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dallonm-archive · 3 years

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REVELATIONS, REVELATIONS | UPDATE #1

Hello y’all! I refuse to believe it’s been 3 and a half months since I last made an update post for this novel because time is not real :) whoops! This has actually been sat in my drafts for like a month though

A rundown of things that happened:

We have a new title! I already went into the meta and possible interpretations (it’s ~ambiguous~), so if you want you can read about that HERE.

I did 3 weeks of Nano and wrote 15k words! On the site I recorded 15053 but I think it was more 15.5k? I’ve edited the original doc now so idk but I’m v happy with that!

After that I took a break and a lot of Life Things happened re a certain pandemic that is taking :) all my motivation :) so I didn’t return to drafting until January. I also really struggled to progress with the story and decided the best thing was to revisit what I already had and work on that

It’s not that the original chapters weren’t working, I was just trying to understand the story for the first time and also Nano was such a hazy blur and I’m 99% sure November didn’t happen. I probably won’t revisit a section this intensely again until I’ve finished the draft but at this stage it really helped because the more I worked on it, the more I understood where it had to go next - I know the structure (for now), the basics for the middle and how the story ends :) hehe :) and I don’t think I’d had those revelations (aha) without revisiting this first part. I got to fall in love with the story all over again and I’m very happy with where it’s going!

This intro is already getting so long so I’m just going to jump straight into it because this update is LONG. I’m talking about all the chapters today even though not all of them are new, but since I’ve learnt a lot about them and this is officially update #1 post-nano, it makes sense to talk about all of them! I’m also going to do a new taglist because I see this as a new set of updates also I am awful at keeping up with taglists so! I’m just tagging friends who have already expressed interest + mutuals who I’m like 99% sure want to stay on so! please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

@kowlazovdi @isherwoodj @avi-burton-writing @pamsdrabbles @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @svpphicwrites @aetherwrites @radiomacbeth @bijouxs @writerlywonders @haldimilks @alicewestwater @piyawrites @coffeeandcalligraphy @shaelinwrites

usual content warnings for religious trauma and cult discussion, specific CWs will come before excerpts!

So I’m currently working with four parts, and I’ve extended the timeline from one year to four years. This suits the story much better BUT pretty much everything here was written before that decision and I do not have the energy to restructure all of it right now :) Each part is split into two sections, one for each POV. So four parts, 8 sections, Felix and Dorothy get four sections each. I let the structure grow with the story but this one is working very well!

Also I started setting my pages to light green and it was LIFE CHANGING. Much kinder on the eyes and just looks so nice?? Calming?? This post is your sign to set your page colour to light green like LOOK

So we have a prologue now!! The story made a lot more sense once I added this because originally the information we learn was just shoehorned into Chapter 1 in a flashback when really we needed to know this information going into it. That being said I struggled with this for a bit just because to justify a prologue I need that information to be conveyed in a way that is completely unique to the rest of the narrative so I didn’t want to just write this as a flashback. I ended up writing it in 2nd person and it came out in a way where it’s not clear which twins POV it is? Like it’s more of a fusion of both of them where neither of them have their own individual identity beyond “the twins” yet. I can’t tell if this is my funky POV peak or a clarity nightmare but I like it! I want it to only be ~500 words so we can take the risk.

In this they’re fourteen and they do a “blood pact” as a way to symbolically cut themselves from their family (aka: their father) whilst they’re still tethered to it. I really love it because not only is it exactly what these slightly unhinged-but-havent-tapped-into-it-yet, co-dependent-and-dont-realise-it kids would do but it immediately brings up the question of family and what family actually is. I’ve also realised a huge idea in this story is the idea of the tangible and for them, the concept of family and blood isn’t tangible so they struggle to recognise its significance (not that it. has any for them in the first place.) but their relationship, seeing each other bleed and pressing the cuts together is. The writing itself is kinda wonky because of the whole funky clarity nightmare POV but here’s a little taste of the ending:

cw: blood

You’ll slink back into your family room to clean and plaster each other’s hands and you’ll ask yourselves: which bloodstains came from who? Who bled the most and who stopped first? Who will come up with the story for the cuts on your palms and who will dispose the bloodied towel? Who is Dorothy without Felix and who is Felix without Dorothy?

Shiny new first chapter! Originally this was in Dorothy’s POV but now it’s switched to Felix and instead of just showing their reunion (which turns out is....very anticlimactic and not appropriate for an opening lol??) we actually explore Felix’s thoughts an actions after he decides to escape the cult, which was a very impulsive decision and spans about a day and a half. This one is definitely gonna take a few drafts to get right because it’s such a delicate but intense event to write and I’m content with the fact that it’s not There Yet but the prose is! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and it really helped me get back into the swing of loving this story. There’s something very delicate about it but also very troubling under the surface. The opening gave me a lot of trouble, but the first line hits!

The day Felix decides to leave the sun glows the same, and the pine trees breathe the same, and the chapel cross stabs the sky the same.

Ironically, a good chunk of the chapter happens outside the cult, as Felix decides to spend his final day taking Lola - a woman his age who is literally the only person he likes lmao - to one of the nearby towns. Whilst the main function of the chapter is to introduce the cult itself, it’s also to show how normalised leaving actually is - it’s just every time he’s left has been temporary, and every time he has left, he still feel separated from this “outside world”. They go to a candy store and a thrift store - where Felix lies about his mom (who he hasn’t seen in 20 years) being in hospital so he can use a phone :) Lola is a new character so I don’t have much to say on her, but all I can say is they are wlw and mlm solidarity but also she knows how to read him

“I don’t know why Dotty and I loved this place so much - we always got toothaches.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“These apple ones are nice, but I think the lime is my favourite. Do you think the apple or the lime is nicer?”

“I think you’re leaving, but I also think you’re scared, so you’re pretending that I’m going to leave with you and that’s why you wanted to go to town. You chose the candy shop because this is where you went the first time you left, but this time you’re not coming back. Does that scare you, Fel?”

And here is my favourite paragraph in the whole chapter because <3 what the fuck <3 and if pine trees are a key Felix symbol no they aren’t 👁️ yes they are

cw: falling out a window? pushing yourself out a window? description of bones breaking

The day Felix decides the leave, when the clouds bleed amber, he pushes the scratched mahogany dresser so it lines with the windowsill, lies on top and hangs his head out. It’s never comfortable, but it’s always peaceful: sometimes cars murmur on nearby backroads, sometimes a wind chime flutters, sometimes brush rabbits rustle in shrubbery and they all breathe the same oxygen as him. He closes his eyes, inhales the pine air, and plays God: pushes himself further out, an inch at a time, until his shoulders cross the line and he wonders what bones would break if he fell. Would he break both arms or one, both legs or one? Would he break his spine? Which vertebra would crack, and how many? Would he feel them all in one big strike, or all the individual bones burst like popping candy? Evening breeze whispers against his face and he could do it right now, leap out the window and if he didn’t break his legs or back he could run to the bushes, to the pine trees, to the road, the town over East or West, the county line.

If Felix hit the ground, would it be because of a freak fall, or because he pushed himself out?

We have to laugh because I’m pretty sure I said in my Nano update that this chapter was the strongest so far besides one scene but when I looked back that scene <3 took up 80% of the fucking chapter <3 So I just said fuck it I’ll rewrite the whole thing for fun!!!! And I love it!!! It’s so jarring compared to Chapter One and that’s the point!! Everything is so over saturated and originally that was just to convey the absolute shock Felix gets from the Major Impulsive Life Decision He Just Made, but now I think it’s intentional on his part and it goes back to the idea of the tangible: whilst he didn’t grow up totally isolated this is still a new life for him, and he has nothing to latch onto, so he looks to his surroundings and hyper-focuses and latches onto it because it’s something that’s now tangible and accessible to him so he sees it in this very bright, romanticised way (the romanticisation of San Francisco is very amusing to me but it’s also very relevant). But even with that he still distances himself from this environment still - the same way he did whilst living in the cult. He has no idea how he wants to exist in this world and he doesn’t even know how to exist yet.

And so it became clockwork: eyes burst open at two, three, four in morning, doesn’t bother trying to fall back to sleep. Lurk into the kitchen, make a coffee or water or whiskey. Sit under the fritzing lightbulb with no shade, think about everything and nothing and everything and nothing. Or go for a smoke, inhale the vapours until it hurts his chest, breathe in the cool air until it hurts his teeth, wander around the block until it hurts his feet. Sneak back into a room that doesn’t belong to him in an apartment that doesn’t belong to him in a city that doesn’t belong to him. Count the bumps in the popcorn ceiling until footsteps sneak down the hall – Dorothy leaving a room that doesn’t belong to her. Join his sister back at the kitchen, she complains that they need to replace the lightbulb. Over pulpy orange juice and scrambled eggs on toast, she retells her dream and lists the possible meanings and he lists his plans for that day on how to immerse in the outside world, familiarise himself with the city until it belongs to him. Travel by trolley for the first time, eat seafood at the waterfront for the first time. Bump into a cherry-headed conure parrot by chance. Climb Twin Peaks and gaze at the new view of home. Trace the outline of translucent mountains in the air and pretend you’ll ever hike them; trace the outline of high rises in the air and pretend you know the people in them. He asks Dorothy when he’ll stop feeling like a tourist – she has no answer for him.

(context: Dorothy’s roommate, Jolie, is out of town at this point, so Dorothy tells Felix to take her room whilst she takes Jolie’s and they’ll sort it out later. Dorothy has no problem sleeping in Jolie’s bed because her and Jolie are Very Good Friends)

I also realised that, in the nicest way possible to November me, that this chapter was so damn boring because it’s very dialogue heavy but in every dialogue moment they are literally just 🧍 doing nothing. So I wrote a scene as a half-joke of Just Met Like Three Hours Ago Beau and Felix going to the arcade and it saved this chapter. It is SO fun but it also comes straight after this very emotionally intense moment and it’s really interesting to see that reach its zenith and then just. fizzle out but linger in the background? I love this scene but I also can’t take it too seriously because they play Frogger and @aetherwrites joked that the game’s a metaphor for Felix leaving the cult and I love her and hate her because she is so right I can picture the LIT1000 seminar where that analysis would be made unironically and it’d be ME who makes it and I am so close to just running with that for real. Also these two aren’t love at first sight but the chemistry is so loud like did you two meet today or have you been married for eight years and own five dogs together what’s the truth? Anyway here’s Felix murdering Beau on sight

“You know, you could’ve warned me that you’d be that good,” Beau says.

“It’s not that difficult, you could’ve warned me that you’d be that bad.”

Beau leans across to shuffle through cassette tapes in the glove compartment. “I’m not, you just got lucky. I let you win.”

“But it’s not even competitive. You just died seven times in a row.”

I’m a little unsure of the pacing for this chapter now because its effectiveness lies in the fact it takes place a week after the previous, and my job with this section post-draft is to stretch it out longer since it only spans three weeks. I’m hoping I can make it work where there’s little time between Chapter 1 & 2 but still cover more time in chapters 3-5 because I think that’d be jarring in the best way? Like the absolute intensity of that initial week quickly dissolving and suddenly he’s been living this life for months he didn’t notice go by. Again <3 a problem for post draft me <3

I don’t have much to say about this one because in Nano I didn’t even finish it, and now I have but it’s still <3 giving me trouble <3 - however I’ve realised this is probably the most important chapter at this stage of the novel because it’s the first full chapter with just the twins, trying to have a bonding moment and catch up but only learning that they a) love each other b) can’t stand each other whilst not realising just yet that they are c) extremely co-dependent. I like to call this novel multiple plot threads in a trench coat and that’s definitely it, the twins have their own individual plot threads separate to one another, but if there’s a central plot (and there kinda is?? its a surprise :) ) at its essence is them realising how fucked up their relationship is, but wanting to rectify that and trying to understand the difference between a tangled and toxic relationship.

This chapter introduces that each character has a key symbol that’s attached to the world somehow and Felix has chapters like these in his arc where he tries to navigate the state of their relationship (so there’s one later on titled “Ocean (Beau)”) and his associations with them. We have to laugh here because I was really like “oh Dorothy is sapphic so I’ll make her obsessed with the moon” but then it became a major symbol in the story <3 Dorothy IS obsessed with the moon, and Felix is frustrated because he can’t see it the way she does and he feels like part of him is missing because of that, when it’s just a different perspective but nooo these two need to have unhealthy co-dependency and then get mad when they’re unhealthily co-dependent on each other :/ Anyway I’d just like to talk about how Felix’s need to be like his sister in this chapter is demonstrated through a symbol that’s attached way more to her than it is to him even though in the prose he describes the moon as this fragile, breakable thing which is the complete opposite as how Dorothy would and lets talk about the blade mirroring the prologue!!!!

He closed an eye and pointed the blade at the moon. If he could, it’d be so easy: surgeons precision, swift wrist flick, carved and plucked from the sky. Laid out on his palm like tissue paper, half translucent and as breakable as skin - a birthday present for Dorothy, if he doesn’t tear it. He’ll try not to, but it’d be so easy.

In further development of the Moon Imagery, I’ve started using a lot of Star Imagery with Felix and a lot of general space imagery in both of their POVs and I’m delighted to say I have no idea what the meta means with that but I like it!! It fits the story very well and they’re probably mirroring each other or something!

