#this is still a wip. ive managed to get this far in just work breaks over 2 days. & the like. 45 min in the mornings too ig | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sigcy · 3 years

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We dabble in writing fics, as well! Here’s a slowburn sigcy fic (it’s still a WIP, first posted on AO3) that Mod Cricket and I worked on together. (CW for violence.) Part Four.

[ Part One ] | [ Next Part (coming soon!)]

Overwatch’s Recall had been in operation for nearly a year. Supported by the League of Nations-- the community of city states that had united post-crisis-- Gibraltar, Hong Kong, The Vatican, Singapore, and others, Overwatch managed to squeak by. They had supplies needed, personnel in roles filled, and the Watchpoints around the world began to fill with agents and recruits alike. Their numbers weren’t like they were in their golden days, but they got things done. They were striking blows against Talon everywhere they went-- Teams taking out supplies, intel runners doing their best keeping tabs on the organization. Talon was seeking to start another Crisis-- potentially ending the human race as they knew it.

And so they had to be stopped before they reached their goal.

But it was difficult--easier said than done-- Whatever they did, it seemed that Talon always seemed to be one step ahead of them. Where Overwatch stopped an incident in one location, Talon would succeed in another. Civilian casualties-- Human and Omnic alike. With each passing day, they teetered further and further toward the cliffs of war.

Angela Ziegler was one of them-- having joined back up as soon as she could. She immediately took her place as head of medical sciences-- spearheading the organization and along with Winston, and the newly rescued Mei-Ling Zhou, hoped to point this new Overwatch down a better path. They adamantly insisted they were not a Mercenary group, nor did they have any semblance of a Blackwatch organization in their ranks. Jesse McCree and Genji Shimada served just as much as the rest of them. Reinhardt, Brigitte and Torbjorn all returned of their own volition. Miss Fareeha volunteered her time, as well. With a daring rescue to Rio, they even had Lucio Correia dos Santos and Satya Vaswani-- a Vishkar defector. Even Hanzo-- Genji’s older brother-- had joined their ranks. Lena was present, her girlfriend in toe. The little family they had all been once before seemed to come together once again. More had joined them, over time.

Thursday, November 18th, 2077.

0319.

Angela didn’t know the specifics on how the mission went down. Nor, did she entirely care at the moment. She’d been bogged down with work at base-- requisition orders, several video conferences with UN officials, and her usual filing and medical paperwork-- and had been ultimately unable to tag along on the mission. and so when she’d been awoken by Athena requesting urgent assistance to the returning team, she didn’t waste a moment getting ready. A pair of flats, her usual black-on-black, her hair thrown up into a quick, messy bun. She looked tired, but still threw on her usual bit of makeup to hide that fact.

The prisoner—patient— asset-- had been 'captured', on her request. Athena believed the man to be rather important in Talon’s ranks— one of their scientists, judging by biometric scan and matching reports alone. Siebren de Kuiper, an astrophysicist that had been institutionalized following an accident that left many people dead. He’d gone missing following another incident involving Talon agents seemingly breaking him out— and now... here he was. Working with Talon? Or for them? Her colleagues wanted to know. They all needed to know. This could severely hurt Talon as they knew it. Baptiste had been sent; their only agent who had enough know how of Talon's Fulcrum to free Dr. de Kuiper.

“Angie, You gotta be careful with that guy. His file weirds me out. Story doesn't add up.” Jesse crossed his arms in front of his chest, the American furrowing his brow at the medic as she checked over the man’s file that Athena had prepared for her. He’d taken off his hat, a gesture of respect to Angela in her wing. “Guy took a couple’a bullets and still came comin’. He’s not to be messed with, darlin’.”

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler. McCree is right.” Genji insisted, the cyborg taking a similar stance as the two of them urged Angela to be careful. “He has a power unlike anything we have ever seen. It would be best if you didn’t go in alone--”

“I will be fine, gentlemen.” She responded, giving a warm, appreciative smile to them both. She appreciated their concern-- but she had handled all sorts of patients. “If he is as unstable as you insist, It would be best not to overcrowd him. Plus-- I wasn’t there, and so he likely won’t recognize me as easily. Perhaps from the old posters... But... he will hopefully not equate me with violence. It will be okay.” She reached out and patted at them both, to which Jesse simply sighed and shook his head.

“Ya really are a handful, doc. Yer gonna getch’yerself hurt, yannow that?”

“I am aware, Jesse. Thank you.” She reached up and tapped the man’s nose with a fingertip, scanning over the datapad with her eyes one last time before she turned to the door in question.

“The prisoner has been sedated to keep him still. He is also cuffed to the bed as per procedure.” Athena’s voice piped up from the nearby wall interface-- the insignia lighting up and catching her attention. They couldn't take any chances after what had happened with Amelie and Gerard all those years ago, she supposed.

Angela was to stabilize his condition, and hopefully get any information she could out of him. She was used to strange patient cases— just look at Genji, and Reinhardt, and even McCree. First, though… She had to stop the sedative and get him coherent.

The medic dismissed the armed guards outside the door to the room— who both insisted she leave the restraints on the man, and that he was incredibly dangerous. They insisted to stay nearby— but she retorted and demanded to have at least the room’s privacy. She was sure she could handle the man herself. There was no patient that she had been unable to deal with before-- and she had almost a lifetime of experience.

And so... she stepped into the room, spying the behemoth of a man where he lay. Sedated, injured, hooked to a caduceus IV that had been slowly fixing his injuries. Returning him to the peak of health. His file claimed that he was unpredictable and dangerous, yet she entered the room unarmed-- confident. Baptiste sat nearby, arms crossed over his chest as he slept in his chair. Angela couldn't help but smile at them both. A tap to his shoulder was enough to wake Baptiste, and the other medic only straightened in his chair before looking to Dr. de Kuiper.

"He knows you, Ma'am." Baptiste mused, leaning forward in his chair.

"A lot of people know me, Jean." Her shoes tapped on the tile as she approached, quietly pinching off the sedative stream into Dr. de Kuiper's IV, and ultimately removing the needle from the injection point. It would take several minutes for him to come to, and so she simply looked over his file on a datapad--committing things to memory-- until the man began to stir, his eyes opening and his mouth curling into a confused frown. He was tall-- akin to that of Reinhardt, she supposed. He’d been given basic pants after his gear had been stripped, and was tucked in to the bed with a hardlight cuff keeping his IV arm in place, secured to the bed. Another hardlight strip crossed his hips, holding him down. His face was scarred, and his mouth curled down in a frown line-- this man had certainly led a rough life-- just looking at his face alone. His frown turned into a grimace as he shifted slightly, obviously still sore.

“Can you hear me, Dr. Kuiper?” She asked, her voice soft and as comforting as she could manage as the man furrowed his brow and blinked away the bright lights of the hospital room. His eyes focused first on the ceiling, then drifted over to her as she repeated her question-- taking the little medic in and looking her up and down--sizing her up.

In all but a moment, he was awake and coherent, snapping to attention as he seemed to realize his situation-- his face twisting in anger as he yanked his arm up at the cuff, letting out a furious growl at the restraint. His breath hitched, anger and panic setting in as he pulled again, and again, and again. He looked to Baptiste, and to Angela, and he let out another furious grunt.

“Dr. Kuiper, I need you to calm down--” She started, her hands reaching out to try and steady him-- only to have a lashing hand grasp roughly at her chest with a tightened fist, drawing her up and in close by the shirt as he half-sat up.

“Release me!” He bellowed, and at that moment the woman was lifted from the ground ever so slightly-- not by force alone, however. The room almost felt lighter, the floor rumbling as though he caused it to shift and shake. “I will be a prisoner no longer! I was promised!” The medic kicked her legs, her mouth curling into a grimace and her brows furrowing in almost fear.

“Dr. Kuiper, I--!!” She started, before Baptiste intervened.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's alright." Dark hands touched at Dr. de Kuiper's shoulders, pulling the man's attention away from his commander. "Let's talk. It's alright. No one here aims to hurt you." A pause, and Baptiste tilted his head to the side, gesturing to the glowing gold caduceus IV above his head, its line trailing into his arm. "You were at that convention, right? When she told the world about her thesis? You told me you met her then. You know her, she sent me for you!"

Sigma paused, periwinkle eyes flicking to the caduceus IV as it hung above him. There was a moment of silence, a moment of shaking breath. After a few seconds, his eyes turned back to Angela-- the spectre of a woman who had haunted him all these years, and his fist was clenched in the fabric of her shirt. She weighed so little, and he could barely tell if it was his own strength or his mind that lifted her and several other objects in the room. Bright blue eyes looked at him, surprised far more than afraid.

"Put her down, big guy. Neither of us mean you any harm." Baptiste said, and it was as though he suddenly came to. He snapped to attention, gently returning the acting-commander to the floor as though she were made of glass. Movements slow, deliberate, delicate.

"I..." Dr. de Kuiper started, slowly pulling his hand he'd used in rage back to his side. "I am so sorry."

Angela dusted herself off, nodding in thanks to Baptiste as the medic's hands moved away from Sigma's shoulders. "You are forgiven, Dr. de Kuiper." She smiled, righting her clothing as though he hadn't touched her at all.

The smile made him hate the fact he even breathed the same air as her. It was warm, kind, and genuine. Like the first light after a terrible storm. An offer of grace. His gut twisted in anxiety as she turned to retrieve a datapad that had been dropped, looking to his vitals screen and scribbling on the datapad's surface for a few moments, and throwing a knowing look to Baptiste.

"I apologize for this whole situation, Dr. de Kuiper." Baptiste murmured, moving to sit back down. "For the record, they had to cuff me as well when I first arrived here."

"It isn't the first time we have... acquired operatives from Talon. Once, one of our informants ended up killed because of our carelessness." Angela's voice was blunt, still writing on her datapad.

"Amelie La'Croix." Siebren looked down at his lap, cupping at his forehead.

Blue eyes flicked down at Siebren where he sat, mouth pressed into a line. "You know her, I presume?"

Siebren sat quietly for many moments, before nodding. "She was... A shell. Emotionless, cold. I thought that that was just how she was... I--I'd never met her prior to... what happened, but--"

"Let's not talk about her." Baptiste offered a smile, standing up and undoing the man's hardlight restraints fully. "You're at Overwatch's base of Operations, in Gibraltar. You've been asleep for a few hours."

"I don't remember going to sleep."

"The water I gave you on the ship. It--" Baptiste started to explain, but Siebren only huffed.

"You could have told me."

"That was the point, my friend. I hope you'll forgive me."

"He was only following protocol, Dr. de Kuiper." Angela mused, a gentle hand placing itself on Siebren's shoulder as she sat on the edge of his bed. Her hand was warm, and it made his heart skip a beat, periwinkle eyes looking to her searchingly.

There was a knock at the door, and Angela's attention was pulled away as the door opened to an omnic nurse bringing in a tray of food, setting it on the side table next to Siebren's bed.

"Thank you, Sybil." Angela smiled at the nurse, until she caught two more peering faces from the door frame. Jesse and Genji. Jesse's face was twisted into a distrusting almost anger, while Genji's was always unreadable. Protective, furious. She only smiled reassuringly at them both, and Jesse crossed his arms in front of his chest before the door closed, the omnic nurse leaving the room once more.

"I am sure you're hungry, friend." Baptiste mused, and Angela stood, reaching to the side table to deliver the food to Siebren's lap. Toast, an unopened bottle of Orange Juice, an apple and some yogurt-- staples in hospital cuisine.

"If this isn't enough, feel free to ask for more." Angela added, looking to Baptiste with a nod. "I will let you rest, for now. Baptiste, why don't you go back to your quarters? You deserve rest, as well." Information that was needed would have to come later.

Siebren's heart panged as he realized he'd be left alone again, and he looked up to her, and then up to Baptiste. Frantic, almost. Don't leave him alone again, he was fit for work, he was--

"No, no, I'm fine, I--"

"Dr. Ziegler, why not leave him with at least something to keep him busy?" Baptiste's tone was gentle, knowing, as he gathered his jacket from the back of the chair he'd settled into. She had no idea what he'd been through-- but Baptiste had an inkling.

Angela paused for a moment, before nodding. "My apologies, of course. I will be right back." Angela took a step back, collecting herself and disappearing through the door within a few seconds. The room fell into silence, before Baptiste only turned on his heel and laughed lightly.

"Now it makes sense, doctor." He laughed, shaking his head.

"E-Excuse me?" Siebren furrowed his brow, collecting his orange juice and cracking the bottle open.

"You love her, don't you?" He turned to Siebren, nodding, a knowing smile across his face as though he were teasing an old friend. "You love Commander Ziegler!"

#angela ziegler #overwatch #mercy #siebren de kuiper #sigma #sigcy #sigmercy #ow #Baptiste #featuring Jesse and Genji

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megmachine · 3 years

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Mistakes

A/N: this is the first section of my WIP star trek fic. See the tags before reading if your interested, and please let me know what you think!

The last time Jim ever saw his aunt alive, she was crying. He was thirteen and being led onto a bus alongside his cousins and had glanced out the darkened window on a whim. She had been standing in the doorway to their farmhouse, clutching little Sarah’s favorite blanket, arguing with one of the large men dressed in black that had come to take them back. The man had laid his hand on his belt, saying something, and Aunt Josie had broken down crying. Through a cloud of red dust as they drove away, Jimmy saw her fall to her knees and sob. Tear tracks cut through the dirt on her face, leftovers from when they’d been playing in the garden earlier. They turned a corner and trees finally blocked his view, and he turned back to talk to his cousins.

He was only supposed to be on Tarsus IV for six months. Driving the car into the canyon had been the last straw, and even though they’d ‘worked things out’ with the cops, Jimmy knew he’d pushed too hard. Frank was fed up with him and he’d been suspended from school again and his mother was still out there, exploring space without him. Winona said she would be earthside ‘in just six months, Jimmy, it’s only six months,’ and that this was just a stopgap to get him away from his step-father. What a load of bull that was, not that he’d say it to her face. Two months in, when he moved into boarding school full-time and wasn’t counting down the days till his shuttle home, Winona messaged him. She told him her ship, the U.S.S. Faragaut, would be delayed eight additional months and for the first time, he wasn’t heartbroken. Fourteen months in the colony, he could make it fourteen months. His aunt actually liked him, she never even hit him, and his cousins didn’t treat him like a burden the way Sam used to. Classes challenged him, for the most part, and he got to go back home every weekend to see his aunt and the farmhouse. Sure, meals weren’t that big, but Jimmy had never really gone hungry here, either. Tarsus was good. Life was good.

This time, though, as the farmhouse faded from view, he could tell his Aunt knew something was different. Clouds of red dust obscured his view and it felt like he was losing something, somewhere he’d finally started to call home. It was silly to get so melancholy about a semester at boarding school, he’d thought. He’d thought a lot of things that ended up being wrong.

It was two Saturdays later when Jimmy and Will wondered if something was wrong. A full two weeks since they had seen the rest of their family. They were sitting on his cousin’s bed, each with a PADD in hand, working on their homework. Their teacher, Hoshi, had been grilling them on languages, and despite Jimmy’s efforts Will couldn’t grasp Vulcansu conjugations.

“No, see, it’s a past tense irregular verb, and you forgot the hyphen-”

“Jimmy.” Will interrupted him, something he never did. His face, normally an open book, was drawn and stiff. Jimmy held his tongue and swallowed back his knee-jerk snarky response. His cousin took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and let it out in a huff.

“I’m worried about my mom. She hasn’t been responding to my comms all week, and Mr. Davies told me we aren’t doing home visits next weekend, either. I just… I know you think it’s stupid to get all worked up over family, but this isn’t like her.”

Neither of them said anything for a minute, both brains running through the options. Finally, Jimmy sighed. He knew his cousin well enough to know where his mind had immediately gone, and had an idea of how to deal with it.

“Look, Will, I do understand where you’re coming from. If you’re really that worried about Aunt Josie, how about we go see her? Will that make you feel better?” Jimmy tossed his PADD aside and stood up, stretching his arms over his head and groaning exaggeratedly. Honestly, he’d been wanting to stretch his legs too, but hadn’t had the right opportunity to sneak out until this moment.

His cousin wasn’t convinced yet, though. “What do you mean? How are we supposed to get home if buses aren’t running to the farm?”

Jimmy smirked, tilting his head and glancing back. “Why, we’ll be breaking out, of course!”

That line sealed the deal. After all, Will was a bad boy at heart, too.

It was dark out by the time they could put their plan into motion. The double moons were rising in the west, casting everything outside the range of the street lamps in a faint, pale light. They took a walk in the botany gardens after dinner, a fairly inconspicuous thing to do. Subconsciously, Jimmy noted that a few of the plants seemed wilted, white flecks spotting a few lower leaves, but he wasn’t a botanist and so made no comment. Will kept an eye on the teachers that patrolled the area while Jimmy made his way to a shadowy corner, the one place he knew of that the cameras wouldn’t see him. From there, he accessed the security system from his PADD - he’d been teaching himself programming since he was five, sitting in the back of his kindergarten classroom, it was a breeze to hack these types of systems - and ran a loop of camera feed. From there the two made their way to the chain link fence that surrounded the school.

