

“I don’t look that bad.”

“You look like a corpse, a cute corpse, but still a corpse.”

Virgil flushed and Patton had to fight not to coo. He was just so cute.

“Whatever, are you free tonight?” He continued.

“Uhh, sure? I have something at 11 though.”

“That’s fine, I’m cooking you dinner tonight and we’re going to have a little holiday celebration.”

“Patton, I don’t really celebrate Christmas.”

“It’s not about Christmas. I just want to have a nice night with my friend and while I’m at it, I want to make sure you’re eating something for once.”

“Ok, fine. We’ll have a holiday celebration.” Virgil groaned, but he didn’t seem totally against the idea.

Patton cheered.

“Okay, I’m going to pop over to the store first. We’ll need ingredients.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to bother yourself too much.”

“Nonsense, I love cooking for others. Also, we’re all out of food except noodles, so I’d have to go shopping anyways.”

Virgil had the decency to look mildly guilty at that.

Virgil accompanied him to the store. Which, unlike Patton had expected, did not speed up the shopping process, but only slowed them down as they fooled around.

“Okay, okay. Let's get this done quickly, thyme is money.” Patton said, waggling his eyebrows at Virgil.

“What the hell am I doughing here.” Virgil groaned.

Patton gasped. “You made a pun!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah well, don’t expect too many of those. I wouldn’t want to oatverdo it.”

Patton gasped in delight.

“The s’more puns you make, the s’more i love you.” He proclaimed and Virgil blushed beet red.

Patton giggled as he looked at Virgil having fun. His roommate was usually a lot more reserved and morose. He had no idea what had happened that had put Virgil in such high spirits, but whatever it was, Patton was grateful. The smile that graced Virgil’s face was the most breathtaking thing he had seen all week.

Patton looked away, aware he had been staring just a little too long.

The meal was delicious, if he said so himself, and Virgil seemed to agree. He lounged back in his chair languidly, sleepy from the good food. He looked better than Patton had seen him all month. The colour had returned to his cheeks again and his eyes sparkled.

Patton silently congratulated himself on a job well done.

“That was great, Pat. Seriously.”

“I’m humbled by your compliments.”

Virgil smiled.

“Where did you even learn how to cook like this?”

“My moms taught me. They made sure to teach me all the basic survival skills like cooking, laundry and how to snare and skin rabbits.”

“Snare rabbits?” Virgil laughed.

“I lived in a forest, I had to be able to take care of myself. They taught me all kinds of other cool survival stuff too.”

“Nice, my mom barely taught me how to turn on a stove.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Virgil waved him away. “My parents just had other priorities in my upbringing. Maybe you could teach me to cook something other than pasta?”

“I’d love to.” Getting to cook and spend more time with Virgil? It sounded like heaven to Patton.

Virgil looked at the clock and suddenly shot up.

“Shit, I have to go. I’m sorry. Thanks for the food, Patton.”

“It’s fine. Anytime.” Patton watched him leave with an empty feeling in his stomach.

He didn’t mind his roommate’s odd habits, but sometimes he wished he didn’t always run off.

~

Patton had to be honest, when Virgil had first told him about his boyfriends, he had been quite shocked.

Not because of the boyfriends, plural. Patton was pretty sure he was polyamorous himself.

No, it was the fact that quiet, shy, reserved Virgil, the guy who Patton had never seen interact with anyone except Patton, had somehow gotten himself not one, but two boyfriends.

And yeah, maybe he did feel a sharp stab of jealousy when Virgil first told him. He wondered how his boyfriends had gotten him to realize they wanted to date him. Patton had been trying to make his feelings clear for months now and was almost convinced Virgil was aromantic.

They must have yelled something along the lines of “We have romantic feelings for you” to get through that thick skull of his.

Patton didn’t resent Virgil for dating them, he was happy for him. Virgil really needed something good in his life.

And now, here he was, cooking up an elaborate meal for Virgil’s boyfriends.

When Virgil had told him about his boyfriends and the fact that they had been going steady for a while, Patton had insisted they come over for dinner sometime.

“I have to make sure they’re not going to break my best friend’s heart.” He had argued.

Virgil had complained at that, but his boyfriends had agreed and a date had been fixed.

Patton had maybe gone a little overboard with the meal. Two curries stewed on the stove and he was just about to throw the homemade falafel into the pan. In the oven, naans he had made from scratch were baking.

He hoped they liked Indian.

Virgil let his boyfriends into the appartement and wow, they were hot.

One of them, the shorter of the two, beamed at him, his smile perfectly blinding, and walked over to him.

“Hello, you must be the charming Patton I’ve heard so much about.” He said with a theatrical bow.

The taller one walked over to them with a more reserved smile.

“I’m Logan and this character here is Roman. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Virgil has told us a lot about you.” He stuck out his hand.

“Really, he has?” Patton felt a warm glow at that knowledge.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too.” He continued.

“So you’re the one who’s been keeping our Virgil alive?” Roman asked him.

“What?” Patton asked.

“V has a lot of skills, basic self care isn’t one of them.” Roman clarified.

“We’re happy he has such a good friend.” Logan added.

“Well, I’m happy to take care of him. But, yeah, self care isn’t one of his skills.”

“As much as I appreciate you guys bonding, I can take care of myself.” Virgil interjected.

“Debatable.” Logan said.

Roman seemed to have noticed the food bubbling on the stove by now.

“Ooh, indian.” He exclaimed.

“It smells good.” Logan complimented.

“Well, it’s nearly done, so get seated and I’ll bring the food over.”

“You guys are in for a treat. Pat’s the best cook I know.” Virgil informed them.

Patton blushed at the high praise.

“I must say I’m intrigued.” Logan said, while taking a seat at the table.

Patton turned off the stove and added a few leaves of coriander before carrying the dishes over to the table.

“Do you need a hand? It looks like a lot.” Roman offered.

Finally, with Roman’s help, the table was set and they all dug in, dipping their naans into the curries Patton had made.

Roman moaned theatrically.

“God, this is just heavenly.” He praised.

“It’s great Patton.” Virgil offered.

“Yes, it is quite splendid. What spices did you use?” Logan asked him.

“Well, this one has chilli powder...”

“I can taste that.” Virgil grumbled.

“Turmeric, cumin and coriander and the other one has bay leaves, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and more chilli powder.”

“That’s a lot of spices.” Roman said.

“That’s the secret to Indian cooking, the things they can do with spices is just magical.” Patton replied.

They talked more.

Logan told him he was studying theoretical physics at the university where Virgil also studied.

“Wow, theoretical physics. Isn’t that like black holes and stuff?” Patton asked, intrigued.

“Oh boy, don’t get him started.” Virgil muttered.

Logan paid him no mind.

“That’s one aspect but it’s also so much more. It touches on all aspects of our lives.” With that Logan launched into an impassioned speech about all the things theoretical physics touched on and the different aspects of it.

Patton didn’t understand everything he was going on about, physics hadn’t been his best subject in school, but he enjoyed listening to Logan all the same. He had a way of speaking that drew you in. It was clear he really enjoyed the subject he was studying. Patton felt like he could listen to Logan for hours on end. A glance at the others told him they felt the same way, both of them staring at him with fond expressions.

“I apologise. I was rambling again, I have been told I have a tendency to do that.” Logan cut himself off.

“What? There’s nothing to apologize for, it was really fascinating.”

Logan smiled softly but didn’t go on. An awkward silence fell over the table.

“So!” Patton piped up brightly. “What do you do, Roman?”

“I’m studying to become a nurse actually.”

“Really? cool!”

They chatted about all kinds of things. Roman complained about the amount of things he had to learn. Logan told him it was nothing compared to what he had to study. Virgil lamented about annoying professors. And Patton listened, feeling a little like an intruder but a part of it all the same.

They complemented each other perfectly. Patton had no idea how they had met or what made them such a good team, but it must be something wonderful indeed.

In that moment, Patton wished so fervently he could be a part of it. He barely knew Logan and Roman and yet he could feel himself falling for them even now.

They didn’t seem to mind him being there, roping him into the conversation easily.

Logan smiled at him from across the table and Roman slung an arm over his shoulder, laughing at one of his puns.

Virgil was just getting up to refill the water jug, when an alert on his phone went off. All three of them jumped up.

“We have to leave.” Logan said, looking at his phone.

“Shit, I’m so sorry Patton.” Virgil repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time. It felt like whenever Patton was finally making progress in his relationship, something interrupted.

He didn’t mind the weird habits, he just wished he would let him in on his secrets. Hadn’t he proved his trustworthiness to Virgil?

They left him with the dishes and an empty feeling in his chest.

~

Roman, Virgil and Logan sat at the dinner table while Patton busied himself in the kitchen, finding comfort in the familiar routine of cooking. A tense silence filled the usually cozy apartment.

“How long have you known?” Logan asked finally.

Patton looked at Virgil when he answered.

“Probably since the first month.”

Virgil stammered. “I thought…”

“You thought what Virgil? That I didn’t notice you sneaking in at five in the morning? That I didn’t notice that whenever you ran off during dinner, Storm was suddenly on the news? That I didn't notice all the cuts and bruises you collected? You thought, what? That I was stupid? Blind? Deaf?” He knew he was being unfair, the others looked tired and miserable and guilty. But all his frustration at being left in the dark for years was bubbling over.

He was so tired of being treated as stupid, of being left behind when the others had to attend to hero bussiness. He was tired of lying awake worrying about them.

Patton returned to chopping the leeks with more force than absolutely necessary.

“We wanted to protect you.” Logan said, guilt colouring his voice.

“I don’t need your protection. I think you saw that tonight.”

“Yes, we were wrong. I realize that now. We apologize”

“I don’t.” Virgil said.

Patton stared at him. “What?”

Virgil stood up and faced him. “I’m sorry about lying to you, but I won’t apologize for trying to protect you. It’s bad enough these two are out on the streets, I don’t need another untrained civilian risking their life.” Virgil gestured at Roman and Logan, who didn’t look happy about being called untrained.

Patton laughed bitterly. “I’m not untrained, that much should be clear. And what makes you so trained then?”

Virgil sighed.

“When I said my parents had other priorities in my upbringing, I meant it. Instead of learning maths and chemistry, I learnt how to fight, how to take down a grown man, how to disappear into the shadows.”

“Why?” Patton asked, he was aware Virgil hadn’t had the most traditional upbringing, but this wasn’t what he had expected.

“I was to be an assassin, but the company we worked for disbanded and my mom decided to give me a normal life.” He explained coldy, it was clear there was more there, but Patton decided now was not the best time to ask.

They were all tired from the events of the evening and Patton really just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for another week. All his anger at his friends keeping him in the dark had faded, leaving him with just his exhaustion.

He turned back to the quiche he was making, with store bought dough, his mom would be shocked, and slid it into the oven.

“I’m just happy you guys are alright.” He said, extending an olive branch.

“Well, we were lucky our valiant knight in shining armour came to our rescue.” Roman said, his voice lacking his usual flamboyance.

Patton sat down next to Virgil and laid his head on his shoulder. Virgil wrapped his arm around him.

“You guys are lucky I knew where you were.”

“Yeah, how did you do that? Do you have us micro-chipped or something?” Roman questioned.

Patton just smiled mysteriously.

~

Patton popped his head into their bedroom, where Janus was talking into a phone. Patton listened for a moment as Janus talked to someone in rapid fire French, sounding mildly irritated.

He noticed Patton standing in the doorway and held up a hand signaling he would be done soon. He rolled his eyes and mouthed “Grandmother” at him.

Patton stifled a giggle. Janus’s grandmother was notoriously difficult.

“Oui, oui mémé, je promets.”

He put down the phone with a sigh.

“Why is she like this?” He sighed in exasperation.

Patton wrapped his arms around Janus’s waist and nuzzled into his neck.

“It’s ‘cause she loves you, honeybee.”

“Loves to annoy me, more like. Anyways, did you need something, mon cœur ?”

“Yeah, you said you’d help with dinner?”

“Course, give me a minute, I’m coming.”

“I’ll go peel the potatoes.” Patton bounced down the stairs.

On the couch, Logan and Roman were attempting to watch a period drama, keyword, attempting.

They were currently critiquing the costumes in the show, Roman in particular was raving about corsets on bare skin.

Patton smiled, he loved them both very much, but watching a movie or show with them was nearly impossible. They both had trouble keeping their thoughts to themselves.

“Having fun?” He asked as he pressed a kiss to Roman’s forehead.

“Corsets on bare skin, Patton! What is wrong with them?” Roman flung his hands up, nearly knocking Patton’s glasses off.

“Whoops, sorry.” He apologized.

Patton kissed him again and gave Logan a quick side hug.

“You guys enjoy, I’m going to get started on dinner.”

“I highly doubt I will be able to enjoy it, considering all the mistakes in the writing and costuming.” Logan muttered.

Janus joined him in making dinner and together they worked efficiently. Janus was a great cook and a good help in the kitchen. Together, they managed to make something good without getting in each others’ way too much.

Janus put on an old timey jazz song and as the food sizzled on the stove, they slowed gently in the kitchen.

The door opened and Virgil blew in with a gust of cold air. He groaned as he dropped his bag on the floor.

“Everything all right, mon amour?” Janus questioned.

“Just tired, training was hard today.” Virgil sighed.

“Yeah, I see. Go take a shower.” Janus wrinkled his nose.

Virgil made to kiss Janus but he warded him off.

“Go shower first.” He instructed.

“I want a kiss.” Virgil whined.

“I’ll give you a kiss.” Patton said.

“Don’t enable him.” Janus groaned but he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s nose.

Patton drew Virgil in for a soft, gentle one and then pushed him in the direction of the shower.

“Go. Food’s nearly done.”

Right on cue, Roman bounced into the kitchen, Logan trailing behind him.

“Food’s ready?” He asked.

“Not yet. Will you guys set the table?” Patton asked.

As busy clattering filled the kitchen, Patton felt a smile slip onto his lips. Janus noticed and wrapped his arms around him.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered into his ear.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Yeah, we really are.” He sighed.

They smiled as Virgil entered the kitchen and promptly got wrapped up in a hug from Roman.