This little chapter taught me that I need to be flexible with form <3 this was originally meant to be the final scene of the last chapter, and I was so hyped because it was one of the first scenes I conceptualised, but then it ~sucked~. However I didn’t realise until recently that it sucked because I was writing it in a traditional storytelling form - which most of this book benefits from, but this moment certainly does! not! I’m really glad because I think this book is the perfect playground for experimental form - although here it’s relatively simple though, most of the setup for this happens at the end of the previous chapter and then this is just all the information condensed as much as possible. This chapter is focused on memories so it really works for it to be cut off from the previous which is in the fictive present, and Felix’s perception of memories right now are ~a little jarring~

The final scene of Moon (Dotty) depicts Felix and Dorothy breaking into a park at 4am, promptly having an argument that results in Dorothy leaving, and Felix sat next to a fountain picking pennies out of it and trying to associate a memory with the year on the back - this chapter is those memories and this introduces the fluid relationship characters have with their past. For Felix, he’s seeing the last 20+ years from a bird eyes view in a very sporadic way and it’s starting to sink in that those 20+ years actually Happened. Some of the memories are very distanced, others are as intense as flashbacks, and some are a mixture of the two. This one is very interesting to me because he completely separates himself from the memory halfway through Fel do you wanna talk about this (unfortunately I cannot drop the name because of plot <3)

cw: light/implied homophobia

IN GOD WE TRUST / 1978

The first time Felix held a boys hand was in 1978 in the back pew at morning service. It was the first time [redacted]’s father preached and they got stuck in the back because they arrived late, because they laid in the grass together, wearing each other’s identical pecan coloured blazers as sunrise peeled back the night, and they slunk into the back of service like ghosts everyone could see and maybe they knew why they were late. [Redacted]’s father had a razor voice and he made sure every word sliced into his son and his son interlocked fingers with the boy next to him. His son didn’t look at the boy he held hands with the same way he’ll pretend his blazer is his and not the boys and the same way he didn’t look at the boy the first time they kissed behind the chapel building and the same way he didn’t look at the boy during Bible study for the week after.

Whilst I’d say in Chapter 2 the chemistry between Beau and Felix is as clear as day this is the first instance where Felix’s queerness is explicitly introduced and I’m taking this chance to say this book gets more queer every fucking week. Like I think in the last updates I was like ohhh sexuality doesn’t play much into Felix’s arc and know it’s like 99% of his damn arc and we LOVE it. But at this point he doesn’t realise like when I tell you guys this man is so repressed

I am literally only putting this here because I talk about all the other chapters and it’s weird to me to leave one out. Also because the graphic and title is pretty. Not gonna lie I love making these posts and that is 10% to ramble about meta 90% making pretty graphics that is literally just cropping photos on Unsplash and putting Garamond text over them <3

Anyway this was originally Lessons in Holy and when I revisited that chapter I realised it was so fucking messy and I tried to fix it but it didn’t really work and I’ve been scared to touch it since. However the meta is top notch so here we are - it mirrors Chapter One, Everything Holy, which explores Felix’s decision to leave the cult and with that, leave God. Everything Holy / In San Francisco explores his relationship (or lack thereof) with God and how much Felix’s life has changed since he left - and how “holy” it is. It definitely goes back to the idea of the tangible because the holiness preached to him growing up was not something tangible to him, whereas with this he looks at real life experiences, so he tries to find holiness in that. It also ties with Cyan City and the romanticisation of San Francisco as something tangible and something he can find holiness in, which a) he needs to learn that things don’t have to be “holy” to be valuable and b) it would be a shame if :) he centred everything good about his life around SF and then :) something bad were to happen whilst living in SF :) the way he and Dorothy both do this

My plan for this is basically: Condense The Shit Out Of It. The hardest part about this chapter is it is very thematic and you know as a lit major (derogatory) I love that but with more theme centric chapters the line between subtle and Too Much can be verrryyy thin, but I think focusing on character exploration over theme will fix that pretty easily. I’d also like to separate the Isaias introduction into its own chapter because it’s such an important moment and November me just? Latched it on at the end? And that plus Felix’s crisis in the same chapter is just too much. This chapter is gonna get changed A Lot but for now here’s Felix’s very chill and relaxed ending to his POV section :)

cw: drowning, drug mention

Felix didn’t speak to God for three weeks and everything unholy became holy: the coffee scorching his throat, the kaleidoscopic t-shirts and high waisted jeans, the punk rock they play at the record store – loud and electric. It’s unholy, but he sleeps through the night now, he folds coloured card into butterflies at breakfast and scribbles biro eyes over the newspaper's sudoku on his lunch break. He earns money and he spends a pinch of it on himself: on new wave records and playing cards and earrings he can’t wear yet. Sometimes he buys marijuana it’s not a sin because marijuana means he only smokes tobacco twice a day now – one at breakfast, one before bed. He bar hops with Beau on Saturdays and hikes with Dorothy on Sundays and he tells strangers he studies American Literature and he smiles with his eyes more and nobody notices that somebody’s holding his head underwater. And he doesn’t know whose hand it is, but it knows how to grip tight. And he doesn’t know how to swim, but he knows how to swallow water. And he doesn’t know if this is the punishment or the sin because the water stings his eyes but he chooses to keep them open, and the water will tangle in his lungs but he chooses to keep his mouth open. And hellfire can’t touch him under here, so he’ll keep swallowing water and it’ll burn him in a different way, and he’ll like how it scorches his throat.

(Once again context I didn’t share because I don’t like the writing that talks about it: Felix has a deep fear of drowning from past trauma, but he’s also very obsessive about it and often imagines himself drowning.)

(also the way these excerpts are just showing off my love for repetition my Intro to Creative Writing Tutor that called repetition lazy is seething rn!!!!)

Overall though, I’m v happy with how this section came out now that I actually know what the story is! As I’ve finished drafting it, I have noticed where the missing plot beats are and this is what I expected because I Do Not have a lot of experience with novels (I’ve never passed 15k on a novel before so we’re in new territory now) and generally struggle to see beats before I finish a draft. I’m thinking there’s at least one chapter missing and maybe a shorter one, like MSATBOTF, but I won’t be touching this section again until I finish the draft. Most of all I learnt a lot about the story’s form and I’m excited to play with that and be a bit more flexible!

I’m currently drafting Indigo, the first chapter in Dorothy’s POV, and I was going to talk more about it but this post is too long and the next update will be <3 all about her <3. But the chapter introduces her and Jolie’s tumultuous relationship and here’s a lil peak!

Me, a sapphic, capable of writing happy sapphic relationships:

Me instead:

cw: light/implied homophobia

If she didn’t display the ticket on the bedside table - like she had something to prove - she could have easily been in Dallas, in New York, London, Cannes, Moscow, Tokyo, Cairo, Sydney. But wherever she went, Dorothy and Jolie have had four airport reunions before today - four times they’ve had to soften themselves, disguise themselves. Old high school friend flying in to be her maid of honour, college roommates who don’t see each other as a day past eighteen, pen pals reuniting for the first time since the seventies, business trip colleagues in casualwear. The fifth time, there’s nothing to hide, and as they walk to the car, Dorothy has to wonder: if they were seen by nobody, would Jolie have hugged her with both arms? Would she have kissed her? Would Dorothy kiss back?

I’m midway through this chapter, so I’ll keep the rest of it for the next update! That I promise won’t be in three months!

If you read through all of this then I am in love with you <3

#i'd say im sorry this is so long but it was so fun to write so i'm not!#also pls be proud i cut 2k words from this bc i RAMBLED #atlastracking #writeblr #writing update #revelations revelations

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kentonwrites · 3 years

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“Anamnesis” - Project Update

Look, I know I only have 40 followers and like 38 of them are bots, but writing these updates is my only source of joy. If someone happens upon this, please enjoy.

My projects/writing life since 2017 have been utter chaos. I’ve started and abandoned probably over a dozen projects, had nightmarish problems in my personal life, and pretty much put writing as my last priority. For some odd reason though, returning to it now has given me a better perspective on the craft. I feel like taking a couple of years to simply live and observe and consume other media and suffer has actually strengthened my writing.

A summary of my current projects:

1. Mispacha (Untitled): I used the placeholder title Mispacha because it’s the Hebrew term for “family,” which is what this novel revolves around. It’s about a dysfunctional family in the early 2010′s who simply live in constant disorder and end up degrading themselves. I love the characters and the plot points I have planned, but I’m only 16k words in and am not happy with what I’ve written. The dialogue feels awkward, the writing extremely sparse, etc. I want to see it through, but it’s hard to persist at it when 16k words worth of dead weight is just...hovering there on the page.

2. Blight 117 (formerly titled Potent). This was my last start-to-finish project, and the piece that I first introduced to @breefrankelwriting when we were CPs like 4 years ago. I recently reopened that document and read through a few scenes and was absolutely APPALLED at how atrocious it was (Bree I’m so sorry please forgive me), but I also feel like I’m somehow meant to tell this story and I eventually, someday, want to make it work. It was my first ever idea for a “real” novel--I’ve had the idea and characters with me since 7th grade. I feel like it’s supposed to be my magnum opus, but if I ever go back and re-attempt it, it’ll need an overhaul the likes of which have never been seen since the dawn of time.

3. Short Story Collection: Literally last night I was just standing around and then suddenly got the inspiration to start writing short stories. I know, it’s literally so spontaneous and quirky of me. I’d attempted a few during the absolute deadzone of 2018-2020, but none of them truly worked out. Since I evidently suck at writing longer pieces (see Mispacha) I figured, maybe my strengths could be suited to a shorter medium.

So I decided to randomly draft a short story last night that played directly to my weaknesses!!!

This story is what the bulk of this update is about.

It’s called “Anamnesis” and I literally came up with the idea, wrote the first draft, and made revision notes all in a span of 5 hours last night, from 9 PM - 2 AM. It was exhilarating honestly--I hadn’t written like that in years. The first draft ended up being 5200 words (!!!) but I want to eventually buff it to around 6k since I think I majorly underwrote the final scene due to fatigue.

“Anamnesis”

TITLE: The title, “Anamnesis,” literally fits the story in so many ways I could cry. It operates on every level. All I can do is bow down to the person who created this word and thank them for its relevance to my story.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Sexual abuse, violence toward elderly

SYNOPSIS: A home health worker is assigned to an elderly woman whose memory resets each morning. He begins to take advantage of her illness, using her inability to remember the previous day in order to mistreat and abuse her. But when she is prescribed a new, promising treatment, she begins to remember more than just the abuse.

AESTHETIC: This story has the most unpleasant aesthetic known to man. I’m talking old people, pills, mold, dust, stray cats, oatmeal, etc. I’ve been in a few hospice patient homes before and I wanted to capture just how uncomfortable and depressing it can be.

CHARACTERS:

Luna Lemin - the protagonist, an elderly woman with dementia whose memory resets every morning. Always confused. Pitiful. Sad. Dark secrets in her past???

Alex - the patient care technician assigned to look after Luna. An absolute piece of trash. A spectacular liar. Malicious yet curious.

PROCESS: Like I said, this story played directly to my weaknesses. How? Because I simply cannot create compelling characters or pace a story to save my LIFE, and this story DEPENDS on the characters and the pace at which their relationship progresses. Furthermore, the setting in this is somewhat bland (literally just an old woman’s middle/lower-class house) which is a sin in terms of my writing. I thrive off of having a strong sense of setting and being able to describe specific, interesting details of that setting. In this piece I largely deprived myself of that. But it also helped me balance my flowery, poetic, overly-quirky writing style with a cohesive story and effective characters. Lately I had been putting my work on the crutch of having good writing, but it didn’t work because 1) my writing is not at a good enough level for that, and 2) sacrificing effectiveness is never a good idea. Sometimes it’s better to choose the clear, effective verb over the never-before-seen exotic one found in the depths of the Thesaurus under “archaic.”

I’m going to begin editing the story and might soon post excerpts/more updates! Though I literally wrote it in one long sprint and haven’t looked back at it since so I am PRAYING it’s not garbage. Thanks for reading!

#writing #writers on tumblr #writing update #short story #anamnesis

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snowdice · 4 years

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Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 16]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

Alright. Let’s do this for a couple of hours! :) Also... gosh I need to edit this when school calms down. I’m already on chapter 9 and only chapters 1 and 2 have been edited... When I have time to actually edit, AO3 will be like 0_0.

Chapter 3

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover that stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose.

The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I am supposed to call you.”

“My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement.

Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes.”

He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers and thank him happily before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

“You did?”

“Oui, c'était amusant, mais j'ai eu des ennuis”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him.”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

“I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

“I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

He turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

“Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

“Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

“But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

“It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

“My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

“Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

“I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

“I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

“We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

“Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

“Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

“Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

“Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

“Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

“Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

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“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

“He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

“Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

“Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

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Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

“Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

“There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

“Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

“You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

“Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

“You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

“Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

“It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

“He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

“Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

#study break stories #not writing

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jadelotusflower · 3 years

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November Roundup

Some writing success this month - I finished and posted a new chapter for Against the Dying of the Light, and made progress on The Lady of the Lake and Turn Your Face to the Sun. I didn’t work much on my novel, but I did do some editing on the first third so that’s progress.

Words written this month: 6647

Total this year: 67,514

November books

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo - joint winner of the 2019 Booker Prize (with The Testaments by Margaret Atwood) this was an engrossing and interesting read. Stylistically unusual formatting and scant use of punctuation that is a bit jarring at first, but you quickly adapt as you read. There’s no plot as such - instead the story is formed by vignettes of twelve black women and their disparate yet interconnected lives. We have mothers and daughters, close friends, teachers and students, although the connections aren’t always obvious at first - we can be exposed to a character briefly in the story of another with no idea that she will be a focus later on. It’s very skillfully done, to the point whereupon finishing I wanted immediately to re-read (but alas, it was already overdue back to the library). There is so much ground covered that we are really only given a glimpse into the characters lives, but there is a diversity of intergenerational perspectives of the African diaspora in the UK, and I highly recommend.

The Evening and the Morning by Ken Follett - after finishing The Pillars of the Earth I had intended to read the sequel, but this was available on the library shelf and I had to place a hold on World Without End, so the prequel came first. Set sixty years before the Conquest (150 before Pillars) it primarily addresses the growth of the hamlet of Dreng’s Ferry into the town of Kingsbridge, through the lives of a monk with a strong moral code, a clever and beautiful noblewoman, and a skilled builder, working against the machinations of an evil bishop. Sound familiar? This is Follet’s most recent work, and I do wonder if he’s running out of ideas as this covers very similar thematic ground.

Ragna is a compelling female character, but once again the romance-that-cannot-be with Edgar is tepid, Aldred is a very watered down version of Prior Philip, and there’s no grand framing device such as building the cathedral to really tie to all together (although things do Get Built, and it’s interesting but not on the level of Pillars). This is the tail end of the Dark Ages and it shows - Viking raids, slavery, infanticide - and while it seems Follett’s style is to put his characters through much tragedy and tribulation before their happy ending, I wish writers would stop going to the rape well so readily. But at least the sexual violence isn’t as...lasciviously written as in Pillars? Scant praise, I know. But Follett’s strength in drawing the reader into the world and time period is on display, made even more interesting in this era about which we know very little.