The principal told them it was to keep wildlife out, since Tarsus had some rather nasty native predators. Of course, there was a hole in the fence that Jimmy had known about for a few weeks, and nothing had managed to get in, so he didn’t know the validity of that statement. The gap was barely big enough for him to squeeze through, scrawny as he was, but he’d kept it in the back of his mind in case he ever wanted to sneak out. There hadn’t been anything suspicious going on, at least as far as he was aware, so he’d had no reason to utilize it before this night. He was enjoying his classes, and had no reason to mess around. At, least, not until then.

Jimmy went through first. After making sure the coast was clear, Will forced his way out, too. The fencing groaned, and they both held their breath for a minute before determining no one else had heard. After that, it was smooth sailing for the rest of their ‘escape.’ The fence opened up into a thick forest, full of a mix of native and terran flora that formed a dense canopy and heavy shadows. They could still use the moonlight and their knowledge of direction to make their way towards the nearby town of New Franklin. The school they attended was fairly secluded, so their hike took nearly an hour. The principal and teachers, when asked, had said that the governor thought it important that students learn astronomy and botany and all types of things you couldn’t study well in the city, so their school was the only thing this far out. They were surrounded by forests on one side, and a massive plain on the other, and as far as one could see there was no other sign of civilization. When he first got there, Jimmy had thought all the greenery was wonderful. Now he was starting to hate it, as he was slapped in the face by yet another palm frond-looking thing.

Eventually, pushing through the thick greenery native to Tarsus, Jimmy thought he could hear the murmur of human life. It was about time - they still had to consider the hour-long drive to and from the farmhouse, and he wanted to get a little bit of sleep that night. Their plan was to either hitch a ride from a kind stranger, an idea Jimmy wasn’t a big fan of, or steal a vehicle, something Will didn’t like - even though Jimmy had argued that they wouldn’t really be stealing, they'd be borrowing with the intent to bring it back unscratched. That argument was part of why they’d gotten started so late, and now Tarsus’ first moon was more than halfway through the sky. Its blue face watched them as they foraged on through the woods, unwavering and unyielding in its faint light.

They popped out on a paved road, the outlines of squat, wide-spread buildings against the tapestry of stars the only sign of civilization. There were next to no lights on, Jimmy noticed. No street lamps, or illuminated windows, or headlights. He’d have thought the town was dead, if not for the hum of generators he could still make out. A curfew, then? Why? Neither of them had any answers, but this did throw a wrench in both their transportation options. More so Will’s favored plan than his own, though his would be difficult to pull off too.

Well, there was no way around it. The two boys exchanged glances - neither had said a word their whole adventure other than to warn the other of a hole or tree branch, too scared of being heard and caught - and advanced towards the dead town. Jimmy knew more than enough about hotwiring to be able to steal most civilian vehicles, and Will had been driving aunt Josie’s truck for the past year, so they were rather confident in their abilities. But that all depended on whether or not they would find something to steal.

The first couple of buildings they approached were barren. Jimmy could make out the muffled sound of human voices and movement behind the walls, but there were no vehicles other than a couple of rusting bikes parked out front. The first hovercar they saw was all black and parked in the middle of town square. The engine was still running, but no one was sitting inside the car. Jimmy made a mental note of it and kept creeping along, hoping for a less suspicious get-away vehicle. The next one they saw was sitting in front of a small house. The car itself had four wheels and more than a little bit of rust, but it obviously hadn’t been used in the past few hours. The house it was parked near, similarly, didn’t show any signs of life. Neither Jimmy nor Will wanted to think very hard about that fact. Still, this was a better option, less likely to be noticed missing if they could get away quietly. Jimmy cracked his knuckles, gave his cousin a grin, and eased the driver’s door open.

Since he’d been old enough to start developing his fine motor skills, Jimmy had been playing with wires. Maybe not a sign of the safest childhood, but it certainly had its perks. For one, he could open a panel inside any car, four-wheeled or hovering, and get it running in under five minutes if it was a model from the past half-century. Thankfully, this one was. Another thing Jimmy was thankful for, he considered once the engine hummed to life, was that 23rd century cars were so much quieter than previous renditions. Not even the house a block over could hear it starting up. Will nudged his cousin over, crawling into the driver side and adjusting the seat to his liking.

“I’m still sticking by my argument that I could drive this puppy just as well as you,” Jimmy grumbled from where he was buckling himself into the passenger seat.

Will ignored him, throwing the car into gear and ever-so-slowly crawling out of the driveway and onto the road. “How the hell am I supposed to navigate all the way home if I can’t turn on the headlights?” he hissed, peering over the steering wheel in a way that didn’t really give Jimmy much confidence in his abilities.

He sighed, hunching over the center console and pulling out more wires from Will didn’t even know where. In between stripping colorful rubber with his teeth, Jimmy explained himself. “Most modern cars actually have the ability to display an active infrared view through the windshield - night vision. It’s better than using the headlights, actually, but we humans are too attached to the way things have always been to use it. Manufacturers even got rid of the easy-access switch, but they never bothered to get rid of the tech itself. Lucky us.” He spared a second to glance up at his cousin, grinning wildly, before twisting two bare wires together and clipping them to a circuit board. Jimmy had no idea how like his mother he looked in that second, and the excited expression faded almost as suddenly as it had appeared.

The windshield display flickered once, twice, before the pitch black landscape became visible in various shades of green and grey. The compass, temperature read out, and clock reappeared in their usual location (lining the top of the windshield, out of immediate eyeline), now a bright white against hunter green shadows.

Jimmy almost whoop-ed, catching himself at the last second and instead silently punched the air. “What’re you waiting for, Willy?” He snickered, flopping back into his seat. Will grumbled something about ‘cocky little nerds’ and eased his way down the pavement, gradually making his way out the town as a pace that had both of them out of their minds with boredom before they’d even made it a mile.

It took a little over ninety minutes to get to aunt Josie’s farmhouse. More often than either of them wanted to acknowledge, they’d pulled off the road and held their breaths, paranoid that they were being followed, only to laugh at themselves when no one showed up. Jimmy didn’t voice the alternative - that they were being stalked, toyed with. Will was on edge enough as it were.

The lights were off when they pulled up. Neither were that worried - Aunt Josie had always been more of a morning person, after all. Her red pickup was still parked under the carport. As they walked up to the front door, Jimmy watched his cousin unwind, tension easing out of his muscles. Will pushed the door open - again, not worrying, they lived far enough in the country to not bother with locks - and stepped into the kitchen. The house was silent. Jimmy followed, hands in his pockets but eyes darting around the heavily shadowed room.

Making their way deeper into the house, Will seemed to relax further and further while Jimmy felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong. It was a somewhat similar feeling to what he would get when Frank was about to come home, full of cheap liquor and anger he’d take out on Jimmy and Sam. The air felt stale in his lungs. At the end of the hallway, the door to Aunt Josie’s bedroom was closed.

Will was smiling as he nudged the door open. He took a deep breath, ready to call out to his mom, ready to be reassured of her health and safety. The next second he was hunched over, hands clasped over his mouth and stomach rolling. The smell of decay overwhelmed them, and Jimmy finally identified what, exactly, was wrong.

Aunt Josie was laying on the ground near her bed, an archaic bullet hole through her chest. The light grey rug under her body was stained dark brown with old blood. While Will clung to the doorframe, trying desperately to keep his dinner down, Jimmy stumbled forward to her side. He’d always heard that people were peaceful in death, but Aunt Josie looked as distraught as she’d been when he last saw her, through a school bus window, two weeks ago. Her body was breaking down, past rigor mortis and well along in the bloating process. Deep tan skin was now motley green. The stink of rotting meat and excrement and who knew what else was thick in the air, having been trapped in the room with her. Dark liquid covered the wood floor, leaking out from her body, more fluid than one would expect from a corpse. If he looked closely, which he tried not to, he could see the small movement of maggots and cadaverous bugs within her small wound and under the skin.

Saliva pooled in Jimmy’s mouth and he turned away, stumbling out of the room before collapsing to his knees and retching. Will staggered after him, pale and sweating. Neither of them said a word for the longest time. Will was barely breathing, not making a sound as tears pooled in his eyes and ran, silently, down his cheeks.

“How long has she been dead?” he finally whispered, choking on the word.

Jimmy hated how his mind automatically went through the stages of decomposition, hated how for a split second he could objectively analyze how far along the body (his aunt, not the body, it was his aunt lying there) was. He was barely aware of his lips moving and the words coming out of his mouth. “It takes around eight days for discoloration to start. She’s probably been… for over a week.”

“Fuck.”

It took another ten minutes for either of them to move. Jimmy pulled himself to his feet, dragged his cousin behind him, and made his way towards the front door. Will didn’t make a sound as he was led along, eyes unfocused and staring into the distance. It was past midnight at this point, and Jimmy knew they had to get going if they wanted to avoid being caught out. As he passed the kitchen table, a stack of mail caught his attention and he grabbed them, curious, glancing over the words.

‘In response to your request… Cannot supply more rations… Distress signal…’

Jimmy swallowed and stuffed the papers in his coat pocket without a second thought.

Will was still unresponsive when they reached the stolen car, and without a second thought Jimmy shoved him into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel. Driving this old thing couldn’t be more difficult than the corvette, and this time he wasn’t trying to run from Frank and the cops and Riverside. Jimmy didn’t spare a second to glance in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the farmhouse. If he did, he wouldn’t have been able to leave.

It was only when they got close to town that Jimmy noticed they were being tailed. At first he thought it was a figment of his paranoid imagination. It was barely there, in the corner of his eye, and his cousin was of no help in differentiating real from fabricated. Will hadn’t spoken a word since the farmhouse. Jimmy stepped on the gas a hair and fixed his eyes on the road in front of him, ignoring the tingling in the back of his mind.

Jimmy pulled off on the side of the road and stared out the back window. He’d seen it again, bigger and more obvious. He was 85% sure there really was something out there, in the black of Tarsus night. Either way, he wasn’t too keen on getting caught, so they would be legging it through the woods the rest of the way back. He hopped out of the car and led Will behind him into the dense forest. He'd finally started responding when Jimmy asked him questions, and could see his surroundings well enough to avoid low hanging branches.

“Come on, we’ve got to go, they’re behind us Will, we’ve got to hide,” Jimmy panted in his cousin’s ear. They were making far too much noise, stepping on twigs and getting slapped by branches. He just hoped they could get far enough ahead of the people stalking them, out of hearing range and back to school before sunrise.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard boots stomping through the undergrowth after them. “Hey! Where’d you go? You know the punishment for breaking curfew, it’ll hurt less if you just stop running!” The overt threat of pain and punishment sent a chill down Jimmy’s spine and he couldn't let himself get lost in memories of Frank, he had to get his cousin back to safety. He grit his teeth and made a conscious effort to be quieter, shushed Will when he spat a curse at a vine that tangled around his leg but it was too late. Bright flashlight beams cut through the greenery and into Will’s face and shouts filled the air.

Then they are running through the woods, abandoning all hope at subtlety and there are crashing footsteps behind them, the high pitched whine of phaser blasts and deep voices calling out promises of pain, and -

Will trips over a branch, twists his ankle, and Jimmy hauls his cousin up and behind him. He’s limping and leaning heavily on the younger boy but Jimmy clings tight to him. He won’t lose more of his family, he won’t, not after Sam, he can help Will, it’s not too much further to the fence and if they can just lose these guards they’ll be fine.

Gunshots and phaser fire follow them, sinking into tree trunks in their wake, cutting through leaves and then they hit something definitively not wood and Will is screaming, crying, begging Jimmy to stop but he’s bleeding out all over Jimmy and it’s too much, too much, he can’t make it stop please make it stop! There’s a hole in his stomach, gaping in what little moonlight is filtering through the tree branches. Hot blood is burning his hands, his face, and he can’t put enough pressure on the wound while trying to run and he can’t stop running or they’re both dead. They’re both so, so dead.

Will is clawing at Jimmy’s hand and at first he grips it tight, trying to take some of the pain from his cousin, but he’s being slapped and Will is glaring at him with as much strength as he can muster, though it’s fading fast. Jimmy has never seen so much fire in those brown eyes until now. He’s wheezing, but he can force out a mouthful of words. “Leave me, Jimmy. You gotta get out of here.” The men are gaining on them and they don’t have much time left. Will lets himself go limp, still staring at Jimmy, shrugging out of his hold and collapsing onto the ground. He shoves him once, for good measure, when Jimmy stops moving. “Go!” Will shouts, the force of his words making blood spew from his paling lips.

Jimmy runs. He runs, and doesn’t look back.

#star trek #fanfiction #megan writes #tarsus iv #gun violence #child death tw #violence tw #gore #star trek (tos)#star trek (aos)

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sonicgetsrawed · 4 years

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Don’t Forget to Remember Me

Here it is boyz! The WIP I shared the other day! Dedicated to my dearest friend @kairannosaurus-rex for inspiring me to actually finish it! You the best! Enjoy!

It had been a terrible idea now that he thought about it. Just a small weekend trip in the mountains, not even that far from the main city of Corona, just enough to get away from the hustle and bustle of it all. Truthfully the trip had been nice, finally since the whole library debacle Hugo had some alone time with Donella to work through their odd new dynamic. It was his return when things had gone downhill. The day before he left Varian had insisted on taking care of the library by himself to allow Hugo ample time to get things in order for the weekend, he’d have never agreed if he knew that the younger would run himself into the ground taking on project after project until finally it blew up, quite literally, in his face on the first night of Hugo’s absence. He pissed when he learned, fully expecting to return to the loving embrace of his boyfriend ready to eat up the tales of their adventure, instead he was met by Rapunzel. Not that he had anything against the princess, soon to be queen, it just wasn’t what he was expecting. Then he was told about the accident and that’s when the anger hit. Why hadn’t he been informed sooner? He could’ve left his trip early. But that’s not what Varian would’ve wanted, Rapunzel had insisted, and fucking screw her for thinking she knew what Varian would’ve wanted. So he demanded to be shown to Varian, demanded to see him, demanded to be told the extent of the injuries, demanded to know what the fuck had happened. And then he saw him. In those too white sheets, in that too small bed, in that terrible loose hospital gown. Bandages wrapped around his head, arms, almost everywhere. His lip split, his right eye purple in a bruise, the deep gash over his left cheek. Nothing seemed to matter anymore as he rushed to Varian’s side, taking his hand in his as if to reassure himself that he was still alive.

Time had stopped, nothing seemed relevant anymore besides the steady drip of the IV fluids. It was a terrible sound, the dripping, the ticking of the clock, his own breathing and heartbeat in his ears. Not even the nurses voice could reach him in this void. No one could. All he knew were those sounds and the boy in the bed, the boy who hadn’t opened his eyes in weeks.

Then as suddenly as they had closed, they opened. Those lovely baby blues staring back at him for the first time in far too long. Hugo could hardly contain his excitement as he leapt out of his seat and pulled Varian into a tight hug. “Thank fuck you’re awake. You scared us so much, Goggles. You have no fucking idea I-“

It took him too long, too fucking long to realize there was no recognition in those eyes. There was nothing at all just a blank stare and furrowed brows. He tilted his head ever so slightly an action that used to be endearing but now shook him to his very core. “Who?”

And he couldn’t respond, couldn’t breathe all he could do was stare into those eyes. Stare into the nothingness there. Because this wasn’t his Varian this- this was, nothing.

He didn’t realize when he was pulled away, didn’t realize how he fought the nurses until his world was turning black. All he knew was the nothingness in Varian’s eyes, he was nothing in Varian’s eyes.

Hugo blinked, the stark white ceiling above him coming into focus. “What happened?” He asked, wasting no time in sitting up and swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He couldn’t waste any time Varian may not have recognized him, but he still needed him. His head was pounding, mind fuzzy as the last remnants of sleep wore off.

“You fought the nurses like a fucking idiot when they tried to tend to the boy. They had to sedate you.” Hugo rolled his eyes at Donella’s answer, of course as soon as they returned to Corona she would revert to her snarky attitude.

“Varian, his name is Varian. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Hugo hissed, moving passed her, determined to find out more about Varian’s condition.

“Regardless, he isn’t taking visitors.” Donella retorted, cutting Hugo off.

“Like hell. I’m his boyfriend-“

“Not to him, you're not.” Hugo froze at her words, Donella’s hand latching onto his forearm. He wasn’t sure if it was for support or to keep him from running to Varian’s side. Either way he hated the words that came from her mouth. “He has amnesia, th- Varian, doesn’t remember anything. Not the princess, not you, not his father, not even his own name.”

“Then I’ll make him remember.” He flinched at his own voice, the words coming off harsher and more threatening than he’d intended. The point still stood, he'd help Varian remember who he was, who they all were.

“You can’t force him to remember, he must do so on his own. If you force something like that it could damage him more.” Donella said, pulling Hugo’s arm so he was forced to stop his forward march.

