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freakie-deakie · 3 years

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Lucas // How To: Kill an Idea

i have been really struggling with feeling numb lately and i super projected that onto this character. i really do apologize if it doesn’t make for the most interesting read. i may or may not end up rewriting this when i’m feeling better.

Warnings: emotional numbness and detachment

Masterlist

THIS IS PART 2!!! Read part one here: How To: Hurt My Feelings

Lucas x Reader (angst // 7.3k words); ft. stepbrother!Johnny

The way the lights reflected off the water brought only distant memories of the Han flowing through the city of Seoul and mirroring the life around it. The bustle of the city, the calm of the river banks. The things that you neighbored so long ago.

You could become so lost in the remnants of the past - that you would forget to lose yourself in the readiness of the moment.

You owed the Garonne. After tirelessly looking over you for months on end, you owed her your presence at the very least. How dare you look at her in all of her beauty and only think of another.

She smiled at you nonetheless. The Garonne sat with you one last night and told you how much she would miss you - how much all of Bordeaux would miss you. She told you that the stone buildings, the ones in the alleyway that you cut through every night as you return to your dorm, didn't know what they were going to do without you. She told you that the little birds that had nested outside of your window had practiced a sadder song to sing after you left. She swore that the lights in the city shone brighter than they ever had before when you landed and that they would fade upon your departure.

She made you promise that you would come back to see all of them: the buildings, the birds, and the lights. On your own accord, you promised you would come back to see her.

The Garonne waved you off that night, sending you to bed and wishing you a restful slumber and a safe flight in the morning.

Tired and stiff, you limp out of the terminal with your laptop clutched to your chest and a yawn escaping your lips. You mindlessly followed the crowd of other travelers to baggage claim and patiently waited for your suitcase to be sorted onto the conveyor belt.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle," a familiar voice reached your ears, "I believe a poor boy has been waiting far too long to see you here."

You spun on your heel, a bright smile suddenly overtaking your features. "Lucas," you call quietly as you envelop him in a tight hug. You had barely moved for sixteen hours straight, but once in his arms, every desire for motion ceased. It seemed that he agreed, as he latched onto you and refused to let go.

"I missed you," he admitted before placing a kiss on the top of your head and moving to grab your bag off the belt.

"I missed you more," you answered softly.

He took your hand and kissed it before leading you through the airport and down to the parking garage where your brother was waiting, leaned up against his car, and dusting the cigarette ashes off of his sleeve.

"Hey there, Miss France," he says as he moves to envelop you in a hug of his own. "How was your flight?"

"It was fine," you answer simply. "Long, but fine."

"Well, you have an hour-long car trip to give us the highlights of France, if you're not too tired. We could stop by a late-night diner too if you're hungry."

You nodded along as you climbed into the car, enjoying the banter after your long trip. But as you rode in the passenger seat home (funny, you thought, that you still called it home), you took in things about the city that you never really appreciated.

The locals that ignored the do-not-cross signs, the billboards that were so shrouded in smog that you could barely read them, the stray cats that freely wandered the city like it was their own personal playground. All the things that you used to neighbor.

And when you got to the bridge that you'd longed to see since you left, the Han welcomed you home with as much love for you as it had six months ago. You made it a point to tell him about the Garonne sometime. You think he would enjoy hearing about her.

"The pastries," you say simply. "It was France; of course the pastries were the best."

Johnny dropped you back at your apartment and your boyfriend opted to stay the night, helping you settle back into the space that you could once again call your own.

Another tenant had contracted your apartment for the time you were away - there were a few more cuts and bruises than you remember leaving, but it was nothing you couldn't patch up. The bed wasn't where you had it, the shower knobs had been replaced, and an empty curtain rod rest stretched along your window seal.

"The stuff you left with us, it's still back at the frat," he chuckles awkwardly.

"That's okay." You offer him a small smile and plop down on one of the only four pieces of stand-alone furniture left in the space, the old black sofa in the same spot it's always been. "At least they didn't take my couch."

"Y/N, darling, I don't know if I would lay on that if I were you."

His words took a moment to register, but when they did your eyes shot open and you were out of your seat comically fast. "Oh God, ew..."

He laughed again and pressed a small kiss to your temple. "Let's take a shower and then we'll figure things out, okay? And you know, you don't have to sleep here tonight. There are no sheets on the bed or anything, so you can-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss and lead him to the bathroom, ready for a warm shower to take away all of your travel pains.

"Not really," you answered honestly, rolling your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. You'd been looking at his ceiling for a while, head resting on his thigh while he played with your hair. It felt nice, you thought, to get a chance to live in your memories - specifically the memories you had left with him here in his room, the ones that always waited for you while you were away. "All of my days in France were spent doing something or another. By myself, with the people that I met. So no, it never really got mundane. I didn't think that kind of life existed for anyone over the age of nine." You let out a small but heavy breath. "I guess I had to experience it for myself to understand."

Lucas doesn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he focuses on gently detangling a knot that his fingers had caught on. Your hair was longer now than it was.

"I'm happy for you," he reassures you. He doesn't quite know what he's reassuring, but he reassures you nonetheless.

"Lucas?" you ask softly.

"Hmm?" he responds, his gruff voice sounding tired.

"What would you have done if I didn't come back?" His finger stop working in your mess of locks and all of his attention is focused on dissecting what you just asked him.

"I don't know what answer you want me to give you," he says smally, glancing down at you before retraining his gaze on the ceiling, its texture nearly lost in the dark.

"There isn't a certain answer I want. I'm just curious."

"I don't understand the question," he almost interrupts, suddenly a bit tenser than he was only moments ago.

"I don't mean anything by it, Lucas. It's not a loaded question." Your soft voice is enough to lul his hand back to its comforting motions. "Would you have gone after me or would you have let me go?"

"I would have gone after you without a second thought. Definitely, I would have."

"I thought about staying you know."

There's a pause, a small silence of thought on both ends.

"Why didn't you," he asks with genuine curiosity.

"It wasn't home. You weren't there."

A wolf whistle follows you into the kitchen the next morning and you feel the need to suppress your groan.

"If I knew you were staying the night, I would have held a cup against the door."

"Oh, gross, Jaehyun," you sneer, turning to jab your elbow into the older boy's side.

"What? Not everyone gets to tour France." You can't help but dramatically roll your eyes and threaten him with a punch.

"Do you want a cup of coffee? I was about to put on a pot."

"Sure," he smiles gratefully. "And you can tell me about Bordeaux while we wait."

"Oh, it was beautiful," you think back as you prepare the grounds. "As the sun was setting, the sky would turn golden. If there were any clouds that evening, they would turn all different shades of pink. The lights over the water - words wouldn't do it justice."

Jaehyun chuckles before yawning out, "Well, that's a first."

"Jung Jaehyun, if you are trying to say that I talk too much-"

"That's not what I'm saying," he defends. "I mean you always have a way with words. It's your thing, ya' know. Words."

You hum, turning back to your task. "I guess I hadn't thought about it that way - at least not for a while."

The door to the kitchen swings open and another boy ungracefully stumbles into the kitchen. Haechan is clad in a plain T-shirt and dark shorts (if you could call them that). His hair is no longer silver; it's now a dusty brown, curling up into the picture of a sandstorm blowing about his head. He looked healthier, or maybe just more mature since you last saw him. He'd filled out a bit, and grown into those long limbs of his.

"Man, what's will all the commotion in here? It's Saturday and- Y/N?" The boy immediately perks up upon seeing you. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! You're back!" He hugs you and sits down at the island beside his older friend, suddenly as energetic as a child on Christmas morning. "Great, because I made a list of pranks we're gonna pull together. Jaehyun, since you're here, I guess you can help us too. Okay, first of all, we're gonna shove a bag of chocolate powder mix down the shower drain. I'd like to make sure that one gets Mark because he blamed me for breaking Johnny's lamp."

There were things you would have to readjust to in Korea. Things that you didn't think would catch you off guard, yet still managed to turn you around every now and again. The wet bath was one of them; you were going to miss your tub. You also suddenly found bowing a bit more strange than you originally had, as well as keeping personal space when you greeted someone altogether. Most prominently, the language barrier that you weren't so sure you'd ever really overcome in your first life in Korea.

Words were suddenly weird to you again. Ideas that could manifest themselves in one language but not another. At times, there were no proper parallels, nor were there ways in which to express everything going on inside your head.

Though you tried your hardest, what little French you learned simply wouldn't translate properly to English, or the English wouldn't translate to Korean, or the Korean to French, or the French to Korean, or the Korean to the English. The words just never came out the way you wanted them to, and in a way, it was like a piece of you fell away from the rest, lost somewhere between all of your different lives.

Lucas noticed how much quieter you seemed since you'd returned.

You made it a point to generally avoid contact with everyone while you were away. You occasionally checked in with them to let them know that you were alive, but other than that had kept your space. You became more dedicated to learning about yourself and how to care for your well-being. You began making decisions of your own, from what you would eat every night and how early you would wake up every morning to what debacles were worth your time and energy. You decided that most of them weren't. You decided that pondering your life was taking years off of it, and that you didn't like to eat snails. You decided that you weren't so bad after all, and for that matter, no one else was either. You decided to live.

"Hey, can I see something on your Instagram real quick?" you asked softly, setting your bowl of fancy ramen on the coffee table in front of you. "I think one of my friends just had a baby and I wanted to see if she's posted any pictures yet."

Without giving it much thought, Lucas hands you his phone and turns back to his meal. "What happened to your Instagram?" he questioned.

"Deleted it," you quip, pulling up your friend's account. He hears you coo before you shove the device back into his hands, urging him to look at the baby. He thought the child, redfaced and wet, looked like an alien, though he'd never tell you that.

"Why'd you delete it?" he pursues.

You simply shrug and cover more of your legs with the blanket that rested on the both of you. "Didn't need it." He gives you an unsatisfied groan, but you can't think of a better answer. It was simple - while you took plenty of photos to document your life, you no longer found it necessary to post them.

"Okay," he tries, "what about your Kakao Story?"

"Deleted."

"So you no longer use Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Skype, Instagram, or Kakao Story? What if someone needs to contact you?"

"I still have Kakao and Discord."

"Okay, what about my posts? Or your other friends'?"

"If they have something to tell me, they will," you sip your hot tea and lean into his side.

"It’s like she doesn't want to talk to me. She doesn't want to talk to anyone," groans Lucas as he sprawls out on Mark's bed. "She doesn't talk nearly as much as she used to."

Mark's hand didn't stop relaying notes to his journal as he talked with Lucas, translating as many of his lyrical ideas onto paper as he could keep up with.

"She's not the same person she used to be, Lucas."