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 8: Regret

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3500

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Thirty one hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Shall we even pretend there is a posting schedule at this point? Oh well, another chapter has arrived. This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake popped his headphones in, trying not to wake up Bridget as he pulled open a video on his new phone. He was also supposed to be sleeping, at least theoretically. It’s why Riley had gone into the bathroom a couple of hours ago - so that he could turn off the lights and it would be relatively quiet. If he slept now, after all, he would be able to drive through the night. But he’d been wide awake for the past three hours, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure if attempting to sleep was worth it. So he just laid in the dark, his daughter sleeping peacefully next to him. Thank god she wasn’t doing that whole sleep reversal thing she’d been doing last month, where she’d been waking up maybe a dozen times over night. Her being a good sleeper was maybe the one saving grace here.

Today had just been stomach churning since he’d left to go track down a car and supplies. He hadn’t known whether to be grateful or freaked out when he’d returned to the hotel this afternoon, and Riley had a list of things they needed to do typed up on her phone. While he was glad she no longer seemed like she was about to sink into a pit of panic, seeing her planning with this much intensity was just… strange. He couldn’t think of a time she had ever made such a detailed list. She always just adapted to the situation at hand. She never tried to shape the situation herself.

But between what she’d found in her “fugitive research,” and what Hana had told them when she called after the hearing, they were starting to come up with a plan. Hana had told them that Rashad was going to be sworn in as regent tomorrow and that Olivia was technically “investigating” their location at the moment. That as soon as Rashad took on the powers of king-regent, Olivia was going to disclose that Bertrand and Maxwell hadn’t “found” them at Lythikos, so she’d sent Hana to “check” that they hadn’t returned to Valtoria, but that she hadn’t found them there either. They were all repeatedly calling their old phone numbers as well, hoping to make the story believable when Rashad undoubtedly opened an investigation into their disappearance with Bridget.

But all this meant that arrest warrants could be issued as soon as tomorrow morning. The hearing wouldn’t take long, and no one was sure if Rashad would see things as a sign of an attack on all three of them, or if he would correctly deduce that they had made a run for it and willingly left the country with Bridget. Either way, their financial and phone records were likely to be subject to review. And that meant they needed to not be anywhere near Ioannina by the time of the hearing.

The issue was, they wanted to withdraw more cash before the investigation froze their accounts. This meant using the same ATM they’d been using one more time, at 12:01 am when it was a new day and they could withdraw their daily max again without giving anyone a new location to investigate. Then, it would be time to get in the newly-purchased hatchback and drive on to Xanthi, the city they’d chosen as their next stop. Small enough that no one would predict it as their destination, big enough that Riley, a woman of East Asian heritage who only spoke English with a still-persistent New York accent wouldn’t be immediately noticeable. Drake liked that it was past Thessaloniki as well. No one would guess they drove hours further into Greece than a city with an American consulate.

So, in preparation for that drive, Drake needed to be sleeping. Even after several years out of Manhattan, Riley still hated driving, and in all honesty, the thought of her behind the wheel in a country where she couldn’t read the road signs was not reassuring to Drake in the slightest. He wanted to be the one solely responsible for the driving. But that meant he should be napping now. But how was he supposed to sleep at a time like this?

In the past day or so, he’d gone from a very stable existence to literally plotting how to hide out from law enforcement. He’d embezzled money and bribed a used car salesman to look the other way and not require him to register the car for official Greek or Cordonian papers. He’d left the only home he’d ever known, not knowing if he’d ever get to go back. How could anyone sleep after a day like that?

So instead of sleeping, he was watching news coverage of Liam’s speech that he’d given only a few hours earlier. Speculation was rampant as to both why the vote of no confidence was called and as to who the acting regent would be. Who his daughter’s regent would be. Because for the past few hours, the 10 month old sleeping on the mattress next to him had technically been the Queen-Regent of Cordonia.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that going forward, Bridget would be listed as Queen-Regent Bridget in history books, her rule starting today. Liam’s request had kind of always seemed like simple bookkeeping before. Although Liam told the press that Bridget would remain next in line for the throne even if he had children of his own, Drake had always kind of assumed they would readdress the whole situation when Liam actually got married. It had seemed highly likely to him that Bridget would end up just being a temporary placeholder, someone needed to convey stability of the Crown until Liam had a kid or two of his own. And even if she had remained next in line for the throne, Drake never really thought he’d see her take on the title. She was only supposed to rise to that position after Liam’s death.

It was probably something he should have put more thought into, to be honest. But he hadn’t, at least not anywhere near enough. And now there was no great way to undo it. She was the queen-regent now. Abdication for her, as a minor with the title, would be a nightmare at this point. Even if her title was just through the Conclave, the steps that they would have to take to change things now, the support they would need from the assholes who just voted against them and Liam, well… Drake wasn’t counting on that happening any time soon.

He opened up the CBC app to watch another site’s coverage of Liam’s speech, but his phone started buzzing in his hand. The number flashing across the screen had a Cordonian country code, but it wasn’t Olivia or Hana’s burner numbers, which they’d already added to their contact list. This had to be either Liam or Maxwell on a new number. Taking a deep breath, he popped out the headphones and swiped to accept the call.

“Hello?”

There was a brief pause before Liam’s voice came through the speaker. “Hello, Drake.”

Drake didn’t know what to say. It was his turn to speak, but what do you say to someone you’ve known almost your entire life when they lost everything? When you’d let them down? After too many seconds, he finally managed, “So, you… uh, got our new numbers?”

“Yes. Hana and Olivia provided me with them.”

“Right. Well… good. You, uh… you should have our numbers.” Drake ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t be more awkward about this if he tried.

“Indeed,” said Liam, after a beat, “So, how are you all doing?”

“We’re okay, I guess. How are you?”

The pause was longer this time. “It’s been a long couple of days, Drake.”

The weight of that sentence settled over Drake, the guilt he already carried multiplying in that moment. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”

All Liam gave in response was a little hum of acknowledgement, so Drake kept speaking, trying to find some words that would make this better, that would make Liam see how sorry he was.

“We just couldn’t wait around, you know? We didn’t know how things were going to go down, and when Barthelemy started talking about taking Bridget, we couldn’t just risk that, and so we had to do something, right? And I know this leaves you in a tricky spot, but you’ve gotta know, I wish… I don’t know, that we weren’t doing this to you, I guess? But… it’s just fucked up all around, isn’t it?” Drake knew he was rambling, that he'd basically spewed out a whole bunch of garbage, but he just didn’t know what else to do.

“What do you want me to say, Drake? You’re right; the decisions you and Riley made have made things much more complicated for me. Are you looking for me to say that I don’t blame you? That I support this course of action?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Drake asked. He could hear his voice raising slightly, and he glanced down, checking that he hadn’t woken Bridget, but she was still passed out.

“I told you back when you were trying to have a child that if it ever became too much, to inform me, and we would reserve the proclamation.”

“Are you really trying to tell me that in the middle of everything that was happening yesterday, it would have been a good time to pull you aside and ask to undo all that shit?”

Liam let out a sigh before he answered, “It seems like that would have been preferable to you deciding to commit treason.”

Drake slammed his eyes shut, trying to keep his temper in check. Liam was already dealing with a lot, and he didn’t want to make things worse, but his words were so frustrating right now. “We didn’t even know if you would have the power to undo any of it after that vote.”

“You could have at least waited until we knew the results of that initial hearing. At that point-”

“What if the justice had decided you had no power last night instead of today?” Drake interrupted. He saw Riley coming out of the bathroom and back into their room. She obviously must have heard him on the phone. He just shook his head, trying to reassure her as he kept talking to Liam. “That’s a big fucking gamble to ask of us, Liam.”

“Fine, then some middle-ground or compromise still would have probably been better. You have to know how ill-conceived this scheme you’ve agreed to is, Drake.”

“What would you suggest, then? Sitting around, just waiting to see if we got to keep our kid?”

“Of course not. But if you get arrested and extradited back here, you will absolutely lose custody of your daughter. I would urge you to consider that fact. Additionally, Rashad is not going to be interested in becoming some sort of surrogate parent to Bridget over the next few months.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That the man you have lined up as my kid’s regent has no interest in caring for her?” Riley mouthed “What?” at him from across the room, but Drake just waved his hand and shook his head again. He’d have to fill her in later.

“My point, Drake, is that Rashad would likely be very amenable to you and Riley staying with Bridget in the role as her caretakers and-”

“Stop. I’m not going to listen to that shit, okay? You know that’s not the same. You fucking know it, Liam.”

There was a rough sigh before Liam spoke again. “Fair enough. But you have to understand that you have put me in an awful position. And I’m just trying to find a way to minimize the damage caused by your selfishness here.”

“How is looking out for my wife and kid selfish?” Bridget squirmed slightly next to him as his voice climbed louder yet again. Riley must have noticed, because she scurried over and tucked her against her chest, muttering soothing words against the top of her head, trying to keep her from waking up.

“Did you think about how fleeing the country would impact anyone? Your citizens in Valtoria who no longer have a regional leader? The people of Cordonia who no longer have an heir to the throne? Your friends who have advocated for you and your family time and time again? No. You just left. You only thought of yourselves. That is the dictionary definition of selfish, Drake.”

“I’m sorry, but my family comes first. This isn’t fucking up for debate.”

“Well, some of us don’t have that luxury.”

Both Drake and Liam were silent for several seconds. Drake took a shaky breath, trying to get his emotions back under control. “Liam. I’m sorry. I really am. I never wanted to do this to you, and I know you are left cleaning up the pieces here, but I am not going to come back just for Bridget to get trapped inside the country and possibly taken from us.”

“Drake, don’t be so-”

“She’s queen-regent now, so no way we don’t get stopped at the border if we came back and tried to leave again, right? In fact, I bet we wouldn’t be allowed outside the palace with her, and that’s if we’re allowed to be alone with her at all-”

“Now you’re just being dramatic-”

“Am I? Because to me, it feels like you want me to come back and hang my hat on the hopes that Rashad needs a couple of nannies. I get the risks we are taking here. But at least we have a shot of staying together as a family this way.”

“Look, I understand that this is upsetting and frustrating. I’m upset and frustrated, too. All I want is to try and create a united front here. If we are fractured and divided, it is worse for everyone in the long run. We all want what’s best for Bridget.”

“You aren’t part of any ‘we’ here. She’s not your kid. You don’t get a say.”

The silence on the other end of the line was awful. Riley climbed onto the bed and leaned up against the headboard. One arm still held Bridget tight to her chest, but her free hand snaked behind him and rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades. It just did little to calm him. He didn’t know if more of his anger was directed at Liam, for presuming he had any say here, or at himself, for getting defensive when he was the one who had hurt Liam and put him in this position.

“I have never interfered in any parenting decisions you or Riley have made with regards to Bridget. In fact, I have given you both an unprecedented amount of freedom and control, knowing that it was an unusual situation. But it seems to me like we have nothing further to say to each other at the moment. You are unwilling to discuss the bigger picture here.”

“Liam, don’t-” Drake started, but Liam just kept talking.

“I understand why you’ve taken this course of action. But it is apparent that your priorities are only your daughter, whereas I need to focus on Cordonia as a whole. So, I think at this point we both need to just devote ourselves to those tasks and not worry about each other.”

It was a dismissal. A line in the sand. Whatever inner circle Liam had, Drake was no longer a part of it. He let out a sigh and swallowed roughly. “I am sorry, Liam. I just don’t know what you expect me to do here.”

“I don’t expect anything of you, Drake. You should just do what you feel is best for your family, and I will do what’s needed for our country.”

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be this way. I still want to help-”

“No offense, but a couple of fugitives are not likely to be a great resource to me at this point. This isn’t a punishment, Drake; it’s just the reality. We’ve both made the choices we needed to make, and now we both need to deal with the consequences. I need to remain focused on campaigning to regain my title, and I’m not going to have the time or energy to devote to aiding your run.”

“I’m not asking for your help, dammit. I just want-”

“What do you want, Drake? You don’t get to have this both ways.”

“I want… I want us still to be friends.”

He heard a heavy sigh before Liam spoke again. “Of course we are still friends, Drake. We just are headed in separate directions at this time, it would seem. You now have this number, though. You can reach me if you need to, and I will do the same.”

“Liam, I-”

“I wish you and your family the best; I really do. And if you change your mind, you can come find us in Lythikos.”

Drake closed his eyes. There was no salvaging this. Liam was boxing him out and closing the door. He was pretty sure having Liam screaming at him would have stung less. “Alright, I get it. Good luck with everything, okay?”

“Same to you. I really hope you don’t regret your decisions here and that you all can remain safe.” And with that, Liam ended the call.

Drake placed his phone on the bed and leaned forward, dropping his head into both of his hands. He swallowed several times, trying to break up the lump in his throat. He was very aware that although Riley seemed to be in a better spot than she was the day before, watching him cry over Liam was not going to instill much confidence. No need to make things more unsettled.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and sat back up. Riley was staring at him, head cocked and eyes full of worry. He just shrugged and shook his head. There wasn’t much to say, really.

“Here,” Riley said, shifting forward and passing Bridget to him.

“I don’t want to wake her,” he muttered, but Riley continued, sliding Bridget into his arms before leaning against his shoulder, her hand slipping along his neck and her fingers threading through his hair.

“She’ll fall asleep in the car,” she said. Drake watched as his daughter blinked up at him, her face scrunched up like she was going to start screaming, but she relaxed and started to drift back to sleep when he pulled her against his chest and tucked his head on top of hers.

He just held her for maybe a minute, not saying anything. Riley was quiet as well, her fingers continuing to trace little patterns across the base of his scalp. Eventually, she tilted her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you want to talk about it or not?”

“No,” he breathed out, “not… not now.”

He felt her nodding, and her other hand settled on his knee. “Okay. Thank you, by the way.”

“Walker, it’s-”

“You don’t need to say it’s nothing. And I know you don’t want to talk about it now. So just… thank you.”

Neither of them said anything for a long while. They just sat there, trying to brace themselves for the reality of the next 24 hours. They would officially be under investigation and likely be charged with kidnapping of the queen-regent. This was the point of no return, far more than any decisions they’d made up until this point.