Women and Leadership by Julia Gillard and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala - I have a great deal of respect for Julia Gillard, Australia’s first female Prime Minister who was treated utterly shamefully during her tenure and never got the credit she deserved, perhaps excepting the reaction to her iconic “misogny speech” whichyou can enjoy in full here:

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Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala was the first woman to be Minister of Finance and Foreign Affairs in Nigeria, was also the former Managing Director of the World Bank, and currently a candidate for Director-General of the WTO.

This is an interesting examination of women in leadership roles, comparing and contrasting the lives and experiences of a select few including (those I found the most interesting) Ellen Sirleaf, the first female President of Liberia, Joyce Banda, the first female President of Malawi, New Zealand’s current Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, and of course, Gillard and Okonjo-Iweala themselves.

November shows/movies

The Vow and Seduced: Inside the NXIVM Cult - I’ve been following the NXIVM case for a while now, when the news broke in 2017 I was surprised and intrigued that it involved actresses from some of my fandom interests - Alison Mack (Smallville), Grace Park and Nikki Clyne (Battlestar Galactica), and Bonnie Piasse (Star Wars). Uncovered: Escaping NXIVM is an excellent podcast from that point in time that’s well worth a listen. There’s been a lot of discussion comparing these two documentaries and which one is better, but I feel they’re both worthwhile.

The Vow gives a primer of NXIVM as a predatory “self improvement” pyramid scheme/cult run by human garbage Keith Reniere, from the perspective of former members turned whistleblowers Bonnie Piasse, who first suspected things were wrong, her husband Mark Vicente who was high up in the organisation, and Sarah Edmondson who was a member of DOS, the secret group within NXIVM that involved branding and sex trafficking. Seduced gives more insight into the depravity and criminality of DOS from the pov of India Oxenburg, just 19 when she joined the group and who became Alison Mack’s “slave” in DOS - she was required to give monthly “collateral” in the form of explicit photographs or incriminating information about herself or her family, had to ask Mack’s permission before eating anything (only 500 calories allowed per day), was ordered to have sex with Reniere, and other horrific treatment - Mack herself was slave to Reniere (as was Nikki Clyne) and there were even more horrific crimes including rape and imprisonments of underage girls.

Of course each show has an interest in portraying its subjects as less culpable than perhaps they were (there were people above and below them all in the pyramid after all) - Vicente and Edmondson in The Vow and Oxenburg in Seduced, but what I did appreciate about Seduced was the multiple experts to explain how and why people were indoctrinated into this cult, and why it was so difficult to break free from it. This is a story of victims who were also victimisers and all the complications that come along with that, although I’m not sure any of these people are in the place yet to really reckon with what happened and all need a lot of therapy.

Focusing on individual journeys also narrows the scope - there are other NXIVM members interviewed I would have liked to have heard a lot more from. There is also a lot of jumping back and forth in time in both docos so the timeline is never quite clear unless you do further research. I would actually like to see another documentary one day a bit further removed from events dealing with the whole thing from start to finish from a neutral perspective. The good news is that Reniere was recently sentenced to 120 years in prison so he can rot.

I saw value in both, but you’re only going to watch one of these, I would say go for Seduced - if you’re interested in as much information as possible, watch The Vow first to get a primer on all the main players and then Seduced for the full(er) story.

The Crown (season 4) - While I love absolutely everything Olivia Coleman does, I thought it took a while for her to settle in as the Queen last season and it’s almost sad that she really nailed it this season, just in time for the next cast changeover (but I also love everything Imelda Staunton does so...) This may be an unpopular opinion, but I wasn’t completely sold on Gillian Anderson as Thatcher - yes I know she sounded somewhat Like That, but for me the performance was a little too...affected? (and someone get her a cough drop, please!)

It is also an almost sympathetic portrayal of Thatcher - even though it does demonstrate her classism and internalised misogyny, it doesn’t really explore the full impact of Thatcherism, why she was such a polarising figure to the extent that some would react like this to her death:

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But I suppose it’s called The Crown, not The PM.

Emma Corrin is wonderful as Diana, and boy do they take no prisoners with Charles (or the other male spawn). I was actually surprised at how terrible they made Charles seem rather than both sidesing it as I had expected (but perhaps that’s being saved for season 5). It does hammer home just how young Diana was when they were married (19 to Charles’ 32), how incompatible they were and the toxicity of their marriage (standard disclaimer yes it’s all fictionalised blah blah). The performances are exceptional across the board - Tobias Menzies and Josh O’Conner were also standouts and it’s a shame to see them go.

I was however disappointed to see that the episode covering Charles and Di’s tour of Australia was not only called “Terra Nullius” but the term was used as a very tone deaf metephor that modern Australia was no longer “nobody’s land/country”. For those who aren’t aware, terra nullius was the disgraceful legal justification for British invasion/colonisation of Australia despite the fact that the Indigenous people had inhabited the continent for 50,000 years or more. While the tour was pre-Mabo (the decision that overturned the doctrine of terra nullius and acknowledged native title), there was no need to use this to make the point, especially when there was no mention at all of the true meaning/implication of the term.

The Spanish Princess (season 2, episodes 4-8)- Sigh. I guess I’m more annoyed at the squandered potential of this show, since the purpose ostensibly was to focus on the time before The Great Matter and give Katherine “her due” - and instead they went and made her the most unsympathetic, unlikeable character in the whole damn show. (Spoilers) She literally rips Bessie Blount’s baby from her body and, heedless to a mother’s pleas to hold her child, runs off to Henry so she can present him with “a son”. I mean, what the actual fuck?

I’m not a stickler for historical accuracy so long as it’s accurate to the spirit of history (The Tudors had its flaws, but it threaded this needle most of the time), but this Katherine isn’t even a shadow of her historical figure - she’s not a troubled heroine, she’s cruel and vindictive, Margaret Pole is a sanctimonious prig, and Margaret Tudor does little but sneer and shout - the only one who comes out unscathed is Mary Tudor (the elder), and it’s only because she’s barely in it at all. It’s a shame because I like all of these actresses (especially Georgie Henley and Laura Carmichael) but they are just given dreck to work with.

This is not an issue with flawed characters, it’s the bizarre presentation of these characters that seems to want to be girl power rah rah, and yet at the same time feels utterly misogynistic by pitting the women against each other or making them spiteful, stupid, or crazy for The Drama. I realise this is based on Gregory so par for the course, but it feels particularly egregious here. (Spoilers) At one point Margaret Pole is banished from court by Henry, and because Katherine won’t help her (because she cant!) she decides to spill the beans about Katherine’s non-virginity. Yes, her revenge against the hated Tudors is...to give Henry exactly what he wants? Even though it will result in young Mary, who she loves and cares for, being disinherited? Girlboss!

This season also missed the opportunity to build on its predecessors The White Queen/Princess and show why it was so important to Henry to have a male heir - the Tudor reign wasn’t built on the firmest foundations and so needed uncontested transfer of power, at the time there was historic precedent that passing the throne to a daughter led to Anarchy, and wars of succession were very recent in everyone’s memory. At least no one was bleating about The Curse this time, which is actually kind of surprising, because the point of the stupid curse is the Tudor dynasty drama.

But it’s not all terrible. Lina and Oviedo are the best part of the show, and (spoilers) thankfully make it out alive. Both are a delight to watch and I wish the show had been just about them.

Oh well. One day maybe we’ll get the Katherine of Aragon show we deserve - at least I can say that the costumes were pretty, small consolation though it is.

#november roundup #long post

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seldnei · 3 years

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taking stock of 2020

For any new followers: this is my annual post about my writing in the past year. This is purely for my own mental health--the tag says “seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker” for a reason. Please feel free to skip.

Okay, so what did I accomplish in 2020?

Well, first note: I AM ALIVE AND EVERYTHING ELSE IS FUCKING ICING.

In 2019 I was having issues getting my shit together. I had literally just started feeling like I had my feet under me when Covid hit, and … I dunno. Pandemic brain was an issue, but also I re-evaluated what I feel makes me “successful.” In general, writing-career-wise, I feel pretty happy with where I am. Sure, I’d like to publish more, and of course I’d love to be able to afford to write full-time, but if I died (which was a scarily plausible idea this year) I don’t think I’d have very many regrets in that area.

BUT. My idea of “success” does have to do with doing the work. Maybe I won’t become a NYT bestseller, but my self-image as a writer depends on actually writing things and finishing them, and that did not happen as much as I wanted it to this year. There are, absolutely, legitimate reasons for that. I’m trying very hard not to beat myself up over it.

I did do some things. Sometimes it was like pulling teeth, but I did do some things.

The Novel:

Oh, man, this is the thing I did not do. I just … stopped querying agents entirely. And unlike my decision re: short stories (see below), this was not a conscious choice on my part. I just didn’t do it. I think it just became Too Much to be sending queries into the ether when I was also wondering if I was going to catch this virus/trying to pivot my day job to remote work/dealing with Z’s online school.

I did do the query letter class on Reedsy, which was pretty good.

I’m not sure what I want to do with the book. I feel very stuck. One thing I’m considering is scraping some cash together for an editing pass from a freelance editor, just to see if the whole thing really sucks or if it’s just my brain being overwhelmed.

Not sure how my feelings about my career (above) fit into this, either. It is a big tangle in my brain at the moment.

Short Stories

I specifically decided in … February? March? Just before lockdown, anyway … that I would spend 2020 focusing on writing rather than submitting (the exception to this was FUCKIT). So not many submissions went out last year. I also didn’t get as many stories drafted or revised as I’d hoped, but whatever.

I finished a Teachouts story—with camels!—and tried outlining for the first time, which went pretty well. It’s another long one, and needs revising, but I like it a lot. I got to watch a lot of camel videos for it, and research the camel corps (the US military looked into using camels instead of donkeys/mules in the southwest).

I wrote a self-indulgent ghost story and put it on the blog.

I also wrote an Orpheus/Eurydice story for FUCKIT that I think of as “trailer trash Eurydice,” because I imagine her telling him the story in their tiny little trailer that they’ve got illegally parked in the mountains somewhere.

“Primary Manifestations” came out in October in Stories We Tell After Midnight vol 2. Upon reading it in print, I immediately found a giant continuity error that I, two betas, and the editor all missed. Ah, well, such is life.

Miscellany

I wrote 3 poems: “Instructions for Quarantine,” “Christmas 2020,” and “Stopping by Jolene’s on a Snowy Evening,” which is a mashup of exactly what you think it is. I keep debating putting it on Tumblr.

I did a reading on Instagram! And people came! My mother had to hear me say “fuck,” like, a lot!

Wrote 3 pieces for FUCKIT, and finished a draft of the 4th thing (which is currently resting before revisions). FUCKIT, by the way, has been one of my two saving graces this year, keeping me writing even when I was lost in pandemic fog.

Journaled all goddamned year; my other saving grace. I took Fran Wilde’s creative journaling class at the Rambo Academy in January, and started keeping a paper journal again shortly after. AND HOLY CATS DID I NEED IT.

Blogged, as per usual. Actually a bit more than usual, during quarantine.

So. Many. Notes. Indentured servant demons notes. Incremental apocalypse notes. Mad Scientist’s Daughter notes Urban fantasy notes (this one would be a story called “The Curse of the Spider Queen” which is an amazing title, right?).

Finished two Cat Rambo classes! And bought 4 more, god help me.

Goals for 2021

Survival

Like, obviously general survival.

Also surviving this grad program while still writing. I have my writing goals for the first 3-4 months of 2021 mapped out in my planner, and I’m determined. I am really, really sick of feeling like a slacker—which is why I started these annual reflective posts 5 years ago, so maybe it bodes well.

Revisions

FUCKIT thing

Camel story

Train story (I have editorial comments from a reject for that one)

Start submitting again

Write 1 short story (probably the Spider Queen story)

Sort out the novel stuff

Finish 1 Cat Rambo class

More notes on all the stories!

Update the blog because I just went there for links and, wow, I have some housekeeping to do, yikes.

#state of the writing #seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker #seldnei writes things #2020 writing

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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years

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The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 22

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 22 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 22/? SUMMARY: Elise Smith is now a teenaged Timelord. In addition to losing the Ponds, the fields of Trenzalore are calling. But first they have to figure out exactly who Clara Oswald is.

[A/N - This was pretty fun to write. I love how the Second Elise plays off Eleven.]

The TARDIS phone was ringing.

Elise opened the door and looked at it.

In all the years of traveling with the Doctor, the phone attached to the outside of the TARDIS had never rang. So why was it ringing now?

She shrugged and shut the door, going back to her reading.

When the Doctor arrived at the TARDIS, the phone was still ringing. The Doctor opened the door of the TARDIS and yelled, “Why didn’t you answer the phone!”

“Not my problem!” Elise yelled back.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and slammed the door. God, she was moody today.

A few minutes later, the Doctor came running into the TARDIS dressed like a monk. He started throwing levers and pressing buttons.

“What’s going on?” Elise asked as the TARDIS took off.

“Clara!”

“What?” The Doctor laughed.

The TARDIS landed and he ran out, Elise following. They walked up to a door and the Doctor started knocking and ringing the doorbell.

“Clara? What about Clara?” Elise asked him.

The door opened and there stood Clara.

“Hello,” she said.

“Clara,” the Doctor breathed, “Clara Oswald.”

Elise stood there shocked.

“Hello.”

“Clara Oswin Oswald.”

“Just Clara Oswald. What was that middle one?”

“Do you remember me?”

“No. Should I? Who are you?”

“The Doctor. No? The Doctor? What about Elise?” He grabbed Elise and put her in front of her.

“Uh, no. I’m sorry. Doctor who?”

“No, just the Doctor. Actually, sorry, could you just ask me that again?”

“Could I what?”

“Could you just ask me that question again?”

“Doctor who?”