Lucas had trouble making sense of it, why Mark sounded so sure about that. It almost hurt his pride that one of his roommates was telling him something about you, his girlfriend.

"Who is?" Lucas rubs his eyes. "We've all grown up since then."

Mark's hand halts. "Since then?"

"Since-" he sighs. "Ya' know, since... Since we..."

"Don't hurt yourself," Mark chuckles. "Maybe," he offers, "this chapter of your life is written in a different style. Did you even notice? That your life hasn't been going the same since she got back?"

"Of course it's not the same," the elder defends. "It's infinitely better."

"Spare me. Look, I'm just saying, the less she talks, the more dialog you're putting in your own book. And I think it's better this way. I mean, I can't tell you how to write your life, but I can honestly say I think you're doing better now than you were before. You started using your words instead of acting on impulse. That's not easy, man. Words are hard."

Words: your staple, your foundation, your life. They were your nothing anymore.

And Lucas didn't know how to understand.

He tried not to take it personally, but soon you fell into almost complete silence both with him and his friends. When you joined them for a Smash Bros competition, you didn't exclaim your victories nor mourn your defeats. When you dressed, you didn't ask for his opinions on the color of your lipstick nor the type of heel you should wear. When you laid in bed with him and watched his fan turn above your heads, you refused to humor his desire to hear your voice. And he took the fault upon himself.

He felt guilty asking anything of you anymore because you never opened your mouth to ask for favors in return.

"Y/N, will you come cuddle with me?" he calls with as much endearment as he can shove into his tone.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

You hadn't watched the news in months, and he knew that. You, ever the stickler for meaningful conversation, had devoted large portions of your time to staying up to date before. As of late, however, you preferred "to watch the world crash and burn around you from a first-person point-of-view rather than a third-person point-of-view."

He hoped that sitting you down to watch the news for a while would spark a fire in your opinionated soul. So imagine his reaction when you crawled into his arms and fell asleep, paying absolutely no mind to the colors or words on the screen.

His next plan was to plant your favorite novel in the hands of your favorite philosopher.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

He shoved the book into Doyoung's hands with a stern "fix her." Needless to say, Doyoung had the book read within a couple of days and Lucas invited you over as soon as his friend flipped through the pages for the final time.

"A piece of modern art," he suggests. "A sorrow lost to the sands of time and a meaning forgotten by society."

Lucas watches in amazement as you sit and nod along to everything that Doyoung says. You didn't interject your ideas even once. You just listened.

He was running out of ideas. So his last plot was his last hope that there may be a bit of yourself left inside of you. He would take you on a date - the best date you've ever been on - and thrust so much happiness and gratefulness onto you that you wouldn't be able to contain it so silently. He knew it was a dirty trick, but how else was he to make sure that you were okay if you would no longer tell him anything about yourself.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

Really, he should have asked you out first, before he came barging into your apartment (tidier than he'd ever seen it before and reeking of cleaner) with a bundle of flowers and demanding your attention for the evening.

Surprise.

He was about to push open the door to your bedroom when he heard a soft sniffle from inside. His eyes widened and his shoulders fell. His heart broke when he heard a small sob fall from your lips.

He peeked inside. It was dark, mind the laptop that sat on your desk and illuminating your shaking form. You laid your head on one arm and used your other hand to rake through your stringy hair. Your glasses had been tossed to the shadowy void and your cheeks were wet and sticky.

The header of your philosophy paper stared you down as you unraveled before it. The rest of the blank page was absolutely daunting. Your acceptance of the world around you had drained away your ability to have a coherent cognitive thought about it, forget about writing one.

To some extent, you missed the days when you were confident in your ability to build empires out of words. Now, you couldn't even build a ten-page paper, especially not by 11:59 pm that night.

To a greater extreme, you couldn't understand why you would want to return to your opinionated ways or your charismatic skills that abused fact until it bent to your will. What purpose did fact or, more importantly, idea have anymore, other than to aid your ability to charm others to abide by your purpose?

It felt wrong to write a definitive philosophical thesis, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to definitively believe in anything particular.

"Y/N," you jumped at the sound of your own name and quickly wiped your cheeks with the back of your sleeves, sitting up straighter and making yourself more presentable before you turned around to face him. Lucas saw it all. He watched you put your mask back on right before his eyes, and he realized that you were hurting in ways that he couldn't see until now.

"Lucas," you cursed your shaky voice. "What's up? Why are you here?"

He takes a few quiet steps until he's standing before you and kneels to look into your eyes. There are things that he wants to say, 'you're scaring me' being the most prominent, but he knows he should choose his words more carefully.

"I want to know what's going on. I want to help." He slips his hands into your own and rests them on your knees.

"I just don't think you can," you answer simply.

"Can you tell me what's the matter?"

You shake your head and the tears come rushing back to your eyes. "I don't know what's the matter." It's honest. You don't know why your head can't wrap around your assignments, or your conversations, or your own thoughts as of late.

All that time spent with yourself taught you how to understand yourself and your own needs. You feel that you have exchanged your understanding of the world around you for a simpler version of life. Did that make you selfish? You didn't know.

All Lucas could do was watch you as you fell back into your frustrations. It didn't take long before your brows were knitted back together, your nose was running, and your eyes had glazed over as you retreated back inside of yourself.

"Y/N," he softly called. Your eyes only met his for a second before they were cast somewhere else and your attention ran away from you once again.

"I think," you started, unsure of every word that slipped past your lips. "I think you should go."

You didn't know how to explain to him that you were afraid of what he might think of you at that moment, or that you didn't want to hurt his feelings any more than you guessed you already had.

"I don't want to go. I'm tired of leaving you alone." He stood, gently pulling you to stand with him, and led you to the edge of your bed with a delicate touch. "You don't have to sleep. You don't have to talk. Just lay here with me for a little while and let me be close to you."

"You know," Lucas started as he tossed the noodles in the pan. He'd tucked you into the couch earlier that evening and told you to forget the paper you'd been stressing over. You happily complied. "I don't know how to say this any better." You listened keenly as you pulled a throw pillow into your lap and wrapped yourself around it. "I know that this is probably the last thing you want to talk about, but I did something very wrong to you. I'm still sorry, and I hope you know that. But..." He cast you a quick glance over his shoulder before reaching for the seasoning in your pantry. "I don't think I ever gave you the chance to yell at me. Or like, to be mad at me - ya' know?"

You thought for a moment, front teeth chewing on your thumbnail before you shook your head softly and answered, "I don't want to yell at you. I don't want to be mad at you."

You heard a repressed sound of discouragement before looking to see him dishing your dinner plates. "I wish you would. I wish you would yell at me and tell me what I did was wrong. I wish you would be angry with me for a little while. I wish you would just tell me something about how you feel about it."

He handed you your plate and watched as you ran back inside of your own head. He watched your eyes glaze over as you replayed his words, and yet you made sense of almost none of them. You didn't understand what he was asking of you.

You toyed with your food as you tried to process his request. You didn't even notice when he took his seat beside you, nor did you notice the burning gaze he watched you with.

"Y/N," he called, shaking you out of your trance. "I want you to yell at me." You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights - big black eyes staring down a deadly light. "How did you feel when it happened? Shout something horrific at me about what was going through your head at the time."

You took a small bite and swallowed, training your eyes on the coffee table before you. "I don't remember."

You looked so small, so helpless, and so distant. You were there, right next to him, and yet you were so far away. He was having trouble finding you.

"Yell. Break something. For fuck's sake, please."

The more pressure he applied, the further you seemed to slip away. Before he knew it, you were gone.

"That's not her anymore." He found himself on Mark's bed once again, tucked into the younger boy's covers and pouring out his heart. "She's not all there. She just looks so empty now."

"Dude, I don't know why you come to me for this sort of thing. It's not like I'm just great with girls," the younger quips from his desk chair. "And Johnny would know more about her than I would-"

"No. He absolutely cannot know that I broke his sister."

Mark hummed in thought for a moment before he laid his pen down in his textbook and turned his full body to his friend. "Lucas, be honest with me about something." Lucas nodded. "Did you see anyone else while she was in France?"

Lucas shook his head as he took in his friend's words carefully. He had no right to be mad at the accusation, so he kept his temper in check until a particularly vile thought trotted across his mind. He sat up immediately. "Oh God, do you think that she did? Do you think she considered it a break and she slept with someone else?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying- hey- Lucas, stop." Lucas was already to his feet and out the door before he could finish. "So not my fault," he grumbled to himself.

Finally, it all made sense to him. You couldn't be mad at him if you were also guilty. You couldn't yell at him for committing a sin you'd also committed. He was going to redress the scale. He was going to make you the word again. He was going to be the action.

The solid thuds against your wooden door made you jump up from your floor. Adrenaline spread through your fingertips and you took a step back towards your bedroom.

"We need to talk."

Lucas sounded angry. You pushed and pulled with your memory, but found no trace of experiencing this feeling before: fear of him. You moved against your gut to let him in. You barely opened the door before he pushed his way inside, rattling off accusation after accusation.

"Did you think we were on a break? Because we weren't on a break."

You just listened.

"Did you just forget about me while you were there? Did you just ignore the fact that I was waiting for you? I was stuck here, waiting for you every day while you were in France."

You didn't speak.

"So you just got to do whatever you wanted while I had to sulk here? You just couldn't control yourself, huh? Do you know how hard it was to keep control of myself while you were gone?"

'It was hard?' you thought.

"How about we take another break then? How about this time, I get to sleep with whoever I want? Well? Aren't you even going to open your mouth to defend yourself?"

You didn't.

"Am I wrong?" He prompted. "I didn't think so. Now we're on a break. Now you can fuck around with whoever you want."

Shocked couldn't begin to describe the state he left you in. You stood there, clambering for answers as to what could have sent him on a warpath to your apartment in the first place. His seemingly unprompted fit of jealous rage couldn't really have been sparked without a cause, you figured.

Maybe he'd seen pictures of you with your male friends in France. Maybe a rumor had been spread about you. Maybe he was just tired of you and feeding himself a rotten narrative as an excuse to break up with you.

You didn't want to know. You opted to rather accept his decision, and all of your own emotions that came flooding back with it.

"Hey man, have you talked to Y/N lately? She took one of my classes last year, and I wanted to see if I could get her notes before semester tests." Haechan asks his elder who lay sprawled on the couch.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.'

"What?" Haechan asked, looking up from his phone. "What do you mean you haven't talked to her?"

Lucas lazily yawned and reached for his soda can beside him. "It's not like she's my girlfriend or something. I'm not her keeper."

"Shit, Lucas, you didn't," Mark groaned, rubbing his temple.