Oddly enough, Drake felt more confident in their plan than he had even before. As upsetting as his talk with Liam was, it had somehow helped him see why Riley was so reluctant to rely on anyone outside their family. Something about hearing Liam discuss the risks they would be facing in Cordonia as if they were nothing. As if living under the same roof as Bridget should be enough. As if they had time to wait for things to unfold. Well, it made it very clear that they saw what could be compromised and what couldn’t very differently.  

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but eventually Riley sat up next to him. “Did you get any sleep at all?” she asked as he turned his head to look at her.

“No, not really.”

“Well, we better get going then so we can get some coffee before we hit the road.” And with that she slid off the bed and started gathering their few bags of belongings.

She was right. It was time to move on. So he gently clicked Bridget into her new car seat and did one last scan of the room, making sure they weren’t leaving anything they needed behind.

“You ready?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, Riley. Let’s go.”

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr​

[cutie1365]

A Kid from Queens Part 15

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Info: CA: Civil War Era. Tony Stark enlists his daughter to find the web slinging spider in Queens.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: n/a

(no Far From Home spoilers)

A/N: There’s one part where maybe pretend you have an ‘A’ initial, this idea was written more for my OC on Wattpad, so I’m sorry, but I kinda love it so I didn’t wanna change it.

Masterlist linked in my bio. Taglist in the reblog.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

“Where are you headed all dressed up?” Tony asks as you’re leaving your room at the compound.

“All dressed up? Dad this is a suit.” You laughed him off, he walked with you as you were making your way towards the front to board the jet.

“Alright Scully, where are you headed? Did I miss a memo for a shareholder meeting or something?” Tony asked.

Ever since you’d presented the information to him about the Mayor, he had been extra protective. But you’d done as he suggested, you turned the information over to the FBI. They suggested that for the time being, you keep up with Thomas and the family for appearances sake, to not cause suspicion. You told this to your father. What you didn’t tell him was that the FBI invited you to aid in the investigation, due to your proximity to the case you’d be useful. Also considering they were likely stealing from a government warehouse that was half Stark owned and maintained. You’d be a good person to have on board, and your commitment would be minimal. You’d publically stay with Thomas until they told you it was time to distance yourself, meaning they’d found something or want to provoke the family into making a mistake and slipping up, hopefully exposing a hole in their network they could exploit. You thought it was a good idea, you also thought it would be best for your father’s nerves if you didn’t tell him the full story.

“I guess someone doesn’t read their emails. But no, Linda has me judging the annual robotics competition at MIT, so it’s Back to School for me.” You spoke, digging through your purse, making sure you had everything, your suitcase should have already been on the jet, but you were only going to be gone for a few days.

Tony nodded, as if he now remembered seeing something about that somewhere. He saw the jet on the tarmac, ready to take off any minute as you both stood before the glass entrance of the compound.

“Alright Animal House, no toga parties.” He hugged you goodbye, you chuckled at the thought of a bunch of engineers throwing a toga party.

“I’ll try my best. I’ll be back in a few days. Oh, and tell Wanda I left a box of clothes for her in my room. And I made a prototype of an upgrade for Rhodey’s braces that I left in the lab for you to do some testing on.” You began to ramble off things for him, knowing there was a low chance he’d remember everything.

“Alright mother hen, you don’t want to be late.” He hugged you once more, shooing you off.

You made your way to the jet, as Tony watched you from a distance. His little girl, all grown up. He hadn’t seen you this happy in a while, it brought a smile to his face. Ever since he’d practically ordered you to stay away from Peter, he noticed a change in you. You spent so much time in the lab, tinkering on things to take your mind off of life. You were rushed around from interview to interview, dress fitting to dress fitting, and photoshoot to photoshoot. He noticed the toll it was taking on you. He hated seeing you so run down, and nearly considered giving the kid a chance. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, it worked for him and Pepper, it might just be able to work for them. He’s a good kid, but he’s not willing to take a chance yet, not when it comes to his daughters safety. He’s kept you safe for a long time, and he didn’t want to ever see you hurt again.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

As you arrived in Boston, after a quick flight, a car was waiting to take you the rest of the way to MIT.

The car pulled into the familiar streets where you’d resided for a few years when you were younger. You hadn’t been back in years, yet it all looked the same. Near the entrance you spotted some of your old professors chatting, likely they were also judges.

“Y/N.” One greeted you, his expression somewhere between surprise and joy.

“Dr. Greenfield, it’s nice to see you again.” You smiled, shaking his hand.

“You’re all grown up now aren’t you. You know, I still remember your first day in my class. I had to go home and rework half of my lesson plans.” He chuckled at the memory. You remembered sitting in his class, answering all his questions that were meant to stump the class. He was a sweet older man, and you were happy to be here with him now.

You chatted and caught up for a few more minutes before you were invited inside to check in and meet the teams. You were given a metal name plate that you slipped on. Dr. A. Stark, it read.

You met the other 5 judges and mingled for a bit while the teams were still setting up in their prospective rooms. Some were industry experts, some were old professors of yours. Each judge had been assigned to a team, to mentor and offer insight and guidance before the final judging in two days time.

When a facilitator led you into a room of five boys standing in front of their invention, you weren’t met with the warm welcome you were expecting.

“Gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to your mentor Dr.-” The facilitator was cut off by one of the boys, he seemed to be the ringleader of the group.

“No, no, our mentor is Dr. A. Stark. Anthony Stark. Not some...” He waved his hand at you, trying to think of the best descriptor, “Vogue cover girl.”

You’d had a nice day so far, you were willing to let it slide, but when he opened his mouth and spoke to you with such disrespect, you were going to make him wish he’d called in sick today. The facilitator, likely a student committee volunteer, had her mouth hung open slightly in shock, she didn’t know what to do. So you stepped forward towards the boys, and that’s exactly what they were.

“You got Dr. A. Stark. Y/N (I’m sorry my OC has an A initial) Stark. My father actually doesn’t have a PhD. But I’ve got two. One of them in Electrical Engineering from this fine university.” You raised your hands motioning to the school around you, stepping closer once more, and oh if looks could kill. “But if you don’t want my help, I’m sure there are other teams who would be happy to have me...”

You turned on your heel and made one strutt towards the door before whipping around once more.

“By the way, you’re going to need the help, because I can spot six errors already from here. Seven if you count that sloppy rotary potentiometer.” And with that, you spun towards the door once more and didn’t look back at what you were certain were five speechless boys nearly shaking in their boots.

You’d certainly inherited a flair for the dramatics from your father, but this time it was merely a facade. Deep down you were on the verge of tears. This was your livelihood, you didn’t care if the civilian population thought you were some brainless covergirl, but you at least thought the people in your own field would respect you. The opinion of five students shouldn’t have hit you as hard as it did, but it now had you questioning everything. Every move you’ve made since that damn photograph came out.

You were leaning on the wall in the stairwell, if you were going to cry, you were going to make sure none of them saw you do it. You suddenly heard the large metal door open next to you, and a student looked at you in shock.

“Dr. Stark?” He asked, he wasn’t one of the boys from before, he must have been on another team. You knew he wasn’t like the others, he at least seemed to recognize you and your title.

“That would be me.” You smiled, lifting yourself off the wall slightly.

“I read your paper on nanoparticle technology. I think it’s completely revolutionary, I mean the implications alone... I just, it blew my mind.” He smiled, you watched as he spoke so passionately, waving his hands about as he spoke. A smile slowly spread to your face as well. In his excitement, he’d forgotten to introduce himself. He was tall but lanky, with a dirty blond mop of hair resting on his head, and deep blue eyes.

“That was my doctoral thesis from a few years ago. Back then the idea was completely theoretical, but even today at Stark Industries we’re developing prototypes using only nanotech.” You stated proudly.

“How’d you get around the deterioration objective?” He asked, with a slight tilt of his head.

“A housing unit that harnesses palladium and vibranium to almost charge the particles.” You explained, enjoying watching his eyes pop as you explained. It was refreshing talking to someone who spoke your language.

“That’s brilliant. It’s really such an honor to meet you. I know my team and I would be grateful if you would be able to spare a few minutes to look at our design? Our mentor is just... well he doesn’t have your experience.” He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You smiled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Harley, Harley Keener.” He shook your hand with a smile.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

Taglist in reblog

Please comment, like, and reblog!

Sorry this chapter is a little shorter, I’ve basically got the next one written but I thought it might be too long to combine them. Don’t worry Peter’s coming in soon!

[multifandomfanfiction]

Mimic Chapter 2

TITLE: Mimic Chapter 2 PAIRING: Klaus/OC/Diego RATING: T CHAPTER: 1/? SUMMARY: Cassie is one of the 43 children born on the same day. Her parents hid her growing up, but her life changed when she met Klaus. Klaus gave her the nickname “Mimic’ because of her power to mimic other’s powers. When Reginald Hargreeves dies, what will the Umbrella Academy think of her secret? 

The Hargreeves children plus Cassie and Pogo sat in the living room.

Cassie sat on the sofa next to Vanya while Klaus was making himself a drink.

“Babe, you want anything?” he called to her.

“No thank you, Klaus. I’m fine.”

Luther stood up. “I guess we should get this started. So I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just a Dad’s favorite spot”.

“Dad had a favorite spot?” Allison asked him.

“You know, under the oak tree. We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?”

“Will there be any refreshments? Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner”, Klaus asked, joining Cassie and Vanya.

“Klaus, sit down”, Cassie told him.

“What? No. And put that out. Dad didn’t allow smoking in here”, Luther said.

“Is that my skirt?” Allison asked Klaus.

“What? Oh, yeah, this. I found it in your room.”

“Klaus, sit down”, Cassie repeated.

He ignored Cassie as he kept talking. “It’s a little dated, I know, but it’s very breathey on the bits.”

“Klaus, sit down!” Cassie practically yelled. She hated when he was high or drunk, because it seemed like she ceased to exist when he was intoxicated. Now she knew how Ben felt.

“Listen up. There’s still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?” Luther said.

“Like what?” Diego asked.

“Like the way he died.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “Here we go…”

“I don’t understand. I thought they said it was a heart attack”, Vanya said as Klaus finally sat down.

“Yeah, according to the coroner”, Luther said.

“Well wouldn’t they know?”

“Theoretically.”

Klaus had told her about Luther’s undying loyalty to Reginald Hargreeves, but this was on a whole other level. But Cassie said nothing since she wasn’t technically part of the family.

“Theoretically?” Allison asked.

“I’m just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange”, Luther said.

Klaus smiled. “Oh, quelle surprise.” He gurgled his drink as he spoke.

Cassie face-palmed.

“Strange how?” Allison asked, ignoring her brother.

“He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust”, Luther explained.

“Luther, he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles”, Diego told him.

“No. He must have known something was going to happen.” He turned to Klaus. “Look, I know you don’t like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad.”

Allison scoffed and Cassie felt the sudden urge to smack her. Ben’s hand on her knee stopped her.

“I can’t just call Dad in the afterlife and be like “Dad, could you just stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?”” Klaus told him.

“Since when? That’s your thing.”

“I’m not in the right…frame of mind.”

“You’re high?” Allison asked him.

Klaus laughed. “Yeah! Yeah! I mean how are you not, listening to all this nonsense?”

“Well, sober up, this is important”, Luther said.

Klaus just sighed and turned to Cassie. “Why can’t you do it? You’re better at it anyway.”

“Her? What’s so special about her?” Luther asked, “Who even are you by the way?”

“Don’t speak to her like that”, Diego snapped.

“Diego, it’s fine. It’s a valid question”, Cassie said.

She was about to reveal her secret, but the question was who’s power did she mimic to prove why she was there? She couldn’t mimic Klaus’ without exposing the fact that he had Ben hanging around him at all times. With Diego and Luther, she couldn’t easily prove she’d mimicked their powers. Cassie turned to Klaus.

“Don’t get mad.”

“Why would I…? No”, he whined, dramatically throwing his head back, “Does it have to be him?”

“Would you rather it be someone else?” she asked him, playfully crossing her arms over her chest.

“No. Fine! Knock yourself out.”

Cassie stood up and focused in on Allison’s power. She stepped up to Diego and said, “I heard a rumor that you want to kiss me”.

Diego’s eyes went wide before he grabbed her head and passionately kissed her.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Klaus said, “Hands off my wife!”

“Not your wife”, Cassie sang, sitting back down next to Klaus and Vanya. “I’m a Mimic. I can mimic everyone’s powers in this room.” Living or dead, she added in her head.

“You’re one of us?” Allison asked.

“How come Dad never knew about you?” Luther asked.

“Because my power is to mimic other powers. When I’m around normal humans, no powers”, she explained, “My parents kinda went into hiding after I was born. They just told everyone I was adopted and my family kept the secret. Some took it to their grave.”

“Why didn’t you just come live with us?” Vanya asked.

Cassie looked over and saw Klaus looking at her. She didn’t need to answer that question.

[aion-rsa]

The Nevers Star Laura Donnelly Answers Burning Finale Questions

https://ift.tt/3uSp933

The following contains major spoilers for The Nevers episode 6.

The star of HBO sci-fi series The Nevers has never shied away from the fact that the show’s sixth episode would be a big one.

“Six is an extraordinary episode,” Donnelly (who plays Amalia True) told Den of Geek prior to the series premiere. “It provides a lot of the answers to the questions that the audience might have. It seemed like a very natural cut-off point.”

Whether episode 6, titled “True”, is a natural cut-off point remains to be seen. Due to the coronavirus pandemic suspending production, the show’s initial 10-episode first season order was shortened to six and “Part 2” (containing six more episodes for a total of 12) is set to arrive at a later date. It’s hard to argue though that episode 6 is anything but extraordinary. 

Read more

TV

How HBO’s The Nevers Explores a Very Different Vision of Victorian Girl Power

By Lacy Baugher

“True” doesn’t merely provide some answers to long-running Nevers questions – it basically upends the premise of the entire show. It turns out that creator Joss Whedon’s initial vision for The Nevers wasn’t merely Victorian ladies with supernatural powers, but that of a much larger story about the human race on the edge of collapse and a dimension-hopping alien species intent on helping us.