“Okay, just once more.”

“Doctor who?”

“Ooo, yeah. Ooo. Do you know, I never realized how much I enjoy hearing that said out loud. Thank you.”

“Okay.” Clara slammed the door in their faces.

“Hey, no, Clara, please. Clara, I need to talk to you. Listen. Please!”

Elise grabbed his arm. “Stop it. You’re going to scare her off!”

“Do you or do you not want to know why this girl keeps popping up in our life?”

“What if she’s a trap? What if it’s River all over again?”

“Then I guess we’ll find out. Won’t we?”

Clara’s voice came out of a speaker next to the door. “Why are you still here? Why are you here at all?”

“Oi, you phoned me. You were looking for the internet.”

“That was you?”

“Of course it was me.”

“How did you get here so fast?”

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood, on my mobile phone.” The Doctor stepped back and pointed to the TARDIS.

“When you say mobile phone, why do you point at that blue box?”

“Because it's a surprisingly accurate description.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that description,” Elise muttered.

The Doctor shushed her.

“Okay, we're finished now,” Clara said.

“Oi! No, look…” The Doctor sighed.

“Well, done,” Elise said.

“You…”

The Doctor stormed off into the TARDIS.

“So that’s it? We’re leaving?” Elise asked him.

“No.” The Doctor started to pull off his monk robe. “Right. Don't be a monk. Monks are not cool.” He went down to the lower level of the TARDIS and started pulling out clothes. He grabbed a fez and put it on his head before knocking it off. He pulled out two coats. His brown tweed from the Pond era and a purple knee length coat. To finish off the ensemble, he put on his favorite bowtie. He stepped onto the platform and gave Elise a little twirl.

She smiled. “I like it. Much better than that army green coat.”

“Oi. What’s wrong with that coat?”

Elise shrugged. “I just don’t like it.”

The two of them ran back to Clara’s front door.

“Clara! Clara?”

“Hello?”

“Ah, see? Look, it's me. De-monked.” He slapped his cheeks and spun around. “Sensible clothes. Can I come in now?”

“I don't understand.”

“Could you just open the door?”

“I don't know.”

“Of course you can.”

“…where I am. I don't know where I am. Where am I? Please tell me where I am. I don't know where I am.”

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver to open the door, but Elise shoved him aside. Elise, who was wearing heavy combat boots, kicked the door open.

“Elise!” the Doctor scolded.

“What? You wanted the door open, its open.”

The Doctor shook his head and muttered under his breath as they entered the home.

Clara was lying on the floor.

The Doctor soniced her. “Clara? Clara?”

Elise took one of her wrists. “She’s alive, but her pulse is weak.”

“I don't know where I am. I don't know where I am. I don't understand. I don't know where I am! I don't understand. I don't know where I am.”

The Doctor looked up and saw a girl on the staircase with a screen for a head.

“What the hell is that thing?” Elise asked.

“Where am I? I don't know where I am.”

The Doctor started sonicing the robot. “Walking base station. Walking Wi-Fi base station. Hoovering up data. Hoovering up people.” The Doctor ran out of the foyer, leaving Elise with the unconscious Clara. He came back with a laptop and started typing at a fast pace. “Oh no, you don't.”

Elise monitored Clara’s pulse as the Doctor continued to battle with the person on the other side of the laptop. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Not this time, Clara, I promise.”

“Come on. Come on,” Elise urged the Doctor.

Finally, a beam of blue light shot from the robot to Clara.

Clara gasped for breath and Elise helped her to roll to her side.

“Okay. It's okay, it's okay. You're fine. You're back. Yes, you are. Oh yes, you are.” The Doctor cradled Clara’s head and kissed her forehead.

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

The Doctor and Elise sat outside, enjoying the night. The Doctor was trying to figure out the robot, while Elise read a book.

This body did a lot of that. She hardly ever picked up her paint set anymore.

“Hello?”

Elise and the Doctor looked up to see Clara looking out her little window.

The Doctor stood up.

“Hello! Are you all right?”

“I'm in bed.”

“Yes.”

“Don't remember going.”

“No.”

“What did I miss?”

“Oh, quite a lot, actually.” The Doctor pulled out a notepad. “Angie called. She's going to stay over at Nina's. Apparently that's all completely fine and you shouldn't worry like you always do. For god's sake get off her back. Also, your dad phoned, mainly about the government. He seems very cross with them, I've got several pages on that. I said I'd look into it. I fixed that rattling noise in the washing machine, indexed the kitchen cupboards, optimized photosynthesis in the main flower bed and assembled a quadricycle.”

Elise found it quite funny seeing the Doctor be all domestic, especially since he lost his mind after four days on Earth with the Ponds. Pond. Amy and Rory… Elise stopped that train of thought. No use in getting sad over something she couldn’t change.

“Assembled a what?”

“I found a disassembled quadricycle in the garage.”

“I don't think you did.”

“I invented the quadricycle.” The Doctor laughed.

“What happened to me?”

“Don't you remember?”

“I was scared, really scared. Didn't know where I was.”

“Do you know now?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you should go to sleep. Because you're safe now, I promise. Goodnight, Clara.”

Clara shut her window, before opening it again. “Are you guarding me?”

“Well, yes. Yes, I am.”

Clara smiled and the Doctor gave her a small smile back. “Are you seriously going to sit down there all night?”

“I promise I won't budge from this spot.” He flipped his screwdriver, before tucking it back in his jacket and leaning back in his chair.

“Well then, I'll have to come to you.” Clara shut her window as the Doctor stood up.

“Eh?” He straightened his bowtie and smoothed out his coat.

“Are you…preening?” Elise asked him.

“What? No!” The Doctor’s cheeks were turning pink.

“Oh my god! You are! You like her!”

“I do not!”

She raised an eyebrow at him. He remembered her first body doing that. She’d clearly held onto that trait.

“Oh shut up!”

Clara came out the house carrying a chair and balancing three mugs.

Elise rushed to take one from her.

“Thanks,” Clara said.

“I like your house,” the Doctor told her.

“It isn't mine. I'm a friend of the family.”

“But you look after the kids. Oh yes, you're a governess, aren't you, just like...”

“Just like what?”

“Just like…” The Doctor took a sip of tea. “I thought you probably would be.”

“Are you going to explain what happened to me?”

The Doctor picked up her laptop and sat across from her. “There's something in the Wi-Fi.”

“Okay.”

“This whole world is swimming in Wi-Fi. We're living in a Wi-Fi soup. Suppose something got inside it. Suppose there was something living in the Wi-Fi, harvesting human minds. Extracting them. Imagine that. Human souls trapped like flies in the world-wide web. Stuck forever, crying out for help.”

“Isn't that basically Twitter?”

Elise let out a loud laugh. The Doctor smiled hearing her laugh. It was so rare these days.

The Doctor’s brows furrowed and he looked at Clara.

“What's that face for?” she asked.

“A computer can hack another computer. A living, sentient computer, maybe that could hack people. Edit them. Re-write them.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because a few hours ago you knew nothing about the internet, and you just made a joke about Twitter.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh, that's weird. I know all about computers now in my head. Where did all that come from?”

“You were uploaded for a while. Wherever you were, you brought something extra back, which I very much doubt you'll be allowed to keep.” The Doctor stood up and stared at a man standing across the road. “You and me inside that box, now.”

“I'm sorry?”

He urged Clara to stand up. “Look, just get inside.”

“All of us?”

“Oh, trust me. You'll understand once we're in there.”

“I bet I will.”

The Doctor turned around, shocked at what she was implying. “Clara, please!”

“What is that box, anyway? Why have you got a box?”

“Clara.”

“Is it like a snogging booth?”

“A what?”

“Is that what you do, bring a booth? There is such a thing as too keen.” She took a sip of her tea and raised her eyebrows.

Bedroom lights started to turn on around them.

“Clara, look around you,” the Doctor told her.

“What's going on? What's happening? Is the Wi-Fi switching on the lights?”

“No, people are switching on the lights. The Wi-Fi is switching on the people.”

The man across the street head started to turn and reveal a screen.

“What is that thing?”

“A walking base station. You saw one earlier.”

“I saw a little girl.”

“It must have taken an image from your subconscious, thrown it back at you. Ah!” The Doctor smacked himself in the head. “Active camouflage. They could be everywhere.”

“Doctor? Doctor.”

The lights of the city behind them started to turn off.

“What's going on? Our lights are on and everyone else's off. Why?”

A plane could be heard in the distance.

“Some planes have Wi-Fi.”

“I'm sorry?”

“We must be one hell of a target right now. You, me, box, right now.” He grabbed Clara’s hand and they ran into the TARDIS.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagines #doctor who #doctor who imagine #Doctor Who fanfiction #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the fall of the eleventh #the bells of saint john

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nightowlfandom · 5 years

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Park Jimin- Treat You Right.

REQUEST FROM PROMPT LIST- RIGHT HERE (Pssstt, I also do some anime stuff too wink wink)

EDIT-Thank you to @asanjms for the awesome title suggestion!!!

Also I'm looking for ideas for a AU series, any suggestions would help out a lot.

Also feel free to drop me a chat thingy if you wanna talk! I’m always looking for new friends. Also if you’re on Duolingo, make sure you do your lessons today!

...

"Are you sure I'm not intruding?" You asked shyly. A bad breakup had left you too distracted to realize that the repairmen were going to be working on your apartment all week. Sleeping in a half fixed house didn't seem so practical.

Yes, a bad breakup, which was two weeks ago. It ended that badly.

"Of course Y/N!" Hoseok pat your shoulders. "You should have asked us sooner."

You looked down, guilt streaming through your face. You hated making people worry, especially your friends. It was a habit you tried to break. Well, they were all almost your friends. In all honesty you were sure Jimin didn't care where you ended up or how you got there. He had been glaring at you all evening. His sharp eyes pierced the side of your head. Well, you didn't 100 percent ask him if he hated you, but you were sure he did!.

"I promise the minute my apartment is all fixed you won't see me for the rest of the month." you mumbled, 'guilt' slapped across your forehead...or at least it should have been.

"Y/N stop. It really is okay." Jin sat by you. "We love you, of course we aren't gonna leave you in the dust!." he scoffed. "Just hope you don't mind messes." he chuckled.

"Ummm I guess not." you shrugged, smiling shyly. You stared down at your nails, feeling a bit at ease. "Um...where exactly can I sleep?"

"We'll figure that out, but for now you make yourself at home!" Namjoon instructed. "If anything you'll take one of ours and we'll sleep in another room. Unless you're okay with sharing a room with one of us." You noticed Jimin stalking away. He probably had an annoyed look on his face. You'd probably be too. You relaxed, allowing yourself to breathe. It was times like this you were thankful for your friends.

"That's perfectly fine." you said quietly, not wanting anyone to change their comfort in short supply of you.

...

"What are you doing up?" an annoyed looking Jimin found you leaning against the counter in the kitchen. You looked up, a string of instant noodles hung from your lip, making him raise his brow. You nervously stared back down, embarrassment tracing your every move.

"I'm hungry." you focused back down on your food. Didn't know eating was a problem with him now. "Is that okay with you?" you mumbled under your breath.

Either he did hear you and didn't care to ask you to repeat yourself or maybe he did hear and chose to ignore you. "So, heard it didn't end well with your boyfriend...what gives?"

You shut your eyes. Don't you DARE start crying. Not in front of Jimin, anyone but him. Well the other boys were all out doing who knows what... so you couldn't cry period. If your now ex-boyfriend didn't see you cry at that moment then re-imagining it shouldn't do shit.

"Hey...are you crying?" he walked closer. You turned away from him, furiously wiping your eyes. Your sleeve was wet...DAMNIT, DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY NOT TO CRY?!

"No, not at all!" you kept your voice surprisingly even. "You must be seeing things."

"Hey." you felt a pat on your shoulder which made a tingle shoot up your spine. "You are crying...Y/N...what happened." he said in a warning tone.

"I said it's fine Jimin." you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"And I say bullshit." he huffed. "Something's obviously eating at you." he made you face him.

"I caught him cheating okay?! The girl he was with dumped coffee on me...and dumped her plate of who knows what on me too" you snapped. "...then she took a picture of me, claiming she was gonna post it. Is that what you wanted to hear?" you clenched your teeth to keep from wavering too much. "Then he said I was a fool and that I was a pity-test."

Everyone in that place legit stared at you as the two walked out. The manager of the restaurant had taken you to the employee bathrooms to help you. Thank good that coffee wasn't hot. They even let you use the employee back door to leave so you wouldn't have to face the crowd again. Since that day everything's just been....shit

"Y/N." Jimin's voice softened.

"Forget it." you put your eating utensil down. "It's done and over with." You suddenly felt your hand being grabbed. You stared down at Jimin's hand, which covered yours gingerly.

"It most certainly isn't done and over with." he sighed. "Why didn't you tell any of us sooner?!"

You glared at him, hearing his words.

"Don't say 'us' like you would have cared to help console me!" you huffed. "Don't use 'us' as if you would have had any part in helping me either." you glared at Jimin, secretly wishing you had the Medusa stare.

"Y/N you're being ridiculous." he sighed, his cold stare from earlier returning.

"Am I?! I seem to remember being the target for your hateful stares and snide comments towards me. Ever since I became friends with Namjoon, you've been staring at me like I don't belong anywhere near you." you ranted. "I'm not being ridiculous...I'm being honest."

"How would you know I'm glaring at you? Unless you've been paying really close attention to me." he raised a brow. "Unless you've found a way to stare at my face without me knowing. You don't know about my emotions either, Y/N."

Oh no...you were caught!

"Uh...well it's not hard to notice." you stammered. "Y-you're not hard to miss."

"Oh really?" a cocky grin made it's way to your face. "Am I making you nervous Y/N? Do you like me or something?"

"Me?!? No!" you lied. "Shut up! D-dummy." you stared down at your feet. Pfft not like you liked him or anything and convinced yourself to hate him! “Just leave me alone, please.”

"Y/N...why did you start dating that guy." he asked. "Be honest.."