"No, you were right. She was sleeping with other guys while she was in France. She didn't even try to deny it."

"Hang on, I never said that. You conjured that one up all on your own, buddy."

Haechan frowned as his frat members debated. He was focused on a much bigger issue at large.

"When did you break up with her?" he asks cautiously.

"Hey, we're just on a break. Don't go getting any ideas-"

"Jesus fuck, can your ego get any bigger?" Lucas crossed his arms and refocused his attention on the television, jaw clenched tightly. "You're so annoying," Haechan mumbled under his breath, already moving towards the door and shooting your brother a message telling him to meet in front of your apartment.

"Damn, you got called annoying by Haechan. How does that feel?"

"Can it, Lee."

You could feel it all, the swarm of emotions swirling and twirling around inside your chest, and yet you couldn't begin to name any of them. All you knew was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

You laid in your bed and watched your ceiling fondly. You liked how it didn't move. You didn't struggle to keep up with it. And it was dependable; it would always be there.

You didn't move when the knock at your front door finally registered in your ears; you were tired of playing doorman in your own residence.

You were just tired actually.

"Y/N," Johnny called, lightly pushing open the door to your bedroom. A strong sense of deja vu winded you. You knew this scene, you'd lived it before. "It's me and Haechan. I'm sorry we didn't call first." You didn't know how they managed to get inside, nor did you care. You just wanted to sleep.

Johnny took a seat next to you on the side of your bed. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes in an attempt to capture your attention. That's when the smell hit you. The heavy stench of cigarettes washed over all of your senses causing you to retract from his touch. He looked shaken at first, scared that he might have hurt you.

"You didn’t smoke before," you recalled. It was almost a feat in and of itself to remember the bitter past, but the small victory was stifled by the thick, wet air of the bitter present.

His eyes softened before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack he'd bought just a few days before. "I started a few months ago while you were away. I knew you wouldn't be happy about it."

"I don't care," you answered promptly before slowly pulling yourself to sit up against your headboard.

Haechan watched from the doorway. He wondered if he'd ever seen someone in this state before, or if he ever would again. He looked at you and almost failed to see the human being in front of him. He watched you move like a frightened animal, stiff and weary. He watched your untrained gaze flicker between your brother and your brother's outstretched hand.

This couldn't have just been the work of Lucas, he concluded. There were more deeply rooted implications here. There was an unresolved issue before your idiot boyfriend played to his own role.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know," you answered honestly.

Johnny looked to Haechan for support, but the younger could offer only his presence in this situation.

"That's okay," your brother soothed. "Haechan," he turned to your mutual friend, "can you call Ten and Yuta and see if they've, uh, noticed anything weird lately about..." He gestured to you. Haechan excused himself to place the calls. "Food? Food always helps, right?" he tried with a dry chuckle. You paid absolutely no mind to him.

"I can't take this," Ten muttered to himself, excusing himself from your bedroom. Five boys had soon found themselves huddled in your doorway, watching your every move intently as you resisted every attempt your brother made to move you.

You felt like a lab rat, being looked at from all angles as Johnny poked and prodded to see what would make you tick. It felt humiliating.

"Let's just go for a drive," he tried again, gently pulling your arms away from your chest and trying to guide you out of bed.

"No," you answered again, pulling yourself away from him and settling further back into your bed.

"Maybe we should just let her be for tonight," Jaehyun suggested, moving to stand beside your brother whose head was fallen in defeat.

"I can't just leave her like this, Jae. I still don't understand what's going on."

"Just give her some space," Jaehyun tried again. "This clearly isn't very effective."

Johnny sighed but ended up in compliance as everyone except for Jungwoo moved to your living room. They quietly deliberated as Jungwoo read allowed one of your favorite novels from the end of your bed, hoping against all hope that it would in some way bring you back from the void in which your mind seemed to currently reside.

"Honestly, we had planned to just come and cheer her up," Haechan had said. "We didn't know we'd find her like this. But I can't say it really surprised me, she's been off for months now."

"I thought something seemed weird. She hasn't said much to me in a while."

"Me either."

"Yeah, same."

Everyone generally agreed with Ten's statement.

"Do you guys think something happened in France?" Jaehyun suggests.

"Or maybe things haven't been going so well between her and Lucas for a while?" Yuta offers.

"Everything just feels like it's spinning," you said, cutting off Jungwoo's reading of Mary Shelley's finest work. He was just happy to have heard you say anything at all. "Everything is going so fast around me. I just wanna take a nap, sleep for a while." As you relayed your simple disposition, you found yourself moving to lay on your side, plenty warm but unwilling to relinquish your comforter. "I don't feel like I belong here, so I'm going to sleep instead."

Jungwoo set the book to the side and laid himself down at the end of your bed. "I don't feel like I belong here sometimes either," he relates.

"But you do," you say, looking over his features and seeing every sharp and jagged curve for the first time.

"You do too," he promises.

Hours of hushed worries bled into the night, and you awoke alone in your apartment in the morning. You had no initial intention of getting out of bed. It was the hardcover copy of Frankenstein standing upright on your bedside table that stirred your aching joints into motion.

Then you remembered.

How could you ever even forget?

The Han River smiled when you arrived, taking a seat on his bank. He asked you why you'd been such an unfamiliar face as of late, to which you had no reply. He thanked you for coming to visit him nonetheless and told you about how much Seoul had missed you while you were away. He told you about the alley cats and how they missed the treats you would occasionally leave for them on your way to classes. He told you about how much the sky cried about you spending spring away. He told you that the city lights drowned out the stars while you were gone, but let them peak back into the city when you returned.

You had no beating heart to pour out into his water, so instead, you gave him your soul. The Han understood and sat with you until you bore no more faults on which to complain. He told you he missed you. You told him that you missed him too. You told him about the Garonne and how much you thought he would like her. Then he sent you off into the afternoon bustle of the city with a watchful eye.

You wondered the streets for a while. Not a penny in your pocket, and still you found so many little joys in all the cracks and crevices of Seoul. You pet the stray cats; they'd always been particularly fond of you. You walked around an antique shop making wild guesses about the past lives of every item in sight. You climbed a tree in the park without a damn to spare the onlookers. By sunset, your feet had taken you back to your campus and directly to the front door of your apartment.

"How about some tea?" you ask yourself as you push the door open, not half expecting to be ambushed by a group of concerned young men demanding to know where you were.

"Would you all like some tea too?"

It was still a struggle to hear your voice most of the time, but visible relief settled over those who'd seen you cowering from your brother in your bedroom only days prior. They all continued to check in on you frequently, as they still had difficulties coaxing you away from your apartment.

"Lucas," Johnny had finally caught him lurking in the kitchen around midnight. He was beginning to grow irritable with how troublesome he had become to locate.

Lucas froze, cup ramen clasped in one hand with chopsticks in the other. Busted like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister," he started without really knowing where he was going. "I know that I kinda jumped the gun-"

"I don't want to fight with you again," the elder said. He had kept his calm since the situation had arisen. The last time you and your boyfriend had a falling out, all hell broke loose in their dorms. He had landed a good solid punch on the more-than-deserving idiot and held the belief that he probably deserved a few more. However, he'd rather not have everyone in a frenzy once more, turning against one another. "I just need you to tell me what was going on before you left."

Lucas's shoulders slump and he sets his late-night meal on the countertop. "I was just so frustrated. She always let me into her head before - but when she came back, she just stopped talking to me. She shut me out," he relayed. "I tried everything I could think of. I tried to make her really happy, I tried to make her really mad. She wouldn't talk to me."

"She won't talk to me either," Johnny said, resting a reassuring hand on Lucas's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he responds, taking some measure of the blame upon himself. He felt that maybe if he'd had more patience with you, he could have helped you to get better. Now you were detaching yourself from not only him but your other friends and family as well. "Do you think she would want to see me?"

Your brother shrugged but a small smirk played on his lips. "I dunno. Maybe you should go find out tomorrow."

Needless to say, Lucas felt displaced and burdened by heavy guilt as he stood in your doorway, looking down on your fragile body. The last time he came knocking on your door in the most awful hours of the morning, he begged and cried on his knees for you not to leave him. He felt himself resist the urge to fall to the ground and repeat his mantra of pleas.

You didn't ask him why he was there so early in the morning, nor did you ask him if he wanted to come in. Your stare made his skin feel cold. He cleared his throat to dispel some of the awkward tension that he felt clawing at his airways.

"Can I come in?" Without a word, you moved to the side. "Thank you. Were you asleep?"

"No," you say simply, trailing behind him as he steps into your kitchen.

He lets out a low chuckle as he glances around the room. It looked so surprisingly unhomely and clean. Not a single dish in the sink, nor a potted plant out of place. "I keep messing up pretty badly, don't I?"

He hated the empty way you looked at him. It was as if you didn't know him. It was as if you had just let a complete stranger into your apartment.

"I don't understand, and I'm really trying to. I know that you know that things have changed since you got back. I don't know what that means yet, but I do know that I still love you. And that I'm stupid. I know that too."

You hummed along, a thoughtful expression overtaking your blank features.

"And I know that I’m sorry. I let a stupid idea get into my head and I let it hurt my own feelings. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Please don't leave me."

You didn't offer an answer, instead opening your arms and inviting him back into your embrace. He placed a small kiss on your lips, something he felt like he hadn't done in ages, and wrapped himself around you in an effort to keep you by his side forever.

"Are you happy here in Seoul?" your boyfriend asked, picking at the grass in front of his crossed legs. He looked at you as you looked down at the water. "I mean, I know you don't want to go back to (country), and I have a feeling that you don't exactly want to go live with my family in China. But like, would you rather be in Bordeaux? Or would you rather stay here?"

"I don't know." He hummed and waited for you to elaborate, but you made no real effort to.

"I know that we're still young and we don't have to make any decisions about where we want to live yet," he cooed, looking up to watch the sun set behind the large city towers, "but would you stay here in Seoul with me for a little while?"

You nodded, reaching over to take his hand in your own before pulling him to lay in the grass with you.

"You know, you're not the same person that you were before you left. I've realized that," he said with a sad smile as he looked over at you and placed a small kiss on your chin, pulling a small giggle from your lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I can't wait to get to know you again."

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unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix · 4 years

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“The Tall Man” Rewrite

Summary: A few additional moments and scenes from “The Tall Man” episode.

A Jemily comfort fic again, this time with JJ.

Read on AO3

“Breakfast is served.” JJ set out two plates of wheat bread, scrambled eggs, and green grapes for Henry and Michael.

“Now what do we say, boys?” Emily said, appearing from the kitchen behind JJ.

“Thank you,” their sons said in unison.

“You’re welcome,” JJ answered.