Whedon departed the project during the production delay so when the show returns it will be up to new showrunner Philippa Goslett to shepherd this bold new vision. To get ready for that, Den of Geek spoke with Donnelly about the many revelations of episode 6 and what the future of The Nevers entails. 

For those looking for a more complete rundown of just what happened in this truly wild episode, check out our explainer over here. But here Donnelly does an admirable job of unwinding “True’s” many twists. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Den of Geek: I participated in the press day interviews before the season premiered. Now I’m wondering what was that press day experience like on your end? People ask you “So what’s your show about? What’s going on?” And then you just kind of have to sit back and lie!

Laura Donnelly: It’s the most frustrating thing ever. I wanted to go into some details but honestly it felt like I could say nothing without unraveling an entire six-episode arc. People would ask me “How did you research to get into the role?” I can’t say that I researched what it might be like to train in the army, what combat would be like with PTSD, things like that. So I’m left going, “Oh, I just read some books on what it’s like in Victorian times.” It made me sound like a really lame researcher. 

You mentioned back in those pre-air interviews that when you first had the meeting for this show, Joss gave you kind of the “whole picture.” Was this episode what that meeting was referring to? And what was your reaction like when you first heard it all?

Well, it was obviously then that I realized I was not dealing with Victorian X-Men. (That meeting) introduced the idea of having an entire backstory of somebody who has been through so much and then gets thrown into this situation and has to deal with it. I just knew that that was going to be such a deep dive into this character and that there was going to be so much to be able to explore with it. Then it was bringing in the elements of how the show is relevant to today, not just in an allegorical sense, but literally – how they are trying to go back in time to make sure that humans do better.

I couldn’t believe that a mind or a show could hold that much. And I knew that I had to be a part of it. What blew me away about (episode) six was that I didn’t know the details, how the story would be told and everything. Now I just can’t believe that with this single hour of television, they managed to tell all of these separate stories with such beauty and nuance. And not just with a ton of exposition, but instead, showing these things in the most clear way possible and that you find out so much in such a short period of time. 

Definitely. The first chapter in this episode is really filled with futuristic sci-fi jargon and there is very, very little expository dialogue. Maybe this is a non-sequitur, but have you ever seen the movie Primer? It kind of reminded me of that in that sense.

No.

It’s a time travel movie made by Shane Carruth a while back (Editor’s Note: 2004). And all of the dialogue is just complete jargon that only an expert in theoretical physics would understand for basically the whole runtime, but the audience is still able to pick up what’s happening for the most part. This episode just reminded me of that.

Yeah. I love it for that. I love it for the fact that it rewards intensive viewing. It’s not the show that you can watch while you’re scrolling on your phone. If you are willing to just buy into that, you realize that on first watch you get the important information: the Galanthi are an alien race that are here to help humanity from itself, and that Stripe is Amalia. Then everything after that the more passion you bring to watching it, the more you get out of it.

I finished my first re-watch right before this interview and I think I finally understand just now how and why Stripe got sent back in time by the Galanthi. Because things are too far gone now. The Galanthi are finally going to really help and their version of really helping is just “We’ve got to go back. Humanity needs a fresh start.”

Yeah! I loved that there were things that I realized from watching it that I hadn’t picked up in the reading of the script. When they suddenly realize that the portal is an exit one and not an entrance one, that makes Knitter (Ellora Torchia) in that moment lose all hope. But what you come to realize is that that is not a moment of despair actually. You realize that the reason that they had an exit portal was because they had a plan and they weren’t coming back. You see that with the Victorian artifacts in the room. In fact, this plan was brought together with the scientists. They were working on that together. That was only something that I caught from watching it.

What was it like watching Claudia Black play your character?

I thought she did a really, really beautiful job. It was strange for me because I wanted them to shoot that before I shot my Stripe stuff, so that I would have a lot more to go on to replicate when I first land in the asylum. But it just couldn’t work out that way and they had to shoot all of Claudia and the future stuff after I’d already shot in the asylum. I went in and watched a lot of their rehearsals and got some video footage of their rehearsals and stuff so I had a good idea of what it was that she was doing with that, but it was just amazing to watch the whole thing put together. It’s like the final piece of a puzzle that I didn’t even have any say in. I was just kind of glad really that it matched up to what I had in my head, because I’d been having to make a lot of guesses when it came to playing Stripe in the asylum. 

It occurs to me now that for five episodes you’ve been playing a woman with a North American accent doing an old-timey Victorian British accent. What was that process like?

It allowed a little freedom actually because, on her part, it’s a learned accent. I didn’t have to be hugely strict about the rules of what would be particularly Victorian. I allowed myself to bring a little more modernity to how she would phrase something. I kind of hoped that people would pick up on the idea that Amalia seemed, in some indistinguishable way, slightly anachronistic. I also then kind of hoped that there would even be the odd person going, “Oh, well her accent’s slipped there, she got it wrong there” or whatever, because I kind of felt once you then see episode six, they’d see why. 

When you think of the character in your head, what name comes to mind first: Molly, Zephyr, Amalia, or Stripe?

Amalia, actually, but the second one that would come would be Stripe. It’s funny, “Zephyr” is the last one I think of and I think that that is probably true of Amalia as well in that it is so far pushed down. It is so far into her past for so many different reasons. It would be too painful to have all of the implications that the Zephyr name carries in the forefront of her mind. In her soldier way of being, she just needs to constantly move forward. 

Again, back before the season premiered when I spoke to you and Ann (Skelly), my first question was about characters’ names and how they were a little odd. Perhaps that was a bit prescient because in the far flung future names are sacred. What was your impression of that concept and why do you think names have become sacred?

I wonder if it’s just the idea that it’s the only little bit of recognizable humanity left for them. I think that people will always find a way of making something sacred. You need what is sacred to you at times when things are most difficult. You’re looking at a human race that doesn’t even have real food. Everything is engineered and they can’t even breathe the air outside. The sacred can be very important in moments of deep, deep despair like that. A name is something that everybody can have, and a name is something that everybody can therefore keep for themselves.

At the same time, it also speaks to the idea that everybody then is involved in that war on one side or the other. It doesn’t seem to me that you’ve got the army and then you’ve got citizens. It seems to me like everybody at that point in humanity as they’re coming towards the end is on one side or the other and is fighting. That means that everybody is being called by their rank, and so Stripe is known as Stripe That also makes a name more sacred because it’s the part of you that isn’t involved in this war. It’s the last vestige of true humanity that you might have left.

Any updates on the production process for part 2? I believe last time you had yet to see any scripts. 

I’ve had lots of conversations with (new showrunner) Philippa Goslett and with Ilene (Landress), our producer but I have as yet not read a script. I’m just waiting, but I’m in prep. I know enough about the next couple of episodes to know what fights I need to learn and things like that.

I cannot imagine being in Philippa’s shoes right now. Showrunner changes happen all the time but this is one of the more unusual narrative circumstances to fall into, I think.

Absolutely. I mean, the show is wild, but I think that, whatever else happened, we were so fortunate that episode six became this very natural break point in the story for obvious reasons. So much has been wrapped up. I feel like the world is built and the characters are established, you know. It really could go pretty much anywhere from here and it just needs somebody’s brilliant imagination to do that.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Now that the real plot behind the curtain was revealed, does the name “The Nevers” have any more added significance?

Not that I’m aware of, no. I think the only thing that I have to go on about the name is something that Joss said several years back about the idea that these people never should have existed. They’re anomalies or even the more pejorative term – abominations.

Do you think future seasons and storylines of the show will take things past Victorian England and inch closer to that dystopian present?

I mean, I would love for it to. It makes sense to me that it started in Victorian times because that was a key moment of change in so many different ways in how the world communicates. There are kind of several revolutions going on at once, technological being one of the main ones. But it would be really interesting then to see how that progresses, and the issues at hand get dealt with, depending on the social aspects of different countries or different decades. The key to all of that is can you find a really cool way of doing it? Because my head isn’t able to come up with that. Whatever keeps the storyline the most interesting, keeps the characters true to themselves, and doesn’t jump the shark, I’m well up for.

The Nevers season 1 part 2 is awaiting a release date at HBO.

The post The Nevers Star Laura Donnelly Answers Burning Finale Questions appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3uUOxF8

[nobodywritesthings]

Some more random bits of trivia about With Great Power

Part 1

Might as well just… put this here.  Spoilers below!  I ended up talking a lot about the villain side of things.

All for One uses a quirk he refers to as “Clothing Swap” to replace Izuku’s hero gear in Chapter 1.  For some random reason, I made a description of the quirk that ended up in my notes, though it never became relevant again.  Here it is: Clothing Swap: The target may have any article(s) considered to be “worn” swapped with any other article(s) the user has seen them wear previously. The user may choose themselves as a target. The swap may be uneven - a hat can be swapped for a full outfit, leading to someone really overdressed, or a full outfit for a hat, leading to the opposite - but “nothing” is not an option for either side of the swap. Objects in pockets or similar places of holding may be transferred into similar places in the new outfit, if available; otherwise they will stay with the clothing they were originally in. See that part about the user needing to see the target wearing the clothes previously?  All for One’s been stalking, and Izuku would’ve been able to guess almost immediately if he heard the details of that quirk.

Speaking of my notes, I tend to name the random fic ideas I write down in order to keep them easy to reference in my notes (or head).  I don’t always use those names for the finished product.  I liked the reference to the quote, “With great power comes great responsibility”, that I ended up going with for WGP’s story/chapter titles; but I actually came up with that theme after the majority of the fic was done.  For most of the writing process, I kept it filed under “Kingmaker AU”.

All for One’s threats to Izuku in the first chapter were something of a bluff.  If Izuku refused to listen, All for One would’ve been in quite a pinch - he certainly didn’t want to kill or Noumufy Izuku, and he had the feeling that “lock him in a vault and make him listen” wouldn’t work any better here than it did with his brother.  He did have other plans in case getting Izuku to agree to parley failed, but he was massively relieved when it worked.  (Izuku’s threat in Chapter 10, on the other hand, was definitely not a bluff.)

Gigantomachia saw the resemblance between Izuku and All for One the moment Izuku opened his mouth - not just in the contents of Izuku’s self-introduction, but Izuku’s voice itself.  As seen in canon, he has a very dramatic emotional reaction to hearing All for One’s voice; and while Izuku’s isn’t an obvious match, he could hear similar notes.  This was helped by the fact that Izuku was very tired and decided to start making threats, and was consciously using All for One as a model for those.  Gigantomachia’s easy initial acceptance of Izuku was mostly down to this (”He speaks with the voice of my Master”).  Of course, Izuku’s speech about not proving himself to everyone who asked did make something of an impression on its own merits.

As for the rest of the villains, Shigaraki and Kurogiri were the only ones close enough to All for One to notice Izuku’s resemblance to him (or care; if Dabi had any suspicions, he kept them to himself).  It took a few days after Izuku was left with the dictatorship for Shigaraki.  Kurogiri, on the other hand, noticed years ago - but decided it wasn’t his place to wonder about it, so he didn’t.

None of the villains guessed that Izuku was a close relative of All for One’s.  They all thought, at best, that he was some distant relative who All for One had taken an interest in and who happened to suit his plans.  They were immensely surprised by All for One’s choice of successor.

Shigaraki and Kurogiri got emails after All for One disappeared, too, not just Izuku.  All for One drafted them beforehand, as well as a few alternate versions for theoretical scenarios that didn’t happen.  Shigaraki’s gave him some sarcastic advice on how to make nice with the new Overlord, which worked surprisingly well.  Kurogiri’s included advice on Izuku’s preferred coffee brands, which also worked surprisingly well.

All for One had discussed a few things with Gigantomachia beforehand and so didn’t bother with an email - namely along the lines of, “I’m planning to make someone else the Supreme Overlord in my place.  Do what you want, but your life will be short and painful if he doesn’t stay in one piece.”

Shigaraki and Kurogiri spent most of their free time after All for One disappeared trying to track him down.  Izuku won their loyalty over time - or more accurately, having gainful employment and being surrounded by decent people while trying his best to behave himself helped Shigaraki feel less inclined toward villainy, and Kurogiri appreciated being given a fair chance at all.  However, Shigaraki in particular had many questions for All for One, and Kurogiri followed his lead.  Gigantomachia them helped out for a while, until…

Gigantomachia saw Izuku’s “father’s” signature, and realized he might’ve accidentally stumbled upon a secret that All for One would be happy to kill half of Japan over.  He smartly refrained from telling the other two, and pulled back somewhat on his assistance in their search.

When Gigantomachia met “Hisashi” in person for that trip to America, he sent a panicked text to Shigaraki that he wasn’t offering any more help and that they should stop going behind Izuku’s back if they truly valued their lives and limbs intact.  This sparked their decision to bring their research to Aizawa while Izuku was away.  Yagi’s assumption that they were afraid of Izuku’s reaction was entirely legitimate, but that wasn’t the full reason for their choice of timing.

One more note about Gigantomachia: When Izuku had his panic attack in Chapter 5, the reason Yagi showed up was because Gigantomachia made a beeline for his office and told him that the Supreme Overlord needed his help.  Yagi ran.

I honestly didn’t expect for the villains to take up so much of the fic (or this trivia).  I also was hoping to have more of Aizawa and Class 1-A in the story.  But since criminal rehabilitation ended up being such a focus, the villains ended up being particularly relevant.  I’m still a tiny bit annoyed about it.

How much did Inko know about Hisashi?  He tried to give her a similar story to the one he gave Izuku once he returned.  However, she knew him and his views well enough that she managed to get out of him that he wasn’t “working with villains” entirely under duress, and that he had done a few things to earn the enmity of “people who were after him”.  She was surprised when Izuku made All for One tell her the truth about his villain identity, but less than Izuku expected.

I don’t usually have soundtracks for my writing - I’ll put on whatever music I feel like listening to, or even nothing, depending on my mood.  However, for Chapter 10, I wrote most of it while listening to “Devastation and Reform” by Relient K on repeat.  I think it fits the self-inflicted tragedy that is All for One’s existence pretty well, and helped me capture the right tone for his side of the story.