“Then what do I do?” Hugo asked, his resolve cracking. Any fight he had breaking as the reality of the situation hit. He had lost a part of Varian, all of their memories together, all the hurt and the love they fought for gone. It was terrifying, what if he never remembered? Would he still love him?

“Just be patient, that’s all you can do. Have patience.”

*********************

“This is our room?” Varian asked, making his way around the room, running his hand along the bed as if it would help him remember. It had been a week since he’d woken up and nothing had changed. Today was his first day out of the infirmary and Rapunzel was positive getting him back in a more familiar environment would do wonders for his memory. Hugo wasn’t so certain. Varian jumped as Ruddiger rubbed up against his legs. “Does it always do that?”

Hugo picked up Ruddiger, the raccoon easily settling on his shoulders with a sad chitter. “He does. He is your raccoon.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Varian mumbled, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. His eyes darting to the single bed. Hugo knew immediately what was going through his mind.

“Don’t worry about sharing a room. Rapunzel is setting me up next door.” Hugo said with a sigh. He was trying his best to be patient but it was hard when nothing seemed to jog his memories. He had to keep reminding himself it had only been a week, he just needed more time. Until then he would be sleeping in the other room with Ruddiger.

****************

He was exhausted, so fucking exhausted. He’d been running the library and managing the royal engineer duties for a month. Quirin and Donella were helping as much as they could, but even then he seemed to be swamped. Even when he wasn’t working he spent most of his time with Varian. They usually didn’t say much, just sat in the castle library and read. It was peaceful, but he missed their conversations, the odd ticks Varian had when he got particularly excited about something, the small snort that wiggled its way into his laugh sometimes, he missed Varian. Unfortunately he still didn’t remember much, no matter what they tried nothing seemed to work. He was quickly losing hope that the Varian he knew would ever return. Not that there was anything wrong with the way Varian was now, it was just different. He just needed a moment of peace away from it all, five minutes completely to himself.

He quickly made his way up to the roof of one of the towers of the castle. Since the rooster had been dismantled he’d often escape up here with Varian when they needed a moment away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. Hugo easily made his way out onto the roof, startling slightly when he saw Varian already sitting there, the wind blowing in his hair as he sketched in his notebook. He smiled softly at the familiar sight. Varian’s tongue poking out as he concentrated on whatever he was working on. Hugo quietly made his way over, sitting down next to him as he stared at the younger, who had yet to acknowledge his presence. “Whatcha working on, Goggles?”

Varian wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but didn’t say anything about it. He supposed the name didn’t make sense when he’d been without his goggles since he’d woken up. “The princess, uh-“

“Rapunzel.” Hugo supplied, he hated how since the accident he seemed to be struggling to retain information, it was concerning and something the doctors had been looking into.

“Right, Rapunzel, said I should try keeping a journal, write down whatever I remember in it.” Varian explained, blowing his hair out of his face as he finally looked up at Hugo. “I don’t think it’s working. Nothing seems to be working. Everyone is trying so hard and I just- Hugh, I can't remember anything.”

Hugo pulled him close, letting the younger cry frustrated tears into his chest, his shirt sticking to his skin the more he cried. “It’s okay, you’ll get there eventually.”

Varian laughed bitterly. “I don’t want to get there eventually. I want to be okay, I want people to stop tiptoeing around me. I want to be able to laugh at inside jokes I used to know, to remember the silly stupid things, the little things that used to irritate me. I want to be me again.”

Hugo gently cupped his face, moving the stray hairs out of Varian’s eyes. “Give yourself time. This was a pretty serious injury. I think you remember more than you think, so give yourself a little credit.”

“I do?” Varian asked through his sniffles, wiping his tears away on the back of his sleeve.

Hugo nodded, smiling lightly at his boyfriend. “I think so. Why did you come up here? Or call me Hugh? You didn’t call me that until we started dating. And this place, you’d always come up here when you needed a break, specifically from-“

“Rapunzel.” Varian finished, a slight smile working its way onto his lips.

“Exactly.” Hugo said, gently poking Varian’s nose, earning him a small laugh.

“Thank you. You’ve been amazing through all of this.” Hugo didn’t get to respond, Varian closing the distance between them and bringing their lips together. It was a wonderful feeling, to finally be able to kiss him after months of not. And as much as he’d love to devour him then and there, he let Varian set the pace, keeping the kiss short and sweet. Until Varian finally broke it. “I’m sorry, that must’ve been really weird for you. I know I’m not exactly the same person you fell in love with-“

Hugo cut him off with another kiss, this one more passionate, more needy. “I will love any version of you, in any universe. I love you, Varian, and just because you don’t remember our time together doesn’t change that fact. We’ll just have to make new memories, better ones.”

“I’d like that.” Varian claimed his lips once again, Hugo wrapping his arms around him and pulling him as close as possible. It would take a lot of work to get to where they had been, but he was going to make sure they got there. And when they did he’d make sure those memories were ones Varian would never be able to forget.

#tangled the series #varian #varigo #varian/hugo #hugo #varian and the seven kingdoms #amnesia #donella

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mavspeed · 3 years

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First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon.

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10.

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11.

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13.

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14.

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

#whew this is super long i apologise #u can pinpoint the exact time i replaced taron with james as my number one boy #fic tag #fic meme

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garbotuesday · 5 years

Text

Spontaneous

Went through my computer and found this half-finished WIP, and decided to un-WIP it. I like writing one-shots lol. Also this is the first time I’ve ever written any stevetony or superfamily. I’m surprised how much I liked it!

The moment the door slid shut behind them and Tony heard the sweet hydraulic kiss of the door's edge meeting the wall, he could've cried. He was tired deep down in his bones, in a way that only a full day's rest could fix. Steve fell into step next to him, and the two collapsed onto the couch and leaned into one another.

“Welcome home, sirs,” Jarvis intoned, dimming the lights without needing to be instructed.

“I'm going to rest here for a sec,” Steven said, toeing off his boots and letting them fall to the ground. “Then I'm going back to our room to sleep for another seventy years.”

“I'll join you,” Tony said with a soft sigh. The two men sat on the couch quietly and just breathed for the first time in almost three days.

“Jarv,” Tony slurred out, already half sleeping. “Peter?”

“I'm sorry, sir?”

“Peter. Where is he? I want to say hello and goodnight to the little squirt before I sleep the rest of my life away.”

“Peter instructed that you should call him when you returned home,” Jarvis said. “He isn't in at the moment.”

Steve grunted. “Probably out with Ned.”

“Alright.” Another ripping yawn tore through Tony's face. “Jarvis, call Peter. Put him on speakerphone.”

Both men settled more comfortably into the couch, stretching their legs out onto the glass table in front of them as the sound of a ringing phone echoed overhead. Tony deliberately scooted into Steve's space and rested his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve snorted and lolled his head to the side, laying his cheek in Tony's hair. Tony resolved that as soon as they hung up with Peter, they were going to shut their eyes and sleep right then and there on the couch, his back be damned.

Peter picked up after three rings. “Hey, Dad,” he said casually. “Welcome back.”

“Hey, kiddo. Jarvis said to call you when we got back. Where ya at?”

“Where's Pops?” Peter asked. “I'm here, Pete,” Steve said.

“How did the mission go?”

“Well enough,” Steve answered flatly. “Fury was pleased, at least.”

“You sound dead on your feet,” Peter said with a light snort. “You been debriefed yet?”

“Debriefed, fed, and showered,” Tony answered. “Now the only thing keeping us from going into hibernation for a season is you, kid. Where are you?”

“Wow, showered already?” Peter asked. “Fury must have been very pleased to roll out the red carpet like that.”

Tony opened his eyes. Peter had pivoted off of the question twice now. “I notice you haven't answered my question yet, Pete.”

Peter was silent for a moment. Steve heard him take a slow, shaky breath. “I'm not ignoring it, I just...wanted to make sure you didn't have to go back to work first.”

“Peter,” Steve said, raising his head off of the back of the couch a bit. “Where are you?”

“I will tell you,” Peter said slowly, his voice rising in the verbal equivalent of holding up a finger. “But first I need you to know that I'm fine, okay?”

Tony and Steve were both sitting up now. “Peter,” Tony said, more sternly this time. “This isn't funny. Where the hell are you?”

“I'm at St. Olga's Hospital,” Peter answered reluctantly. “My, um...my lung collapsed.”

0-0-0

There were undercover SHIELD agents in the hallway of the hospital guarding Peter's room when Tony and Steve came barreling toward them. To their credit, they didn't flinch away from the furious gazes of the two men while they staunchly asked for identification.

They both rocketed inside the room and stopped short just at the edge of the bed. Peter was there, sitting up slightly but looking absolutely spent in his blankets. He was wrapped in the hospital blankets, but also his favorite blanket from the Tower, the soft one with the big yellow duck on it. Someone had got it for Steve as a joke and Peter had never given it back.

There was a pulse monitor on his finger leading to a machine that loudly counted the beats, a nasal canula that went into Peter's nose, an IV, and an ominous looking tube that disappeared into the blankets. Tony felt bile rise up in his own chest. His kid was sitting here covered in a million fucking wires and he hadn't even been given a phone call. A glance at Steve's stoic face told Tony that he was feeling much the same.

Peter looked blearily at the two of them. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Tony took a step forward and grabbed the railing of the bed, forcing himself to breathe and not pass out. “Why sorry, Bambi?” he struggled to get out. “Not your fault.”

Peter shrugged. “You both look pissed. Usually saying sorry does the trick.”

Steve came forward and ran his hand through Peter's hair. Some defensive part of Peter's expression melted and he leaned gratefully into his father's touch.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Steve told Peter. “You're not the one we're angry with.”

“I'm going to strangle Fury,” Tony said, voice thick. “There's no way that one-eyed bastard didn't know you were laid up in a hospital room, and he just let us get on with the debrief without telling us.”

“I would advise against making such idle threats in a hospital, Mr. Stark,” Fury drawled, looking bored in the doorway.

“Idle?” Tony asked, giving Fury a look that would have made a lesser man flinch. “If you would like to see things get very fucking real, continue to stand in the doorway like this isn't your fault. I dare you.”

Fury rolled his eyes and took a very bold step inside the hospital room. “For you information, Tony, this isn't my fault. It isn't anyone's fault, as this gentleman is willing to explain to you if you're willing to stand down.”

Only then did they notice the small man in the lab coat so slight and unassuming he'd been completely eclipsed by Fury's presence. Tony didn't break eye contact with Fury, but he did make the effort to unclench his fists.

“Hey, Dr. Watkins,” Peter said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. Tony and Steven both looked at Peter in concern. Their son was clearly exhausted and very pale.

The doctor smiled at him as the came forward and looked over the monitors on Peter's left. “Hello, Peter. Dads, it's nice to meet you.”

Tony was in no mood, but Steve made polite effort and shook Dr. Watkins' hand. Dr. Watson gave launched into a quick rundown of what was going on. It was called a spontaneous pneumothorax. Apparently a hole had opened in their son's lung, and thus far, there was absolutely no telling what had caused it or if it would happen again.

He left both men to wrestle with that while he turned to Peter with a wizened smile. “ And how are we feeling this afternoon? Better or worse than yesterday night?”

Before Peter could answer, Tony's voice whipped across the small room at the doctor furiously. “What happened yesterday night?”

“Oh, another small hole opened up on the left side, a few centimeters below the first one,” Dr. Watkins said, taking a step forward and pressing two fingers gently into Peter's side. Peter's face went even whiter and he let out a sound so pitiful Steve instantly reached for his hand.

Dr. Watkins' made a small noise of disapproval. “I had hoped that would feel better by now,” he said gently. “If it's still causing you that much pain, we can up the drip a bit more.”

Peter shook his head, keeping his eyes closed. “It makes me dizzy,” he said with a grunt. “Don't want to throw up any more today.”

“Okay,” Tony said, clapping his hands together once. Vomiting, IV's, not one but two holes in his son's lung – it was enough. Tony wanted him home, now. “No need to worry about the IV, Peter will coming home with us now.”

Peter looked up at him and blinked owlishly the way he did when he was sick, one eye at a time. Dr. Watkins' brow furrowed. “I can't sign off on that currently-”

“We have our own private medical facilities,” Steve said, gripping Peter's hand tighter. “And an ever-present rotating staff of medical personnel.”

Dr. Watkins lifted a brow and looked over to Fury, who nodded once. Dr. Watkins nodded slowly and turned back to Tony. “Then may I speak with these doctors before I release him? There are a number of delicate points they must be aware of to treat him effectively.”

Tony robotically rattled off a phone number that would go straight to Cho's office. Dr. Watkins promised to be back in no time, heading out to make the phone call from his office. It wasn't necessary, there was a phone right by Peter's head, but a man smart enough to get a medical degree was certainly smart enough to read the rising tension in the room.

Tony turned to Fury, who still looked unimpressed in the face of Tony's anger. “I just want to know,” Tony said slowly, “why we weren't informed.”

Fury made a bitch please face at him. “I'm not the one to ask,” he said, pointing at Peter with his chin.

When both men rounded on their son, Peter flinched. “Um-”

“In any case,” Fury said, cutting Peter off. “I just wanted to be sure you were still alright. Romanov and I have to go through the flash drive to see if anything else needs to be done to secure the information they took.” He tipped his head at Steve and Tony. “I'll be in touch if we need you.” Then Fury, too, was gone.

Peter, cold though he was, began to sweat when the door shut and it was just him and his parents. They both stared at him, jaws set, waiting for a well thought out, rational explanation he didn't have to give. He gripped the gown he was wearing underneath the covers in a tight fist.

“I'm not sure what to say,” he finally said when far too much time had passed.

“Apologize now,” Tony snapped. “Be sorry now.”

“How did you even manage to keep this from us?” Steve asked.

Peter shrugged helplessly. “When I woke up here, Fury was sitting there. He told me they were going to put together some kind of task force to find you guys, but I...I told him not to.”

Tony put his hands on his hips and looked down at his shoes, a sure sign he was holding onto his patience by the skin of his teeth. “Why?”

“Because your operation was delicate,” Peter said desperately. “You couldn't have communications anyway, that part of Greenland being so remote, but you wouldn't have been safe if he had tried to get someone to you. What if someone followed the task force and then the mission was compromised? I was in a hospital, Dad. It could wait.”

Tony slammed his fist into the guard rail of the bed. Peter jumped, then winced. Tony seemed not to notice.

“Perhaps its slipped your mind, or perhaps you need to be reminded, but in either case, allow me to explain; you are our child, not the other way around. You don't get to decide what we know about your health when it goes sideways, and you sure as shit don't get to withhold something like this.”

“Do not swear at him,” Steve said, low and dangerous and so suddenly ferocious everyone in the room flinched back. Tony blinked at Steve, stunned, before swallowing and looking away.

Steven turned back to Peter, who also looked mortified, and put a hand on his son's cheek. “Pete,” Steve said tenderly. “Please. What your father is trying to say is that you don't need to worry about us when we're on missions. You are our first priority, and you always will be. It isn't your job to keep us safe, but it is our job to keep you safe. We have each other's backs out there so we can both have yours when we come home. Do you understand?'

Peter's lip trembled, and a few tears managed their way out before he could swallow them back, but he nodded. Steve pulled a soothing hand through Peter's hair and stood. He gave Tony an indecipherable look.

“I'm going to talk to the doctor,” he said. “Be nice.”

Steve walked out to find Dr. Watkins, and Tony and Peter looked at each other uneasily.

“I didn't mean to yell,” Tony said, eyes down as he tapped the guardrail of the bed. “I'm not angry with you. Well, I am, but I can't be right now.”

Peter hiccuped a laugh and then winced again. Tony took Peter's hand. “What is it that's hurting you?” he asked, concern pulling at his features.

Peter sighed a long sigh that seemed to deflate his whole body. “Everything. I'm so tired.”

Something in Tony twisted at hearing how his son was so clearly miserable. “We're gonna get you home soon,” Tony said, squeezing Peter's hand. “Dad and I can make you dinner, and we'll all get to sleep in our own beds. How's that sound?'

Peter snorted. “Fucking excellent.”

“You know how your dad feels about that kind of talk.”

“Let me get away with one, I'm sick.”

0-0-0

They brought him home in an ambulance.

It didn't matter that Peter was coming home, nor did it soothe Tony to see the woman he'd handpicked coming toward them with a confident, determined look on her face. It was still Peter coming out of an ambulance on a stretcher. Tony's world still didn't make sense yet.

A team of doctors moved Peter from one stretcher to the other and whisked him away to the medical level. There Peter was hooked up to the same bevy of machines he had been attached to in the hospital, but he didn't look quite as small and scared as he had at St. Olga's. Once all the tubes and wires were in place, they replaced all Peter's blankets and put Discovery channel on the ensuite TV. Peter was out in minutes.

Steve collapsed into the second bed next to Tony. They had set Peter up in the only double occupancy bedroom they had, so everyone could sleep at the same time. “Have I ever told you how brilliant I think it is to have a medical facility in our house?” Steve asked, slurring his words with sleep. “Because it is.”