Emily held two cups of coffee for JJ and herself, kissing the blonde’s cheek when she gave one cup to her. JJ smiled and thanked her wife.

“Any special requests while we’re here?” JJ asked the boys.

“May I have some ketchup with my eggs?” Henry piped up first.

Michael followed after, “Can I have lime juice?”

Emily and JJ looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “Lime juice?!” the blonde mother playfully exclaimed. “What? On your eggs?”

“I’ll go get some,” she said, ruffling her youngest son’s blonde hair and going to the kitchen.

A buzz was heard from the kitchen table and Emily took a look at her phone, receiving a text from Penelope. As she read the message, her eyes widened. JJ’s not gonna like this, she thought and clicked her tongue.

On cue, JJ came back with a glass of lime juice for Michael and saw Emily’s worried expression. She frowned at her, “What’s wrong? Is there a case?”

The older woman slowly nodded, “Yeah. Penelope just texted.” JJ took the phone from Emily and looked over the message. Her body stiffened and eyes widened as memories flashed back to her. “East Allegheny,” she blinked.

“Your hometown,” Emily stated.

JJ sighed. “I swore I would get out of there and never go back.”

“Look, Jen, if this is all too much, I’ll tell Penelope to look after you,” Emily offered. JJ told Emily before that she never wanted to go back to her hometown because it brought too many painful memories for her. Emily respected her wishes and kept her word.

The blonde shook her head, “No. I have to go. Right?”

“If you feel it’s right,” Emily gave a neutral answer, knowing she can’t control her wife’s decisions. “The case is in the woods, two girls missing. In Dead Man’s Conservatory.”

“Wait, wait. Where?” JJ backtracked Emily’s words, looking at the text again.

“Dead Man’s Conservatory. Is that important?”

Emily pinned a victim’s picture up on the clear board. “Ok, so let’s roll with this for a second. Bethany has a secret boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be exposed, neither does she. But then, Chelsea gets her hands on something neither one wants her to have.”

“Yeah,” JJ nodded. “I think I know what they were looking for."

“Right,” JJ absentmindedly responded, nodding.

“So, the jewelry has to be the key to all of it. What motivates them to this extreme?”

All of a sudden, Emily’s voice becomes a little distant to JJ. The blonde conjures up a memory she had been locking away in the past as she nodded along to what Emily was saying.

“JJ?” Emily’s voice became soft when she saw her wife distracted, her professional voice breaking.

The blonde looked up at her, breaking through her cursed memory.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The unit chief gave her a sympathetic look with her eyes softening.

JJ blankly stared at Emily for a few seconds, contemplating on telling her why she’s been off during the whole case. She lightly shook her head and bit her lip.

“Look, ever since we took this case, all of these…” she exhaled out a breath before continuing, “memories are coming back, and they are not good memories, you know.”

“About Roslyn?”

“Yeah. Like, that morning she took my father’s razor,” JJ started. “I found her. And I just stood there. Frozen. For probably 10 minutes. It’s like my brain couldn’t, um, comprehend what I was seeing.”

She started softly crying at the memory, sniffling. “You know, sometimes l think- I think that’s why I took this job. So I’d always know what to do. So, I’d never freeze again. So, can you- can you give me something to do, Emily? Because I am starting to freeze up again,” JJ’s voice cracked as she blinked her tears away.

Emily checked to see if the office door and window blinds were closed before stepping closer to her blonde wife. She knew it wasn’t the appropriate time or place, but she wrapped her arms around JJ's back and pulled her head close to her chest. JJ reciprocated by wrapping her arms around Emily’s waist and quietly sobbing into her body.

“Shh, shh…” the older agent cooed. “It’s ok, just let it all go. I’m right here.” She rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

“I miss her, Emily,” JJ cried.

“I know. I know," Emily kissed the top of her head. After a few moments, JJ calmed down and slowly pulled back, wiping away her tears.

“Are you ok?”

JJ nodded and cleared her throat, “I think so.”

“Ok,” the unit chief softly kissed her lips and JJ relaxed in the contact. The younger woman gave a small smile, “Thanks.”

JJ was staring through Chelsea’s hospital room window as rage started to build up in her body. She gripped onto the necklace she had taken off when Chelsea pointed it out to her, instantly coming to a realization when she did.

Emily pulled back and nodded. She ran her fingers through JJ’s soft blonde hair, tucking some behind her ear. She then picked up a file. “Luke and Tara are going back to Ally. They are going to use the EMDR technique on her. It’s supposed to be especially effective with schizophrenics...”

“JJ,” Emily called out, walking towards her.

“They had to induce a coma, and we misjudged,” JJ turned to her wife. “The boyfriend, we thought he was a teenager. A peer. Well,” she bitterly chuckled. “He’s older. Much older.”

“How do you know?”

She held up the necklace to Emily with angry, trembling fingers. “Chelsea saw this around my neck. The look in her eyes was recognition.”

“The jewelry the unsub gave Bethany,” Emily noted, piecing together what JJ had found.

“Same one. He gave this to Roslyn, who gave it to me. God only knows how many other girls there’s been since then.” She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, “I have been wearing this around my neck, his trophy, this whole time.”

Emily cautiously reached out to the blonde. “JJ, we will arrest him.”

JJ had just handcuffed Ethan Howard, their unsub, Roslyn’s older boyfriend and killer and brought him out of the interrogation room. A betrayed Bethany slapped Ethan across the face before being taken into custody as well. JJ, Emily, and Rossi watched as the young girl and unsub left. Emily laid a comforting hand on the small of JJ’s back, and the younger wife eventually relaxed in her touch.

“I know,” JJ nodded. “But when we do, I’m gonna need you to keep me away from him, because if I get a chance, I swear to God, I will kill him.”

“You good, JJ?” Rossi asked.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

“Come on, honey. Let’s go,” Emily softly said and the three walked away. As they were walking to the doors, the unit chief intertwined her fingers with JJ's to comfort her.

JJ and Emily came back home. Emily paid the babysitter and checked on the boys in their rooms. She gave each of them a forehead kiss and smoothed their hair down before going back to her and JJ’s room. JJ let out a heavy sigh and dropped her bag on their bedroom floor before lying down on the bed. Emily laid beside her and pulled her body close to hers. The blonde rested her head on her shoulder, and the older woman ran her fingers through her hair.

JJ took out the gold necklace and ran her thumb over the heart locket. She didn't know what else to do with the necklace. It was her sister's. It held so much meaning to her. So, she put it back inside her pocket and squeezed Emily's hand for reassurance.

“Emily-”

“Shh. Just get some rest, ok? We had a tough case. You did,” Emily whispered.

"I just-" JJ sat up and ran a hand through her hair. "I almost didn't save Bethany in time. She- she would've become… his next trophy. I couldn't save Roslyn then. Bethany could've ended up like her."

Emily sat up, too, and reached out to touch her wife's hands. "JJ, this is not your fault, ok? Don't put yourself down like this."

JJ nodded and sighed, “I’m sorry.” She slumped her shoulders and glanced down at their joined hands, playing with Emily's gentle fingers. "I just really miss her. Ros always gave up her time for me, helped me whenever I got hurt, and… I looked up to her a lot. I even wanted to play soccer because of her," she smiled fondly at the memory of her sister. “She even told me I was a badass."

Emily chuckled along with her, “Well, she’s right. You are a badass.” She kissed her lips and pulled back to look at her. "Roslyn would've been proud of what you did with the case. You did her justice and she would’ve been grateful for that."

JJ slowly nodded and bit her lip. Emily’s right. She did bring justice for her sister, and Roslyn would’ve thought it was badass. The blonde agent quietly chuckled to herself as she remembered Roslyn's words from before, "...he'll know not to mess with Jennifer Jareau. 'Cause she's a total badass.”

"Now, get some sleep. You need it," Emily's voice quietly broke through and JJ felt herself being pulled back down. She laid her head on Emily's shoulder and snuggled back into her body.

The next day, Emily was in her office, fixing a small black box for her wife. Earlier that noon, she had used the last 15 minutes of her lunch break to “run an errand” at the jewelry store, leaving a confused JJ behind because she usually ate with her. When Emily was done with her finishing touches, she went outside her office to see JJ at her desk, concentrating on her reports.

Emily let her wife fall asleep first. She thought about the necklace JJ had before they learned it was a painful and awful reminder of what happened with Roslyn before. She noticed JJ taking the necklace out at the police precinct and made a mental note to go to the jewelry store tomorrow.

“JJ, I need to see you for a moment,” Emily called out across the bullpen, using her stern unit chief voice.

“Ooh, looks like you’re in trouble, JJ,” Matt joked, looking up from his paperwork. JJ playfully rolled her eyes and shook her head before heading upstairs to see her wife.

The blonde profiler followed Emily into her office, closing the door behind her, “What’s up?”

The unit chief grabbed the box from her desk, “I got you something earlier while you were busy.”

JJ took the box from her and slowly opened it. She quietly gasped at the sight. It was a gold necklace, similar to the one Roslyn gave her, but there was a minor difference. The locket was not heart-shaped, but a different one.

“Blackbird,” JJ noticed and looked up at Emily.

The unit chief nodded and pointed at the locket, “Look what’s inside.” The blonde picked it up from the box and opened the locket, revealing two pictures: one of Henry and Michael on one side and the one of Roslyn and JJ on the other side. Emily had enlisted some of Penelope’s help with the photos to fit the locket size. Tears started to form in JJ’s eyes as she ran her thumbs along the pictures inside.

The older woman softly smiled, “I hope you like it.”

JJ nodded and smiled, “I do. I love it so much.” She kissed her and Emily grabbed the necklace from her hand. The blonde wife turned around, brushing her hair aside. Emily clasped the necklace closed when she put it around her neck.

JJ turned back around to face Emily and looked down to toy with her new necklace. She gave a tearful smile and kissed the brunette for a few seconds, resting her forehead against hers after, “Thank you, Emily.”

Emily smiled back, “For what?”

"For understanding. For being there when I needed you," the blonde answered, playing with the fabric on the shoulder of her wife’s work shirt.

"I will always be here for you, JJ. You know that," Emily kissed her forehead.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too, JJ,” the older woman said and pulled her into a tight embrace.

JJ smiled and kissed her again, this time deepening it. She lightly pushed Emily against her desk and her hands blindly found her boss’s belt buckle, attempting to undo it.

“Babe, we have work to do. Those reports aren’t going to finish themselves,” Emily murmured and chuckled.

“Mm-mm, I want to properly thank you,” JJ said, kissing Emily’s jawline. “I’m determined to make you finish first.”