"A little thing called Parents Who Want to Control Every Aspect of My Life "you replied. "They made me get with him." you shook your head. "If I tell my parents...they'll say it was my fault he cheated- Why am I telling you any of this?! Not like you care." you rolled your eyes, about to walk past him.

You heard the front door slam and loud laughter follow.

"Hey Y/N, hey Jimin!" Jin met you two in the kitchen. "Hey Y/N. I wanted to talk to you about where you're gonna sleep. Jungkook's room is a mess, Taehyung snores-"

"She can share with me." you heard Jimin interrupt before walking out the kitchen. Wait, what?! No! Hold on! What type of-

...

"We're only sharing a bed. It isn't the end of the world." Jimin sat shirtless on his bed, tapping away at his phone screen. He looked up at you standing by the bathroom door. You were scared for dear life. Sharing a bed...with Jimin no less! Wtf?!

"Well I've never shared a bed with anyone other than my parents and that was when I was nine years old and scared to sleep alone." you rebutted. "Give me a minute okay?"

"Sure."

You stared at the empty spot next to him. Okay, this was it. Awkwardly, you walked over, sitting at the edge of the bed. You stared down at your feet, taking deep and seemingly troubled breaths. Was your love life really meant for this? Nothing more than...how could you even say it.

"You plan on going to sleep any time soon?" you heard a voice mumble. It was only then you really had the urge to have a snack.

You remembered Jungkook had found your favorite dessert and bought it for you. You wanted it...now.

"Nope!" you got up, trotting out of the room. "I want something sweet!" you skipped off. Dessert here you come!

Okay now you were super sleepy. You had just finished your food and were struggling to keep your eyes open as you got to Jimin's room. Sleep, sleepy, sleepy.

You groaned as you landed on the bed. It was a lot harder if a surface than you thought. Not mention there was a certain rise and then dip where your head was.

"Jimin, has anyone told you that you have a very uncomfortable bed?" you yawned, trying your best to get comfortable. "How do you sleep like this?"

"Well, I usually start by actually being on the bed." you heard from right below you. That comment caused you to look up, seeing Jimin's face right in front of you and you looked down to find yourself laid against his torso.

"Oh shit." you suddenly said. "I am so sorry!" you got off of him. "I was sleepy and your shirt blended in with the sheets!"

"Oh really?" he smirked, leaning up on his elbow. "You don't have to be scared of me baby."

"Me? Scared?! I'M NOT SC-" you were cut off by his chuckling. "Not like I have a thing for you or anything pfftt."

"Don't lie to me Y/N, and don't pretend that wasn't on purpose." he whispered. "Come here."

You were suddenly pinned onto your back to your surprise and partial delight.

"That was an accident." you said, feeling your head spin.

"Sure it was." he chuckled. "Maybe if that asshole couldn't treat you right, maybe I can."

Before you could reply, Jimin hovered his mouth over yours. His hand moved up under your shirt. “Do you want me to treat you real nice, Y/N.”

‘J-Jimin.” You said lowly, wanting to be quiet. As if taken by something, a completely different Jimin brushed stray hairs from your face.

“You’re beautiful you know that?”

“Huh?” you were taken by surprise at his words. Jimin’s head dipped into the divet of your collarbone. His lips traced a line alone your chest, leaving what felt like a burning trail along your skin.

“We can’t be too loud, we might wake the boys.” he said urgently. “B-but I-...” he pecked your lips multiple times, each little kiss getting longer and longer. “I want to-” he cut himself off with another peck to your lips. “I want to make you forget about him.”

Wordlessly, you tugged at the hem of Jimin’s shirt. There was no use in trying to act like you hated him anymore. Deciding you were impatient, you straddled Jimin’s body, looking down at him. His warm hands trailed up and down your waist.

“I knew you liked me” he winked.

“Oh shush.” you pouted, leaning down to kiss him again.

(cock block bitches ha!)

...

You sat at the restaurant table, tapping your fingers against your drinking glass. Your mind was quite literally wandering about, thinking about absolutely nothing important.

"Y/N" you you perked your head up to find your ex-boyfriend staring down at you. "Is that you?"

"Hm, Hey." you crossed your arms, raising to your feet. "Fancy seeing you here." you perked up a brow. His eyes trailed down your body, he'd never seen you dressed like this before. The way you wanted to dress when you were with him but never got to.

That girl...the one who humiliated you was behind him, clinging onto his arm seemingly for dear life.

"Yeah. You look...amazing." he bit his lip. "Really."

"I'm aware." you raised an eyebrow, causing a few passing waitresses to erupt in a giggling fit. He looked real dumb. "Wish I could say the same." you raised an eyebrow, making him laugh.

"C-could I buy you a drink?" he asked, prompting that girl to slap his arm and glare at you even harder.

"Sorry, she's with someone." a voice spoke from behind you. You turned to find Jimin walking up, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Hey beautiful."

You noticed both of them looked like they've been hit with a truck. Shocked as hell.

"You got over me that quick?" he looked slightly mad.

"You're not that hard to forget about." Jimin laughed. "Come on, Y/N. It smells like trash in here." he grabbed your hand.

"Later." you waved to the girl who looked even more upset. "Really? 'Trash' " you giggled once you two got outside.

"I could have said something else." he shrugged. “Now...you’re place or mine” he winked.

“You’re a mess” you rolled your eyes, chuckling.

“You love it.” he winked.

247 notes · View notes

sunlightdances · 5 years

Text

Focal Point

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Prompt: “What’s with this…sassy lost child?” Rating/warnings: PG. Warnings for Bucky being a cocky idiot. Summary: You take PR photos for Pepper Potts and are semi-successfully navigating your giant, unavoidable crush on one James Buchanan Barnes. Author’s Note: This is for @kentuckybarnes’ 3k writing challenge! Congrats, Hannah, and thanks for hosting! As always, please don’t repost my work on any other sites (wattpad, ao3, etc.) without my permission. Reblogs are gold!

Links are broken - you can find my full Bucky master list on my blog! May not work for some mobile users. Sorry!

You’re standing off to one side as Bucky and Sam answer a few questions from the small crowd gathered, mostly kids and their parents. Sam, as always, is re-telling the PG events from their last mission with blistering enthusiasm, leaving Bucky shaking his head.

It doesn’t matter - the kids are eating it up. It’s times like this you really love your job. You’re… you don’t know what your official job title is, actually. There are days when you’re not even sure if you’re technically employed by Stark Industries, or The Avengers, or some other secret organization. All you know is that one day you showed up to volunteer at an event for Pepper Potts, and the next thing you know, you’re at all the events. You take photos, you help make sure they stick to schedule, and essentially make sure they’re in the right place at the right time. It’s public relations, but it doesn’t feel like that a lot of the time. They make you feel like you fit in, like you’re a friend.

This event in particular is your favorite - at a local children’s hospital, shaking hands and spending time with the kids. Pepper arranges it so the team can do it a few times a year if they can, and their visit is always anticipated by kids and their parents.

It’s anticipated by you, too, because-- you’re not dumb, these superheroes are somehow more attractive when they’re accompanied by small children.

Now, Bucky is crouched down next to a little girl, his eyes lighting up as she tells him a story, her arms flailing as she goes, and he nods and oohs and ahhs at all the appropriate points. It’s adorable, and you feel yourself blushing when he glances over and catches you staring. But really-- how else are you supposed to react? He winks, like he’s conspiring with you somehow, and it makes you feel… things. You turn away quickly before you look like an even bigger idiot.

You snap a few photos for parents and a few shots to send to Pepper, and then you’re all piling in the van to go back home, and you back to work. You have an office in the Avengers compound, which doubles as Stark Industries these days.

“Make sure you send me those photos of my good side,” Sam says from the backseat, and you smirk.

“Which side is that?” You ask, laughing when you hear Bucky and Steve’s reaction - a loud laugh from Steve and a surprised noise from Bucky.

“That was harsh. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“Lucky for you, you don’t have a bad side, Sam.” The three of you are stupidly handsome, you think.

The rest of the ride back upstate is quiet. Bucky’s reading, Steve is scribbling in a well-worn journal, and Sam’s asleep. You flick through your camera, making mental notes about which photos to delete and which ones to edit and get back to Pepper.

Your thumb hovers over the delete button on a photo of Bucky and Sam, the two of them laughing about something. Bucky’s looking straight into the lens. It’s not something you’d use, normally, but you find yourself hesitating. It’s like he’s looking right at you.

Bucky clears his throat in the backseat, and when you look in the rearview mirror, he’s already looking at you. Shit. You fumble with your camera. Did he just see you staring at his photo like some lovesick teenager? You feel your face flushing with embarrassment.

Luckily, you’re saved by the arrival at the compound, and you practically leap out of the van and high tail it to your office.

“No goodbyes? Cold!” Sam calls, but you ignore him.

Safely inside, you shut the door behind you and sit back in your chair, eyes closing. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter to yourself, trying to regain your composure.

“Is everything alright? Your pulse is elevated.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rings out. Called out by the AI? Great. Not to mention if she realizes your pulse is elevated, there’s no way Bucky and Steve didn’t notice too.

“I’m fine, F.R.I.D.A.Y., thank you.”

Trying to relax, you log on to your computer and scroll through a few emails that came in while you were out, responding to a few, but deciding ultimately to start editing those photos.

When you get to the one of Bucky and Sam, you upload it, but delete it off the camera. Fidgeting, you open a new email.

Subject: Photos from Hospital Trip - attached Sergeant Barnes, Thought you might want this photo from the trip today. Won’t be using it for PR, so I attached a copy. I’ll send one to Sam, as well.

You hit ‘send’ before you can talk yourself out of it, and get busy editing so you’re not tempted to stare at your inbox all day.

The next day, a knock at your office door breaks your concentration, and you peer at the door overtop your reading glasses.

“Is this a bad time?”

Bucky.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, come in.” You stand and start to clear some paperwork from your desk, shoving everything in a drawer in an attempt to look like you’ve got it together. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see the other pictures from the hospital trip, if that’s okay.” He scratches the back of his neck, smiling. “The one you sent was… good. You mentioned if I wanted copies…”

“Sure, yeah. I can pull them up…” you slide back into your desk chair, fingers flying over your keyboard. “I just finished editing them this morning. Any in particular?”

“Just want to see whatever you’ve got, if that’s okay.”

You realize what a predicament you’re in when he comes around your desk to peer at the screen, his large frame taking up more space than you’re prepared for. He’s close. He also smells really good, like clean laundry, and something woodsy… you clear your throat, pulling up the photos he wants to see.

“These are really good,” he murmurs, and you can just tell that he’s smiling.

You open your mouth to say something flirty, you hope, but you’re interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Sergeant Barnes? There’s a visitor waiting for you in the lobby.”

You can practically feel him tense up. Everyone he knows lives here.

“Who is it?”

“She says you met at the hospital, sir. Allison Smith?”

Bucky’s face screws up in confusion. He looks down at you. “I better go see what this is about.” He pauses, halfway to the door. “Thanks again,” he says, a slow, devastating smile stretching across his face. You feel your heart rate speed up again, and curse him under your breath when he leaves.

He’s definitely under your skin, and you just wish he wasn’t so… stupidly handsome. Maybe then you’d be able to just treat him like another coworker.

A few hours later, you’re in the common area looking for Pepper. You need her to sign off on a few marketing proposals, and want to ask her about the photos from the hospital trip. When you get to the sitting area, you’re struck by the sight of a small girl sitting there, a stuffed animal in her lap.

“Um.” You say out loud, not really expecting an answer.

“Who are you?” She asks loudly.

“Who am I?” You sputter, “I should be asking you that.”

“Do you have super powers?”

You blink. “What? No. I’m--”

“You’re just normal, then?” She asks, deadpan.

You open your mouth to reply but then Bucky and Steve come into the room, both with furrowed brows and slightly wide eyes. They look a little shell shocked. You’d laugh if you weren’t so confused.

“What’s with this…sassy lost child?”

“She ran away from home. I guess she hit it off with Bucky yesterday while we visited with her sister at the hospital, and wanted to come see him.” Steve says, and you watch as Bucky goes to sit next to the small girl, asking her something in a low, gentle voice.

“How did she get here?”

“Stole some money from her Mom’s purse and took a cab,” Steve scowls, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Gotta give it to her, she’s got guts.”

Bucky, meanwhile, is showing the girl something on his tablet, the sound turned down but whatever it is makes her laugh. You can’t help but smile. Honestly… it’s like the universe is engineering these moments to force you to realize how attractive you find him.

“Her name is Allison.” Steve smiles, despite himself. “Her parents are on their way, but they live in the city. It’s going to be a little while. Any chance you can help keep her occupied?”

You snort. “I don’t know, she wasn’t very impressed with me.

Almost as if on cue, you feel someone tugging on your pant leg. “Excuse me? Mr. Bucky says you have a camera. A big one. Can I see it?”

You look over at Bucky, who shrugs.

“Sure thing,” You crouch down, “I might even know where we can get some candy, too.”

Allison’s eyes light up, her small hand gripping yours. You straighten up, deciding to throw caution to the wind. “Coming, Sergeant?” You ask, and Bucky’s eyes flash with… something, before he nods.

“Sure. Can’t leave my best girl alone, can I?” He asks, coming over to take Allison’s other hand.

You swallow hard, and the three of you start walking towards the elevators.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. will let you know when her parents are here,” Steve calls, and Bucky waves his free hand over his head in acknowledgement.

The three of you make quite the sight walking through the halls of the compound, both holding hands with the small girl, who keeps chattering away, telling you both about her class at school.

You meet Bucky’s eyes over top of Allison’s head, and he raises his eyebrows as he smiles. You smile and duck your head, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to get through this day without turning into a literal puddle on the floor at Bucky’s feet.

In your office, Bucky takes up his spot by the door, sitting on the arm of a chair, arms crossed over his chest. Allison practically drags you to your desk, where your camera is sitting out.

You stand behind her to help her put the strap around her neck and show her how to look through the viewfinder. She giggles when Bucky makes a face at her when she aims the camera in his direction before snapping a photo. The sound is apparently satisfying, because she takes five more, and you step back, letting her do it on her own.