Alright, a cheerier note is in order.  Originally, Chapter 6 (now the Social Media Chapter) was an utter slog of exposition that made me despair.  I ended up scrapping it and rewriting it as a social media interlude that communicated the stuff I wanted it to communicate, but I ended up cutting along with it a draft of the scene Hatsume’s video refers to.  Y’know, the one where Izuku sets an attempted assassin on fire.  It was indeed accidental - she was hounding Izuku to let her make the perfect Supreme Overlord outfit, and had shoved an ordinary-looking watch at him when the assassins showed up.  He threw the watch at one of them and it exploded.  Hatsume got yelled at by a tired Izuku afterward for endangering the paperwork he’d have to fill out all over again.

In the Discord conversation where I mentioned the initial concept of this fic, someone proposed a scenario in which Izuku starts crying in the middle of the UN because some representative was being an asshole about how Japan was being handled, and then everyone else would jump in to go, “Nice going, Rick, you ruined a perfectly good Supreme Overlord, now he has anxiety.”  I therefore decided that I would indeed make Izuku cry at the UN.  This was how the UN chapter came to exist.  Of course, in my version, the tears were because of the support Izuku got, and the good guy was named Rick.

Izuku setting someone on fire was also a concept I got from my favorite Discord server.  Several other people had Izuku setting people on fire in their stories.  I decided to join them.

Finally… you know how I abbreviated “Supreme Overlord” to “S.O.”?  Yes, I’m aware that the abbreviation usually stands for “Significant Other”, and I decided to go with it because I thought it was funny.  And a good way to embarrass Izuku even further.

I think that got all the major trivia and a few minor bits too.  Though I probably can dig out other things from my brain if people have questions; my askbox is open.  Otherwise, I’ve got a new prospective writing project in the concept stage, so I’ll switching mental gears off of WGP, I think.

[jade4813]

Sparks Fly, Chapter 12

Title: Sparks Fly

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Everybody knows sparks fly whenever Barry Allen and Iris West are together. Their mutual animosity is legendary. But when Iris returns to Central City to investigate recent sightings of a mysterious red streak, she discovers a hero she just can’t resist…and Barry struggles to hide the unrequited feelings he can’t deny.

Chapters: 12/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“I’m not going anywhere,” Iris breathed against his mouth. She ducked her head to kiss him again when an alarm caused her to jerk upright. Looking around, she saw Barry’s phone sitting on his nightstand. It was emitting a loud buzz, as the screen flashed red.

“This isn’t happening,” Barry breathed, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. “Please tell me this isn’t happening right now.” He opened his eyes and groaned when he saw the curious expression on her face. “It’s my Flash alarm.” She chuckled, even as she climbed off his lap. “Your Flash alarm?” She didn’t waste time waiting for him to explain. “It’s okay. Go. Do what you need to do. We can…continue this later.”

He threw her a sheepish smile; then there was a gust of wind and he was gone. “Okay, that’s going to take some getting used to,” she breathed.

As the silence fell throughout the apartment following his exit, she tucked her feet under her and mulled over the questions that had haunted her before. How had he known that Barry would become the Flash? Even if his purpose was to keep the two of them apart, how had he known to target her family long before she and Barry ever met? There was only one explanation that made sense, if “making sense” had a very liberal interpretation.

She didn’t know how long Barry would be gone, so she jotted him a quick note before grabbing her shoes and slipping them on. Iris wasn’t good at sitting still when there was work to be done, so she might as well, and she had some errands to run while Barry was otherwise occupied.

A while later, Iris breezed through the front doors to the Central City Picture News, her steps brisk as she headed to her desk. Her hands still clutched her bag to hide the tremble that lingered following her trip to her apartment. She’d told herself that she was strong and brave, that she wouldn’t be driven out of her own home, as she headed up to the apartment she’d cherished mere hours before. But as soon as she stepped through her front door, her breath had seized in her chest, escaping in shallow pants as her entire body began to tremble.

Her home, the place that she had loved, no longer felt safe. It no longer felt like home. She didn’t know if it ever would again. But, still, she forced herself to go through the motions of cleaning up, forcing herself to linger when everything in her wanted to flee.

When she’d spent enough time to feel confident she’d proved her point – if only to herself – she gathered what notes she could and shoved them into a bag. Then, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she headed out to the office. Of course she knew that no amount of people could keep her safe if the Man in Yellow wanted to attack her again. Still, there was something comforting about not being alone.

At the office, she tucked her bag safely into her desk as she dropped into her seat. She’d take it back with her when she returned to Barry’s apartment, for the two of them to dig into together later. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get started on some research now. Her theory was so outlandish, so incredible, she didn’t even want to mention it to Barry until she’d worked it out a little more.

Glancing around the newsroom, she didn’t see her target so she called out, “Hey, Steve? You seen Carla?” Carla was the science editor, and she had hoped to get some basic background information before digging in further.

“I think she’s out at a conference,” he called back to her.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, then jumped when she heard Mason speak over her shoulder.

“She won’t be back until next week. You got something?”

Iris forced a smile. “Not sure yet. Still working through it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned against her desk. “What happened to your neck?”

She raised her hand to her throat self-consciously, re-adjusting the scarf she’d donned to cover her bruises. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But the minute I know I’m on to something, you’ll be the first to know.”

He grunted. “You might ask Dr. Wells for his thoughts. He was meeting with some board members today, but he’s supposed to swing by the newsroom after.”

“That’s all right. It’s just background info; I’d hate to waste his time.” She still didn’t know what it was about Harrison Wells that she found so disquieting, but maybe now wasn’t the time to ignore her instincts. Anyway, she knew someone who might be able to give her what she needed. If he was willing to take her call.

Shooting a quick look around the newsroom to make sure nobody was listening in, she browsed through her contacts to pull up his number, using her landline to dial his office before she could have second thoughts.

“Ramon speaking.” The voice, slightly distracted, carried over the wire.

“Hey, Cisco. It’s…uh…it’s Iris. Iris West.” Several seconds of silence followed her introduction, but he didn’t hang up on her immediately, so she assumed that was a good sign. “I need some background on something, and I was hoping you could help me out.” Another long silence stretched between them. “It’s something I’m working on with Barry.”

“With Barry? Really?” Now his tone turned suspicious, but she couldn’t blame him. He was Barry’s best friend, fiercely loyal to him, and was therefore not particularly fond of her. “I find it hard to believe.”

She laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. “I understand. Things with Barry are…well, they’re complicated.”

He chuckled in return, his voice softening slightly as he replied, “Well, that I will believe. What’s so important to justify a truce between you two?” He paused a second, then asked, “You found a new metahuman?” Like a child discovering a new toy, there was unmistakable excitement in his voice, though she could tell he was trying to hide it.

It didn’t seem worth going into the strange sequence of events that had transpired between herself and Barry over the last few days, so she dodged the first one to focus on the second, instead. “You’ve read my articles. I’m surprised.”

“All right. You got me. I’m a huge fan of the Flash,” he confessed, sounding a bit sheepish. “Can I ask you a question? What’s he like in person?”

If that wasn’t a loaded question. “He’s…amazing. Fearless. Everything you’d want a hero to be,” she admitted. “So, will you help me?”

“You’re really working with Barry on this?”

“I really am,” she reassured him.

“All right. What do you need?”

She chewed her lower lip. was almost embarrassed to ask, since her theory still sounded too outlandish for most people to believe. Sucking in a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “What do you know about time travel?”

“Time travel?” he sounded surprised at first, but his tone quickly shifted to curiosity. “You think there’s a metahuman who can travel through time?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she admitted. “Would that even be possible?”

He let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a little complicated. How much time do you have?”

Leaning back in her chair, she smiled into the phone. “Give me the basics, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay, so some believe that time travel could be possible if you could move faster than light. I’m not sure even the Flash can move that fast. And, of course, Einstein’s equations indicated that an object at the speed of light would have infinite mass, which would make it physically impossible. Still, some have piggybacked off his equations and still believe it could be done. Theoretically.

“There’s also the theory that time travel could be possible if you could create wormholes between points in space-time. Now, nobody’s ever actually witnessed a wormhole before, as far as I know, but I think more people find that theory more credible. The problem is that most scientists believe those wormholes would be too unstable to carry a person and would collapse too quickly to support a time traveler. Unless that person could move incredibly fast, I guess. It’s all pretty theoretical, though. Even if wormholes could exist, we don’t have the technology to create them.”

“But maybe a metahuman could,” she mused, tapping her pen against her lower lip. She’d been jotting down notes while he spoke, and now she wondered if her theory was as ludicrous as it had initially seemed. Cisco didn’t think the Flash could move faster than light, but the Man in Yellow had proven that the scarlet speedster might not have plumbed the full potential of his abilities.

“Theoretically,” he admitted. “Anyway, there are other possibilities, but those seem the most plausible. I can pull some stuff together for you, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem. I’ll drop it by Barry’s later. As long as you let me know if anything comes of it.”

“It’s a promise.”

She hung up the phone and turned to her computer, pulling up her browser. For the next few hours, she lost herself in research on the theories of time travel, printing off page after page to take back to Barry. A lot of it went over her head at first glance, but she had no doubt he could help her make sense of it. For the first time, maybe she and Barry would get the edge over the man who had terrorized her most of her life.

“Iris. Mason said I might be able to help you with some questions.”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, forcing a smile even as she turned in her chair. “Dr. Wells,” she greeted him, trying to hide her wince as she glanced at the clock. She’d lost track of the time; she’d meant to head back to Barry’s hours ago. “It’s nothing, really. I was just doing some preliminary research. I don’t want to waste your time…”

His gaze shifted over her shoulder to her computer screen, ignoring her protest. “Time travel? Personal interest, or is this for a story?” He seemed amused, the edges of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Bit of both, actually.” Shifting in her chair, she threw him a thoughtful look. She found him unsettling, but he was a brilliant scientist. Since he was here anyway, what was the harm in getting his perspective? “So, what’s your take? Is it possible?”

“I think just about anything is possible,” he replied with an offhand shrug. “But you’re asking the wrong question. The question isn’t whether a person could travel through time. It’s what happens next.”

Tilting her head to the side, Iris considered his cryptic comment. “What do you mean? Oh, you mean like the butterfly effect? You travel far enough back in time, you can step on a bug and somehow it stops your grandparents from being born?”

He smiled at her, the expression surprisingly genuine. “I always knew you were clever. And, yes, something like that. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that far back. Go back in time two hours, turn left instead of right, and you never meet the love of your life. Go back a year and save a random stranger from being hit by a car, one thing leads to the next and hundreds die who should have lived. Who knows what the consequences could be? If even the smallest action can have unimaginable consequences, then the bigger the act…”

He let his voice trail off, so she finished the thought for him. “The more significant the changes.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded as she mulled over his theory. Like dominoes falling, one change would lead to the next, which would lead to the next. An endless string of consequences from one act. If the Man in Yellow had travelled into the past, the minute he murdered those police officers, he set off a chain of events that even he wouldn’t be able to predict ahead of time. If that were the case, she wondered what her life would have been – should have been – without that fateful act.

But if the Man in Yellow could travel through time, surely the Flash could too. Was it really possible? Could he perhaps go into the past and stop the Man in Yellow, end this chain of falling dominoes before the first one even toppled?

“Do you think it could ever be worth the risk?” she asked softly, as much to herself as to him. “Going back into the past and changing one thing. Not knowing what would come from it. Would it ever be worth it?”

“Depends on why I’m doing it, I suppose. I think some things are worth a little risk. Don’t you?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, unsure of how to respond but unwilling to let the subject go. “All right, so say you wanted to go back in time and do something. Something big. Say you wanted to stop a serial killer before they even claimed their first victim. Is there any way you could do it and reduce the domino effect?”

The look Dr. Wells threw her was thoughtful. When he finally answered, he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That’s a good question. You know, there’s another theory that time is like…like a living thing. With a sort of consciousness that surpasses our understanding. Each time someone travels back in time and changes something, it creates a fracture that this force would try to repair. If that’s true, and this force has a consciousness, then there are things it wants to have happen. No matter what you try to do to stop it, it will act against you to protect that moment or that event. Recreating it over and over and over, no matter what changes you make. And if that’s true, I think…if you really want to erase that moment…or that person…maybe you’d have to remove it from the timestream completely.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and rolled his chair backwards slightly. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just rambling. Anyway, it’s all theoretical. Most people – most scientists, even – would say it’s impossible.”

She laughed. “Haven’t you heard? I believe in the impossible.”

“That you do,” he replied cryptically in an undertone. “That you do.”

Something in the air between them had changed, putting Iris more on edge around him than she was usually. So, not wanting to be rude, Iris straightened in her chair and made a show of glancing at her watch before jumping to her feet. “I’m sorry, I just realized I’ve lost track of time. I really should get going. But thank you. You gave me a lot to think about.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied affably, but she could feel his eyes on her as she reached over to turn off her computer. Throwing him a tight smile, hurried out the door, so distracted by their conversation that she didn’t realize she’d forgotten her notes until she was standing outside of Barry’s building. With a curse, she turned to retrace her steps. And that was when she saw him. The Man in Yellow.

Since he’d known where she lived, she had no doubt he knew she had disregarded his warning and was on her way to see Barry. But if he was about to murder her as he had Officers Neely, Cross, and Peterson – like he had murdered her father – than the least she could do was to make her final moments ones that would have made her dad proud. She would try to be brave.

“If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she said, proud to find that her voice barely trembled. “But I won’t live in fear of you. Ever again.”

He laughed, the sound somehow more terrifying than his threats the night before. Then, faster than a blink, he moved, racing straight toward her. Iris felt him lift her off her feet carrying her as he ran so fast that she would have wondered how the air wasn’t ripped from her lungs if she was entirely certain her fear would allow her to breathe anyway.

Then he threw her, and Iris was convinced she was about to die. But out of the corner of her eye, as her body was flung backwards, she saw what looked like a black void open around her, swallowing her whole.

Iris landed hard, and she waited for the Man in Yellow to return and finish what he had started. When he didn’t, Iris sat up slowly, still somewhat dazed. She had to have hit her head harder than she realized, she decided, because she could swear she found herself in her father’s living room. It was exactly as she remembered, down to purple stain on the edge of the coffee table, left behind when Iris had gotten a little too enthusiastic with a paint project when she was younger.

“Hello, baby.”