The brunette lightly laughed and pulled away, with JJ slightly frowning at the loss of contact. Emily kissed her cheek and offered to make a deal, “How about this? We get off work at around 5, so I’ll let you have your way with me then.”

JJ’s eyes lit up as she nodded. She kissed her one more time and hugged her again. JJ rested her head on Emily’s shoulder as her fingers played with the blackbird locket again.

The blackbird was very significant to JJ. Not only did it mean a code for danger to her, but it also meant courage and change. JJ thought about how she grew up the person she is today, but she couldn’t have done it without Roslyn in her younger years and Emily in her older years. Her sister helped her learn how to find herself when she was younger, and her wife built JJ to become the stronger version of herself later on. It’s no wonder why Emily chose a blackbird for the locket. It’s because that’s how the unit chief saw JJ: hopeful and brave.

#jemily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #roslyn jareau #jemily fic #tw suicide

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jyvurentropyblog · 4 years

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How To Choose a POV?

One of my writer friends asked me to write something about POV. She didn’t have a specific question, but basically asked if I might cover the different types of POVs and which ones work better in certain circumstances.

Well, like I told her, this is going to be a VERY biased post. I am incredibly partial to third limited. I choose third limited almost every story I write.

Let me start by explaining the different POVs.

First Person: Uses the pronoun I

“I went to the store.”

Second Person: Uses the pronoun You

“First you need to go to the store, get some eggs and vanilla extract.”

Second person is rare in fiction. It is most often used in non-fiction books that include instructions, or recipes, or other how-to guides.

Every once in awhile, a writer will be really artsy-fartsy and use second person in fiction.

Second person in fiction would look like this:

“You go to the store. You see a long line of people. You sigh and shuffle down the aisle.”

One notable example of second person in non-artsy-fartsy fiction would be the choose your own adventure books.

Third Person: Uses third-person pronouns such as “She/He/They/Ze/etc

“Ze went to the store.”

But within third-person you have two options:

Third Limited or Third Omniscient

With third limited, readers are privy to the thoughts and feelings of only one character per chapter or scene. A story can still have multiple POVs, but within a scene or chapter, the POV remains only with one character.

In my novel ‘Desire and Destruction’, I alternate POVs every other chapter. So it goes one chapter in Cole’s POV and one chapter in Ingrid’s POV. When we’re in a Cole chapter, we can see what Ingrid does, but not what she thinks or feels. We can not see into her head. And the reverse is true when we’re in an Ingrid chapter.

With third omniscient, there is a god-like narrator who is looking into the minds of ALL the characters. This narrator is often somewhat detached and may look down on certain characters and praise other characters. Basically, it isn’t that deep-third that we get with third-limited. The narrator often has their own personality and way of viewing the characters. Within any scene, the narrator can relate the thoughts, feelings, or backstory of any character.

I do not recommend third omniscient. As I covered in my last post, very few people have the skill to know when to use it AND how to pull it off effectively. Most stories are not enhanced by third omniscient. I’m not saying you should never use it, but don’t jump in and give it a whirl just because a lot of the old classics use this style.

Remember the time period that was hard AF for third-limited also experimented with narrative style to the point that Frankenstein is told via letters by someone who has nothing to do with the story and just happened to meet Dr. Frankenstein out in the wilderness. It’s a summary of a summary. Wuthering Heights is told exclusively in conversations between the housekeeper and a tenant, neither of whom are main characters. Look.....the classics of the Romantic and Victorian era were....on some real other shit. Writing like the classics isn’t always a solid plan.

So that’s my extreme cautioning against third omniscient. I just don’t think it adds anything to most stories and is far too likely to jar or confuse readers and come across as head-hopping.

But third-limited on the other hand....

I ADORE third-limited. Let me explain why I like it.

You get all the perks of first person AND all the perks of third-person. You can be somewhat detached, but you still get a front row seat to the thoughts and feelings of one character at a time. When you really pull off a nice deep-third, you’re fully immersed in the character’s inner world, but there’s still a bit of a buffer. You still aren’t writing AS the character.

Here is a section of my book ‘Combustion’ in third-limited where I was going for deep-third.

~The flame birthed itself at the end of the match. It danced, red and orange, against the backdrop of the still night. Rachel opened her mouth as wide as she could, until the corners of her lips were stretched as far as they would go. She made sure that her mouth was a wide, round circle. Just like the man on fire. Probably just like Mary Reeser had done. She was going to spontaneously combust. She would do it now.

And she could stop waiting for it to happen. She was never going to have to be afraid of it happening again. It was all about to be over. Rachel watched the flame slide down lower, burning away at the wood of the match. It was going to reach her hand soon, so she had to do this fast. Spontaneous Human Combustion started inside the body.

Rachel understood why the man on fire had his mouth wide open.

There wasn't any time left.

Rachel took the match and placed it into her open mouth.~

It’s in third-person, but it’s still written in a way where we can feel her fear, her confusion, her dissociation. We can see her reasoning. Of course, her reasoning is flawed. She should not be trying to make herself spontaneously combust JUST so that she can stop being afraid of it happening.

So how do you know if you should choose third-limited or first? (because third omniscient and second person should rarely be used). Well, I’m biased, and I believe third-limited works well for most stories.

That being said, I have chosen first person for two of my stories. One is my now shelved manuscript ‘Femcel’ which I will eventually be rewriting and it will be retitled ‘Pick Me.’ The other is my collab story with Emily Hurricane ‘When The Darkness Takes Us.’

For ‘When The Darkness Takes Us’ I had a very specific reason for choosing first person. This character is a self-insert. It’s a fictionalized account of something very difficult I went through semi-recently.

So I suppose I’d say, when it’s a really emotional story with strong voice, first person may be a better choice. When it’s a very personal story, first person may be a better choice. When you’re writing a character who rants and raves and switches gears mid-thought-stream so quickly that a third-person narrator wouldn’t do it justice-it would only slow the stream-of-consiousness down.

I also chose first person for my book ‘Femcel’ which is not currently online, because I need to make some changes to it.

Here is an excerpt from ‘Femcel.’

~If every single day was a day off from work with Sailor Moon dvds and an entire pickle pizza all to myself, well, then I think life would be a-okay. Today has been great. I cleaned my room and then I pulled out my trusty Sailor Moon box set. Auntie and Mom-mom are both at work, so nobody to bug me about what I'm eating. I ordered a large pizza and I got the owner on the phone when the new guy didn't understand that they can put pickles on a pizza. It isn't on the menu, but they do it for me all the time.

I told him, "You charge me for a pepperoni pizza and tell the guy cooking it to put on pickles. Ask Jim. He always does it." But the guy still thought I was full of it.

Eventually they sorted it out though. And yeah, I know it's bad to eat an entire large pizza myself. Don't go thinking I'm a total pig. I only eat like this when I watch anime.

Usually I don't eat enough. Mom-mom says I'm too thin and she isn't wrong. If I lay on my stomach too long at night, my ribs start to hurt. I'm the only woman in my family with a stick body. Everybody else has nice curves. I barely have boobs and my butt is flat. I tried doing squats for awhile, but when nothing much happened, I figured it was probably all nonsense. You know? A placebo.

It's only four in the afternoon, but already it's getting dark. I hate winter. Especially once Christmas is over. I feel so upset and anxious every day in that long dead span of winter, January through March, when there's nothing to look forward to and it feels like the world just dead ass stopped. Sludge in every parking lot. Everything is cold and wet. Kek. And it's the middle of January. Top kek. (I mean that sarcastically. Obviously).~

I chose first for Ana’s story, because I imagined her as this very voicey character with this sweet and sarcastic personality. She’s also incredibly immature (which does make sense since she’s in her very early 20s) and I felt that youth and naiveté would across more strongly in first person.

So....what’s the hard and fast rule for deciding between third-limited and first?

I....uh....

I wish I could tell you lol

Like my last post about balancing dialogue with other storytelling elements, I have to say, I just play it by ear.

I will say, I think every writer should figure out early on which POV they prefer to write in. Try them all out. Try writing the same scenes in first and third and see which one you like better.

I did this while I was getting my B.A in Creative Writing and after several rounds of playing with third-limited and first, I discovered I’m incredibly partial to third-limited.

That doesn’t mean there isn’t any room for first. Like I said, I realized first was the better choice for two of my WIPs. But knowing that third-limited is my default style, I always have a starting point. I start most stories in third-limited and it’s only when third-limited starts to feel....well...limiting that I give first a whirl.

In the end, it’s about what YOU as the writer are most comfortable with. Some people say it depends on the story you want to tell, and I agree to an extent, but at the same time, if you hate writing in first person and you try to force it, the story may suffer for it. For years, I wrote exclusively in third-limited before I was comfortable enough to test out first person.

Third-limited and first both accomplish different things. First person has more voice and immediacy, while third-person allows a writer to be more poetic and detached.

Which POV do you like best? When you experiment with both POVs, which allows your story to come to life more?

There’s no real rule of thumb.

Like everything with writing, it’s all a matter of intuition; following your gut and looking at every story as a unique experience.

I know that was wishy-washy, but it’s the best I can do while still being honest!

There just aren’t any true absolutes with writing.

Good luck fellow writers <3

#writingadvice #writing #pov #second person pov #first person pov #thirdperson #thirdlimited #omniscient reader's viewpoint #self-insert #femcels

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just-dreaming-about · 4 years

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Harry Potter x Reader - Soulmate Au PART 2

It took me a long time to write this. I kept erasing and rewriting it because it didn't seem like it was doing justice to the first one which I really liked how it ended but I'm quite proud of this one too? Anyway, enjoy it!

(not my gif)

The new school year began interesting and hopeful for Zoe. With Harry as her soulmate, she knew she could handle anything that came along. And at first it was so even though their friends weren't yet aware of what was happening right under their noses. At first, a glance or a smile was enough to made her day. Then came the hands under the table. Soon a kind of game began between them to see who could hold out the most. Zoe's hand casually brushed Harry's in class as she reached for her pen to write what the teacher was saying. Harry suddenly came into the common room and sat next to her, his arm around her casually. She and Hermione were leaving their Arithmancy class and she surprised Harry by jumping on her back to piggyback her to Potions class. And then, followed the hidden kisses that scared them more than once when they were about to catch them but they just laughed about it and the others thougth it was just an inside joke from them.

But everything started to cool down slowly.

Zoe's birthday was approaching and although they had talked about it several times before, Harry felt unsure about the whole soulmate thing. That, among other things, pushed him to focus more on the Half-Blood Prince, his meetings with Dumbledore and the challenge he had imposed on him to approach Slughorn. Zoe was starting to notice it too. Insecurities tormenting her and she fervently trying to fight them because... come on, we're talking about Harry. The sweet, shy, loving, clumsy, sometimes stupid but attentive Harry.