Tony smirked. “Do you remember when we used to do this when he was a baby? He'd fall asleep and we would scramble for our own blankets and pillows so we could drop next to the crib, get a snatch of sleep before he woke up again.”

He felt Steve shake the bed with silent laughter next to him. “The good old days,” he said.

They both sobered for a moment, both thinking it but unwilling to say it; and now their son was old enough to keep them out of the loop. Now their son would hide the truth from them, if he thought he needed to.

“What did we do wrong?” Tony asked softly. “To make him think he needed to keep this a secret?”

“Nothing,” Steve said with a snort. “We raised a good kid. Not only a good one, but a self-sacrificing one. We can be mad at him all we want, but even we can't deny he was only following our examples.”

“I fancy myself a rather selfish man, and I'm sure most would agree,” Tony said with faux haughtiness. Steve snickered into Tony's shoulder.

“We've both made plays to save a city that could have ended with us dead,” Steve said quietly. “I went down and you went up, but we both were willing to sacrifice to keep them safe. Fight me on it all you want, but he gets that from us.”

Tony thought about one of the last calls they'd made in Greenland, to split up instead of staying together. Tony had been against it, and if it had been his call to make, they've have kept the unit together, but he hadn't wanted to hamper the mission with his need to keep Steve close. They'd split, and they'd found the enemy, but each team of Avengers had been outmatched by what they found and they'd nearly lost the battle. Steve had a neatly healing line of stitches across his back for their trouble.

If they'd done it Tony's way, how many fewer days would it have taken to find what they needed to come home? How many fewer days would their son have spent in the hospital, scared, small, and cold against hospital sheets?

“I want to make a motion,” Tony said, bringing up one hand. “The three of us need to be a little more selfish.”

“I second that,” Steve said with a sigh.

“Thirded,” Peter slurred, surprising them both into quiet chuckles. “Th'motion passes.”

Steve put his head on Tony's shoulder and they both watched their son slacken back into sleep.

“Look at him,” Tony murmured to Steve just before he himself went down for the count. “Asleep like his ass isn't grounded for the next six months.”

“Be nice, he's sick.”

“Fine. Four months, then.”

#irondad #irondad & spiderson #superfamily #stevetony #fic #oneshot #sickfic #a youtuber i like recently went through this #and i thought 'wow that sucks'#and my little gremlin brain went 'ONE SHOT'

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vandorens-archive · 4 years

Text

ten questions tag | i was tagged by: @mshelleys, @emdrabbles, @pe-ersona, @evergrcen and @septemberliterature. thank you so much, and i’m so sorry i’m getting to this so late!

everything is under the cut!

@mshelleys

i. if you could change the genre of one of your wips, what would you change it to and how would the story/characters change?

So, trahison already features a ghost and a brief stay at a manor. have i considered turning it into a full fledged horror because of that? perhaps.

ii. do you think of your characters as actors playing a part in a movie or as people in history actually doing things that effect the future?

i think of them as actors playing in one long, crazy, unpredictable play.

iii. role swap your protagonist and antagonist but keep their personalities the same; how different would your story be?

honestly, not different at all, because when it comes to it, the subject of trahison’s antagonist (s) is pretty complex.

iv. are any of your characters based on you, family, friends, or someone else you know?

oh, absolutely. my characters range between self inserts, to characters i wish i was more like, to characters that are essentially walking, talking, breathing love letters to the people i care about.

v. how long have you had your main protagonist(s) of your wip(s)?

I’ve been working with marin, nate and ruby for years, long before they were even called that and were a part of a dystopian crime novel (don’t ask). antoine joined them soon after, followed a while later by beth and isadora, and miles was invented during the plotting stage.

vi. do you prefer to write chronologically or just make a bunch of scenes and order them after they’re written?

it depends on what i’m working on and how serious i am about it, but if we’re only talking about trahison, then chronologically!

vii. imagine the problem in your wip is sorted out, how would the protagonist recount the story to their children if they asked?

with a far away look in his eyes and an uncharacteristic fondness in his voice, marin would turn to his children, and tell them how extraordinary his friends were during his university years—their zeal, their inquisitiveness, and conveniently leaving out the uncomfortable loyalty they all had towards each other, until time and life’s commands separated them.

viii. favorite (non-spoilery) line(s) of your current wip(s)?

This small bit of description, albeit a little purple prose-y, is one that i’m very, very proud of.

“ The morning rain had made its grave in the dirt, the bittersweet smell—like exotic black tea—rising into the air. It was the night pluviophiles came to dance. If I think hard, I can still taste the ghost of the raindrops on my tongue and sense Beth’s radiating warmth beside me; its own ghost ” - trahison, chapter three

ix. if your wip was a movie, could you see it be done in the 70s, 80s, 90s, 2000s, or 2010s? why that decade in particular?

so, fun fact, i hadn’t decided when to set trahison (see: the big question mark in my plotting notebook) but i have recently made up my mind and decided to set it in the seventies! if it was a film, then i could see it being made in seventies france! very a la the dreamers.

x. are you able to just make up a story on the spot, or do you need help (plot generators or other outside influences)?

sometimes i’ll take the help of prompts or media, but otherwise i just come up with things on my own!

@emdrabbles

i. what do the names of your main characters mean? did you pick them for the meaning or another reason?

i picked the trahison characters’ names based on two things: how much it related to the character’s backstory or personality, and how pleasing it sounded out loud. here are the meanings of their names:

marin — of the sea

ruby — deep red; precious stone; behold a son

elizabeth — god is my oath

nathaniel — gift from god

antoine — priceless one; beyond praise

isadora — gift of Isis

ii. what book are you currently reading?

I’m currently reading the time machine by h.g wells!

iii. last sentence written?

“ When the end of the world comes — I’ll film it ” — copycat, or the one where i predict the future.

iv. who are some of your faceclaims?

i usually don’t use faceclaims, but if i had to choose:

marin van doren (trahison) — timor simakov

eloi hill (psychophantia) — maxence danet fauvel

cass parker (penny lane) — monica tomas

v. gimme some worldbuilding facts!!

alright, here’s one: in the world of psychophantia, not only is the magic system and your powers controlled by your morals, but so is your social ranking, your education, and any future you may have—to an extent.

vi. do you outline? if so, do you have a specific method?

i’m a plotter and only really work well with a solid outline, however, my outlines range from a series of messy, incoherent bullet points to meticulous scene-by-scene planning based around the three act structure. this post is my go to for plotting assistance!

vii. favourite author?

Like every tumblr user ever, i love donna tartt and maggie stiefvater, but i’m also a huge fan of f.scott fitzgerald, agatha christie and vera caspary!

viii. what is your oldest wip?

trahison! It went through many, many changes — from changes in genre to changes in character names, and there’s still a possibility that it could change even further.

ix. what is your favourite wip?

every wip i reblog under my #others. tag! You all are so damn talented!

x. where do you get your inspiration from?

everywhere around me! from conversations i have with people, from films and books i consume, from the music on the radio — i like that anything and everything can inspire me to create.

@pe-ersona

i. in one sentence, explain your current wip!

a group of secretive students attempt to become immortal, only to uncover the worst parts of themselves — and each other — as they do.

ii. was writing your main interest or did you have other interests?

although writing is my main interest (see: my social media bio on every platform ever), i also like to journal, sew, cook and make videos! my interests usually do have to do with the intention of creation.

iii. what’s your favorite genre to write? to read?

I love writing horror and mysteries. those are my favourite genres, but i also love reading a good contemporary romance!

iv. what is one goal you have for your wip this year? how’s that goal going?

to finish the first draft! so far, not so bad, though i do wish i could write more, but unfortunately, time constraints plus school restrict me from doing so.

v. how old is your wip? or when did you start writing your wip?

trahison is nearly three years old, but i only started writing the current version of it a year ago.

vii. what scene made you cry or laugh or both?

these lines made me laugh out loud the first time i wrote them:

“ Up the stairs stumbled Miles, my slovenly genius roommate. He grinned at the giggles and winked at the exasperated stares.

The gall of him!

I wanted to be him.

He managed to find his balance enough to reach our dorm. I immediately stepped back to let him in, and to make sure I was in no association with his uncomposed state. Nate gave a disapproving look at his back as he staggered in.

I took another step back, raised a pointed eyebrow, and closed the door ” — trahison, chapter three

vii. how many ocs does your wip have? who’s your favourite?

my main wip, trahison, has six main characters. out of the main six, my favourite has to be nathaniel. he is very much the epitome of pure, and sometimes i wonder how he ended up in the middle of such a dark plot.

vii. you have a brand new idea for a wip, what do you do?

brainstorm, brainstorm, brainstorm. scribble down whatever the hell pops up in my brain, attempt to link it together by a thin string of yarn, cross my fingers and hope for the best.

ix. you are having your first book-signing, where are you?

i’m in a small bookstore, nestled in a corner near the storage room. almost no one knows about this town, so the line is small but chatty, fans exchanging theories and analysing certain paragraphs. the sight of them makes me feel warm inside.

x. you have the ability to live in any book, publishing or not, what would it be?

would it be too cliche to say the harry potter universe? other than that, other worlds i would love to be a part of is the world in my novel penny lane, or in midst of a detective story.

@evergrcen / @septemberliterature

i. how did you come up with your wip’s title? what does it mean in relation to the story?

okay, so i discovered the word ‘trahison’ after hearing my french teacher say it, and immediately knew i had to use it for something. ‘trahison’ means betrayal or treason in french, which is one of the main themes in the novel.

ii. do you title your chapters? if so, what’s your favourite?

I don’t, but I would love to!!

iii. what’s a recent line you really like?

Not a very dramatic or noteworthy line, but here’s one from a poem i’m writing:

“ So the two of you get in the car, proceeding to have an argument with the radio ” — examples of easy solutions, or the one where the internet has no answers.

iv. are there any writing-related quotes you really like?

“i think a lot of art is trying to make someone love you” — keaton henson

v. do you have an idea for a cover design for your story?

A black background with serif text, that’s it. It’s simple. It’s mysterious. It’s the type of vibe I want to exude.

vi. what sort of au can you imagine your story being?

...dark academia au anyone?

just kidding. in all seriousness, though, i can see a royalty/political au for trahison, or a medieval fantasy au!

vii. which oc would be the most angry with you as the writer?

eloi. i really need to give that poor boy a break.

viii. if you had to tell the story from a different pov, which character would you choose?

ruby! she’s the token enigma of trahison, so i think her point of view would be very interesting to see.

ix. what would be your oc’s taste in music if they lived in our world?

OKAY let’s see:

marin — classic rock, so the who, queen, def leppard.etc

ruby — that one person who you’re pretty sure only listens to classical music, but is actually very attuned to modern day music. she would mostly listen to female singer-songwriters, so take lorde, marina, lana del rey, and other such artists.

beth — take one look at her playlist, and you’ll see that ninety five percent of it is mitski, while the other five percent is bedroom pop. she would like very tender, calm, cry to in bed music.

Antoine — same as marin, but add other modern day music artists with eclectic sounds, such as twenty one pilots, arctic monkeys, that sort of thing.

nathaniel — classical music, instrumentals, and film soundtracks make up his playlist. if it has sung words, he won’t listen to it. has little to no understanding of modern day music and is too scared to find out more about it.

isadora — 2000’s diva pop plays in the background of her life. rihanna is her go to whenever she gets to control the party. Don’t be surprised if ‘rich girl’ by gwen stefani starts playing in your head at the sight of her.

x. what’s one personal goal you want to achieve by the end of the story?

finishing it with pride!

#( FINALLY i've caught up with everything i've been tagged in ahhh )#games.#long post

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godaime-obito · 6 years

Text

Kagatobi WIP

so id started a kagatobi thing before the semester took away all the time and energy i had for writing. ive tried to pick it up, and ive written some more but im not sure ill get back the feeling for it to finish it. if i decide not to finish it ill edit this and post it on ao3 but if i manage to get back inspiration i wont start posting till its almost finished. for now im posting it here, under the cut

Tobirama is exhausted. He’s been sorting through paperwork for far too long, and he knows he should go home soon, but there’s always another urgent form that needs taken care of immediately. He thought he had a lot of paperwork when he was just helping Hashirama, but since he stepped down and left the hat to Tobirama he’s been swamped. Anija has not returned the favor and given him any help, but to be honest when he does try to help it often makes things take longer.

He sighs, and goes to move on to the next form, when one of his anbu guards descend from their post to stand behind him. “Rabbit,” he says without looking away from the form, “What is it?”

“You look like you’ll have an aneurysm if you do any more paperwork, and it’s almost midnight. I can imagine what the obituary would be now: Nidiame-sama dead of a stroke at only 38, could defeat any foe but triplicate forms.” He stops to chuckle a little at the absurdity. “So, I’m doing my job as your bodyguard and protecting you,” Kagami finishes answering, reaching over Tobirama to grab the rest of his paperwork, “I’m just protecting you from yourself instead of assassins.

“I need to get that done,” he reprimands, “put it back Rabbit.”

“It’ll wait till tomorrow just like it always did for Shodai-sama,” he countered. He plopped the papers down in a filing cabinet and slammed it shut before adding, “and did you make up the entire anbu just so you could make me a rabbit because if so that’s a very complicated way to tease me. Why couldn’t I be Tiger or something?”

“You just look like a rabbit to me,” he says. He stands up, giving in to the request to take a break. He imagines Kagami is right about the work waiting for him just like it did for his brother.

“Are you calling me cute?” he teases, and Tobirama can tell he’s smiling behind the mask.

He hums agreeably and then teases back, dead-pan, “Don’t forget how fluffy and short you are. You’re a very soft little bunny, but I couldn’t just call you bunny, of course, since everyone else was getting adult animal names.”

Kagami sniffs, affronted, and pouts. “If you were any less of a sucker for order and regulations you’d have done it anyway,” he gripes. “Don’t come back in to work until after my shift guarding you is over, you should get a full night of sleep for once,” he calls out, as he moves back into position to follow Tobirama home.

Knowing Kagami can still hear him from his post he replies, “You shouldn’t order your Hokage around.” He’s mostly pocking at him, but he does have his image to think of if he wants to be able to scare all the various clan elders into line for village meetings. It almost gives him shivers just to think of what they’d try to pull if they thought he was willing to take orders from anyone except his own clan head.

He walks back to the compound briskly. Kagami’s shift ends in five hours, so he could still listen to him and be back to work by six in the morning. However, that isn’t really in the spirit of what he wanted, and will he really get much done if off duty Kagami shows up to nag him? No. He’ll wait a few extra hours then. He can sleep for about seven hours, have a quick breakfast, and be back in his office at nine.

Tobirama manages to avoid being derailed by Hashirama, or his granddaughter Tsunade whose only just learned to walk, but can still pull off grand panic inducing escapes. He arrives at Hokage tower just when planned. He pulls his paperwork out of the cabinet, and sets back to work. He’s regretting not having the time to get tea, when he heard a knock. Before he can invite Kagami in, because who else would it be, he swings the door open.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks setting a cup down on Tobirama’s desk without waiting for an answer.

“It looks like you already know the answer,” he replies. He takes a moment to hold the cup close to his face and bask in the steam. “Thanks. It’s nice to have some on reliable, responsible, around.”

“I’m not sure if that’s actually a compliment for me, or a vague insult for someone else, but I’ll take it,” Kagami chirps.

“The first paper I pulled out to look at today informed me that, my dear former student, Hiruzen somehow managed to set fire to part of the market earlier this week,” Tobirama grumbles in reply.

“I’m insulted, setting public property on fire is my clan’s job.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns.

“Kidding, kidding,” Kagami replies showing his palms in surrender, “no fun in the office, I get it.”

Tobirama gives him an exasperated stare. “I want it to be clear that if it weren’t so unbefitting for the Hokage to do so, I would roll my eyes at you,” he states evenly.

“Lies, Shodai-sama did things way less mature. The unasked-for hugging, the shouting, the crying,” he laments.

“All of that is why it’s important I keep high standards. I have a lot to make up for,” he clarifies.

Kagami stares, giving him a considering look, then drawls, “If you are always trying to balance out your brother it’s no wonder you never have any fun.” Perking up, he claps his hands together in front of himself and adds, “Shodai-sama was serious when it really counted though-”

“He was?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, and besides, you know best of all when he’s being serious,” he replies, crossing his arms. “Anyway, if you’re balancing him and he was serious occasionally, that means occasionally you have to have fun. I can’t remember the last time you did, so you’re overdo,” Kagami declares.

Tobirama has given up on getting any paperwork done with him here. Rubbing his temples, he slowly says, “I don’t like where this is going. I have a lot of paperwork, and issues to work on. For instance, your clan, who remain dangerously set apart, even now that Madara is no longer stirring up ill-sentiment.”

“That’s perfect! Think of it like multitasking. We’ll stay in at your place tonight, instead of you staying here till three in the morning, and we can brainstorm about how to help my clan together. I’d suggest we go out, but I know you’ll get more enjoyment at home with no strangers about,” Kagami gushes, sliding into a chair by the desk.