After an hour or so, she gets bored, and starts asking Bucky about his arm. At first you’re worried he might shut down, but he does the opposite. He gets down to her level and starts making up some grand story about how he got it, winking at you when he conveniently glosses over a lot of the details you know to be true.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts after a bit, letting you know that Allison’s parents are downstairs. The girl looks distraught.

“I’m gonna be in trouble!” She says, eyes welling up.

“I think we can work something out,” Bucky assures her, sweeping her up in his arms and tickling her sides as he pulls her over his shoulder. Her laugh is loud and bright, and you grin as you follow them out of the room and down to the elevator.

Steve is already there talking to Allison’s parents when you get to the lobby, Bucky holding Allison’s hand as you follow behind.

“I don’t want to go home,” She says sadly.

Bucky kneels down in front of her. “You can come visit whenever you want, okay? Just make sure your parents come with you next time.”

She nods. “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Bucky.” She looks up at you. “Will you be here next time I come, too?”

You’re a little surprised she even cares, considering what a big crush on Bucky she has. “If you want me to be, sure. I’ll let you help me take more pictures.”

She grins, giving Bucky one last hug before scampering over to her parents, who look equal parts upset and relieved to see her. After they leave, Steve heads off to who knows where, and you find yourself back in the elevator with Bucky.

You feel fidgety, like you don’t know what to say. You also feel like the air between you is charged, and it’s making you nervous.

“You were good with her,” you say finally, not able to stand the silence anymore.

He smiles softly. “I like her. She reminds me…” he trails off, shaking his head. “She reminds me of my kid sister.”

The smile on your face fades. He notices, and reassures you. “It’s okay.” He swallows, looks away for a moment. “You were good with her too. She liked you.”

You blush, “It helps when you have a camera.”

He scratches his beard. “She’s not the only one who likes you, you know?”

Before you can even formulate a response other than what is happening right now, the doors open, signalling your floor. He gestures for you to walk out ahead of him, and the rest of the walk to your office is silent. You think he can’t possibly have meant what you want him to mean. What reason would he have for liking you?

You’re moving around your desk trying desperately to put space between the two of you before he can say anything. “So, I’ll send you copies of those photos, and some of the ones Allison took today, if you want. If not, I’ll just--”

“Hey,” he says gently, coming up closer to you. “Hang on. If I was out of line back there, I’m sorry.”

Your brain is short circuiting. “No! No, you werent, I--” You’re flustered, unable to get your words out. All you know is you can’t let him leave. You stop yourself, briefly closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “I like you. I do, but you make me so nervous.”

Bucky has the most smug smile on his face when you open your eyes. “Yeah?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, god. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll try not to,” he says, smiling, his eyes intense on yours. “Any chance you’re free for dinner tonight?”

“I could probably pencil you in somewhere.”

A surprised laugh escapes him as he takes a few steps backwards out of your office, pointing at you. “Oh, you’re good. Yeah, see if you can make room for a recovering amnesiac to go out to dinner with a pretty girl, will you?”

Your mouth falls open. “Bucky! That’s not funny!”

He’s still grinning. “It was a little funny.”

“You’re… you’re so…”

He changes course, coming a few steps closer to you. “Go on…” His eyes are practically smoldering.

You blush furiously, trying not to keep smiling like a total idiot. This man just… god, he has a way of making you feel like a teenager again.

“I don’t have plans tonight.” You tell him.

Triumphantly, he claps his hands together. “Perfect how that worked out.”

“Uh huh.”

One more step closer.

“For the record, I’ve been trying to ask you out for weeks. You make me a little nervous, too.”

His voice is like honey poured over gravel. Smooth but rough at the same time. You think you’d listen to him read the phone book.

“Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

He hums in agreement, but whatever he was about to say next is interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y. saying he’s late for training with Natasha.

“Does seven work for you?” He asks.

“I suppose it does.”

He laughs again, the sound music to your ears. “Trouble. I should have known you’d be trouble.” He backs out of the room again. “I’ll see you at seven.”

You almost collapse into your desk chair when he leaves, struggling to keep your heart from beating its way right out of your chest. God. You have a date tonight. A date with Bucky Barnes.

Your computer still has that shot of Bucky and Sam pulled up, the one where he’s looking straight into the lens, and you can’t help the butterflies that start up in your stomach. You glance at your watch and suddenly can’t wait for seven o’clock to arrive.

#hannahs3kwritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine

720 notes · View notes

vertanimeni · 4 years

Text

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (4/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy/Grounder OC

Word Count: 3,543

TW: None~

A/N: Hi hi! After some convincing from my friends, I decided to post this series here :D I’ve already finished with season 1 and half of season 2, I’m just in the middle of re-writing and editing. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. I’ll be updating every other day at 12pm EST. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

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iv. intrusion.

“You did it.”

“What are you talking about?”

The palms of the General’s hands slammed against the top of the table. If Kova hadn’t been expecting it, they would have flinched. Instead, a smug smirk curled at the corner of their lips. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could please them as much as seeing Tristan’s face turn into shades they didn’t know was possible.

He leaned over, barely leaving an inch between their faces. “Kova, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You rescued Lincoln.”

It wasn’t a question.

If this had been a few years ago, Kova would have simply lied and said no. They would never throw snark at the higher ups (not to their face, at least). But this was not a few years ago, and Kova knew their tracks were covered, their alibi sound, and the General wouldn’t be able to punish them. They couldn’t help it — especially since they were being held in an old, dusty interrogation tent when they could have been rejoicing over Lincoln’s return and help take care of his wounds. Or, at least that’s what they complained to the General about when he dragged them into the tent. They had to keep a front up, after all.

“No,” The lie easily slipped off Kova’s tongue. They leaned back against their chair. “I wasn’t even aware Lincoln had been rescued until this morning. I had nothing to do with it.”

The General sneered and opened his mouth (probably to yell at them), only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. ‘And thank the Gods for that.’ Kova thought. One of Tristan’s underlings came into the room, wringing their hands nervously before bringing one up to whisper behind into Tristan’s ear. They both sent furious glances towards Kova, who was suddenly very interested in their fingernails, and once the underling finished, they respectfully took their leave with a thump to their chest and a deep bow.

Pinching the space between his eyes, General Tristan looked as if he would rather drop dead than deal with this matter. Kova felt their smirk grow, but quickly wiped it off when the General opened his eyes. “Your alibi has been confirmed, and there is no evidence that it was you.” He said, gritting his teeth with every word.

“Perfect! Then I’ll be heading out. I’m expecting compensation for this—” Just as Kova began to stand, he pushed their shoulder, forcing them back down.

“Just know that the investigation is still ongoing, with your face as a prime suspect. Don’t think you’re fucking safe.”

Now that couldn’t stop the shit eating smirk on their face, and they couldn’t help their amused chuckle at his veins popping against the skin of his temple. “Whatever you say, General.”

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“You haven’t been visiting the camp lately.”

The sound of tea pouring into a cup stopped. The kettle top wobbled and nearly slipped off if it weren’t for Kova’s reflexes. They calmly placed the kettle on the bedside table, as silent as their answer, and passed Lincoln his cup. “Drink. It’ll help fight off infections.”

Three days passed since Lincoln’s sudden rescue. Both Kova and Lincoln knew he was at a lower risk for infections on the wounds he sustained from the invaders. That didn’t stop him from taking the cup, but instead of drinking he placed it next to the kettle. “A-Ko.” He held their gaze, unwavering. He didn't grow up by their side to not know when something happened.

Under his too watchful eyes, Kova gave in with a heavy sigh.

///

“So it’s true, isn’t it? They did it?”

“They haven’t admitted anything yet, but it’s obvious even without evidence, no?”

“Who would have thought the Elephant of Caocin would put emotions before duty?”

Kova could admit any day that the gossip of the public was more dangerous, more terrifying, more fatal than any battle, any war, or any General. They had known this first hand after the battle at Mount Caocin, when the entire clan both praised and demonized them, when they were sent both gifts and death threats.

And now, they would know it first hand once more, seeing as the gossip didn’t die down, even when they walked past.

Everyone and their mother not only heard about Lincoln’s kidnapping, but also the fact that someone had gone against orders directly from the Commander to bring him back safely to Trikru. The scouts had seen the person run and hide throughout camp, had seen the affects of the well planned distribution of the Jobi nuts against the invaders, and had seen someone with a mask and strange clothing carry Lincoln out of the death trap.

One did not need to be a scout to know who the masked person was.

But without evidence, the not-so-discreet pointing and even less discreet whispering surrounded their senses as they made their way down to the training session. Truthfully they would rather skip, but that would only make matters worse, and despite how much Kova wanted to crawl under their covers and curl into a ball, despite how much they would rather become a ghost, non-existent to the camp, to the Chief, to Trikru, they would rather avoid the full blast of the gossip if they didn’t show up.

Each whisper felt like a strike with the discipline whip, but instead of forcing them on their knees, Kova kept their chin high, posture straight, with one hand neatly folded behind their back and the other on the hilt of their sword swinging at their hip. They wouldn’t kneel, not like last time.

Whether it was in spite or in appearance did not matter.

Once they made it to the training grounds, where everyone was lounging about, waiting for the Chief to show up, they beelined towards their usual group of friends. But as soon as Kova showed their face, bearing the weight of the Mountain and their reputation, one person got up and moved to the other side of the grounds. Then another person. Then another one. And another one. Until it was only them, Zoya, and Zandara.

Kova sent the sisters a questioning look. Zoya, her eyes for some reason filled with guilt, looked away, while Zandara faced them head on. But to their surprise, Zoya was the one to speak. “Kova, we heard about what happened.”

“I wasn’t aware you liked to listen to gossip.”

Zoya flinched at that.

Before Kova could say anything that might soften their tone, Zandara snapped, “Did you go actually go against orders?”

Their jaw tensed, and it was the only answer she needed. She stood, her scowl deepening as she grabbed her sister, pulling her up by the wrist. Zoya protested for a second, but quieted at Zandara’s severe look. “Then it would be best for you to solely focus on the investigation.”

It was the first time Zandara’s famed icy tone was used upon them, and Kova couldn’t help but look away. Before Zandara walked away to join the rest of her group, Zoya spoke softly, “Once you’re declared innocent, we can put all of this behind us. I promise!”

“Zoya!”

“Coming!”

///

Kova and Lincoln were well known in Trikru for their neutral faces of stone, hard to crack unless they were with friends or by themselves, but by the time Kova finished, Lincoln had a prominent sneer, a look of disgust.

“Yeah, I know.” They muttered, nursing their warm cup between cold hands, hoping to warm up.

To their surprise, he said, “What else happened?”

They sighed once more, hunching over, elbows against their knees. “How do you manage to do that?”

He didn’t have to ask what they meant — there was no mistaking their words. His smile was gentle, encouraging. “Tell me?”

///

Nobody would train with them. This wasn’t the first time Kova had been stuck alone during a training session — after all, no one would even think about looking at them for the first few months after they returned from Mount Caocin. Those months would have been more lonely if they didn’t have Lincoln and their other friends by their side.

But now they had no one.

In the end, the Chief had noticed and forced a begrudging partner, which was even worse than training alone, truthfully.

(Kova didn’t gloss over the fact that even the Chief wouldn’t look at them.)

By the time training ended, Kova was restless, full of energy, and ready to go visit Lincoln. That was, until, one of the Chief’s servants announced that the Chief would like to have a word. To their own surprise, they hadn’t felt a pit of dread land in their stomach, almost as if they had been expecting this.

With a brave, thick face, they entered the tent quietly. The chief sat with a map in front of her, invested in its contents. Kova had to clear their throat to get her attention. They gently tapped one fist against their chest and the other on their lower back and bowed. "I was called?"

“Yes.” The Chief’s steady voice withheld information from them, and her eyes returned to the map. “Due to the situation with Lincoln’s capture and your… potential involvement,” She heavily emphasized potential, “you are now a distraction to my warriors, and I cannot have that.”

Ah. There it was. The pit of dread.

“Unfortunately, Kova, since this was a capital crime against the Commander, I must suspend you from training until the investigation is closed and you are found completely innocent. Your duty at Fort Nauk will be transferred over to…”

The rest of the Chief’s words buzzed out. Their hands balled into fists and trembled under the pressure, too short nails digging into skin. They were supposed to finish their last two years of training quietly, under the radar, and now—

“Will it count?”

The Chief, who had been talking, and had only just begun to notice their impending breakdown, sputtered out a, “What?”

“However long this investigation takes. Say it takes two or three months. Will it still count towards the remaining two years I have left?”

Silence. Kova raised their head, even though they knew they weren’t allowed to, only to find the Chief gripping the papers of Kova’s files tight enough to dig holes in them. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Her voice was a barely contained whisper, one full of anger, confusion, and most of all, betrayal. “This whole time, have you been counting down to your last day as a warrior?”

Shit.

“Chief—”

“You’ll have to take it up with General Tristan, I’m afraid.” The Chief’s words were cold, sharp, stiff. She turned the papers to face Kova, and slid it across the table. “He is taking on your case.”

Kova took the papers with a trembling hand. The Chief gave them a brief look, one that Kova could easily decipher, and their heart dropped to their stomach. If the General was in charge, then…

“He was also the one to request you take an official leave of absence.” Her next words were biting. “Or, I should say, another leave of absence. So no, I do not think this time off will count towards your remaining two years.” The Chief stood, turning her back against them, facing the window. “Unless you have further questions, leave the camp at once. Take your belongings with you.”

///

Hands trembling, Kova brought their tea up to their lips, taking a long sip.

While it was true that Lincoln often didn’t speak without prompt, he had no hesitations in showing his… stronger emotions through actions. To anyone else, the way he placed his cup on the bedside table would have been seen as normal. Kova knew better. The clink of the cup was quiet, but its intentions were loud and clear.

He was absolutely furious. After a brief moment of quietness, of stewing in anger, he managed to say through gritted teeth, “They’re cornering you.”

“Mn.” They nodded and poured out more tea for the both of them. “The only reason why they haven’t imprisoned me yet is because of the mask, but…”

Both of them turned towards the locked chest at the foot of his bed.