With only a couple of days left until her birthday, she should be excited. Ginny was excited. Hermione was excited. Ron seemed to want to escape every time something about soulmates was mentioned. Harry seemed increasingly engrossed in the damn book. Throughout the week, the kisses, the caresses, the jokes, the looks, the teasing... They just stopped... She was full worried now. What was happening?

It was finally in Slughorn's class when it all exploded.

Quite literally.

For the last hour and a half the entire class had poured into the potion Slughorn had sent them to make in pairs. Harry, ignoring Zoe's hopeful eyes, had asked Ron to be his partner and he had gladly accepted. Hermione could tell that her partner was furious but she didn't know why and there was no time to lose. The first part of the potion had to be done together and so they did step by step according to Hermione's book although Harry kept telling them to add this or do that and they refused to follow his instructions. Then came the individual part. In small cauldrons, they started making potions and you could tell from afar that Hermione and Zoe were working in perfect sync together although they looked stressed. While one cut and separated the ingredients for the two potions, the other kept watch over the two cauldrons and made sure that their interior turned clockwise, while one went to the ingredient closet to find what they would have to add two steps later, the other added ingredients that had already been cut and carefully measured. Zoe remembered that at some point -even if they were so stressed- had been fun working with Hermione and coordinating with her.

And then Harry's laughter reached her ears. He didn't do anything important, he was just turned back giving advice to a partner while Slughorn smiled at him and patted him on the back because the advice was very good and he knew Harry would go far.

And to Zoe the bottle with the crushed rose petals escaped and went to fall whole inside her own cauldron.

Hermione yelled at him to stop her but it was too late.

During the harrowing seconds during which nothing happened, all eyes were on her.

Including Harry.

And then the potion began to bubble as if it were boiling even though the fire was not even half power. Hermione yelled for everyone to hide under the tables and they did. The room filled with a pink slimy liquid at the laughter of others.

Including Harry.

Slughorn laughed nervously, saying nothing like a little humor.

She couldn't take it anymore and grabbed her bag to leave the class without asking permission and saying absolutely nothing else. Zoe felt warm tears forming in her eyes as she made her way out of the dungeons and into the halls of Hogwarts desperately searching for the quickest path to the Gryffindor tower and to her dorm. She could hear Harry's voice and his footsteps behind her but that only prompted her to go faster only stopping because the stairs were moving just when she had only four steps left to reach the next floor. That was the only reason Harry was able to reach her.

-Why are you running? -he asked when he was three steps from her.

The stairs stopped on the wrong floor and she wanted them back to their previous position because she needed to go to the tower. She didn't want to talk to Harry now, so angry she was.

-Are you not even going to look at me?

She closed her eyes, gathering all the patience of which she was capable, before turning to him. Harry had lightly and lazyly combed hair, his eyes genuinely concerned and confused, his uniform was on well although his tie was a little loose and his shirt was slipping out from under his sweater. She, however, was slightly disheveled, her sweater had been forgotten in class, she wore the sleeves up and had two open buttons, her own tie loose.

-What do you want, Potter? -she murmured, holding back her anger.

He stepped back, frowning strangely.

-Since when am I Potter to you?

-Since I've been mad at you -she said with sincerity that being angry gave her.

-So this is for me and not for the potion that has gone wrong.

She could clearly see how Harry's brain totaled the pieces, showing that he didn't even know what was happening to her and that made her even more angry. How could he not know! How could he not see the effect he had on her whether it was good or bad!

-Brilliant Potter! It almost seems like you have a brain and are actually using it.

-But why are you so mad at me?

They had to hold onto the railing because the stairs were finally returning to their previous position

-Because it seems that your soulmate is that stupid book that you always carry with you! Will you bother inviting me to the wedding?

-It's not like that! We have already discussed this.

-I'm not in the mood for this -she stormed out the finals steps out of there but he still was following her.

-Well I do want to talk about this! -he caught up with her in quick strides and was soon on her way to prevent her from running away.

She looked into his eyes, all her anger making her gray eyes appear darker than ever. But she couldn't keep her anger at him that long when he looked at her like that and soon there was only tiredness, insecurity and sadness in her eyes. Harry could see it too and he hated himself for making her feel that way, he had promised Sirius that he would always take care of her but that promise seemed so far away like his hopes that he would be her soulmate. His meetings with Dumbledore were intensifying and if what he believed was true, he didn't want Zoe to bear it as well. It was one thing to be the daughter of a fugitive from Azkaban -innocent but still a fugitive- and another was to be the chosen one with all that that entailed and everything that was expected of him. This was not for a stupid book, for any unknown prince, this was for her -for him- because she deserved someone who didn't make her worry every time he was late, who didn't make her run for her life every five minutes, someone to really keep her safe. And as long as Voldemort came after him, he couldn't be that person to her because he would only be being selfish and putting her in danger.

-I love you. I love you so much... -he muttered and it almost seemed like it hurt to say it- But I don't know if I am your soulmate, your birthday is in two days and I don't want to make things more difficult than they could be.

-Harry, we've already talked about this...

-I know what you think about this! -he interrumpted her- I know you want me to be your soulmate as much as I do and believe me I would like to but... we don't know. You can't be sure of that today, Zoe.

-Zoey! -she finally yelled at him- I've been Zoey to you since second year and you haven't called me that for over a week!

-I was studying! -he was yelling too.

-No! You were reading that stupid book and trying to ignore the fact that I know you're my soulmate!

-You just can't know that, Zoe!

The two looked at each other in silence, serious and angry with each other. Zoe's eyes threatened to cry but she held back, it hurt that he didn't believe her. Since when did he doubt her word in that way? His mistrust, his insecurity, his selfish and childish way of protecting himself now hurt her because he was protecting himself from her as if she were going to hurt him... She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forced herself not to cry now and looked back at him with renewed confidence and anger.

-I was there -she spoke trying to stay calm- when Sirius told us about his Hogwarts years with your parents. I was there. Remember? Your mother was a few months older than your father but long before her birthday she already knew that your father was her soulmate.

-It just not the same, Zoe.

Again they were silent feeling the anger and frustration of the other and doing nothing to remedy it. Because Harry thought it would be better this way. Because Zoe thought Harry would come to his senses.

-My birthday is in two days -she said finally- when you stop being an idiot and want to act like my soulmate, which I know you are, you know where to find me.

And she stormed out hitting him on the shoulder to get him out of the way.

To Ron and Hermione's surprise, Zoe sat with Ginny and her friends at dinner and Harry didn't seem to care. When it was time to go back to the tower, Zoe went directly to her bedroom although normally the four of them stayed in the common room to relax after a hard day of class. She also didn't speak to Hermione when she went upstairs and sat on her bed trying to speak. The next day the same thing happened at breakfast and for the transformations class she asked Hermione to change her place so that she could sit with Ron. The redhead didn’t understand the change of places but didn’t complain.

-You know -he murmured making sure McGonagall didn't heard them- I have a question for you.

-I'm not going to talk about my fight with Harry -she murmured not looking at him while she wrote something.

-What? No. I was going to ask you about soulmates.

-You? Talking about soulmates? -she put the tip of her pen into the inkwell before continuing to write as much as he wanted to ignore it, Ron was his friend and the Blacks don't abandon their friends, at least Sirius Black and Zoe Black- Let's see, what happens?

-Hmm. My birthday was on March... -he started.

-Yeah -she encouraged him.

-Would it be too bad if I hadn't said anything to my soulmate all this time?

-Have you known who your soulmate has been for six months and haven't said anything? I don't know who is but you're a dead man, bud.

-Great -he signed.

The day went on with Zoe and Harry avoiding each other and Hermione trying to figure out what had happened between them but neither of them said anything. It was frustrating for everyone.

Zoe and Hermione were in the common room, helping each other with Arithmancy when the girl dropped the pen and looked at her seriously.

-Your birthday is tomorrow.

-I know -she answered still looking at her parchment.

-Look, I know how you feel towards Harry -she said and ignored her when she asked what she was saying- You just told us that to Ginny and me.

-That was two years ago -she reassured her downplaying it.

-But you keep looking at Harry that way

-How? Please, enlighten me -she finally put down parchment and quill to look at her.

-As if you just found your soulmate -she murmured looking at her with pity- Look, I'm sorry for you.

-Ja! -she laughed sarcastic- You're sorry? How's that?

-Because he's not your soulmate and tomorrow your heart will break when you don't see Harry's name.

That was all I needed. She gathered up her things and headed for the stairs to go to the bedroom but then she saw Harry and Ron come down from the male bedrooms and thought better of it. She returned to the table where she had been studying with Hermione with an evil smile on her face.

-Ron knows who his soulmate really is. He's been lying to us since his birthday.

And without further ado, she left the common room and slammed the bedroom door shut. She didn't come down to dinner that night and didn't speak to Hermione before sleeping. They ignored each other. She knew how Hermione felt towards Ron and deep down she knew that what she had done was wrong and that she shouldn't get involved, after all the next birthday would be Hermione's and she would have enough problems then.

It pained her greatly to fight with Hermione just now. Last year they promised each other that together they would stay awake until the names of their soulmates appeared. Now the girl slept with her bed curtains drawn so as not to see her. She couldn’t sleep. She just rolled around in bed, occasionally looking at her arms and legs, even looking for her torso, but in the moonlight that came through the window, no name appeared. She felt no different, nothing shone on her body and definitely no name was beginning to be written on her skin. She got up quietly and went down to the common room to sit in front of a window, putting her feet up on the seat and hugging her knees to her chest, finally feeling the tears fall while outside, it was all peace and tranquility with a totally clear sky and a beautiful moon shining so brightly that it seemed to laugh at her.

-Zoe?

She didn't need to turn to know it was Harry. She hid her face in her arms, she couldn't look at his face. Not now.

-It's not my name.

It wasn't a question and that hurt even more, she cried even more.

-Nothing happens, really. You can tell me the name, I won't be mad.

Harry's voice was drawing closer to her and she soon felt his presence at her side but she still didn't move.

-You will always be my best friend, I promise. I will help you find your soulmate if you want, but please don't ever leave me again. I will be happy just having you by my side, even if we are just friends, I just... I don't want to spend the rest of my life like these last days, away from you and your smile.

She finally looked up. He was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her arm and looking at her with deeply hurt eyes. Still he wanted to be with her and she...

-I know it's not my name -he said trying to smile to her.

-Neither yours nor anyone else's -she mumbled with her broken voice.

-What are you saying?

She threw her head back, closing her eyes tight and feeling the tears that kept running down her cheeks.

-No name has appeared, I don't have a soulmate.