She knew that voice. A sob caught in the back of her throat as Iris turned to see her father sitting on the couch, watching her with eyes both older and sadder than they were in her memory. But it couldn’t be him, could it? He was dead. Her voice was little more than a whimper when she asked, “Dad?”

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 5: The Present

It’s Friday, so the next chapter of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! Chapter 5 is here on Tumblr, and here on AO3. There are spoilers below the cut, but I walk through the chapter in order, so it’s fairly safe to keep this one open for visual references as you read, if you want.

Those of you who have been following along with my writing process for This Isn’t A Ghost Story may have noticed how the story grew and morphed on me as I wrote. Despite knowing early-on the sort of story I wanted to tell and all the facets of the mystery that would need to be revealed, the story still managed to grow organically and surprise me at various points.

When I finished chapter 4 and started working on chapter 5, I had every intention that chapter 5 would be the final chapter, with a short epilogue that followed -- six chapters total, rather than the eight we ended up with. I knew what plot points and mystery reveals ch5 needed to cover, and I figured I could fit it all into one reasonably sized chapter. Even as late as the last week of July I was still thinking along those lines, and I quite nearly started posting chapters then, thinking I was nearly finished writing. 

But something held me back from posting, and when I woke up the next morning I realized that chapter 5 really needed to be split. What ended up being chapter 5 and chapter 6 are together about 12,300 words, which wouldn’t have been the longest chapter I’ve ever posted, but certainly longer than I meant for chapters in this story to be, and thankfully I was able to find a good spot to split it.

As with the rest of this story, my husband Jack has been acting as my beta reader and in-house cheerleader, and particularly after reading chapter 4 he was really adamant that I keep focusing on writing and get through the story as quickly as possible -- maybe partially so I could start posting, but mostly so he could read it and find out the answers to the rest of the mystery, lol. Starting with chapter 5, he began reading chunks of the chapter as I finished them, and then eventually went back and re-read all of chapter 5. And every time he’s read it, he’s commented that this is his favorite line in the entire chapter:

“No,” she told him firmly. “Not unless you take away my say in it.” She didn’t add again, but she knew they were both thinking it.

Jack and I have been together nearly two decades, and I think it’s that shared unspoken language of spouses that he finds so amusing here.

For most parts of this story, I can’t really pinpoint exactly when I wrote a particular line or scene, as I tend to write non-consecutively as bits come to mind, tackle conversations or plot points I know will need to happen and then fill in the gaps in between, and go over any given section dozens of times making little edits or adding whole paragraphs until it reads the way I want it to, with the sort of pacing and emotional weight I think it needs. But this bit in particular, I know exactly when I wrote it:

“Our story, Doctor... It isn’t the tragedy you think it is. This isn’t a ghost story. It never was. It’s a love story. And if I know one thing about love stories? They always have a happy ending, one way or another.”

July 15th. I’d been having a rough writing day, hated everything I’d written the day before (more or less everything from the start of ch5 to that line, in its first draft form), and was feeling really unmotivated. Then I saw some excellent meta about the episode Hide on my dash that @clara-oswin-oswald​ had just posted. The title for this story comes from something the Eleventh Doctor says in that episode, and here was Sophie talking about that scene again, just when I was ready to stuff This Isn’t A Ghost Story into a drawer and never look at it again.

My intention with the title for this story had always been to evoke that line from Hide, and hope that most people would be able to fill in the second half of the sentence, “it’s a love story”, on their own. But it hadn’t occurred to me until I was reading Sophie’s meta that I could actually have Clara articulate exactly that thought within the story. The 42 words of that line of dialogue was all I managed to write on July 15th, but I woke up the next morning feeling significantly better about the story and ready to dive back in, make the edits that would fix the first part of the chapter, and keep hacking away at the next scenes to come. 

Of course, the next bit I was trying to connect up with was actually something I’d written parts of earlier, that corresponded with the teeny tiny detail I’d posted a little poll about way back at the end of June. I knew I wanted to introduce Clara’s wedding ring around this point in the story, but I got hung up on what it should look like. Theoretically that should be a little inconsequential detail, just a single line of prose to help the reader visualize it better, but the results from that poll -- blue, unusual, and in support of world-building -- ended up leading me down a complete rabbit hole of research, that eventually spawned what turned into chapter 8. I’ll wait to share the details on that for when we reach ch8 at the end of this month, but the relevant bits from chapter 5 are of course Clara’s ring and what inspired the Doctor to pick that one for her in the first place.

Clara’s ring is based on these two antique rings:

The center stone is what’s known as a star sapphire, which are known to be particularly stunning in direct sunlight.

The Doctor tells Clara that when he first saw it -- presumably while ring shopping before their wedding in 1923 -- he was reminded of when he took her to see the archaeological work going on at the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut in 1921. The Temple does in fact have multiple areas where the ceilings are painted blue with rayed stars. It’s a popular motif from that era of ancient Egypt and shows up in a several other places as well.

I picture the jewelry box that Clara digs up as looking something along these lines:

The other piece of jewelry that is mentioned in detail is the necklace the Doctor bought for Clara in 1925. It’s based on the winged sun disk found on many ancient Egyptian temples:

It’s also meant to be a nod to the necklace Clara wears in The Bells of Saint John and The Rings of Akhaten, similar in both design and size:

From there, we get into one of the final remaining mysteries of the story, which the Doctor is clearly reluctant to talk about. There have been hints about this as far back as the first chapter, and from comments on previous chapters, I think a few of you may have guessed that this is where things were headed. Did this reveal turn out the way you thought it would? Or did it surprise you?

Lots of heartbreak at the end of this chapter, but we’re only a few chapters away from our happy ending now. It has been so much fun for me to hear your thoughts and theories as the mystery has unfolded! Thank you to everyone who has left a comment on This Isn’t A Ghost Story, both here and over on AO3. ❤️

--

Extras for Chapter 6: The Future

[foodbytesback]

The FBB Book Club: 99 Bottles: A Black Sheep's Guide to Life-Changing Wines

The closest thing I have to a New Year’s Resolution this year is to try to read more.  This is mostly because I keep getting lent/gifted/otherwise coming into the ownership of books, many of them food related, that just end up collecting dust.  So without further ado, I present to you the first installment of the Food Bytes Back Book Club!

New year, new me, I fuckin guess.  I’m not saying this segment is going to become a regular segment on the blog, but it will be something for weeks where not much else is happening in the food world (For instance- this introduction was written back in January, then shelved because something more topical came up, thus the whole New Year’s Resolution bit.)

99 Bottles: A Black Sheep’s Guide to Life-Changing Wines by Andre Hueston Mack was lent to me by a friend who got roped into a work-related virtual wine tasting hosted by Mack.  Along with the bottles of wine for the tasting, he was also given a copy of this book, which he passed along to me for the sake of fodder for the blog.  At first I was a little dismissive of it, assuming that the only kind of wine expert that would be organizing a virtual wine tasting would be someone who just wanted to stroke their own ego.  But as my friend made occasional mentions of how his big takeaway from the experience was “who cares what snobs say, just drink wine you think tastes good,” I decided to give the book a second chance.   

Mack makes it clear from the very beginning just what he means by “black sheep” in the title.  Yes, he is a black man in a very white field of study.  But the differences between him and many of his peers are not just skin deep: he says that being an outlier from the ivory towers of white wine culture gives him a different viewpoint, allowing him to forgo the snobbery that most people associate with the drink.  

As the name suggests, the chapters go on to describe, as the title half-suggests, 99 bottles of whatever he was drinking (not necessarily wine) at various life-changing events (whether or not it was the drink itself doing the changing varies from bottle to bottle).  In case you needed me to spell out just how unpretentious he is, the first “bottle” he describes is a 40 of malt liquor.  He goes on to say that not only was it the first drink he had ever had, but that when he was the sommelier at the prestigious Michelin star restaurant Per Se, he would drink a 40 before doing inventory to calm his nerves and keep himself grounded.  Other anecdotes include learning about sherry from watching Frasier, opening a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon onto someone’s fancy shirt, and watching a boutique store burn down while eating lunch.  And he addresses each of those in a conversational tone that somehow has neither the sense grandiosity that one might assume something this close to a memoir would have nor the sense of humble-bragging that one might assume someone with his resume would have.

There’s other recurring themes, such as glimpses into how backwards wine culture can get, from customers repeatedly asking for a specific wine they know nothing about just because it’s trendy, to the backlash Merlot got after the movie Sideways came out, to getting served a champagne that had gone bad at a competing restaurant and getting paranoid that it was some sort of test.  But no matter what weird snobby bullshit he ran into, his passion for chasing and sharing knowledge about wine kept him moving forward, all the way to making his own wines.   

It’s also worth mentioning that each page isn’t a solid wall of text, it’s broken up with enough graphics that it doesn’t make sitting down and reading it feel like a daunting task.  The majority of the notes on flavor profiles and where to find each drink are relegated to a graphic resembling the back of a baseball card, so if you really were just here to skim the book for beverage recommendations, you theoretically could.  But that’s not really what this book is about.

I didn’t go into this knowing or caring about who Andre Hueston Mack is as a person, and while I feel like it would be a stretch to promise that you will care about him after reading, I think it’s safe to say you will care about his message.  He set out to show that taste is subjective, that your tastes in wine are going to be just as shaped by your experiences as his was.  He became a wine expert by tasting as many wines as he could and forming his own opinions on them, and, while you probably won’t be lucky enough to experience half of the things he has, that’s what he wants you to do too.  Broaden your wine horizons, and don’t let the snobs keep you down.

[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

 Part 1 - Chapter 4

“Is it me, or is trying to walk down stairs in the dark kind of not fun.”

The librarian- the faerie, the liar, her friend- whatever he is to her now, he casts her a backwards glance and raises a hand, which begins to glow. It’s not like the light of a bulb or even a flame dancing on the wick of a candle, it’s like bottled daylight, the serene glow of a merry spring day. All Soso wants to do is stare at it, bask in it. It brightens the stairwell, but doesn’t make watching her step much easier. Surehouser grins knowingly at her. She huffs.

“Show off.”

Eventually she does manage to tear her eyes away and look around. The library basement is a proper dungeon. The stairs seem to go on forever, the stone walls are streaked with mildew, and as they delve deeper she notices tapestries and even an old battle-axe mounted on the walls. They’re marked with a variety of emblems, intricate and beautiful, but none the least bit familiar to her. Part of her wonders if it would change her opinion of them, knowing whether they are relics of the humans or the fae.

She’s still processing the overwhelming amount of information Surehouser has placed on her, the knowledge that not only are the creatures of myth real, but apparently are her ancestral enemies. Surehouser himself doesn’t seem bothered by it, so maybe she shouldn’t be either. After all this war he speaks of was so long ago that she can hardly conceive of it. On the other hand, for Adamantius, humankind’s champion, the wounds seem to be a lot fresher. He won, but it doesn’t sound like he got to reap many of the rewards.

That’s the part that puzzles her most. Both sides had to lay down their arms for the sake of creating peace, but she doesn’t understand why that would lead to Adamantius being sentenced so cruelly. If he was truly humanity’s saving grace during the war, why did no one before her come to rescue him?

The passageway opens onto a subterranean archive of sorts, which darkly mirrors the charming little library directly above it. The shelves here are far less welcoming, set in rigid lines like rows of headstones in a military cemetery. It’s lit from a above by hanging lanterns which flicker to life upon their entry, as if they were expecting the pair’s arrival. And still, the stairs don’t end, rather continue to a lower sublevel, and another below that, far further down than Soso can make out.

“How deep does it go?” she asks.

“As deep as you can imagine and deeper. There’s an entire floor set aside for illegal poisons, and a special wing for forbidden texts on summoning demons.” He isn’t quite gleeful as he says it, but neither does he seem properly horrified. Soso sure is.

“Why even keep all this stuff? Why not destroy it, if it’s so dangerous?”

“Everything you can find down here is a part of history,” he explains. “The darkest part of our shared history, but history none the less. So much knowledge was lost when the world was split, so much that most humans no longer even remember us outside of stories. The idea of sacrificing even more was unthinkable, and between you and me, I think some people feel better knowing they could theoretically still access this garbage should we ever go to war again.”

He walked through the aisles, pointing out spots of interest as he went. “Books of banned spellcraft here, manuals for the construction of basic torture tools, recipes for Gnomish explosives. Someday I must show you the section for djinn containment bottles, it’s quite the treat. Of course, you’ve already met the crown jewel of the entire collection.”

She resists the urge to argue the point again. She’s coming to suspect that he only brings the former gargoyle up to try and rile her, maybe trick her into confessing that this was all some plot of long-belated human vengeance after all.

“How did I not know about this?” she asks instead with a slight shiver. “How does no one know about any of this?”

“I wouldn’t say no one, but as for most, I think you can guess. It’s because it was better that way. When the human forces won and claimed our shared world as their own, the fae assembled a council of powerful magi to split the world and create the land of Underhill, where the fae could live peacefully, unseen in humanity’s shadow. Apart, each side was free to heal, free to forget the past. Still, not everyone has that luxury. Now you’re one of those in the know. How’s it feel?”

She swallows. “Kind of like riding a rollercoater with a full stomach.” She looks at the librarian. “How do you deal with it? How do you deal with having this huge secret just sitting inside you like dead weight?”

“Drinking mostly,” he says cheerfully. The joke falls flat. He sighs. “You know, before this I was living a wonderful carefree life in Underhill, enjoying all that the endless summer had to offer. Then I was told that because my family line descends from some faerie noble that was on the peace council nigh millennia ago, I was expected to live up to my pedigree. It was either take over watching the vault of wartime horrors or go into politics, and if there’s one thing I hate more than wasting away in this nothing town guarding a pile of dusty relics, it’s politics.”

“And they didn’t tell you ahead of time that the job included watching a prisoner of war who also just so happened to have razor-sharp teeth and horns?”

The man broaches this next subject carefully, uncertainty writ plainly on his face. “I knew about Adamantius- vaguely! I just didn’t expect that he would ever be quite so… alive.”

“Isn’t turning a soldier into some kind of life-size trophy post war against the Geneva convention?”