(Just before Kova had snuck into the invaders’ camp, they went back to Lincoln’s to change their clothings and maybe grab a mask, since they knew Lincoln had a few from his travels around Trikru a few years back. They just hadn’t expected to find this one in particular.

Full faced, greenish-brown in color, the mask seemed old and well used, with two curved horns sprouting from the forehead, and the face was designed in the form of a snake.

As long as it did its job, and didn’t slide off their face for the scouts above them to see, then it was fine.)

“…but eventually, they’ll find a loose thread.” He completed the sentence for them. “Leaving me behind was the Commander’s orders.” He murmured, resting his forehead against the palm of his hand. If this had been a few years ago, he would have been more stressed about how little his life meant to the Commander and to Trikru. “A-Ko, this is a capital punishment. If they find you guilty—”

“Disobeying the Commander’s orders will be punished with Death by a Thousand Lashes. I am aware.”

Breath knocked out of his lungs, Lincoln fell back against the bed frame. He kept his wide, horrified eyes on Kova, as if they were already a dead person walking. “A-Ko—”

“I don’t regret it.” They cut him off with certainty, eyes strong, resolved. “I could never regret it.”

(Suddenly, Lincoln was 8 years old again, hanging off the hand of Kova, who had just barely passed 10. He had known better than to climb such a high tree but he wanted to train alongside his sibling, and what better way than to prepare for scouting missions?

But then his shoe slipped off the side, his heart stopped and dropped along with him until his arm was almost pulled out of its socket. With all the strength they could muster (and secretly thanking the Chief for the extra training), Kova managed to lift Lincoln back onto the branch, but not without falling off themselves.

They broke their arm and bruised their ribs. But after they were carried off to the village doctor, unconscious in their father’s arms, after Lincoln sobbed by their bedside day and night until they woke up, they still wiped away his tears with their good hand and said, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t regret it — I could never regret it.”

Some winters, Kova’s arm still ached.

Suddenly, Lincoln was 8 years old again. But this time, Kova was the one hanging off his hand.)

He straightened and slowly, carefully, held Kova’s hands. “I’ll send word to Clan Leader Luna — she still owes me a favor, maybe she can bring you into Floukru—”

“No.”

“…no?”

“If this were anything but capital punishment, I’m sure Clan Leader Luna would take me in. But what happens if the Commander issues a Kill Order?”

Ah. Lincoln hadn’t thought about that. Or rather, he didn’t want to think about that.

“The relationship between Trikru and Floukru is strained — for obvious reasons — but their relationship only just got better. Despite what her clan stands for, I wouldn’t be surprised if handed me over the instant the Commander asked.”

He fell silent, and his eyebrows furrowed while he tried to make a new plan.

“I still have time before I’m found out. Last I heard, Lieutenant Anya wanted to declare war against the invaders.” Kova broke the silence. “She has the support of all lieutenants and generals, most chiefs, and a few of the clan delegates. If I’m lucky, the investigation will be delayed long enough for me to develop a plan.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is she declaring war so soon?”

They took in a deep breath and scratched their head. “Well, one reason is your capture and torture. The other reason is because Srathme Springs.” Knowing Lincoln didn’t have access to what was happening outside, they explained without prompt. “A few days ago, the invaders set off fireworks and burned the village to the ground. There were a few survivors, mostly children, and the library was almost completely destroyed.”

Lincoln sucked in a quick breath. Now that, he wasn’t expecting. “A sign of war.”

“Mn.” They agreed. “As much as I don’t like the invaders, I don’t think they intentionally planned to burn down the Springs. Hell, I don’t even think they know what it means to attack a library down here.”

The two fell into silence. Lincoln rubbed his hand across his chin, obviously deep in thought. Kova knew him long enough to know they should wait until he organized his thoughts before asking, so they poured out more tea.

“The girl who saved me—”

“Octavia, yes?”

He looked at them in surprise.

“Of course I would remember the name of the girl who saved my brother. Now tell me, what about her?”

“She asked if I could talk to ‘Trikru’s leader’ and set up a peace meeting.”

Kova barked out a laugh into their cup, thankfully not spilling anything over the rim. “A-Lin. You may be one of the best strategists of this century, but I’m not the only one being investigated. You need to keep your head down and worry about yourself first.”

He avoided their eyes and suddenly found the palms of his hands very interesting. He kept his head down, trying to hide the hurt and disheartened look on his face.

“Ah. I’m sorry. I know you are tired of the fighting as well.” Kova murmured, placing a hand on his shin. “But all this love in your heart, all these peace talks… It will get you killed one day, little brother. This time, I’m not sure if I can protect you.”

And I’m terrified, went unsaid, but Lincoln knew all the same, even if Kova didn’t speak it.

“Do you actually want to help them? Or is this just for Octavia’s sake?”

There was a pause, a small hitch in his breathing, but eventually he shook his head. “Not just her. I want everyone to be safe. Even before they came down, even before you saved me, our lives were in danger.”

“Are we not in a kill or be killed world?”

“Says who? Shouldn’t we change that?”

“The world was like this even before the Foresakening. If it hadn’t been, our ancestors wouldn’t have been left behind, and the invaders wouldn’t be considered invaders. I’m not sure if it is even possible to change, I can not say it is not inherently human at this point.” Their words, however blunt and harsh they may be, no longer carried the anger they once felt heat up their chest. Instead, it carried the tiredness of warrior training, the exhaustion they felt in their bones after a battle, the horror of the events at the Mountain.

Lincoln could easily see it in their face. Eyes that no longer shine with the excitement or will of being alive. Eye bags too prominent, eyelids too puffy, revealing sleepless nights that ended with tears more often than not. Shoulders slouched with the heavy weight of pessimism and death.

For a passing moment, he wondered when was the last time he had seen Kova’s full smile. Or his own, for that matter.

“I have a plan.”

Kova, who had been stuck in their own thoughts, startled slightly and faced at him. “What?”

“I have a plan. Clarke is the invaders’ leader. If I can get her and Lieutenant Anya to meet somewhere in between territories, hopefully without weapons, they could talk and maybe form a compromise.”

“I highly doubt either side won’t bring weapons.” Kova scoffed, but Lincoln could practically hear the cogs in their brain working at full speed. They didn’t say anything about the rest of his words. He could only take that as a good sign. Before he could say anything, Kova said, “If you want a middle ground, the Ankwon Bridge is as neutral as you can get. In between territories, lots of space, good hide out points.” With each positive trait, they counted off a finger.

“Ankwon Bridge…” He murmured softly, the back of his fingers pressed against his mouth. “If we can get them to form some kind of truce, then we can avoid a war.”

“And your girlfriend will be safe.” Kova couldn’t help but tease. But suddenly, as if their brain cells connected for a moment, both Kova and Lincoln’s heads shot up. They looked at each other with wide eyes. “If we can prevent the war—”

“We can hide you with the invaders.” Lincoln finished for them, his stunned look turning into a small hopeful, albeit wary, smile. “I know Octavia can help—”

“Lincoln.” Kova cut him off. “This will be risky.”

“It’s worth it.” He held their hands tightly in his, as if they might disappear at any moment.

They hesitated, just for a brief moment, but Lincoln squeezed their hands ever so slightly, and Kova knew it was a lost cause. “Mn. I’ll help.”

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#bellamy blake x oc #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake imagines #bellamy blake #the 100 #the 100 imagines #the night our stars aligned (and our breaths touched)#my writing #writeblr #wip fanfic

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charnamefic · 5 years

Photo

There was some interest in the introduction to the William the Antichrist book that came with the Ineffable Edition of the Definitive Good Omens, so here are the pictures of that. As with the rest of my posts on the book’s contents, I’ve provided a transcript below the cut.

I was twenty-six. I had just finished writing Don’t Panic!

The Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy Companion. There was something comfortable about the style I was writing it in: I wasn’t trying to pastiche Douglas Adams, but I was trying to write in a style I thought of as ‘classic English humour’ – P. G. Wodehouse was in there, and so were Alan Coren, Richmal Crompton and Stella Gibbons, Caryl Brahms and S.J. Simon, and many others. And by the end of the book, in the spring of 1987, I felt comfortable writing in that style.

In the summer of 1987, several odd ideas came together: the film The Omen; a scene in Christopher Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta; Richmal Crompton’s Just William books. I found myself imagining a book called William the Antichrist, in which a hapless demon was going to be responsible for swapping the wrong baby over, and the son of the US Ambassador would be completely undemonic, while William Brown would grow up to be the Antichrist, and the demon would need to stop him ending the world. The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

It felt like a story with legs.

I wrote an opening. It was 5,000 words long, and I sent it to several friends to take a look at, and one of those friends was Terry Pratchett.

And then, in October 1987, a hurricane hit England, and in its aftermath I plotted the first eight issues of a monthly comic called Sandman, and pitched it to DC Comics as soon as the power went back on. They said yes.

My life was swept up by a whirlwind of work: I was writing Sandman, and pretty soon afterwards I was also writing The Books of Magic. William the Antichrist was going to have to wait until The Books of Magic was done, before I could get back to it.

In the middle of 1988, Terry Pratchett called. ‘Are you doing anything with that thing you sent me?’ he asked. l told him that, no, I wasn’t. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Sell me the idea, or let’s write it together. I know what happens next.’

‘Let’s write it together,’ I said.

So we did. Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters – a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually- cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either

of us could conceive.

Once he‘d done that (bringing us the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl on the way, to replace the nurses that I’d invented) he sent his new version to me to read, and then we began to plot. There was a lot of plotting. And there was a lot of writing and rewriting and re-rewriting. Neither of us was precious about our words, so we cheerfully footnoted each other, adding in jokes or lines if we thought the work would be better for them.

There were very long daily phone calls. There were floppy disks that were posted back and forth weekly.

Terry had written a dozen novels by that point, but this was my first. My books to this point had been non-fiction. I learned so much from him. I felt like an apprentice to a medieval guild master, enjoying Terry’s confidence that, even if we didn’t know how the plot would sort out, we were certain that it would sort out. And it did.

We enjoyed the writing-together process, enough that when it was done we plotted a sequel to the book we had written, and a book about a serial killer who killed serial killers (we didn’t write it, and I was pleased, some years on, to see the Dexter books, as it meant that the Universe hadn’t wasted the idea on us).

William the Antichrist XXX being finished, we reached out to the Richmal Crompton estate to see if they’d countenance the book being published with their characters. They didn’t reply, and we were already talking about some of the fun

things we could do to the characters if we weren’t stuck with William Brown’s world – Adam’s second in command could be female, for a start – so our second draft of the book formerly known as William the Antichrist, which was mostly an attempt to make it look like we knew what we were doing all along, and not just filing off the serial numbers and doing a Find and Replace to change William to Adam (although we did that, too, resulting in Gollancz’s copy editor asking who composer Vaughan Adams was). Then we just had to title it – I suggested Good Omens, and Terry suggested The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, so we compromised, as we usually did, and used both of them.

Rereading my Very First Draft here, I’m struck by a number of things. The first is how much of an early pencil sketch it was by a young man who had sold at most half a dozen short stories. And the second is how much Terry, wisely, changed about it, and how much he left the same. Once he had changed my first 5,000 words into our first 10,000 words, the book had a voice, and it kept that voice until the end.

When we finished the book we estimated that the words were 60% Terry’s and 40% mine, and the plot, such as it was, was entirely ours.

Nobody has seen this original opening before. Not since I sent it to half a dozen friends in 1987, anyway.

I’m so glad one of them was Terry.

He told people in interviews that he didn’t collaborate well, but I look back on the writing of Good Omens with nothing but joy. It was an education.

Neil Gaiman

#good omens #Definitive Good Omens #ineffable edition #william the antichrist #williamtheantichrist #transcript #sIp

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

Text

I've been peeking in on twitter more often than usual over the last few days, partly because I spent the weekend working a con with Zerbe and didn't have time to spend scrolling tumblr, and partly in looking at the numerous Hot Bad Takes about Steve Yockey getting what appears to be a once in a lifetime sort of opportunity for a writer and leaving Supernatural before the series is finished, and partly because since the show is ending this year and there's so many campaigns to show our love to the cast and crew... but I haven't seen anyone start a campaign to show our love to the one group of people who've already been laboring away on s15 for more than a month already: THE BELOVED WRITERS WHO ARE CRAFTING OUR RUN TO THE FINISH LINE!

(presented with a focus on the writers who have a social media presence on twitter, who will actually see this...)

They've been hard at work since May preparing to bring us one final season of Team Free Will in their last stand against the Cosmic Drama that has been building up to this for the last 14 years. I'd really love to begin a concerted campaign to share our love for what they do, and not just in a generalized squee sort of way, but in the same way we offer thoughtful comments on fic. I feel bad because I spend all my time writing about the glory of the narrative structure of this show, the brilliance of Dabb's showrunning direction, the depth of Meredith Glynn's character study (especially of Dean, but honestly of all the characters, including Cas... remember 14.17? Cas has amply demonstrated just how much he understands the value of his human family, and is on the road to understanding what he might also mean to them).

The care with wich Bobo has crafted some of the most painful leaps in emotional growth for the characters (hello, 14.18... you can watch a a microcosm of Dean's entire emotional journey over the course of the show encapsulated in that single episode). Master of the Fanfiction Gap-- and in partnership with Meredith-- the providers of possibly the most efficient and broad emotional layering through glimpses of the past in the current narrative... I know I'm not explaining this well, but, I SEE WHAT THEY DID THERE, with everything from the mixtape-- and not even the shippy implications of it, but using that singular moment to show us the breadth and depth of all the characters' relationships by reminding us of all the things we never actually see on screen, yet which still happen in the characters' "real lives." And holy HECK 14.18 was a master class in that, with the layered flashbacks to explore each character’s relationship with Mary.

One of my most-referred back to episodes of s14 has been 14.08, Byzantium, which honestly the meta implications of the title alone spurred some of the most interesting discussions I've had on the cosmology of the show's universe, and laid some solid groundwork for what I presume will be the direction the show takes in s15. SOULS DETERMINE THEIR OWN FATE! Our choices DO matter! And we have Meredith Glynn to thank for that.