-But that is impossible. You, of all the people I know, deserve to have a soulmate more than anyone

-I. DON'T. HAVE. A. SOULMATE -she yelled at him.

Harry felt his world come tumbling down just now. Since the wizarding world became his world as well, no one had told him what would happen if someone woke up without a name on his sixteenth birthday. It was just unthinkable that something like this could happen and still... Zoe... Did it have to be Zoe? She with her easy laugh, she with her beautiful eyes, she with a heart so big that it doesn’t fit in her chest, she as stubborn as she alone, she who when she got angry you could already start to tremble, she who would stay awake all the night if it was necessary to help a friend... She who at some point had seen his heart and had taken it as her own without intending it, without warning, and he had no choice but to let her take it. She deserved a soulmate.

-I don't believe you -he got up and took a few steps back- You have to have a soulmate. Are you sure you looked well? Search again!

-I've already searched Harry is useless -she muttered, shaking her head, defeated.

Zoe Black-Tonks giving up? She defeated? Now he really couldn't believe what he was seeing. She have to be lying. He have already told her that he won’t be angry. He insisted and she was so angry. She got mad at Hermione, got mad at Ron, got mad at Harry, and got mad at the whole soulmate thing that was just messing things up and complicating things. She got up and ran her pajama top over her head, so angry that she didn't bother embarrassing herself by showing Harry her sports bra.

-Do you want me to take off my pants too? There's no fucking name! I don't have a soulmate!

Harry blushed at the sight of her shirtless but forced himself to keep looking no matter how much he wanted to look away to keep her privacy. The two of them always helped each other and this wouldn’t be the day that Harry Potter left Zoe Black alone with a problem. So he took a few steps towards her and kissed her on the forehead.

-I will help you. You and me, Potter and Black, as always.

She continued without shame before his attentive eyes that studied her. His right hand brushed the hair that fell over her shoulders and covered part of her chest. He ran his gaze over every corner of her body shamelessly and meticulously. He even made her raise and twist her arms to make sure there was nothing there. When he knelt in front of her and the search for her stomach was also unsuccessful, he looked up at her a little flushed.

-I don't want you to take it wrong but right now I want you to take off your pants.

-Wow, Potter. What a way to ask for it.

And they laughed so ashamed they were.

-You know what? -he got up still smiling- That can wait, turn around.

She also rolled her eyes smiling and obeyed. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to hear Harry's laugh and that made her nervous so she turned her head to the right to try to look at him.

-What happens? Is there something on my back? It's the name?

She was so nervous and excited that she couldn't stop talking, she didn't understand why Harry was laughing but then she was silenced by Harry's sudden proximity. Yes, Harry had been very close to her a few seconds ago while searching for the name but this was different, he wasn’t searching for any name. He was hugging her. And suddenly he began to spread kisses all over his right shoulder blade. His firm hands around her waist and his lips tickled as the cold glasses brushed her shoulder and his hair brushed her red cheek.

-What are you doing? -she murmured trembling at his touch- I-I thought y-you were looking for the n-name.

-I already found it -he smiled with his chin resting on her shoulder now and his eyes fixed on her with a new sparkle in them- My name -he said proudly- Harry Potter. As clear on your shoulder blade as your name on my chest.

She smiled a little in disbelief at first and then felt the tears fall down her cheeks again as she leaned her head back, leaning on Harry, and laughed at the same time. Once again, not caring that she was still shirtless, she turned in his arms to kiss him. A lovely, clumsy, wet by her tears, long awaited kiss, a little more experienced now than their first one. One of her hands through his hair, the other on his cheek; one of his hands on her bare waist, the other stroking her cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb, always taking care of her. They laughed together when they stopped to breathe. He looked at her down, making her to blush as he bite his lower lip.

-I-I think you should put your shirt on now -he mumbled.

-Yeah, I should -she was murmuring too.

-Someone could catch us, Zoey -he blushed when she got even closer to his body.

-Now am I Zoey again? -she smiled enjoying how flustered he was right now.

-I'm sorry about that -he started but she silenced him with another kiss, slow this time

Neither knew where this renewed trust of hers came from but they were carried away by the feelings and intimacy of the moment until Harry was lying on the sofa and Zoey sitting on top of him. She paused for a moment and sat up just enough to look at him, both smiling nervously.

-Zoe? You weren't in your bed so I thought something was wrong...

Hermione burst into the common room still half asleep but woke up completely upon seeing the scene in front of her. Harry and Zoe started talking at the same time excusing themselves with Hermione although neither of them understood each other, he got up so quickly that she even fell to the ground but they kept making excuses while Zoe looked for her shirt and put it on. Harry was gesturing frantically pointing at Zoe and himself in the process. Hermione raised her hands in a gesture that silenced them both instantly.

-I don't want to hear it. You know what? This has been a rare and uncomfortable dream. Tomorrow I will go down to breakfast and you will both tell me a nice anecdote about how you happened to be here by chance and discovered that you are soulmates. Goodnight.

And with that, Hermione went back up the stairs towards the female dormitories and ready to forget what she had just seen. Harry and Zoe shared a look both in silence until the laughter could with them.

-We should -Harry pointed towards the stairs still laughing.

-Yes, definitely -she laughed too.

Before going up, anyway, they kissed again. Tenderly and slowly as they had always done since their first kiss the night Harry turned sixteen. They laughed together when they stopped to breathe but this time Zoe hit him on the arm before walking away smiling.

-The next time I tell you that I'm sure of something, you listen to me.

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oc #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #OC #fanfiction #fanfic #soulmate #soulmates #soulmate au #soulmarks #harry potter x oc #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader #reader

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maplewind-au · 4 years

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Retrospective Author’s Notes

I just crossposted this note to the Wattpad and AO3 copies of Maplestar’s Light, but I’m going to post it here, too.

Hi there! My name is Razeru. First of all, thank you very much for reading my story!

I think, if you've read my story, you can surmise that I love Mapleshade. She's grown to be one of my favourite characters in Warrior Cats; her story, narratively, is written the best - in my opinion - out of most of the super editions and novellas.

Keep in mind, these words are coming from someone who grew up with these books, and also gets big mad about the things the Erins have pulled on other characters, like Squirrelflight (specifically Squilf, actually. They keep doing my girl dirty, and I'm so angry).

I took a read through my story again recently, and passed through the comments both on this Wattpad copy of the story, and the AO3 mirror. I really and truly appreciate all the love, but some people did seem to misunderstand the intention behind some things in my story, so I feel like I owe a bit of an explanation to you, my readers.

I offer this explanation because I've chosen to abandon the MapleWind AU entirely. There's too much in retrospect that I'm unhappy with, too many story ideas that don't connect narratively - it just makes a poor story. So, this is basically a big spoiler chapter for what would have happened, if I continued.

The remainder of this letter is just going to be me giving a word vomit about this story, so feel free to skip down to the bottom if you're only curious about closing remarks or projects surrounding other upcoming warriors works.

Alright. First and foremost, I want to address something specific. Mapleshade's story, as it was in canon, is a multidimensional story that a lot of people see as black-and-white. I, personally, see it as a fantastic narrative where not a single character is in the right, at least not in the context of the Clans - or morally, in some cases. This being said, a lot of the arguments about Mapleshade are usually "she's absolutely terrible and deserved what she got" / "she did absolutely nothing wrong and everyone else should be suffering" - both of which are... Very, very dangerous views to take on any person or character. When I wrote Maplestar's Light, my intention was to explore the idea where a few cats stepped out of the norm that seemed to affect this specific generation of the Clans and offered sanctuary.

WindClan has always felt like the most lax Clan out of the four, to me. With their history of welcoming in strangers and making kindly bargains with the other Clans in their times of need, it made sense to me that if a wandering cat passed out on their territory, they would reach out and help them. I chose Heatherstar specifically for this story because she was such a revolutionary, and wasn't afraid to shoot down any cat's words if she felt someone was going to get hurt.

Moreover, this AU explores the idea that instead of sleeping in Myler's barn and then going on her rampage, Mapleshade simply collapsed into grief - so Ravenwing, Frecklewish, and Appledusk all survive. Temporarily.

While Mapleshade is taken into WindClan, Mapleshade's kits are restless, and it's their turn to be angry - assuming StarClan spirits know everything (and it's heavily implied, in the first series, that they do), they pull strings just like the canonical iteration of their mother would. Ravenwing, Frecklewish, Appledusk, and - moreover - Oakstar, all suffer painful deaths as a result of the angry StarClan kits. To add insult to injury, all four lose their lives to the river while patrolling it - or are tricked into falling in. The kits drag them down until they drown.

Ravenwing and Oakstar are the only two who are able to make it to StarClan themselves, if only because of the good acts they've done to balance out the karma. The kits, however, are able to swing judgement on Frecklewish, who attacked their mother, insulted them, and was fine to watch them die, and Appledusk, who was willing to have them to begin with, who failed to save them.

This is unhealthy point of view, but they died as kits. All they know is the anger and betrayal.

On to the future.

Maplestar and Palebird have the three kits; Finchkit, Larkkit, and Firekit. Some people didn't seem to get it, and I thought I wrote it to be obvious, but Firekit is supposed to be THE Firestar in the future. With Maplestar at the helm of WindClan, ShadowClan is unable to drive them out. ThunderClan, however, is much weaker after their constant battles with RiverClan and the loss of not only Redtail, but many other great warriors. ThunderClan is driven out instead; WindClan, in their graciousness, would allow them to share the territory until something can be done about ShadowClan's terrible leader, and three Clans would unite against the one to protect their way of life.

During their time in WindClan's camp, Firepaw would grow close to the ThunderClan apprentices Ravenpaw, Graypaw and Sandpaw. Following the battle against Brokenstar, not only do Firepaw and his siblings get their warrior names, but so do the ThunderClan apprentices who participated (Sandstorm and Dustpelt included). Fireheart realizes during the night of his vigil that he doesn't want to lose his ThunderClan friends, and while meeting his family on the battlefield would be painful, he would feel worse fighting Graystripe or Ravenflight - the latter tom being the only cat Fireheart has met that makes his heart flutter.

The following day, as ThunderClan returns home, Fireheart goes with them. Yellowfang, in turn, has joined ThunderClan, having been a crucial asset to getting them in and out of ShadowClan. In return for the WindClan warrior, Spottedleaf stays; Spottedleaf had been attacked by a ShadowClan warrior the day before the battle, but Hawkheart protected her with his life. Feeling indebted, she swore to finish training Barkwing and serve WindClan just as she did ThunderClan.