“It may seem cruel to you, but you must remember that he isn’t human. He may claim to be a son of man, but even the human side didn’t want him when they had nothing more for him to kill. He was built for destruction. He can’t be allowed to wander freely.” His voice takes on an uncharacteristically grim note. “As I understand it, the terms of the treaty exempted him from execution, but he was, and is, too dangerous to just be let go. This, this should have never happened.” He fidgets nervously. “But it has, which means, Soso, that a great burden, a great responsibility has fallen to you.”

She takes a reflexive step back. “Responsibility? Me? What am I supposed to do? Put him back in the rock?”

He shakes his head. “Perhaps there might still be a way, but for now, just keep him occupied. You set him free. That means, in his eyes, he owes you a debt greater than his very life. You are the only one who can control him. And you must, or he’ll be the end of us all.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, Adami might have some… quirks, but he’s not some mindless monster. He- he helped me.” Granted it had been because of him she had nearly passed out on the kitchen floor, but he had caught her and carried her to bed. He’d been gentle despite the sharp shape of him. “I think he wants to do right, he’s just sorta confused about what that means.”

“Are you claiming since he’s been awake he hasn’t done any harm,” he asks, disbelieving.

The image of clawmarks and frightened frat bros flashes through her mind. “Well…”

The man nods. “Come with me. I want to show you one last thing before we go up.”

Down they go to one of the lower lower-levels. Surehouser counts shelves and follows the cryptic keys until he finds a thick book of yellowed parchment. It’s almost too large for him to maneuver open on his own while keeping the ball of magic light aloft and the cover is inscribed in something that, to Soso’s inexperienced eyes, looks like a cross between German and Old English. Thankfully the inside looks to be more pictures than words. The illustrations remind Soso of the decorated margins of medieval bibles and bestiaries. The linguistic aspect may be lost on her, but art history had been one of her more preferred courses in school.

The design Surehouser flips to is much larger, taking up the bulk of both pages. It depicts armored soldiers being besieged upon by a familiar figure. Here, Adamantius is painted in red, making him look like a classic Christian devil. He’s tearing the retreating knights limb from limb, and smiling as he does it. Soso isn’t inclined to believe everything she reads in strange old books, but the altered likeness is disconcerting.

“He was called by many names back then, I’m told,” says Surehousr, breaking her thoughtful concentration. “When I first heard the story as a child, Adamantius the unmerciful was the popular title.”

Soso shakes her head. “I thought you said you were a neutral party,” she accuses. “You said it yourself, it was horrible for both sides. He was a soldier, not some gleeful mass-murderer.”

“Oh dear, do you still think there’s a difference?”

No more words are exchanged as they begin their ascent back up to the main floor. Soso is pensive, her head full of questions she doesn’t trust herself to voice. Not a day ago her biggest concern was building up the courage to talk to her parents, now she was supposed to be responsible for some sort of living breathing war machine? She doesn’t seem to have much choice other than to defer to the librarian’s relative expertise. After all he’s a real life faerie and until quite recently she hadn’t known that faeries existed. Still, the situation doesn’t sit right with her.

Adamantius is waiting where she left him in the doorway. He seems anxious, or as anxious as a formidable creature like him can be, and she wonders if he’s been like this ever since she left his sight. When he said he would stay by her side, she’d thought it was a sweet, if a little strange, declaration. She doesn’t know what to do with the reality of his dedication.

“Told you I’d be back,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. She shoots him a reassuring smile and it actually doesn’t feel as forced as she might’ve expected. Somehow, seeing him waiting for her is still a comfort to her. Maybe it’s all those days of spilling her guts to him in statue form. Somewhere in the back of her mind she can’t shake the feeling that this man is her friend, no matter what some people a thousand years ago had to say.

“I believed you,” he says lowly, casting a sideways glance at the librarian. “But faeries can be tricky.”

“Well I’m fine, and I’ve done some thinking too. Adamantius, I know you think you owe me something, but I don’t want you to serve me. Instead, if I ask you for a favor, can you please try your best to do it for me?”

Instantly the warrior lights up. If he had a tail he’s surely be wagging it, she imagines. “Anything. I would do anything to please you, Lady Willoughby.”

He’s missing the point, she thinks, but the enthusiasm is nice. With a great deal of caution, she takes his clawsome hands in her own. “Then here’s what I’m requesting. Stay here at the library with Mr Surehouser.”

Both of them look at her with alarm. “What?”

“I know there’s some bad blood between you two, but I consider you both my friends and I don’t want you to fight. Besides,” she admits. “I can’t really put you up at my place without someone finding out, and I’m pretty sure you’re a wanted criminal by now.” Anticipating his protests, she adds, “I’ll still come by every day. It’ll be just like before, except better because you’ll be free.” She lets her eyes drift over to meet Surehouser’s troubled gaze. “You’re going to stay free.”

Adamantius bows his head, although it seems to be just as much about hiding the sour look on his face as it is about any sense of fealty. “As you wish.”

“It’s going to be fine,” she assures him. “Just try not to kill each other when I’m not around.”

As she does her best to console the beast, Surehouser walks away shaking his head. She doesn’t stop him. She knew he wouldn’t like her decision but it’s the only thing that makes sense. This way she can keep Adami from terrorizing the neighborhood without having to take the responsibility of ordering him around. He’ll come around, she just knows it.

[keen2meecha]

Novel Prep Tag: gifted

Thanks for tagging me, @aziz-writes! You’re a gem as always!

Note: I’m talkative, so most of my side comments are crossed out don’t mind me

First Look

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

After nearly failing the application test, a young girl rejected by a superpowered society for not having a superpower* of her own is accepted into Falks, a school that teaches kids how to be superheroes. But after an attack on the school nearly kills her and her classmates, she must learn to work with her new friends before one of her oldest friends is lost forever. 

(*’superpowers’ in this universe are called Gifts, and those who have them are called Gifted. The minority who don’t have Gifts are called Ungifted. The title is ironic and also a reference to a running joke Sofia has with herself)

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Novella, single book, book series, etc.)

It’s the first book in a series! Right now I have four books, but since I’m a chronic overwriter, that may or may not have to be extended to five books.

3. What’s your novel’s aesthetic?

Honestly? Aesthetics aren’t really my thing, so I’m not sure. Maybe soft warm colors, that surprised flutter in your chest when someone gives you a thoughtful present, the ache after yet another workout, that scratchy feeling in your throat when your right on the edge of crying but no one else can tell? This started out as a lighthearted superhero story I swear-

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

If you’re an anime fan, you’ll probably look at the general premise of this and some of the basic details of some of the characters and go “Wait a second, that’s a lot like My Hero Academia” and listen. I know. It’s not the same plot though, I promise! Really, at this point, I’d like to think that it’s undergone so many changes that the two are pretty decently removed, but *shrugs*. I’m not as pressed about it anymore. 

I was also loosely inspired by Harry Potter, simply because my book also takes place throughout a school year, so I’m using Harry Potter as a frame of reference for pacing (theoretically). That being said, trans rights and fuck JK Rowling am I right?

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for the novel

For the sake of saving space, I’ll not do that this go around. But imagine fireworks, a freshly brewed cup of tea, and an overwhelmingly expensive weight room and you’ve got a pretty good image of three important things in this book.

Main Characters

6. Who is your protagonist?

Sofia Smith! The Ungifted girl with a chip on her shoulder! Also an utter jock who usually wears athleisurewear and trust me, I’m as thrilled as you are about that. I don’t work out! I don’t even know what a healthy workout routine looks like! What have I done-

7. Who is their closest ally?

I’d say it’s a toss-up between Leona Kita, a girl she meets during the application tests who quickly becomes her new best friend and is not all that she seems, and Romilly Quirke, a teacher at Falks with whom she develops a close mentorship and is not all that she seems

8. Who is their enemy?

In the beginning, it’s Kyran ‘Kruze’ Cinege, Sofia’s childhood friend-turned-enemy. However, the turning point of the novel is when it’s revealed that while she and Kruze are always fighting (physically or not), there’s someone out there who’s actively trying to kill her and that person might be a more pressing threat than Kruze.

You may also see me occasionally mention The Prophet’s Daughter, who, like all of the important antagonists in this series, hilariously still doesn’t have an actual name. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

9. What do they want more than anything?

To become the top Hero it’s not bnha you weeb

10. Why can’t they have it?

She’s Ungifted, so no one believes she can do it. Not only that, but also every single other person in her class at Falks is highly qualified - they’re the most promising kids in the country, after all - and also highly motivated to do the same, so she’s got... a lot of competition.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

That she can hold up the weight of the world on her own - worse, that she has to hold up the weight of the world on her own. Among other things

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

Not an artist, but I can freely say that Sofia’s face claim is Amandla Stenberg (especially Hunger Games era Amandla Stenberg because, you know, high school).

Plot Points

13. What is the internal conflict?

She’s desperately lonely, but to admit she needs other people is to admit weakness, and to admit weakness is to admit defeat - something she absolutely cannot do. I mean, not really and it’s okay to ask for help, but she doesn’t know that. We’re working on it.

14. What is the external conflict?

Sofia is fighting the entire world to become a Hero and also someone is trying to kill her and her classmates. 

Oh and each book revolves around her relationship (platonic or otherwise) with one of what I call the ‘core five’ changing and developing in a radically game-changing way. In this book, it’s her and Kruze struggling to come to terms with elements of their past and maybe overcome their conflict to become friends again...? Except their both stubborn assholes and have been fighting for so long they can’t remember how to exist in the same room without one of them blowing up eventually (literally, in Kruze’s case) (I’ll probably talk more about the core five in a different post tbh)

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?

Oof. Well. If someone died on her watch, that’d be pretty bad for her. Good thing that’ll never happen though! Haha...ha...hm.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

Of this story? Shit maybe they weren’t after me after all. The story as a whole? Wait, you’re my what?

17. Do you know how it ends?

I actually have the epilogue of the last book already planned out! I will cry when I actually write it. But the end of the main plotline? Eh... I know who all is involved, and what all of the characters have evolved into at that point. But how Sofia and co. actually defeat the BBEG? I am... less sure.

18. What is the theme?

In this book specifically: it’s okay to step back and ask for help when you’re struggling - just because you can’t do it on your own doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be where you are.

In the overall series: something something found family something the power of friendship.

19. What is a recurring symbol?

Oh damn, this is a really good question. In fact, since I’m still in first draft mode (although I did write maybe a good quarter or so of a zero draft) I don’t think any have really emerged that I’ve noticed yet? But I guess I’ll come back and update this if I think of anything.

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

It’s set in a very fancy, very modern private school that’s on the edge of a city somewhere near Washington D.C. I’m... not great at describing environments/settings, though, so that’s all you get haha

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

Oh yeah, plenty. I have this whole book outlined, actually, on a chapter-by-chapter level! I got excited and also bored during my three-hour-interim between classes, and there was a whiteboard just asking to be filled... I even have some disconnected scenes from future books floating around in my mind - some incredibly emotional and poignant, some glorified shitposts. Ah, writing. It’s such a magnificent hobby.

22. What excited you about this story?

The characters! No joke, there are sixteen kids in the Falks class including Sofia, and every single one of them has their own complex backstories, motivations, and character arcs - not to mention I’ve spent a significant portion of time outlining each of their Gifts and figuring out how exactly they work. I could ramble about any of them for hours.

And that’s not even mentioning Sofia’s family, the villains, the teachers... I just really love every single character in this book!

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!

Step one: watch or read something. Anything. A movie, another book, a commercial, a music video, a tiktok, I’m not kidding just about anything will do. Step two: think ‘oh, I could do that better’. Step three: jot down some early lines or general ideas. Step four: leave it to stew for a little while as you think ‘oh jeez maybe I can’t do it as well as I thought’. Step five: get suddenly inspired on it and feverishly carve out several rough chapters. Step six: let it stew some more. Step seven: get newly inspired, realize how much has changed in your mind about that earlier draft, call that the zero draft, and actually do an outline this time. Step eight: ...Write it for realsies this time!

Whew, that was a doozie! Super fun though! So, according to the rules, you’re supposed to tag the same number of people as questions you answered. So there are 23 questions, and it turns out I’ve got exactly 23 people who (I don’t think) aren’t opposed to tag games, so here, have something besides a last line tag for once! Enjoy!

REMEMBER! You are under no obligation to do this - especially since this one can seem overwhelming. I’ll be thrilled if you do it, but I won’t be disappointed or upset if you pass.

Anyways, tagging: @alcego-writes, @alanwrites, @ajbrooks-writes, @evergrcen, @jewellsfrommaruss, @brookswriting, @signedjordan, @writhoelogy, @the-violet-writer, @dustylovelyrun, @linarious, @cookiecutterwrites, @honeyprincerising, @acaptainandhisrunaway, @angelolytle, @dogwrites, @mxxnwishes, @magicalwriting, @bisexual-in-progress, @writerfae, @ocmaker, @fullydevoted, @hanboggsbooks

[austinsirkin]

A Lesson in Applied Mathematics

Hello, Christopher Sawyer.

Chris sat bolt upright in bed, fumbling at his side table for his glasses, and then casting his panicked gaze frantically around the room. His night light shone a warm, yellow glow on the dirty clothes scattered across the hardwood floor and the inoffensively gray walls covered in posters of Billie Eilish and MGMT. But he was all alone. He’d been on the verge of sleep, so maybe he just… 

Excuse me, Christopher, I apologize for bothering you. Is this a bad time?

Chris jumped up onto his feet this time and looked under his bed: nothing. He tiptoed to his closet next, cursing the wood squeaking beneath his little feet, and pulled open the door: again, nothing.

“H… Hello?” he finally asked aloud, his enormous whisper ringing out in the quiet room.

Yes, I’m here. Are you able to do me a small favor?

Now that his wits were more about him, the voice sounded like it was coming from everywhere, but also nowhere. Maybe it wasn’t even sound at all.

“W-who are you?” he asked, tentatively. “Where are you?”

My name is Emily, and I’m… Well, I’m far away from you. I was hoping you might help me.

“Are you a ghost?” he asked. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “Or a... monster?”

There was a short pause before the voice returned.

No, no, don’t worry. I’m alive, and I don’t mean you any harm.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “You know this is sus one hundred, right? Are you going to kidnap me or something?”