This is the sort of excellent writing that makes these characters so real to us, that keeps us invested in the characters and the show. They DO feel like real people, with full lives in three dimensions, and our televisions are the portal to their universe that we're only gifted a tiny portion of in 42 minute chunks. And yet... we do feel like we understand so much of their lives that we DON'T see on screen, precisely because of this incredibly layered and subtle character study.

Which brings me to the newest writer on staff, Jeremy Adams. He gave us the glory that is Scoobynatural, under some incredibly tight constraints (given the limitations of how they were allowed to present the Scoobyverse within the Supernatural universe's rules), and I'm incredibly excited to see his more standard take on Sam, Dean, and Cas in a full-on episode of Supernatural. And honestly, we need more along the lines of The Killer Stuffed Dinosaur In Love. I think, if anything, Jeremy has a solid hold on who these characters are-- both the surface layer and the far deeper emotional layers-- as well as a fresh take on the show’s inherent sense of humor.

(and I mean COME ON in Dabb era, the era of the author of 8.08, we know there’s an element of brilliant Cartoon Logic to the narrative)

And we can't forget Davy Perez, who effectively provided us a guidebook on How To Watch This Show: Meta Edition with 14.04 Mint Condition, and then used this guide to break us all completely with 14.11 Damaged Goods. But also setting up a mirror confrontation for how Mary parents her boys in how she deals with Dean here, which will become painfully, horrifically twisted around in how she presents the exact same choice to Jack in 14.17/14.18. I'm wibbling just thinking about it, and honestly that's what good writing DOES. It grabs you by the feelers and does not let go.

And ALL of this has happened under Dabb's orchestration. All these other writers are effectively telling us HIS story. I don't think they're all getting the credit they deserve. Yes, I write rhapsodic about their episodes on tumblr, but they never see it. I think, heading into this final season, we all owe these people the praise and thanks they deserve to hear, and not just the usual Twitter Terrible Hot Take machine they're typically exposed to.

To that end, I've done a bit of research and made a contact who has promised to hand deliver our gratitude directly to these writers who need to hear it most. The cast is steeped in our gratitude at every con, and there's been multiple campaigns in fandom to thank the tireless crew who works on set every day to bring this show to us. But as a writer, I understand how thankless their job can feel. And I have an idea of what would absolutely mean the most to them: Direct messages of "I see what you did there."

I got a message to that effect on my fic Cakepocalypse! a few weeks ago, and I'm gonna share it here (without attribution, since I haven't asked the commenter for permission to share it), but it is the PERFECT example of the sort of thing I want to give the SPN writers:

[transcript of the image: comment: Ok, I'm re-reading this and I'm amazed to see that there are more hints as to what's really going on much sooner than I realized! You must have worked really hard structuring all this! Wow, the mind boggles.

my response: HEEE! OMG THANK YOU THIS IS THE BEST. I, being a Nervous Author Type, was worried I would give it all away too soon, or that nobody would notice what I was doing and feel like the surprise comes out of nowhere, so this is literally the most satisfying possible comment you could've given and I appreciate you so much rn. Thank you :'D]

I can't even BEGIN to express how much this simple comment meant to me. I felt PERFECTLY SEEN. And I want to share that feeling with the writers who craft this show for us to enjoy, because all of them deserve to know that we care about the characters and their story and their eventual fate as much as they do.

So here's my proposal:

It doesn't have to be complex. You don't need to write them novels, but I think sharing the sort of specific love and appreciation for them that I've attempted to express above will go MILES toward energizing the writers as they move into the final season. Let's share with them how much this entire journey has meant to us. Let's let them know that WE SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING THERE!

If you're comfortable going on twitter, by all means take your appreciation directly to the source. Here's a link to the thread I tweeted out to this effect for a reference if you'd like one:

https://twitter.com/MittensMorgul/status/1146137421345636352

(and because I think twitter cut my thread in half, here’s the rest: https://twitter.com/MittensMorgul/status/1146137437170626560)

If you're not on twitter (or are D: over sharing your love so openly for whatever reason), I will open my submissions here on tumblr. You can write a letter of appreciation which I will ensure (anonymously if you prefer) will reach the writers directly. I'll also be compiling a list of links to meta or other tumblr posts you feel the writers will appreciate reading, but I will only share them with explicit permission from the authors of said posts. So if you want to share your love that way, please submit links to the specific posts you'd like me to share with them and I’ll make sure they get them.

My tumblr experience has been a gleeful love letter to this show, but I know the writers aren't seeing any of it. If anyone deserves to feel our love (especially as writers ourselves-- meta, fic, etc.-- or even as appreciators of excellent writing), it's the people who have poured themselves into creating this show for us. Regardless of what we ship, or what our expectations might be going into s15, I think it's important for us to acknowledge them now, and let them know how important Supernatural has been to all of us.

#supernatural #spn s15 #dabb vs cars #meredith glynn #this is a bobo berens appreciation blog #davy perez appreciation tag #jeremy adams

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musiclovingbitch · 4 years

Note

Oh I want all of them 1-50!

Fuck. I brought this onto myself. Putting this under a read-more so that people don’t kill me.

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

I don’t think any of you know this but the first fic I ever wrote was a Shameless one-shot that was titled ‘Mine’ and it was just semi-good, semi-bad smut. The first and last fic I ever posted on fanfic.net, actually. I deleted it years ago and didn’t save a copy, so it’s gone forever now…

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

My most recent fic is Part, written for the 2019 Klaine Advent Challenge, and also the gleepotluckbigbang. I’m fallen majorly behind cause I have some studying to do, so I may take a long while to finish the rest of the klaine advent.

It’s much, much better than Mine was, lol.

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

Oh, that’s so difficult. While I’m not happy with everything I’ve posted, there’s a bunch that have a special place in my heart. Escape came to mind first, partly because I love older!Blaine fics, which is kind of shocking to me cause it’s one of the very first fics I ever wrote, and statistically I tend to like my older fics less.

4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?

I have looked at the numbers before, though not recently, so I have an idea.

I think Escape is the reigning queen right now, actually, but Incapacitated by Love and The Effects of Cookies on Shy Teenagers are gunning for her crown, lol.

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

I don’t tend to reread any of my fics, but like I said, there are a few that I love. Escaped and Incapacitated by Love are two of them, along with Together, I Need A Gangsta, and Question.

6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?

Uh, one of the reasons I don’t reread my fics is the cringe factor, so, no. I reread Mine a couple of years after I posted it and it made me delete it, so. I think it’s in everyone’s interest that I don’t.

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

I don’t write multi-chaptered fics, so, not in that regard, but.

When I first posted I Need A Gangsta, I had a surprisingly large amount of people asking for a sequel. It’s been years since I posted it, but last week I started thinking about it and I have a little bit of inspiration, so. You may wanna look for that in the upcoming months. (I have exams coming up, be patient.)

8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

Again, I don’t write multi-chaptered fics, but.

I got asked for a sequel to one of the fics I wrote for the 2015 Klaine Advent, Wish, which is inspired by Aladdin. I haven’t gotten around to it yet… *hides in shame*

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

Nah. I’m not sure if I could. Although, I do usually write AUs, so. I think some of them could fit pretty much any pairing.

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

I hadn’t read any Shameless fanfic before writing and posting my own. But I read klaine fanfic for years before I attempted writing it.

11. Have you ever written a fic for a concept you know someone else has done before? How did it impact your writing process or feelings after posting?

Nothing specific comes to mind right now? I do occasionally get inspired by prompts, (and you can all blame @slayediest for reblogging them onto my dash) and they obviously get used by a whole bunch of people, but usually inspiration for different fics comes a little more naturally, like I’ll hear a song or whatever.

I did write a fake dating au and I was nervous about writing it, I took more care than usual if that makes sense, and that was both because it’s such an iconic trope, but also because it was a gift to the delightful @lilyvandersteen, so I was even more anxious than usual after posting it cause I was waiting to see if she liked it or not.

12. Have you ever written a fic and decided never to publish it? Why?

There are so. many. fics. in my drafts folder, but all but two are unfinished. Those two that are finished but not published I just don’t like very much. I keep them with the intent of re-writing the parts I don’t like and posting them. Eventually, hopefully, I’ll get around to that.

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

I’m more comfortable writing now than back when I first started, I guess? I was way more hesitant then.

I do write better smut now.

14. What’s the biggest change in your taste between when you started in fandom and today?

Let’s just say I’m into some kinky shit now and it’s definitely because of late nights spent on AO3.

Trope-wise, not much has changed about my preferences.

15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it’d be more popular?

Nah. I don’t vibe like that. The words don’t come out of me.

16. Have you ever stopped writing a fic/for a fandom because it wasn’t receiving enough attention?

Nope.

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

It’s definitely Closer. I was debating not posting it and it has more hits than it has words, I really don’t get it.

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

I’m not sure. I feel like I’d be nagging if I said, oh hey not enough of you guys read/liked/reblogged this fic of mine.

People have their preferences. I’m okay with that.

19. If you had to pick one fic/scene/chapter of your work to describe your entire portfolio to a stranger, which would you pick?

Fuck. Maybe Together? It has the mix of intense angst/sappy romance that you’ll find in my fics 100% of the time.

20. Have/Would you ever rewrite a fic? If yes, would you take the original down?

I haven’t, and I don’t think I will. I don’t tend to linger over fics once I’ve posted them.

21. If someone starts kudosing and commenting your fics in a spree and has a few works of their own, would you go look through theirs?

This has happened three times and I loved it every single time. I would definitely check out their profile, yes.

22. Has there ever been anyone who’s made you freak out because they read your work and followed/favorited/reviewed?

Are you kidding me? Literally all of you, yes. Fandom royalty has read my work, bitches.

23. What’s the nicest review you’ve ever gotten?

Oh, god. Someone commented that I made them cry, it was the best, it made my entire week.

24. What’s the meanest review you’ve ever gotten? Do you think the reviewer intended it?

I’m very lucky in that aspect, I’ve never gotten hate in regards to my fic.

I did write a fic where Blaine and Sam were teaching a CPR class that Kurt was in, and at the end, I had Sam interrupt them while they were speaking, and someone left a mean comment about Sam? I smelled fandom wank and did not engage.

25. What constructive criticism, however well-meaning, always makes you feel bad when you see it in a review?

Haven’t gotten any of that.

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

I like making people feel things. If you tell me I made you feel good or bad with my fic, I’m going to be delighted.

27. If you could only ever write crossovers or single-fandom fics ever again, which would you pick?

Single-fandom fics.

28. if you could only ever write for a single crossover or a single fandom again, which would you pick?

Glee, obvi. I’d never give you cuties up.

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

Well, although I have considered writing for some of my other fandoms, it just hasn’t felt right. That may change in the future, and that’ll be an interesting day.

30. Do you continue to write for a fandom after you’ve moved on or do you focus solely on the new one?

I think klaine has become such an important part of my life that I don’t see myself giving it up entirely.

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

I don’t think I have ever gotten any character perfectly right, but that’s okay. It helps that the majority of my fics are AUs, so I don’t feel a lot of hesitation having them do or say some OOC things.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

I think I’ve nailed Kurt and Blaine at different scenes in different fics, but no particular character comes easy to me.

33. Is there any particular character whose scenes always wind up being longer/more frequent than you expected? Does the quality hold up?

Rachel kind of takes over sometimes and I have to go back and edit things out, lol. That’s just her diva way.

34. Was there any fic that you wrote that really surprised you in the fandom reaction? Was it just by the numbers or did they take it an entirely different way?

I think the one that surprised me with just how much response it received (I know that phrasing is wrong but I can’t be bothered right now) is Incapacitated by Love. Who knew people in the glee fandom had a thing about police officer!Blaine.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

I keep klaine as the main focus, so the backround couples switch up ocassionally and I don’t particularly care.

36. Have you ever sincerely written a ship you do not support into a fic?

Nope.

37. Have you ever purposefully bashed a character/ship in a fic?

Not that I can remember.

38. Have you ever purposefully written something you know your readers would find uncomfortable/would not enjoy? If yes, why?

I don’t think so?

39. Do you consider yourself to have a readership?

Not really. Although if any of you consider yourself to be a loyal reader of mine, please let me know.

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

No, that’s kind of the worst part about my muse, she’s a flighty bitch.

41. If you cross-post your fics on multiple sites, do you have a favorite? Are there certain fics you would only post on certain site?

AO3 is the best. Tumblr can suck my dick.

42. How many views has your most popular fic gotten?

Incapacitated by Love has 1554 hits! Wow.

43. Your least popular?

Ground has only 95 hits, but I posted it a few days ago.

44. Do you follow/favorite/kudos/comment/review more stories than you have received?

I have no idea what this question is asking.

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

AU all the way, baby, although that’s apparent.

46. Do you consider yourself a diverse author?

No, I think I have a very specific style. I dither in between gut-wrenching angst and tooth-aching fluff. That’s it, that’s my fics.

47. If someone you know in real life who isn’t involved in fandoms asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. There’s too much gay porn and I’m too closeted for this shit.

48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?

Yes, one friend of mine knows, although she doesn’t know what I write, or for which fandom(s).

49. Has anyone in your life ever read your fanfic just because you wrote it?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

Of course it’s had a massive impact in my life. It’s a huge creative outlet and I’ve ‘met’ so many people because of it! I think it’s like 85% positive.

#spaceorphan18 #meme #fanfic meme

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fleetofshippyships-archive · 5 years

Text

Fanfic Author Meme

Tagged by @diligent-thunder and @rockmarina =)

Okay, so I’m me, and I talked way too much, so I’m putting this under a cut to save your dashes. You’re welcome 😘

Please do not reblog this post.

Author Name:

Fleetofshippyships + Knowyourincantations + Legendaryroar

Fandoms You Write For:

(in order of decreasing # of fics) Harry Potter, Voltron, Merlin, Yuri on Ice, Star Trek, Star Wars and then a few one-offs that aren’t really worth mentioning.

Where You Post:

AO3 primarily, Tumblr, trying to post more on Pillowfort, I also post on a couple of sites for knowyourincantations