Tobirama didn’t realize that humans could talk that fast. He breathes out a deep sigh and responds, “Fine. Just let me do my paperwork now, and I’ll leave for the day at dinner.” His nose scrunches up as he adds, “I suppose if I don’t take breaks on my own, Anija will come to bug me instead of just you, and I’d much rather it be you.”

“Ah, your age-old talent of saying-something-that-I-can’t-tell-if-is-meant-as-a-compliment-or-an-insult,” he says wistfully, leaning his elbows on the desk, and resting his chin on his hands.

“Can’t it be both? It’s important I show my appreciation for all you do, but it’s also important as your friend that I don’t let you get a big head,” Tobirama deadpans.

“Right, what are friends for,” Kagami chuckles, “I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I want to compliment you.” He slides onto the desk and leans back with his ankles crossed. Tobirama would tell him to get off, but he sat on it almost the same way when Hashirama was Hokage, and even though he wasn’t there, he’s sure Kagami would somehow know and throw it back in his face. It’s best not to make a target of himself.

“Just stop by my house for dinner tonight, so you can eat with me and hold me captive in my own home to force me to stop working,” he huffed.

“Sure thing! See you later,” Kagami chirped, popping up from the desk. He slips quietly out of the room, as Tobirama turns back to his work, he has to go heckle Hiruzen a bit.

Tobirama has only just arrived home when he spots Kagami walking towards him. He’s holding some kind of take-out, which is good, because it’s late enough he doesn’t want to cook anything. Kagami knows him so well, or else he does not like his cooking. He hopes it’s the former, but it’s probably a little of both.

Noticing he’s been spotted, he calls out, “I picked up some udon. I figured you’d barely manage to beat me here.”

“My hero,” he replies. His tone is flat, but underneath he’s sincere. He opens the door, ushering Kagami in ahead of him. Tobirama heads in to the kitchen to make tea, while Kagami sits down at the kitchen table and sets out the food.

He sets out the tea, and joins the younger man at the table. He doesn’t bring up any of what they agreed to talk about yet, as he’s content to sit and eat in silence. Just being near Kagami is pleasant enough on its own, and he often finds a lot of words just bog down the atmosphere. It’s only when they finish eating, and move into the living room that he brings up their planned conversation.

“While you’ve got me on forced leave, tell me, do you have anything to discuss regarding the issue with your clan?” Tobirama inquires.

“I love it when you talk fancy,” Kagami sighs, his usual mixture of exaggeration and sincerity.

“That wasn’t ‘fancy’ talk, and please, answer the question,” he redirects.

He sits up in reply, settling into a more serious pose. “Well there hasn’t been any new big developments since we last spoke about it. Madara and other doubtfuls about the alliance got everyone riled up about trusting the village, growing unsettlement, not integrating probably, which makes things worse and worse as more clans have join, you know? Your normal signs of impending disaster,” Kagami says, slowly losing his serious air as he speaks.

The fact that it’s been getting worse means this isn’t a problem that will go away on its own. Tobirama is definitely going to have to do something, and preferably soon. After a beat, he says slowly, “Do you think your clan would settle if they felt they had a valuable purpose in the village? More than the new clans joining?”

Kagami perks up, cocking a brow. “Go on,” he says curiously.

“I think,” he starts, leaning in slightly, “that the Uchiha need reassured that they are vital to the village. Not that we want them to stay, but we need to them to stay. Or at least they need to feel like we need them, because if we do then it would not make sense for us to betray them.”

“Oh,” Kagami says, leaning in to mirror Tobirama, “I see. Well it’s worth trying, but what can we do to reassure my clansmen is the real question.”

Suddenly, Tobirama realizes how close they have gotten to one another. Leaning as they both are at the small table their faces are only centimeters apart. The atmosphere seems to shift for a moment, and he resists the urge to glance at Kagami’s lips. Pulling away, he refocuses on talking before he can blush. “That’s what we will have to figure out. Let’s give it some time and then reconvene,” he says stiltedly. Kagami likely did not even notice how close he was. He is much more prone to physical contact than Tobirama, who reasons to himself that he is probably reading too far into things.

“Right,” Kagami agreed, shifting back reluctantly. “I, uh, actually I should probably go now,” he adds looking at Tobirama considering, “Unless…”

“Unless, what?” he asks. He genuinely is not sure what Kagami could want at this point, after all he likely has much more interesting things to do than hang out with Tobirama. He is no one’s idea of an exciting time.

Kagami looks to be preparing to say something but then abruptly deflates. “Never mind,” he hesitates, “It’s nothing.” He pursed his lips, looking lost in thought, before standing up from the table.

Tobirama gives his farewell, and looks at the udon only partly finished on the table. He wonders what prompted that sudden departure. Deciding Kagami is perfectly capable of handling himself, Tobirama finishes eating and moves on to see if he can get some work done after all. He can wait to see if he will bring up what is bothering him on his own tomorrow.

Just as he’s sitting down at his home desk, he hears his door slam open. “Wait!” Tobirama hears called out from the entry. “I change my mind, I don’t have to go. I could feel you sit down to work from across town,” Kagami shouts walking towards the office. Strange, he thinks, but it is a relief to see he hasn’t altered his priorities any. Stopping Tobirama from getting any work done is still at the top of Kagami’s list.

“Get up from that desk,” he asserts, pointing a finger at him in an embellished motion. Tobirama lifts his hand in surrender and stands up. “Right, good,” Kagami continues, “I panicked, and left for a dumb reason, and we are going to ignore that decision.”

“Panicked?” Tobirama asks, mildly perplexed.

“I just said,” he retorted, “that we are going to ignore that. It didn’t happen.” Then he steps close to Tobirama, and presses a hand to his bicep to lead him down the hall. “We are going to sit in the living room, and talk about whatever thing you’re inventing, or book you’re reading, and not do any work,” Kagami asserts.

That is, in fact, exactly what they do. As reluctant as he acted Tobirama is glad. It’s nice to talk to someone about his jutsus and his lab work who understands most of what he is saying, and doesn’t get bored half way through. He even manages not to have anymore, awkward almost-lip-staring moments, although the atmosphere he thinks only he may be feeling still descends part way into the night.

“I think I have to go for real this time. It’s getting pretty late,” Kagami moves to leave reluctantly, despite his frenzied departure earlier. Tobirama places his hand on the door frame as Kagami steps away from the entry. He turns back to face Tobirama, and steps closer placing his hand over his on the door frame.

Staring back at Kagami, Tobirama freezes, uncertain. “Is there something you need?” he asks quietly.

Looking determined Kagami states, “Actually, I am going to talk about earlier after all. I shouldn’t have just not left, I should’ve done this.” He grips Tobirama’s hand in his, and pulls it down from the frame towards himself, causing him to lean forward. Then pushing up on his toes to meet him, presses their lips together. For one, frightening, moment Tobirama doesn’t move, but then, as if coming back to himself suddenly, he moves his lips against Kagami’s. He moves in, shifting the angle, and interlocks their fingers. He pulls back, and runs his tongue across his lower lip. Kagami knows he should say something, but he finds he’s forgotten how to move his own tongue.

“I, yeah, that was what I…you kiss as good as I thought you would?” he stutters out. He managed to use his tongue, but unfortunately his brain still isn’t working.

“Have you thought about it much?” Tobirama replies with a smirk.

“Maybe regularly,” he admits, “but you kissed back, so I bet you thought about kissing me too, didn’t you?”

Tobirama hums his agreement, and Kagami abruptly feels rather stupid for not having just kissed him before. “If we’ve both been thinking off it for who knows how long, then we’ve wasted a lot of time we could have been kissing for real,” he whines.

“Perhaps,” Tobirama says thoughtfully, “we will have to make up for lost time.”

#fic:wau #fanfic #my fic #kagatobi #tobirama #kagami uchiha #kagami #naruto #tobikaga

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silentauroriamthereal · 6 years

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Okay, so this is extremely long, but my good friend @ravenmorganleigh tagged me in this a few days ago, and I would never refuse her. I’ll put most of it under a cut! This was very interesting to answer!

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

Ooof, that’s a big ask! My very first fic was a Harry/Snape (yes, I know, groan away!) and the fact that I haven’t re-read it in well over a decade is suggestive that I never will, lol. I couldn’t even remember what it was called, so I just looked it up. It’s called Things Change (not linking it, sorry!!) and it was posted on skyehawke.com after fanfiction.net banned me in September of 2004. Lol. It’s still there, along with all of my other Harry Potter fic (of which there is over 1.4 million words).

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

I just posted Out of the Woods yesterday, which is an intentionally light-hearted story. My last serious one is the one I wrote just before it, The Clouded Eye, and I would say that between these and my earliest stuff, there is a significant gap in quality, yes. :P

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

That’s honestly impossible to say. It depends what you’re judging on. For intricacy of plot, clearly my novel, Against the Rest of the World. For sheer fixing for series 4, which is a herculean task to explain, fill in the gaps logically, and then actually make it palatable, I would give it to the fix-it that most clearly addresses the most issues with series 4 – the Holmes family history, Eurus’ existence in general, Sherlock’s memory problems, Mary’s wholly unbelievable and unsatisfactory death, the practical issues with the entire concept of John and Sherlock having a child at 221B, etc – and that fic is Hell Hath No Fury. It’s a bittersweet ending, and honestly the most realistic I can see after that disastrous series. For sheer levels of how much it explains and delves into, I’m very pleased with it. For depth and intricacy of emotion, my personal vote goes to The Wisteria Tree. For pure porn, it has to be Best of Three. For one of my overall personal favourites, Bridging the Ravine.

4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?

Far and away it’s Best of Three, which is rapidly closing in on 100,000 hits, probably the only work of mine that will ever achieve this milestone.

Putting the rest under a cut!

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

I’m equally proud of all of my stories, for different reasons.

6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?

Nah. I’m frankly proud of the silly ones and as to the early stuff, everyone has to start somewhere!

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

I have no unfinished stories at the moment. I just finished one, so I’m officially between projects. That will probably last for all of 2-3 days and then I’ll start something new.

8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

Not applicable; I always finish my stories.

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

No, and no offense, but I find that entire concept ridiculous and rather disrespectful to the source material. Even when I disagree with the canon, I have legions of respect for it.

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

Yes, I have exactly one Star Wars fic (though I think I took it down for some reason, years ago) and one Lord of the Rings fic, and I still have never read any fic for those fandoms other than my own.

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?

Only once, at least knowingly: after writing three long series 4 fix-it fics (A Case For Domestic Propinquity, Hell Hath No Fury, and From the Bottom of the Well), I decided that I wanted to finally give in and write a well-known trope, and wrote a fake-couple-for-a-case fic (Bridging the Ravine), which is now up there as one of my favourite fics of my own collection. Happily, I have a personal policy that I don’t read other people’s stories while writing my own, as a deliberate attempt to keep myself free of influence. The downside is that I miss out on probably a lot of good fic. For this trope, I’d only ever read one or two stories that would fit that description and they were literal years ago, so I don’t remember any of their details and didn’t want to. I make a pretty strong effort to not just reproduce the same ideas that other people have already done, which is a tricky thing to do in a fandom that has a lot of similar ideas and desires for the final results (aka, Sherlock and John getting together). I really do try very hard, though! This particular story also contains way more original characters than any other I’ve ever written, many of whom have developed enough backstories to work as stand-alone characters in their own stories and I’m proud of that, too! There are 24 in total!

12. Have you ever written a fic and decided never to publish it? Why?

No. There are story ideas I’ve refused to let myself write, though. Or several that I’ve sat on for months in trying to refuse to write, like my first Freebatch fic. I have mixed feelings about Real Person Fic and tried very hard to suppress the urge to write The A.G.R.A. Complex, and managed to keep myself from doing it for nine months. But then I caved. For the few I’ve refused to write, either it’s been because the concept itself made me sad, or it centred around an unpopular sexual kink, or some other reason like that. But generally, if I want to write something, I’ll just write it, and if I write it, I’ll post it.

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

I wouldn’t say that there’s been a huge change. I wrote more chaptered stories in the beginning, but I’m very busy and the stress of updating regularly is too much for me right now. I found my stride in the long novella. I strongly prefer the single-chapter format, but if it’s over 40,000 words, I’ll make myself break it up into chapters. The last WIP I posted as I wrote it was Against the Rest of the World, which I wrote over four months in the fall of 2013, leading up to the release of series 3 – in fact, I finished it two days before TEH aired! I was updating on average every six days, and some of those chapters were over 10,000 words long. It was a strain to keep it up, honestly – it meant that I was writing around the clock, day and night. It was the first thing I would do in the morning and the last thing I would do at night. I would come home on breaks at work to write, or take my laptop with me. I lived and breathed that story for four months. It’s told in first person voice (Sherlock’s POV), too, so it meant that I had Sherlock’s voice in my head at all times for four months. I missed him when it was over.

14. What’s the biggest change in your taste between when you started in fandom and today?

I wouldn’t say that there’s been one. I’m always trying to go further and further into the characters, their feelings, their experiences, and relate them so that the reader can ideally not just watch the story unfolding, but feel everything that the POV character is feeling at the same time. One can always go deeper, and I will never stop trying. Obviously different stories call for a heavier or lighter touch that way, but you get the drift.

15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it’d be more popular?

No. I write the stories that come to me. I never write aiming for popularity. Though of course, I paradoxically always hope that my stories will be! But I never think, “Hmm, what would the fandom market really go for?” I just write the stories that I feel I need to tell.

16. Have you ever stopped writing a fic/for a fandom because it wasn’t receiving enough attention?

Never. I think that’s lame.

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

My most popular, Best of Three! Similar to Bridging the Ravine, I wrote this one after I’d written my initial big trio of series 3 fix-it fics (Deductions of a Lesser Mind, Act IV, and Vena Cava), and just needed to take a break and write something lighter. I wrote the entire thing in under 24 hours. I get why it’s popular – the combination of humour, sheer smut, nod to The Three Garridebs, and then the twist of romance at the end is a fairly unbeatable combination, but at the time I was indignant by its popularity, honestly! I’ve written many, many better, less popular stories. What can you do? Over time, I’ve stopped being exasperated and just rejoiced in Best of Three’s popularity.

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

Ha! That’s so subjective! I really can’t answer that. Instead, I’ll just list some stories of mine that I’ve been very proud of and sometimes wish people would read more: Hell Hath No Fury (again, very proud of this one for its sheer amount of fixing), A Satellite Out of Orbit (this is a companion story to Where My Demons Hide that features Sherlock’s visits to Ella, set just before and during TLD, but also extending to after the point where the original story stops – not compliant with TFP, as both stories were written before it aired, but I’m still proud of them both!), Munich (probably less read because it’s an established relationship, which tends to be less popular), The Legacy of Martha J. Hudson (this one is SUPER sad and I’m not surprised that people have shied away from it, but I still think it’s worth the read! Good for when you need a cry? Because, as the title heavily implies, Mrs Hudson dies in it), Pater Noster (a rather dark fix-it, wherein Mary’s first job was to kill John’s father – I was looking for a reason that Mary thought that John really wouldn’t love her anymore that was that much worse than her trying to kill Sherlock!), The Final Proof (this is even sadder than the Mrs Hudson story – it’s a retirement fic wherein Sherlock dies, then John dies at the end, too. Everyone who has read it has cried (seriously, like 98%) but also said that they found it really beautiful, so - ?).

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?

Well, that’s easy! (Note: it’s not!) Possibly Vena Cava.

20. Have/Would you ever rewrite a fic? If yes, would you take the original down?

No, I wouldn’t rewrite a fic. What’s done is done. Although there are always the typos I missed the first time around. :P

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?

Only if I weren’t working on something of my own at the time, which almost never happens. What I really don’t like is when someone reads something of mine and then obligates me to then read something of theirs in turn. It makes me uncomfortable and I find it a bit rude. When I discover that a regular commenter also writes, then I will often make an effort to seek out their work when I’m between stories, but I hate having it pushed on me.

22. Has there ever been anyone who’s made you freak out because they read your work and followed/favorited/reviewed?

Yes, but not in this fandom.

23. What’s the nicest review you’ve ever gotten?

Impossible to say. I’ve been graced with some of the best, most thoughtful readers/commenters in the universe!!

24. What’s the meanest review you’ve ever gotten? Do you think the reviewer intended it?

I don’t like to focus on these, but I’ve received numerous death threats for my portrayals of Mary, especially back in 2014 (the year series 3 aired) when even Johnlockers still liked her. That only changed within the past year or two! Disliking Mary was an extremely unpopular stance at first. I received a number of these as comments on stories, particularly after I disabled anonymous asks here on tumblr. For a long time, one specific Mary stan kept on reading my stuff and leaving me hate. I really wondered why they kept reading my stuff when it obviously was never going to be what they wanted to see. Note to haters out there: that’s a piss poor persuasion technique. As to my writing itself, no, not really. When I started writing fanfic in 2004, in the world of Harry Potter, one of the worst things a reviewer could call a fic was ��fluffy”. The meaning of this term has changed significantly in the past 14 years, but what it meant then was that it was a story seriously lacking in real substance, OOC as hell, and badly written. While these days it tends to me “romantic, light-hearted, heart-warming, sweet”, etc, it still makes me wince any time someone calls a story of mine “fluffy” for that reason.