Definitely not, I promise. You don’t even have to leave your house. One quick favor, and then I promise you’ll never hear from me again.

“That’s exactly what a kidnapper would say!” Chris declared.

Have you ever met a kidnapper? “Ummm… no.” Then how do you know what they would say? “Everyone knows. They’re all over the internet.”

Of course. The internet knows everything.

“I’m 11, but I’m not an idiot,” Chris declared. “I can tell that you’re making fun of me, you know.” My sincere apologies. I do have to admit that a kidnapper would be unlikely to admit their intentions. They would probably say something like, “I’ll give you a ride home”, or “I have candy in my van”.

“How do you know? Have you ever met a kidnapper?” Chris asked, mimicking Emily’s aloof tone.

...Not in person, no. “Hah!” he declared, triumphantly.

Okay, you got me. Neither of us know any kidnappers. But that means that because I know myself, and I must not be a kidnapper.

Chris pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. After a moment, he blew exasperated air out of his nose. ”Fine. I guess… I guess you’re right.” 

Excellent. Now, Christopher, I was wondering if you might do me a small favor.

“Chris,” he said.

I’m sorry?

“My name is Chris. People only call me Christopher when I’m in trouble. If I help you, I won’t get in trouble, right?”

Of course, my apologies again, Chris. No, you’re not in trouble, and I promise that if you help me, you won’t get in any trouble. I just need you to read a book downstairs for me.

“You want me to read a book? Ugh.”

You don’t like reading books?

“No way. They’re too long. I get bored.”

I used to love reading books. Perhaps you’ll like them when you’re older.

“How old are you? I bet you’re super old.”

I’m 34 years old.

“Yikes, I was right, you’re old as dirt. What are you doing talking to a kid in the middle of the night?”

Is 11 pm too late? I don’t have any children, so I’m not really sure what time kids go to bed.

“Yeah it’s late! I was almost asleep and you legit scared me out of bed.”

That wasn’t my intention. I just needed some information from a book that’s downstairs in your house. There are no other copies, and your parents are currently asleep, so I couldn’t ask them.

“Normal people just wait for the next day.”

Do I seem like a normal person to you? “I... guess not,” Chris said, grudgingly. “Fine, where’s this book?”

It’s in your mom’s office.

Chris sighed loudly and exaggeratedly. “Alright. Hold on.”

He slipped his feet into his Adidas sandals, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and opened the door to his bedroom. The hallway was dark, but he knew his house like the back of his hand; he’d lived here since he was born. Navigating downward by feel as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he put out his hands to touch familiar landmarks: his door frame, the banister for the stairs, followed by the cool stone entryway at the bottom of the stairs. His parents’ bedroom was upstairs, so once he got downstairs he flipped the lights on without fear of waking them.

Blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted, he sighed and turned the corner to his mother’s office. The room was full of books, framed certificates, and small engraved things that bore her name that were probably awards; old people liked to get things with their name on them. Chris closed the door behind him as he entered.

“Hey, I’m here,” he said, unintentionally whispering.

Chris waited a few long seconds, but there was no reply. A few more seconds went by, and Chris tapped the toe of his right sandal on the ground, settling his foot deeper into the shoe.

“Emil-?”

I’m here, Chris. My apologies, I’m doing… many things at once.

“Weird flex, but go off,” he said.

The sound of a dry chuckle moved through his head. Okay, I suppose I deserved that. Now, the book I need is in the form of a stack of papers on your mother’s desk.

Chris climbed up into his mother’s chair, sitting on his feet, and surveyed his mother’s desk. It was officially the most boring desk ever. Her laptop was there, but the desk was also absolutely covered in books and papers. On the left was a stack of loose, unbound papers nearly three inches thick. The top page was full of small rows of text, the margins of which were thoroughly covered in handwritten notes.

“I can’t read this,” Chris complained. “I’ve never heard of half these words before, and even the sentences have sentences!”

Don’t worry, Chris, I’ll help you get through it. You’re really only looking for a specific formula, so we can just skim until we find it.

“A formula? Like a recipe?” he asked.

Of a sort, except this recipe is for math.

“Math is okay. I’m learning how to multiply fractions now, and I don’t like it.”

I understand. Math can feel very cumbersome, but it’s also very beautiful and elegant once you get beyond rote memorization and you begin to understand not just what the formulas are, but why the formulas are.

“Why the formulas are what?”

Why they exist. Why the letters are where they are, and what it all means.

“You mean like algebra, where you solve for x? Why do I have to do that? What does it mean?”

Another dry laugh. I wish I could answer that question for you, Chris, I really do. But picture math as a ladder. In order to see what’s at the top, you have to climb all the rungs first. Right now, even if it doesn’t feel like it, you’re still near the bottom of the ladder, and it will take time and effort to climb higher.

“Like in college? Is that when I’ll get to the top of the ladder?”

Maybe, but in this case, the ladder doesn’t really have a top, so you can keep climbing forever. The higher you are, the more you can see. You can even build extra rungs onto the top as you go so that you can see farther than any person ever has. That’s what your mom has done, and why I need you to read this book.

Chris furrowed his brow. “My mom… can see farther than anyone?”

When it comes to her specialty, she really can. She’s kind of amazing.

Chris furrowed his brow even deeper and he wrinkled his nose, too. “That’s weird.”

Why is that weird?

“It just is,” Chris said, shaking his head. “Look, do you want this formula thing or not?”

Alright, let’s look for it. Take a peek at the book and see if there are chapter titles. If so, read them to me. It doesn’t matter if you understand what the words mean or not, just do your best.

“If you say so,” Chris said, shrugging. He picked up the first page and looked at it. It had a chapter heading that said ‘Introduction’.

Perfect, the introduction. Now you can skip through the pages and only read the other chapter titles.

“How do you know it says ‘introduction’? I didn’t even read it yet,” Chris protested.

I’m communicating with you telepathically, so there’s no need for you to read it out loud. As soon as you look at it, I can see it, too. You don’t have to talk to me out loud, either, if you don’t want, though most people find it more comfortable. Directing your thoughts without speaking them aloud takes some practice, trust me; otherwise it’s just a jumbled stream of consciousness.

“You’re even weirder than my mom,” Chris complained.

You have no idea. Your mom isn’t weird at all. She’s exceptional. But yes, I’m very weird.

“I knew it,” he said, with a hint of smugness. “Okay, here goes. I’m going to read these chapters for you. You better be ready, because I won’t do it twice.”

Chris picked up the next page and flipped it over. Then the next. And the next. That was when he began to realize just how many pages there were in a three-inch stack of paper, so he picked up the whole stack and began flipping through them with his thumb. It was big and awkward in his hands, but he did his best.The chapter titles, bolded at the tops of the pages, were full of words that he’d never seen before and didn’t understand like “vectors” and “metaphysical implications”, but he sounded them out in his head as he went and Emily didn’t correct him. About three-quarters of the way through the stack of papers, Emily finally spoke up.

This is it, Chris! This is the chapter I need. Now, if you could go through each page and look for any math, that would be great. You don’t have to read the words at all.

“I’ve never heard of anyone ever in the history of the world who needed to learn math this badly.”

You’d be surprised. Mathematicians take their work very seriously, and I doubt I’m the first one to make a late-night call over a formula.

“Are you a mathematician, too?”

Not exactly. You can think of me more like an engineer. Your mom is a mathematician, so she does mostly theoretical work. What I’m doing is using applied mathematics for practical work.

“Hmmm,” Chris said, chewing his bottom lip. “I… think I get it. My mom makes the math, and you use the math.”

Exactly! You’re very clever, Chris.

“....Thanks,” Chris said after a moment, his cheeks tinted with red. “Anyway, let’s find this thing you need so bad.”

Moving his finger across the pages, he looked for things that might be math instead of words, and he found them in abundance. There were equations everywhere, not just in the printed text, but also handwritten in the margins. Some parts were crossed out and overwritten, too. Chris shook his head.

“How does anyone make any sense of this?”

It’s not easy, that’s for sure.

“It’s hard for you, too?”

Of course. Your mom is way smarter than I am.

“Ugh, stop saying things like that! It’s too weird. Mom is just…. Mom.”

Maybe someday you’ll feel differently. It can be tough to think of your parents as real people, but it’ll happen eventually.

“If you say so,” Chris said, shaking his head. He went back to skimming the pages, again using his finger as a guide so he didn’t lose his place. A few pages later, Emily stopped him again.

Yes! This is it! My god, your mother is a total genius.

“I said-” Chris began, irritably.

I know, I know, I’m sorry. Hold on just a moment, I need to make some adjustments based on this formula.

“Alright. Does that mean I can go back upstairs now?” he asked.

There was no response. Chris sighed, took out his phone, and began watching videos on Tiktok. There was no sense going back upstairs if Emily was going to make him come back down again, so he sat and watched videos of people doing the cell phone challenge.

After a few minutes, he switched from Tiktok to Twitter and was surprised to discover that there were tons of tweets trending about an #earthquake in California. And Nevada, and Arizona. He read a few tweets about it, and then saw that there were a bunch of new tags starting to trend: people were using #blackout, #darkness, and #whereisthesun. It was right around sunset over there, and people in cities all over the southwest were reporting that the sky had gone dark. No stars, no sun, just... dark.

Then came the pictures.

From Oregon and Mexico, people began posting pictures of an enormous thing on top of most of California. The first few pictures were denounced as photoshops, but more and more kept getting posted. Videos, too.

The thing was so huge that it was nearly impossible to take in all at once due to the curvature of the earth and the sheer height of the thing; it dwarfed the highest mountains like the highest mountains dwarf humans. Plus, it was sunset so the sunlight was getting filtered through the atmosphere, making it hard to see clearly. To Chris’s eyes, it looked like a mottled brown and gray, but some people were arguing on the internet that it was red and white.

The online world was on fire with speculation, with suggestions of everything from aliens to rock eruptions to some sort of weapon.

Ten minutes had passed since the thing first appeared and, engrossed in his phone, it never even occurred to Chris to wake up his parents. That was when Emily startled him again.

I seem to have caused a bit of a stir. Emily’s words held the barest suggestion of a sigh. That was my mistake; I seem to have misread your mother’s handwriting and thought a G was a C. Anyone could have made that mistake, really; C would make way more sense, given the context.

“Hey! You scared me. And I have no idea what you’re saying,” Chris said, distractedly. “Have you seen the thing in California? What’s up with that?”

Ah. Well, there’s no real delicate way to say this, so. Um. I am the “thing” currently above California, and parts of Nevada and Arizona. I didn’t intend to make quite a… scene. But with the mistake I made in the formula, I ended up in the wrong place. This is actually something of a best-case scenario, all things considered.

“Now I really have no idea what you’re saying.”

A sigh caressed Chris’s brain. The thing that you’re seeing pictures of? That’s me.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re a 34-year-old girl named Emily and a weirdo, not some big mountain thing. I hate when adults try to talk to me like I’m stupid. You’re the stupid one,” Chris said retorted, more venomously than he intended..

You asked me earlier if I was a monster, and I said no. But that wasn’t strictly… true. It’s hard to explain. But I understand if you’re angry. The thing everyone is looking at -- me -- isn’t an alien, and it’s not a weapon. It’s a woman named Emily, who is 34 years old, and who is also probably the biggest crab in the universe. And I don’t mean that metaphorically, like I can be crabby sometimes. I mean that I am literally a megacrab. Six legs. Claws. Armored exoskeleton. Size of Texas.

Chris blinked a few times, then asked, “So.... What’s that like?”

You know what? It’s okay. I miss things about having a normal human body, like being able to… Well, nevermind. Maybe when you’re older. Overall, though, I’m pretty happy.

“You mean you can’t have sex?”

Christopher!

“What? It’s not like I don’t know about it.”

I’m going to leave that conversation to your parents. Meanwhile, I came back to say thank you, and goodbye. I did promise you that you wouldn’t hear from me again after this, after all.

“Wait, forever forever?” Chris asked, taken aback. “But what if I don’t want you to go... forever?”

I’m afraid there’s no choice. If I stayed here, I would disrupt the course of human history. The various world governments would fight over me. It wouldn’t be a good look, trust me. So I’m going away. That’s why I needed your mom’s book. Maybe I’ll come back some day, but not for a long time.

“Oh. If I didn’t read the book for you, would you have stayed?”

Oh, Chris, you’re a sweet boy. It would only have delayed me by a day or two, so don’t beat yourself up. I suggest that you keep our little talk tonight between us, too. If it gets out that we talked like this, I can’t promise that you’d be safe. Powerful people would try to target you in order to get to me. So this’ll be our secret, okay?

“Emily, you’re… You’re scaring me,” Chris said, his voice cracking a little.

I know, but it’s very important that you follow these directions. If you do, you’ll be okay, and everything will be fine. I’ll try to check up on you from time to time, too, okay?

Chris fought the lump in his throat and looked at the floor. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll miss you.”

Thank you, Chris. That means more to me than you know. It’s rare that a… creature… such as myself gets treated like a friend.

“You’re welcome, Emily. Have a… have a safe trip.”

One last dry laugh floated through his mind. Don’t worry about me, Chris. You just make sure you stay alive until I come back, okay?

“I promise,” he said, wiping his nose on his arm as he blinked away his tears.

Several long seconds passed.

“Emily?” he asked, with a note of helplessness.

There was no answer.

After a moment, he checked his phone again. Twitter was overrun with the news that the “thing” had disappeared entirely. It was night, so no one saw exactly where it went, or how. People were already posting about the whole thing being a hoax.

Chris put down his phone and sighed. He sat at his mom’s desk in silence for several minutes, and a few tears left lines down his face. Then, slowly and deliberately, he pulled out some blank pages from the desk and grabbed a pen. Methodically, he began copying down everything he could remember about his exchange with Emily.

About an hour later he put his pen down and looked up at the ceiling, his work done.

“If she won’t be back for a while…” he said to himself, “I guess I’d better learn some more math.”

After a pensive pause, he mused, “I wonder if Mom will teach me.”

He leaned back in the too-big chair and watched the ceiling fan spin, his thoughts whirling around inside his head at the speed of light.

Art by Zhen Fu Li https://www.deviantart.com/zhenfuli