25. What constructive criticism, however well-meaning, always makes you feel bad when you see it in a review?

I wouldn’t say that there’s one aspect that gets commented on in a regular way. Though @totallysilvergirl beta-read my novel and pointed out a specific thing I do in terms of sentence structure, but it never made me feel badly to have it pointed out.

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

I’m always glad to hear when someone liked the main POV, and I tend to get that compliment the most when it’s a Sherlock POV. I’m also always pleased when people comment on how much a story made them feel – that’s really what I’m going for! Also, in Against the Rest of the World, I spent hours and hours on background research – locations in particular, but also things like local architecture, shipping routes and times, flight times, time zones, language, etc, so I’m always pleased when someone comments on that level of detail in that story.

27. If you could only ever write crossovers or single-fandom fics ever again, which would you pick?

Single fandom, all the way. I’m not a fan of crossovers or AU’s. I’ve written exactly two crossovers in my time. One was a Harry/Draco story in which Draco nominates Harry for the old TLC show What Not To Wear, to Harry’s fury. I had fun with that. The other, and this is pure crack now, was one of my earliest stories, a Darth Vader/Voldemort crossover. Though it isn’t actually a crossover, as DV was Harry in Polyjuice. It was very silly.

28. if you could only ever write for a single crossover or a single fandom again, which would you pick?

Single fandom, again.

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

Not applicable here; I only write for one fandom at a time. JKR turned me off Harry Potter with the ridiculous epilogue on book 7 and then her attempts to include more “canon” information in her interviews. It annoyed me hugely – but mostly it was the epilogue, which was (deliberately, most of us thought at the time) extremely difficult to write around, though I tried it for a few stories. When I finished that (my last HP story was posted in 2010, but it had been a year since the one prior), I thought I was finished with writing and with fandoms in general. Then I discovered Benedict Cumberbatch in May of 2013, and through him, Sherlock. By the time I was on ASIB, I knew with a sinking feeling that I was simply going to have to write this fandom, too. Lol. I posted the first chapter of my first fic on June 15th, 2013.

30. Do you continue to write for a fandom after you’ve moved on or do you focus solely on the new one?

History would show that I focus strictly on the new one. The only exceptions to strictly Sherlock have been my four Freebatch stories (The A.G.R.A. Complex, Having Your Cake, Always Through the Changing, and A Room with a View).

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

No one, I hope. I’ve written a large number of the characters in the Sherlock universe, including (in approximate order of frequency): Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Mary, Molly, Janine, Ella, Mrs Hudson, and Sally Donovan. Sherlock and John are my favourites to write, Mary and Molly my least favourites.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

Sherlock, absolutely. He’s where my heart lives. That said, some of my favourite stories of my own are John POV’s.

33. Is there any particular character whose scenes always wind up being longer/more frequent than you expected? Does the quality hold up?

No.

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?

The first time I wrote a Mary POV (Moving on/Making do), I was honestly afraid that I’d made her too relatable, too likeable, but the people who read the story still disliked her. Ha! And again, the sheer popularity of Best of Three always surprised me.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

Yes, I never meant to ship Harry/Draco, but it just happened.

36. Have you ever sincerely written a ship you do not support into a fic?

Yes, for the necessity of canon compliancy, I’ve written John/Mary, which I loathe.

37. Have you ever purposefully bashed a character/ship in a fic?

No. I do my very best to portray the characters as I see them in canon. There are definitely people who would said that I have bashed Mary in my stories, and I respectfully and thoroughly disagree. Mary is canonically: an assassin who killed for the highest bidder, meaning that she killed without principle, for nothing other than money. Personal gain. Gross. She’s also someone who cut and run, leaving at least half of her team alive to be killed or tortured without even checking to see if there was any possibility of rescuing them. She displayed the same urge to run away and leave John behind later, too. I find this distasteful and cowardly in the extreme. On top of this, she canonically gaslights and belittles John, which is emotionally abusive behaviour, yet “playfully” insults both him and Sherlock on an ongoing basis (“I’m not John; I can tell when people are lying” – two insults with one comment!). She displays incredible entitlement after she attempts to murder John’s best friend and doesn’t seem to think that she should need to apologise for what she did, nor that John had the right to be incredibly angry with her over it. She also showed zero signs of remorse for any of her behaviour, past or present – lying to John, anything and everything she did in her deeply criminal past, etc. When people comment and say, “I loved your evil Mary!”, my typical response is “do you mean canon!Mary?” because that’s all I’ve ever tried to write. The ONE exception I will make here is my story Scars, which is a deliberate attempt to extrapolate from Mary’s canonical gaslighting and show where that behaviour typically leads. I did my homework and consulted two therapists who work specifically with men who have been abused by women for this story, and both confirmed that they saw Mary’s behaviour as gaslighting and abusive, too. I wrote this story partly to combat the then-popular notion that Mary and John displayed “playful banter” or “bickering” at the beginning of HLV, when I saw it as clearly one-sided and not at all playful. I still don’t consider this “bashing”, however.

38. Have you ever purposefully written something you know your readers would find uncomfortable/would not enjoy? If yes, why?

Yes, the above story. Why? Because it was a story I felt had to be told. Also: The Final Proof (the one where Sherlock dies of old age), which I knew would make people cry. Again: I write what the muses prompt me to write!

39. Do you consider yourself to have a readership?

Yes, I’m very lucky to have a huge readership and it’s wonderful! (Thank you!!!!!) I don’t have any specifics on the numbers in this fandom, but when I was writing HP fic, someone wrote her doctoral dissertation on HP fanfic and she collected stats from the various archives that were active at the time, then contacted the twenty most read authors in the fandom. To my shock at the time, I was apparently the eighth most read author in the slash fandom (male/male fic), though I was far from being the eighth most popular!! She estimated my readership at close to 200,000 readers. This was HP, though, the biggest fandom in history. I don’t imagine that my readership is anywhere near that here in Sherlock-land.

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

Um, yes. I’m now close to 1.9 million words over 78 stories. I write constantly, when I have the time to do so. Occasionally a commenter will say something like, “write more, please!” and while I know it’s meant as encouragement, it can also feel slightly exasperating. I honestly don’t see how I could humanly be producing MORE. But I try. :P

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?

I only use ao3 these days.

42. How many views has your most popular fic gotten?

As I said, Best of Three is closing in on 100,000 hits now.

43. Your least popular?

My least-read story would have to be my most recently posted, which I wouldn’t consider my least popular by a long shot. That’s honestly difficult to identify because of course one has to consider the length of time a story has been posted. It’s not fair to consider a story posted yesterday against a story that’s been up for four years. But the newest story has about 2,000 hits at the moment.

44. Do you follow/favorite/kudos/comment/review more stories than you have received?

Thanks to my readership, I don’t think that would be possible.

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

I really only have one major work that isn’t fanfic, which is the original novel that I’m still working on getting published (and by “still working on”, I mean that I haven’t had time to work on this since July or so, whoopsie). Its technical genre definition is spy thriller, so let’s go with that! It’s loosely based on Against the Rest of the World with a dash of Vena Cava, a spy thriller with a gay romantic subplot.

46. Do you consider yourself a diverse author?

Yes. While my stories typically come to a similar result, I think they all get there in noticeably different ways! I’ve written amnesia, hurt/comfort, disability, many different character POV’s, gentle romances, heavy angst, deathfic, retirement fic, thrillers, fix-its, addiction (more in HP), magic (HP again), long novels, short sketches, character sketches, silly stuff, dark stuff. If you look at my stories chronologically, you will see a pattern of dark-light-dark-light – if I’ve just written a heap of angst, I’ll typically switch it up and write something lighter, or a different character voice, or a completely new idea (such as the Mary/Molly pairing in The Clouded Eye), etc. I do try to keep it fresh!

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?

Only if they were already familiar with the canon and open to reading graphic male/male sex, and that limits most of the population that isn’t already in the fandom.

48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?

A few people know. I’m very careful about who I tell.

49. Has anyone in your life ever read your fanfic just because you wrote it?

My mother. :) She reads all of my stories. We have a very good relationship!

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

Yes, it’s had a huge impact on my life. It’s been my secret other life since 2004, with a 3-4 year hiatus in there. Sometimes the drama gets to be a bit much, but the creative outlet of writing and the joy of sharing the love for these characters with a whole universe of other people is just unbeatable.

#writer stuff #my fics #silentauror #ravenmorganleigh #interview questions #johnlock #fanfic #writing

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jarienn972 · 7 years

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The Right Place - Chapter 10

Since I finally got my other WIP all caught up here on Tumblr, I figured I’d better take a look at this one too which fell two chapters behind those I had up on AO3 and FF.net. I apologize to anyone who’s been following my stories here for the Tumblr delays and I’m going to try my best not to get so far behind again.

From the beginning on Tumblr: Prologue/One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine

This next chapter is definitely a little fluffier than the previous ones but not without it's surprises...

Wednesday Morning, Portland Medical Center

When Killian's regular day nurse, Jackie, came on shift at 7AM, she was pleased to find that his appetite was returning although she was still mildly concerned about his lingering low-grade fever. She'd read the evening nurse's notes that he'd been given permission to try a cup of broth and if he managed to keep that down, they'd try something a little more solid in a few hours. He'd pleaded his case for a shower but the request had to be put on hold until Jackie could speak to Dr. Wallace - needing to be certain that it was safe to disconnect him from all of the machines and monitors - but she promised to bring him the broth while he awaited the doctor's response. He'd hoped to be free of the tubes and wires before Henry returned from the parking garage, but that wouldn't be happening.

His wait did end up being shorter than the nurse had expected though and only minutes after she'd brought him the cup of steaming chicken broth, she returned with a basket of supplies and a stack of towels. In the time she was gone, he'd managed to drink about a third of the liquid – determining quickly that it was much easier to sip it directly from the rim of the bowl rather than to attempt using the spoon. He really wanted to drink it all, but his stomach wasn't on the same page as his head so the rest would have to wait. The nurse didn't appear at all surprised that he hadn't finished it, not even commenting as she set the bowl off to the side so it wouldn't get spilled while she got him ready to bathe.

Figuring the fifteen year-old really didn't want to witness whatever weirdness and hilarity would likely result from his mother's attempt to help his stepfather shower for the first time in days, Emma had sent Henry to the cafeteria for breakfast with instructions not to return for at least half an hour. He eagerly snagged a ten dollar bill from her wallet, promising to bring her back coffee and a cinnamon roll, then hurried out the door. Once the teen was on his way, Jackie drew the privacy curtain and began talking them through everything she was doing as she untethered her patient from the equipment.

"It'll take me just a few minutes to disconnect all of these leads and then I'll remove the old dressings from each of the incisions. The IV has to stay in place, but it's portable. You'll just need to be very careful not to dislodge it," she stated as she went to work peeling away adhesives that held various wires in place – most of which Emma didn't even have the foggiest idea what they'd been for. A few alarms and buzzers sounded as the connections were severed, but the nurse was unfazed, switching off each machine that was no longer in use.

"Now," she continued, "I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, Mr. Jones. You may experience a little discomfort…" Killian knew precisely what she meant, instinctively holding his breath as the nurse pulled the catheter free. "Okay – you're all set there…"

"That's it?" he exhaled heavily as he asked for confirmation that she was done, not having felt much of anything despite the sensitive nature of the area in question.

"You're free of the catheter," Jackie laughed. "Wasn't so bad now, was it?" Even Emma had to chuckle at the relief evident on Killian's face, quite thankful that this step had actually been quick and painless or he'd likely still be complaining. "Okay – now let's get those bandages off…" Lowering the pale green gown to his waist to access the gauze patch on his chest, she swiftly pulled the tape loose from the edges and removed the entire covering, taking a visual inspection of his sutures to ensure that nothing looked out of the ordinary. "Sutures look great – no seepage or discoloration. Why don't you lean forward a bit so I can get to the dressing on your back now?" He shifted his center of gravity forward so Jackie could reach the entry wound and as he lowered his head, he was able to get his own first look at the surgical incision that stretched across the lower portion of his chest and a portion of his upper abdomen. Considering the narrow blade that had pierced his body, he was surprised at the length of the opening the surgeons had cut into him to reach and repair the internal damage but what had him scrunching his nose in disgust wasn't the wound itself but rather the fact that the medical team had shaved a broad patch of his dark chest hair in order to make that incision. His eyes darted from his shaven chest to his wife's face, glaring at her as she mouthed the words: It will grow back.

"It's not going to be a problem for him to get the stitches wet?" Emma wondered, ignoring his pining over missing chest hairs.

"Not at all. As long as you don't try to scrub over them, it should be perfectly fine. Best advice is just be gentle for the first day or two," Jackie replied as she disposed of the used gauze in the hazardous waste receptacle before going over the rest of her instructions. "Alright, Mr. Jones – now comes my question for you – do you want to attempt to walk to the bathroom or would you prefer if I brought in a transport chair?" His gaze immediately met his wife's, seeking her approval as she'd likely be the one tasked with catching him should he fall on his face.

"I can help get you there if you want to try walking…," Emma answered, already knowing what his intent would be.

"I'd like to attempt using my own two feet then," he insisted.

"Okay then, I'm going to have you get out on this side so you're less likely to get the IV tubing tangled," Jackie responded as she moved around to his right side, reaching over his head to remove the two transparent bags of fluid that hung above him, placing them onto a hook atop a tall metal pole with wheels attached to the bottom. This was apparently what she meant by the IV being portable. "Swing your legs toward me now," she instructed as she tugged away the bedcovers. Eager to be out of the bed for sure this time, he shifted around to let his bare feet drop to the cool tile floor. He grasped the bedside rail tightly, intending to use it for support while Emma positioned herself at his left, her fingers wrapping around his bicep ready to help him take that first tentative step.

"Easy now…," Jackie said as she stood in front of him. "Let's see if you can stand up and hold your balance…"

He quickly realized that standing and remaining that way was a bit more difficult than he'd thought, but damn, it felt good to be standing on his own accord – well, mostly on his own accord. He felt a bit like a fool but after spending three full days in that bed, but he was thoroughly enjoying this freedom – finding himself somewhat amused that this petite little ginger-haired woman was so confidently standing before him as though she'd be fully capable of breaking his fall. He wasn't even certain if his lovely wife – strong as she was – could accomplish that task if he were to lose his balance right now. It also wasn't lost on him that the flimsy gown the hospital provided was covering very little of his person right now, leaving his derriere in full view of anyone who should walk into the room.

"Think you can handle him from here, Mrs. Jones?" Jackie asked.

"I think so. It's not the first time I've had to shoulder his weight," Emma responded with a side-eyed glance toward her husband.

"Just remember to take it slow," the amber-headed nurse reminded them. "Once you get in there, you'll find that there's a flip down shower seat and a handheld showerhead. Make use of them – trust me. Your lungs aren't fully recovered from nearly drowning and you've been inactive for several days so this is going to feel like a lot of exertion. I'll bring a chair when I come back because you'll probably want to use it. Last note – keep the water temperature on the lukewarm side if you can stand it. Don't want the water to be too warm or too cold when fighting off a fever. Now, any questions for me or is there anything you need?"

"I think we're good. I've got soap and shampoo with me and you're already brought us the towels. I brought some of his clothes with me – would it be okay for him to put those on instead of the gowns?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with – just nothing with any metal on it. Dr. Wallace wants to get some new images of his lungs so it'll be off to Radiology when I return so, try not to get too carried away."

What he'd thought would be a simple process – just a simple shower – quickly proved to be anything but. He'd initially foolishly thought that he'd be able to stand but any hope of that happening vanished the moment Emma turned on the water and a sudden panic washed over him – the all-too-recent memories of waves pummeling him flooding back the moment the spray struck his head. Emma had to turn off the faucet and coax him to sit down, eventually climbing into the shower stall with him – clothes and all. With the handheld shower head, she gradually helped him wash off, working her way from his feet back up to his head while he pushed away that momentary fear. By the time she reached his hair, it took three rounds of shampooing and rinsing to remove all of the grime and restore the normal luster and texture of his dark locks.

He apologized to her repeatedly as she helped him to dry off and get dressed first while she stood there dripping wet. She took it in stride, shaking her head and snickering at how ridiculous they looked. As if on cue, they heard a rap on the door and then the voice of nurse Jackie asking if they needed any help – which of course caused both of them to break out in rolling laughter.

"I think we could definitely use a hand," Emma managed to say in between giggles. "Did you bring that chair you mentioned?"

"Have it right here," Jackie replied as the bathroom door opened toward her and the very first thing the nurse saw was a very drenched Emma standing inside the doorway, tee shirt and jeans plastered to her body – well, mostly the front of her body.

"I'd really appreciate it if you could help us get him into that chair so I can dry off and change," Emma said with a chuckle. "This ended up being a lot more complicated than we'd thought and we both ended up getting a shower…"

"Of course. Hang on…," the nurse smiled as Emma stepped out of the way and Jackie brought the wheelchair into the close confines of the bathroom finding her patient much drier than his wife and partially clothed in a pair of navy blue pajama pants. All of his effort to take his simple shower had left him exhausted, his lungs burning as much as if he'd just run the entire length of Main Street and he was struggling to catch his breath. "Let's get you standing for a moment and I'll bring the chair to you…" It took her no time at all to get him situated and once seated, she wheeled him back into the main room while Emma made her way over to the chair by the bed where she'd left her duffel bag, leaving a trail of water droplets in her wake. She pulled out some clean clothes and ducked back into the bathroom to change while Jackie turned her attention to her patient. "How about we get those sutures covered back up while your wife is changing?" the nurse suggested, a notion that Killian was smart enough to realize wasn't actually a choice.

By the time Emma stepped out of the bathroom now clad in black twill pants and an oversized burgundy long sleeved tee shirt, Jackie had replaced the bandages on both of Killian's incisions and was helping him don the heathered dove grey tee shirt that he'd chosen earlier. Were he in Storybrooke, he likely would have selected the long-sleeved button up shirt instead as it fully covered his stumped arm but since everyone here, including Deputy McCallen, had already viewed his deformity and weren't horrified by it, he decided on simplicity.

Emma glanced over at the clock on the wall as she towel-dried her damp hair. It was just after 8:00AM so Regina would be on her way to pick up Henry soon, having promised to be there by 10AM. She hadn't yet heard anything from McCallen although that wasn't entirely surprising considering the number of people he needed to get in contact with this morning regarding the latest revelation in the case. She was certain that he'd let her know as soon as he could, but now that they had a suspect to pursue, Emma found herself growing impatient. She knew who had nearly killed her husband and now all she could think about was how they could catch him.

Killian had decided to stay seated in the wheelchair, not wanting to make the extra effort required to get back into bed before the nurse took him to this Radiology place. He wasn't really certain what that meant and he wasn't about to ask until the nurse stepped out of the room to see if they were ready for him. Once they were alone again, Emma tossed the damp towel onto the foot of the bed and strolled up behind her husband, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and nuzzling her face into his nearly dry hair before he tilted his head back to gaze up at her.

"I missed this," she smiled as she kissed the center of his forehead.

"Aye, Love," he replied. "I promise, once I am healed, we shall make up for lost time…"

"Let's just focus on that healing part first, okay?" she laughed. "Hopefully, the images will come back clear enough that they'll let you go home."

"About that – what are these Radiology images everyone keeps talking about?"

"Radiology is the name of the science and the department. Basically, they use special machines that are capable of taking pictures of your insides so they can see things like broken bones and in your case, the amount of fluid still affecting your lungs. Don't you remember the X-rays they took of your broken ribs when you were hit by Greg's car during your stand-off with Gold?"

"Swan, there's much I remember about that evening, but alas, I don't recall anyone taking strange X-rated photographs of my innards…"

"X-rays, not X-rated. Very different things and I suppose you probably wouldn't remember. Pretty sure they had you pumped full of pain killers – assuming you were even conscious…"

"So, just how do they manage to take these images?" he wondered, uncertain as to whether he should be expecting invasive poking and prodding or should prepare himself for additional pain.

"It depends. Usually, you lie on a table and they position a special camera above you. I don't exactly know how it works, but it just takes a few minutes and its pretty much painless." She heard his audible sigh of relief at the painless part of her explanation. "If they end up doing an MRI, that's slightly different. It takes a lot longer because they take hundreds of pictures from different angles to get a more detailed image. Maybe Jackie can explain it to you on the way?"

"I'll be certain to ask…," he replied snidely as he heard the door creak open behind them.

"Everybody decent?" Henry called out, unwilling to even take a peek around the curtain until he was sure it was okay to do so.

"Yes – it's okay to come in," Emma responded with a snicker. "I guess we can put this curtain back now too." She gave the fabric a tug and walked it back to its place by the head of the bed but in retracting the curtain, her son threw her a quizzical glance as he noticed her long blonde hair hanging in damp, scraggly strands against her shoulders.

"Guess you decided to shower too?" the teen asked as he extended his hand toward her with an offering of a steaming hot cup of black coffee that Emma immediately snatched up.

"It wasn't exactly planned…," she replied with a mock scowl before breaking into a wide smile, "…but we managed anyway."

"I don't even want to know…," Henry said with an I've already heard too much expression on his face. "Forget I asked."

"We'll spare you all the gory details," she laughed. "But thank you for the coffee."

"No problem," Henry said. "I was going to bring you a cinnamon roll but they were all out and I wasn't sure what else to bring. I knew I wouldn't go wrong with coffee though."

"Absolutely! I'll find something later after I've heard back from Deputy McCallen."

"I wish you'd let me stay and help you out," the teen pleaded.

"I know, but honestly, I want you safely back in Storybrooke," Emma replied firmly. "Now that we have a suspect, the investigation could get a lot more intense and I do not want you to get caught in the middle. As soon as Killian is released from here, he'll be heading back to Storybrooke too."

"But how are you going to get the Jolly Roger back home?" Henry wondered. "She still needs the sail repaired and I don't think Killian will be able to climb the rigging himself right now…"

"The lad has a point…," Killian interrupted. "He does know how to replace the line. I made sure to teach him properly…"

"Let's just deal with catching the man who tried to kill you first. We'll worry about how to get the Jolly Roger back home later. I'm sure we can find some help with that once the rest of this crisis is over."

"Okay, Mom," Henry sighed, still dejected but understanding her point as well.

"Why don't you gather up your stuff?" Emma suggested. "Regina should be here soon and hopefully she won't be in a huge hurry to head back. I've got a favor to ask of her…" Emma started to say something else but was interrupted by a chime from her cell phone on the nightstand. "Hang on a sec…" She scooped up her phone and tapped on the screen to see her notifications, spotting an important message. "That's from McCallen," she read off. "He said Sgt. Haviland from Portland PD is going to meet us here around 9:30AM." That was only a little over an hour from now and roughly the same time that Regina was due to arrive. "You might have to stall your other mom, Kid."

"I can probably manage that," the teen assured her. "As long as Killian is up for a visitor?"

Just before 9AM, the nurse returned to let them know that the Radiology team was ready for Killian and before whisking him away, she advised Emma that they'd be gone for about an hour. Her pirate was still rather bewildered as to what he was about to experience and just a bit displeased that he wouldn't be present when his wife and the young deputy met with Sgt. Haviland so that he could learn more about this Donleavy person. Emma repeatedly assured him that she would fill him in on all details later but he still wasn't satisfied. He wanted to be privy to the investigation – after all, he was the one most afflicted.

Not long after the nurse departed with her griping husband, she received yet another text from McCallen with a request to meet him downstairs in the hospital lobby. She wasn't really sure why the deputy wouldn't just come up to the room so her inclination was to believe that he must have learned something that couldn't be shared in front of Killian - or possibly Henry – so she replied with an agreement to meet him in five minutes. Hopefully it meant he'd found something that would corroborate Killian's account, not further upset him.

She couldn't immediately locate McCallen in the busy lobby but she finally managed to spot him seated on a bench by the floor to ceiling windows to the right of the hospital entrance. He'd changed into jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt that looked as though it could have been proffered from her father's closet but she noted that his demeanor certainly didn't appear as casual as his attire. She zig-zagged her way toward him, dodging people as she drew her still soggy blonde locks back into a ponytail and wrapped a hair tie around them hoping McCallen wouldn't decide to question why she looked as though someone had tried to drown her.

"Sheriff," he greeted her as she rounded the reception desk. "Glad you got my message and were able to come down here a little early."

"No problem. Killian's down in Radiology having X-rays done and my son is getting his things together before going home so I had a few minutes free. Are we still meeting with Sgt. Haviland this morning?"

"Yes, he'll be here in a couple of minutes but I really wanted to go over a few things with you before our colleague gets here."

"Okay… is there something going on that you didn't want my husband to hear?" she wondered.

"No, no – nothing like that. I just have a feeling that Portland PD might insist on taking over this case and since Sheriff Lassiter said to let Haviland take the lead if they want it, I can't promise that they'll include you any longer. I explained how valuable you've been to my investigation, but it'll be up to him. He also might not want my help anymore so I felt I should take a moment to thank you. This case turned out to be a lot more complex than I'd expected and I was really in over my head. I appreciate everything you've done to help me boost my confidence…"

"Aaron…," she started to say that it wasn't necessary, finding herself slightly unnerved by his rambling and even a little bit worried.

"Please, let me finish… I might not get enough nerve to say this again…," McCallen looked more nervous in this moment than he had been since Emma had met the young deputy yesterday. She was concerned that she might have made him a little self-conscious by suddenly using his first name, but he drew in a deep breath and continued. "There was a reason that Sheriff Lassiter originally assigned this case to me – I was originally just tasked with finding out the identity of the John Doe amputee and how he'd ended up on the beach, but that was only because he thought I'd be a kindred spirit or something… I don't know…"

Emma had no idea where McCallen was going with his rambling, but clearly, whatever he was trying to say was important to him so she withheld judgement and allowed him to continue his tale.

"Anyway, the Sheriff thought I'd have more empathy toward your husband because I could relate to his disability…"

"Why would that matter?" Emma asked him, still not certain of the meaning behind his story so far.

"Because even though I spend most of my time sitting behind a desk, Sheriff Lassiter thought I should get a little experience in the field. He thought this would be an easy case for me – identify John Doe, find his family and hopefully learn who wounded him…"

"Okay, McCallen," she sighed. "You've completely lost me here." Her confusion had finally overwhelmed her and she had to know… "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry… I know I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm so bad at this…"

"Bad at what?"

"Talking about myself," he sighed.

"Yourself? I'm definitely missing something here…"

"Yes, I'm afraid… There's something I've been trying to hide from you," he lamented. "I didn't want you to think of me as any less of an investigator if you learned they'd assigned a disabled deputy to your husband's case…"

"Disabled?"

McCallen slowly bent over and tugged at the denim of his right pant leg, raising it to reveal a silicone cuff fitted around his ankle and most of his calf. She could see that the bottom of that cuff was fitted to a metal joint which extended into the black leather high-topped combat-style boot he wore.

"I've gotten pretty good at disguising it so I look almost normal walking but just don't ask me to run," he gave her a shy, slightly embarrassed laugh after revealing his secret prosthetic foot and managing to make a joke about it.

"I honestly had no idea…," she replied, surprised by his revelation, but certainly not that he'd still be capable of doing his job. "Actually, I take that back… Yesterday when we drove over to meet with Jean Scott, I thought there was something different but I was honestly so distracted by everything that was going on with Killian that I figured it was just me that was off. Now that I think about it, it's because you were driving with your left foot!"

"Sheriff had that old Taurus modified especially for me – gas pedal on the left instead of the right. He's made sure to find ways to keep me on the job since I lost my foot. Maybe part of it is guilt because it happened while I was on the job, but I'm still grateful he kept me on as a deputy. He was just so certain that this would be a simple case to get me out of the office for a while but look how that turned out…"

"You lost your foot on the job? What happened – if you don't mind me asking?"

"No crocodiles involved here," he chuckled nervously, again wary of making light of his own situation. "I was out on a call one night and it was the beginning of winter and snowing like crazy. I don't remember much but I had my lights and siren on heading through an intersection when I was struck head on by a car driving on the wrong side of the road. The impact pushed the engine block and dashboard forward and while the airbag protected my upper body, my right foot got pinned under there somehow. By the time rescuers were able to cut me out of what was left of the car, I'd lost all feeling and circulation in that foot. Doctors at this same hospital tried to get blood flow back, but ended up having to amputate. It's been about two and a half years now, so in some ways, I'm still adapting, but I was determined that it wasn't going to beat me. I know it plays a huge part in my insecurities, but I try not to let it define me…"

"You know what's funny – for a long time, Killian did define himself by his disability. He used it to his advantage by showing people that he wasn't going to let it stop him and even turned his prosthetic into a weapon of sorts." She had to stop herself there before she accidentally divulged that her husband's preferred prosthetic actually was a weapon. "Now he's trying to just be Killian Jones – husband and deputy Sheriff. His prosthetic hand just an extension of him – nothing more, nothing less." It truly was the way she felt about his hook when he was wearing it and how she looked at his stump when he didn't have it on. It was always still just Killian.

"So, you don't feel like I'm not capable of continuing the investigation? That's part of what Sheriff Lassiter was worried about. He was concerned that I wouldn't be able to handle the case if things got too physical."

"Why would I be worried that you were incapable of seeing this case through to the end? I wouldn't think my husband would be incapable of doing his job with one hand, so why would I think that about your prosthetic foot? If we get into a chase situation, you let me do the running."

"You don't want me off the case then?"

"Of course not. Unless we absolutely have to turn everything over to Sgt. Haviland, I'd prefer we keep working together. You deserve to see this out too."

"Then I won't offer to give up the case – not without a fight. Thank you for trusting me with this, Sheriff."

"You don't need to thank me. Just help me put Donleavy and his cohorts behind bars and that'll be thanks enough."

"Alright then. Let's go see if Haviland is here. He's going to meet us in the parking garage across the street."

"Lead the way." She was more than ready to get this case moving forward.

#cs fanfic #cs ff #cs fan fiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #the right place

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exilesofembermark · 7 years

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Game Dev Update | 4.28.17

“You ate the last Twinkie...” - Master Dwarf Thisguy ^

We’ve waited to show more than a glimpse of the dwarven race on Embermark until our own hammers were pounding out the mass of loot we’ve promised in Dev Updates past. Now that the promised loot train is rolling, it’s time to really take a look at our stout, grumpy friends.

Last update, we covered the beginning of our game mode experimentation, world map navigation, a Legendary sword and the ability to view your Battle History. This time, its about content and gameplay. Read on to check out our new icon system, new battle environments, new loot, an upcoming AMA, your chance to help design an item that ends up in the game and what we’re learning about battle mechanics.

Oh, and dwarves.

DWARVES

Whether they’re holed up in the caverns and carved-out tunnels of Siege or feverishly rebuilding the once-great Anglon, dwarves in Embermark are a force to be reckoned with. Here’s an Elite version of our angry fellow from above:

We started the dwarf-creation process exploring what we wanted the basic proportions, faces and gear types to be, as well as where they reside in Embermark and what their background is. As you can see below, Beardbo Grumperson IV there on the far right is a look we’ve stuck with through the representation of our Elite fellow above.

There are a few geographic locations where the dwarves in Embermark tend to be found (though they travel and team up a bit more than dwarves in many other settings), and as mentioned before, the region of Siege is one of them. They’ve gone underground for the past several hundred years as Embermark was overrun and a terrible place to live, but a few ancient entrances to their underground lairs are still visible on the world map:

3D design proceeded much as all the humanoid races we’re developing have-- from the base player model, with some changes that led into a distinctly dwarven look:

And unless the dwarf in question has been beaten in battle to a humiliating degree lately, he/she usually has some manner of facial style going on:

We couldn’t resist this one:

And this one, with a better look at some of the tattoo designs we’re playing with:

I’ve mentioned the history and background of the wolves in Embermark before (despite my bold-face lie about there being no rats, bats, wolves or skeletons in this game). They’re a mean and cunning lot, with far more organization to a “pack” than typical.

Well, this gives you a clue about how dwarves on the continent feel about them:

Depending on the proportions of our humanoid NPCs, we’re making versions of all their gear to also fit the player, for extra tasty drops.

ICONS

When you have a lot of lootses in a RPG, someone has to make the icons. And usually, artists hate doing it cuz there’s so many and it takes so long and it’s not sexy.

WRONG.

With Exiles, it is sexy (and so are you). We’ve had the same placeholder sword/boot/pants icons in just about every screenshot you’ve seen up till now (like here and here). No more!

Because we aren’t satisfied with that (and hate sleep), we created a new icon creation pipeline that takes EACH design for a piece of loot and creates an icon for it. So for every item you get, you’ll see a Tier 3 (that’s the highest) image of that item over a rarity color (either nothing, blue, purple, gold, or green) to give your loadout that extra oomph you’ve been looking for.

GAME MODE EXPERIMENTS

As fast as the content train is moving, the mechanics train is hurtling along just as fast. Now that we have most of the Abilities, Stats and Talents working for the Warrior and Mage classes, we’re diving into what will make the moment-to-moment gameplay the most strategic, satisfying... and visceral! To that end, we have our 4-Ability loadout that we’ve talked a lot about, but last week, we got a second mode of combat going-- The Deck.

With The Deck, the rules of the game are still the same:

WEGO-style turn-based with initiative determining order of ability execution

Abilities combine with Gear & Talents to create effects on either character

First character to die (there’s no fainting in Exiles) loses

However, instead of a 4-Ability Set, you now choose 8. 4 are chosen for you randomly at the beginning of a Battle and the others are in queue. As you use Abilities, they cycle back into the deck and the next Ability in the deck becomes available (see the smaller “coming” Ability represented below-- that is WIP as is everything in these Updates, and it will get a proper UI representation if it ends up being something we support).

Initial testing has proven fun and maddening-- my main Mage “MoarMagicks”still can’t consistently beat SingmeAsong’s main Warrior “Jackal,” despite my clearly superior strategies and build-- and we have some work to do on what the mode does to overall balance. But it’s promising, and we’re excited to show it to you if it ends up passing muster.

AMA

We’re getting ready to do another AMA! If you’ve got burning questions about Exiles, from features to rules to lore to whatever, join the crew and the community for an evening of anything goes-- even making fun of the devs-- we can take it. Submit questions/discussions now on the Reddit thread, and we’ll have some answers ready. And you can win stuff! We’ll be doing some good old-fashioned rolling (of virtual dice) for in-game prizes (loot table is forthcoming, and will be published on the AMA thread in the forums).

So head over to the Discord channel on MAY 9 at 5:30 PM Central Time and get the inside scoop on all things Exiles.

WE HAVE AN ANDROID BUILD

“WHAT?!”

Yes. MANY of our early testing sign-ups have Android devices, and I have some good news for them-- we have an early Android build! Now, before any shenanigans break out, you should know that it’s rough, new and not as far along as the iOS build. But it lives, and you Android users will be kicking arses before too long right beside your iOS brethren.

VANISIR

Along the southwest of Embermark is a region called Vanisir, a mostly arid-- but critical-- piece of land, given its major port, resources and the presence of a manageable Breach. We’re rolling out Battle environments for each of our starting world zones, and Vanisir’s first can be seen here, with an unfortunate player sizing up the enemy that I can’t stop showing to you-- the overly intelligent and vicious WOLF.

“Hey, didn’t I just see you atop some dwarven shoulder armor?”

THE PLAYER CREATED GEAR CONTEST (PCGC)

Players have been guiding us every step of the way toward Embermark and it’s time for them to get a piece of loot or two (or more) in the game. All of the rules surrounding battle and loot haven’t been revealed, but those of you following the development of the game probably have an idea or two rolling around in your heads about a piece of equipment that would do X, Y, or Z.

So the 1st Exiles Player Created Gear Contest (PCGC) is on! Check this thread in the forums for all the details and how to submit your idea. One lucky (and clever, and creative) winner will get their piece of loot in the game (and get a copy of it themselves) and many will win prizes based on the criteria you see in the official thread!

LOOT UPDATE

The loot train continues, and our artists are feverishly designing, modeling texturing and lootzing armor weapons and even rings now (rings are just icons, so they won’t show up on your person, but whatevs).

Armor for the Warrior is getting the color-tell treatment, as we showed for the Mage armor earlier. You’ll see it throughout the system as you start to play, and it’s turning out to be both useful and sometimes hilarious, depending on the how close your gear build preferences are to your color preferences (did someone say transmog? *whistles as he walks away).

Behold the Axe of Cleaving (your head from your body)!

You will see this spear put to good use by our draconian friend below.

I’m not even sure what to say here other than I wouldn’t want it connecting with any part of me...

We continue to design various silhouettes for shields, for those sword-and-board enthusiasts out there...

And here’s one more! (this one’s a stock broadsword, but I still lurve it)

MILITARY

Last couple of Updates, we’ve been showing off a race of baddies that will hound and hinder you throughout your journey to be among the Marked. Their political and military machinations threaten to overrun the entirety of Embermark.

They also look like dragons, have wings and are awesome. Now we’ve got them animating in the engine and will be playable in short order. Like the dwarf above, we created their gear with an eye towards dropping it for you to use in your own loadouts.

(Alas, I had to fool with this one quite a bit to get it under Tumblr’s 2 MB GIF limit, so if you want a higher quality look at this attack, it’s here)

REMEMBER

We’ll keep sharing details as we head into testing (remember to PM TheWizard on the Exiles forums if you want in on closed testing & beta later), and you can count on early impressions from the testers throughout our various channels.

If you haven’t already, follow along with the Exiles development on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. And if you haven’t, I’ll find you. And SMITE you.

GET IN ON THE CHATTER

If you want to hear about the game, ask questions or connect with others who are helping the development team think about features, design and narrative, hop into the Discord Channel for live chat and say hi– it’s a friendly lot with plenty of daily shenanigans (there’s even a Shenaniganizer).

THE BONUS

I leave this here without comment.

#gamedev #rpg #mmorpg #mobile games #fantasy #games #video games #eoe

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missterius · 5 years

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2018 Writing Wrap-Up

And again we get to the part of the New Year where I post a bunch of stuff about writing that’s more for me than anyone else.

I didn’t get around to sharing anything during 2018, not because I didn’t like anything that I wrote. Mostly because I think I’d want to start a new blog for writing-related things - this blog is enough of a mess already without adding my writing into the mix - and I just didn’t have the motivation to set it up.

With that, let’s get into it!

Total for 2018: 171,410

Firstly, may I just say that that word count is completely insane. I included a journal that I wrote about my life this year, which I normally don’t do (but this one was written discussing everything going on in my chaotic life looking back on awhile when I didn’t journal, so it’s more narrative than most of my journal writing), which definitely helped boost the number of words. Still, this is over twice what I wrote in 2017! I write more than I think I do, because I’ve been feeling like I haven’t used writing enough as an outlet. I think 2018 has proved that sometimes I don’t realize how much I actually write.

The focus this year remained mostly on short stories. There was a lot of writing based around silly concepts that start out completely ridiculous and then take a dark turn at the end, casting the main character in a different light. I’m trying to be more versatile with my characters, making them more shades of gray than black and white. One other thing I noticed is that I really like writing multiple short stories based around the same characters/world. I love tying things together, or leaving endings open for potential sequels, even in short stories.

While I really do like a lot of what I wrote during 2018, and it’s hard to pick out highlights without including too much, I did notice looking back that my 1st person POV tends to sort of be cookie cutter. The characters may differ, but they use the same kind of language and thought processes as each other. I’m guessing this is because I don’t write loads in 1st person POV, so that may be a goal for 2019.

The longest thing I wrote this year was a WIP novel, Creature of Scandal, which I wrote during NaNo and hit 50,000 words on.

Okay, with that, I’m going to get into the highlights:

‘He shot me a panicked look, but what could I do? Did he want me to tell a priest that sitting the two of them at the same table was a bad idea because this grown man and his grown ex were acting like middle schoolers dealing with drama for the first time in their lives? I almost wish I had...’ ((Supposedly) Good Catholic Kids)

‘Mass that morning had gone nicely up until communion, when a girl named (Censored) decided to prove that I can’t get a day’s rest, even on the Sabbath.’ ((Supposedly Good Catholic Kids)

‘I’m stuck on a pendulum called Grief Swinging between agony and emptiness. When I feel anything, I feel everything. But otherwise, I feel nothing. Nothing is heavier than I thought it would be.’ (From an untitled poem I wrote after my childhood dog, Cinnamon, was put down)

‘Charlotte Wilson wanted more out of life than to be playing gigs at college bars. Her music deserved to be reaching the ears of the forlorn across the country, not just the drunk students swaying off the beat. As the last chord of her song died out, a cheer rose up from the small crowd. Charlotte didn’t feel much better. These kids looked for any excuse to cheer when they were this plastered.’ (Creature of Scandal)

‘It had been thirteen years since the last time Charlotte had met with her mother. She’d been seventeen, preparing to graduate from high school, when she’d got the summons. Invitations from Marie Green never felt optional.’ (Creature of Scandal)

‘“How do you know I rejected her?” Joon asks defensively. With another laugh, Seok sends Joon a knowing look. “Seriously? You haven’t gone on a single date for as long as I’ve known you. You’ve been working here for how long now? For years? You never make trouble. You’re never late. You’re the least troublesome employee Haneul’s ever had.” Joon narrows his eyes. “You work for Haneul, too.” Seok grins, “And I’m sure the old man regrets it every now and again. But come on, you aren’t exactly a wild guy.”’ (Flowers and Tattoos)

‘Soo Yun is furious. She is furious at the prophecy and at the prophet and at her fellow countrymen. Her family has suffered ridicule at the hands of their neighbors for decades. She has grown up in poverty, begging and stealing to survive under the judging eyes of the townsfolk. And now, the prophet has the audacity to name her the savior of their nation. To rest the burden of ending the reign of the emperor on her shoulders. To force her to serve those who refused even to look her in the eye. Soo Yun is furious, and she will have none of this.’ (Forsaking the Stars)

‘“We could keep him in the store, and he could help guard the door!” Natalie suggested, eyes wide as she beamed at the dragon as though it were a puppy. “Guard us from what?” I demanded. “The only thief I’ve had since I took over this store is him.” “I’m calling him Midas,” Natalie announced. And I knew it was hopeless.’ (Swindler of Fortune)

‘Ned had never been to this part of the country before, but he’d heard stories of the Bodmin Moor - stories of ghosts and beasts and tales of King Arthur’s rule. He’d always chucked it up to superstition and myths, but staring out at the dreary landscape through the rain-streaked glass, he could almost believe that something supernatural lay out among the granite jutting up from the ground.’ (Untitled short story)

‘“You must be desperate to seek me out,” Aubrey told him. It wasn’t a question, so Ned didn’t give an answer. Aubrey continued. “The people of St. Ives have deemed me to be mad. Tell me, Ned Abbott, do I seem mad to you?” Had anyone asked Ned that question upon first seeing the sailor, he’d have answered, without hesitation, that, yes, the man appeared in all senses to be completely mad. But sitting in front of him, there were several words Ned might use to describe Aubrey Skewes. Intimidating. Intense. Powerful. But mad was not one of them.’ (Untitled short story)

‘The sight was a startling one. A demon in a Best Buy break room? That’s just about the last place a demon should be. I might’ve been paralyzed with fright had I not started to associate that awful screechy sound with the middle-aged woman I’d had to deal with the day before, who was convinced we should replace a laptop a year and a half past its warranty.’ (The Customer from Hell)

‘I was left with a husk of a demon at my feet, and ten minutes still left on my break.’ (The Customer from Hell)

‘Inside, the barracks were a minefield for Cristoval to navigate, each interaction with other officers a potential detonation. There was also a frenzy of activity, the kind of chaos that could only come from men finally released from the strictly controlled environments they worked in for a day that would be fully their own.’ (How Far Can You Carry This?)

‘Enoch slowly begins to fill out the form, making sure to grumble audibly under his breath. Had he realized the afterlife would involve such an incompetent bureaucracy, he’d never have bothered dying in the first place.’ (The First Haunt)

‘The sounds of celebration, the shouts and laughter and music, clashed with the steady pounding of Rin’s heart, her breath that came in gasps, the blood-curdling scream her lungs were begging her to unleash. The smiling faces of strangers seemed to taunt her, their casual enjoyment a slap in the face to Rin’s horror. Her attempts to reach the front of the crowd became an obsession, ducking around people became shoving them aside in her desperation. As she pulled to the front, Rin doubled over the bar separating the masses from the performers.’ (The Sensation of Falling in a Dream)

‘Fear was different now...[It] wasn’t intense. It didn’t paralyze her, or set her mind spinning. It held a silent presence, like an examiner during a test. It manifested in paranoia, in a deeply instilled distrust. It didn’t make her eyes tear up, it made them shift. It didn’t make her run, it made her hand hover near the holster on her thigh as she took careful strides.’ (The Sensation of Falling in a Dream)

‘Clara, who had been trying to take a drink, nearly spat out her coffee. Managing to choke it down, she burst into a laugh. “Let me off easy? I just asked where you got your degree from, you didn’t have to deliberately dress up your henchmen in my least-favorite color! If you don’t have a doctorate, you have no excuse to title yourself Doctor Revenge.”’ (Out to Lunch)

‘“You’re unbelievable,” Clara laughed. “Until next week, then, Mr. Revenge.” “See you next week, you second-rate mastermind.” Clara threw her head back and laughed as she walked away from the café.’ (Out to Lunch)

‘With a tug on the back door, I discovered our mystery house-guest. Ms. Schofield from down the street still had her hand up to continue knocking. When she saw me, she threw open the screen door and moved past me into the house. Most people in my small town are close, but few are close enough to barge into our house without so much as a ‘hello,’ and certainly none of those on the list would be the seventh grade science teacher, Ms. Schofield.’ (The Caffeine Prohibition)

‘“Where’d you look?” my dad yelled from the kitchen over the sounds of something sizzling in the frying pan. “Mostly local corporations,” I responded, closing the lid of my laptop and leaning forward onto the breakfast bar. “But if I don’t get any calls back, I can always update my resume and apply elsewhere.” “Update your resume?” my mother frowned. “You know, I’m sure I’ll get plenty of job experience as a drug dealer,” I joked. My mom rolled her eyes while my dad chuckled from the stove.’ (The Caffeine Prohibition)

‘“It’s my sister!” he shouted, pounding a fist against the arm rest. “She’s never accepting of my career path. Constantly nagging me about when I’m going to settle down. Always trying to set me up with her single friends. I’ve had enough!” With that, the evil Doctor Revenge the public saw as a raging madman – the one responsible for the chaos of the Christmas Tree Lighting Fiasco of 2014 – was reduced to Mr. Henry Weldt, a brother fed up with his sister.’ (The Desk of Dr. Isselhardt)

‘Only then did Mr. Weldt look up and make eye contact with me. He gave me a dark look, the one he’d perfected to terrify people. But he wasn’t in costume now. We were in my office, where the only superhuman was the woman jotting down notes and talking with clients.’ (The Desk of Dr. Isselhardt)

‘A few minutes passed, and a knock sounded on the cockpit door. Deidre removed the strap holding her to her seat, and she crossed the room to open it. Atticus stood on shaky legs. “Excellent work!” he applauded. “I wish I could’ve been of more help, but I know about as much about these flashy ships as I do about the Buvocury System. But I see that the two of you handled it fine.” ---------------- “You can fly this thing?” Deidre shouted over the sound of the gunfire. She adjusted her scope and aimed for the bunker. “I thought you said you knew as much about flying as you did about the Buvocury system!” Amara added from the copilot seat. Atticus nodded. “I do! I spent twenty years in the Buvocury System working on ships like these!” Silence fell over the intercom. When Deidre managed to speak again, she demanded, “Why haven’t you told us this?” Atticus grinned wildly. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know!”’ (Untitled short story)

‘There was a pause, then Marlow forced herself to turn and start up the stairs. Over the railing, she watched as Rin returned to the street, never quite able to fit into the crowds. She smiled ruefully. They were not friends. But she still felt bound to Rin somehow. Allies. Teammates. None of the words felt quite right. Not quite friends, but something different. Trying to find the word, Marlow took her key from her pocket and made her way into her apartment.’ (Christmas in Aubergneux)

|Blood TW| “Have you been using my scissors?” I ask, keeping my gaze away from the blood staining his carpet, his shirt, and his hands. But it’s tough. There’s even a little spatter of it in his hair. Geoff’s face lights up in recognition. “Oh, yeah dude! I was just cutting out paper snowflakes earlier. They’re right over on my desk.” He starts to move back into his room, but I clear my throat. His hands are caked in blood. Geoff only now seems to notice this and nods at me as he wraps a towel around his hand to pick up the scissors. “Thanks for letting me borrow them, man.” “Sure thing, Zodiac,” I say, and Geoff shuts the door to his room again. (My Serial Killer Housemate)

|Death TW| Back at the house, I decide to confront Geoff about it. “So Mr. Cortland has died under mysterious circumstances, apparently.” Geoff doesn’t even look up from the recipe card he’s on. “Wasn’t me.” “You always say that, and I never believe you.” I set the bags of groceries on the counter and begin to put away some of the food in the fridge and freezer. Geoff shuts the box of recipes with a click. “Look, he’s a rich guy who treats him employees horribly. You’ve got to make a lot of enemies in that field.” “I wasn’t aware the toaster oven industry was so cut-throat,” I remark drily, and immediately regret my choice of words. (My Serial Killer Housemate)

A week after the dinner party, I am lounging on my couch, watching Netflix, when I hear the front door open. Being pretty sure that Geoff is in his room, I roll myself off the couch and crouch beside it, glancing around the side to see who it is breaking into my house. Despite Geoff’s best efforts in tracking down the copycat, he’s had little luck so far. Meaning I’m still at risk. As it turns out, Geoff left earlier to pick up some groceries. He spots me on the ground and squints for a minute, trying to piece together what I’m doing. I try to play it off as relaxing on the floor. I don’t want to let him know how much the idea of being the target of a serial killer is getting to me. “Did you get more bread?” I ask casually. “Yeah, they had a deal on split-top wheat,” he answers, still frowning at me. (My Serial Killer Roommate)

#writing #2018 writing wrap up #2018 #writers #short stories #novels #dialogue #NaNoWriMo

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