The rest of the story would have gone similarly to canon, with a few minor changes; for one, WindClan and ThunderClan would forever have a close bond, not only through the blood of their Clanmates, but also through Bluestar and Maplestar, who exchanged each other's stories and bonded over how similar they were. Cinderpelt would have still gotten disabled, but through saving the ShadowClan apprentice Littlepaw from a monster; while she picks up healing from Yellowfang, she remains a warrior in spite of her leg. Swiftpaw narrowly survives, and Brightpaw lives with her scarring still, taking inspiration from Cinderpelt. Fireheart and Ravenflight become mates and have kits - Squirrelflight and Gingerpool.

I had further plans for TNP and PO3, but they're sort of lost to time at this point. The general ideas surrounded Brambleclaw - renamed Brambleflower - taking after his mother instead of his father, and being close friends with Squilf, but not mates. Gingerpool and Crowfeather do have kits, and Squilf does take them, but claims they were loner kits that she chose to raise. Bramble was their nursery parent, having chosen to be a queen instead of a warrior, and took care of them while Squilf went about being a warrior, only tuning in to feed them and sleep with them. Jay would have become a warrior named Jayclaw and Holly, an albino in this AU, would go on to be Gingerpool's apprentice and become Hollysnow. Jay is blind, and Holly is a selective mute. Lion would still have his powers of strength, but use them unwisely, and he would be the one to wind up having a crisis and revealing the secrets of his origin before disappearing into the caves.

The general idea for the OOTS arc of this AU was to give Ivy powers and still have her train in the Dark Forest, under Lionblaze - who is very much still alive, but misaligned. Dovewing would be given the opportunity as well, and only take it when she learns Tigerheart is also training there. Their struggles would surround a constant sibling rivalry, one that would deepen once Jay and Holly figure out Ivy is the third cat. I also threw around the idea of a deaf Ivypool, either from birth or caused by something much later - just to complete the "See/Speak/Hear No Evil".

The underlying, long plot to the AU was that Petalkit, Larchkit, and Patchkit effectively replaced Canon Mapleshade. Maplestar recovered, then seemingly forgot about her previous kits and replaced them with Fire, Finch and Lark. Petal, Larch and Patch want stupid, special Firestar and his bloodline to suffer for being their replacements. Technically, they were still spirits of StarClan, but pulled the strings in the Dark Forest.

Oh, boy. Those sure were a lot of words, huh.

I hope I'm not disappointing anyone by discontinuing this story. Again, looking back on it, I'm very unhappy with the way I was handling certain subjects and aspects of the story - and I'd rather kill it before I get carried away again. I've always held the belief that taking time and writing a more consise and well-placed narrative is much better than writing it quickly and breaking characters and morals. Mapleshade is a character I do want to do justice by, and Warrior Cats is a great sandbox to play in!

All that being said, I am still writing Warriors works. On AO3, I've published a couple smaller one-off stories that explore the idea of Tigerclaw not getting twisted up by Thistleclaw, and getting Scourge to join ThunderClan instead. You're welcome to read them if you haven't yet!

And I'm not done with Mapleshade, either. I'm currently working on a new, seperate Warriors rewrite based on the same time (with better allegiances); the working title for it, right now, is Falling Petals. I don't want to give too much away, but if there's enough interest, I might post a teaser excerpt to this story! There's no telling when I'll be finished with it, but I would much rather publish a finished work in full than post it by chapter and run the risk of losing interest or being unhappy with what I've put out.

A final project I'm working on is a personal Warrior Cats story called Rising Storm - it'll surround some OC Clans and Characters instead of rewriting canon material, and I'm looking for a main platform to post it on when I crack into it! If you're interested, I could use some beta readers when I start working on it, so please get in touch if you want to help out! If you know any non-Wattpad or AO3 websites I could publish the story on, please do let me know. I'll likely crosspost here, but I don't actively post on here too often, so I'd rather it not be the primary host.

I think that's everything I wanted to say! Again, thank you so much for your continued interest in my work. If you'd like to see more of what I do, look for the user 'ghastimafrix' on Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, deviantART, AO3, and toyhou.se! I do a lot more than just write Warriors, and I'm always happy to chat.

Stay frosty, y'all!!

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mymindsmadness · 5 years

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𝐹𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈

Happy MyTake!Monday all!

This Monday I wanted to share something I’ve been messing around with for a while. Several drafts of this have been sitting in my folder forever. It was something I really liked the concept of, but wasn’t sure I could do justice. As of right now, it’s just a one-shot, but I’ve considered writing more. If I do, it probably won’t be every Monday, just for the simple fact that this took me so long to stop messing with. Either way, Enjoy!

Rating: T (as of right now)

Warnings: I’m very much an American. I try to get a lot of the terminology and whatnot as close as I can to not take people out of it, but nothing is perfect. Also, I suffer from insomnia. It doesn’t sound bad, but a lot of my editing was done under sleep deprivation.

Notes: If you guys like this, make sure to leave a comment. As I’ve said, this is a one-shot right now. For me to even consider writing more, I’d have to know that people were actually enjoying it!

Summary: When Voldemort killed Harry, it was not Dumbledore he met at King’s Cross, but an angel of fate. Harry threw his fate off course, and she’s not happy about it. There is only one thing to do. Start over.

Although Harry knew death would come quickly, he hadn’t quite understood it until he was standing in the ghostly version of King’s Cross Station. Was this… heaven? Did wizards even believe in such a thing? It didn’t seem like the heaven Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went on and on about every Sunday after church. There were no puffy clouds or harps. Most importantly, there were no people. Where were his parents? Where was Sirius or Remus or Tonks? Maybe this was some kind of… purgatory? Harry shuttered at the thought. Had he not done enough? Had he not earned his right to be with them? His whole life he had been nothing but a puppet on a string, dancing by the will of others. In the end his life wasn’t even his, but he sacrificed it anyway. If that hadn’t been enough to re-

His thoughts were cut off by his own (admittedly, embarrassingly high-pitched) scream as he turned to find a woman not much other than himself sitting on one of the pearly benches. She looked serene in this place that wasn’t a place. Her eyes were a haunting silver to match everything else around her, but her hair was a wild nest of black curls. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He didn’t know why, but he had expected her voice to echo within the not-place.

Nervously, Harry wiped his hands down the front of his trousers. “Err – not your fault I suppose.” He tried for a polite smile, but the twitching of her full lips told him he had failed. “Where are we? It looks like King’s Cross…”

“I suppose it does. Though, I’ve never seen it in person.” She hummed, her expression neutral as she looked around. “I think it’s supposed to be symbolic. Either way it came from your subconscious, so it’s hard to say.” She shrugged and moved to one side, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated, his nerves from being on the run still frazzled. But what was the worst that could happen? He was already dead after all. Carefully, Harry moved to sit beside the woman. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Again her lips twitched as those sharp mercury eyes turned to him. “I know who you are, Harry Potter.” She hummed again, taking in his appearance. “I’ve been watching you since you were a baby.”

Many people had watched Harry his whole life, it seemed. Still, a chill of unease worked its way up his spine. “Are you… an angel then?” She certain looked angelic enough, if not for the mass of untamed curls that reminded him slightly (unnervingly) of Bellatrix’s.

“In a sense.” Her tone was light. “I’m a fate weave. One that happens to be in charge of your fate line.” His confusion must have been clear because she continued on. “The Greeks had it right – for the most part. Every person on earth has a fate line. Like… a thread that represents a path. You still have freewill, so sometimes that thread gets knotted. It typically sorts itself out, or it had been. Everyone’s thread is woven together into a… tapestry of sorts.” Standing, she held out her hand a moment before a wall of what appeared to be glowing, golden yarn appeared next to her. He couldn’t see the top, as it faded well above the not-place. The edges stuck out over what would have been the tracks, going on for quite some time. Most of the lines ended before it reached the thin frame that held it in place. It didn’t have a particular pattern, and there were loose ends sticking out in places, but it was… beautiful. Harry could have sworn he heard it humming in the silence of the ghostly King’s Cross. There was something about it that humbled him... made him feel insignificant for the first time in years.

“So that - that’s everyone on earth right now?” He asked, standing slowly. Millions of tiny strands, each practically dancing between several others, humming and pulsing it’s siren’s song. “Their fate lines I mean.”

“This is just a small portion.” Standing on her toes, she pointed to a strand of thread, following it with her finger. “This one is yours.” She came to the first small knot. “This is Ron Weasley’s… and a little further down, Hermione Granger’s.” The bands wove together into an elegant braid, at least, from what Harry could see. “You don’t know how hard it was convincing the fate weaver in charge of her line to keep her out of Ravenclaw. In the end, we knew it was for the greater good.”

Hearing their names hurt. He would never see them again. Here he was learning about their lives - their fates that were changed because of him. Maybe this wasn’t heaven or purgatory. Maybe this was hell. Sure, Harry hadn’t been horrible during his time on earth, but he hadn’t been a saint either. “Why are you telling me these things?” It didn’t seem possible in this not-place, but Harry felt… tired. He had been so tired for so long.

“Because you knotted your line.” The woman’s face had been a mask of calm until that point. At this, she looked distraught. “You really mucked it up, you know! I worked day and night to keep you on track, and then you threw your line off course with a bit of idiocy and panic! Because of that, several others were changed.” She pointed to a few loose ends before landing on a tight knot along his own line.

It wasn’t like the small knots that represented his life with Ron and Hermione. This was a nest of tangles that reminded him very much of that one time his Uncle Vernon made him spend the day unknotting Christmas lights. From the sides of the knot, several edges frayed and stuck out in all directions. Only a handful went on after that. Harry’s, he noticed, did not end. “Those ends… are they…”

“Deaths.” She hummed. “I’m going to get demoted now…” Her tiny tone of distress wasn’t meant for him this time.

“So you’re telling me… it’s all planned? I never had a choice at all, and I would always end up here? Dead?” A weight settled in Harry’s stomach that almost made him feel dizzy. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I fought Voldemort or just enjoyed my time with my mates?”

“Of course it mattered, Harry.” Her voice was gentle, her eyes soft. It was almost worse to be pitied. “Typically fate is set, that much is true. You would have always ended up here, but the journey could have been much better for everyone. You’re the first person I’ve ever met that managed to rewrite the outcome of several lives. In fact, this wasn’t meant to be your last stop at all. You were meant to go back.”

“Cheers.” Harry nearly barked. Of course he was the exception. “If fate is set, I don’t see how I could have rewritten it in the first place.”

“It’s like…” She paused, biting her bottom lip before reaching into her nest of hair and producing a hairpin. “This pin is meant to hit the floor, yeah?” She waited for him to nod. “It’s this pin’s fate to land on the floor. It will do so. I want you to try and rewrite its fate.” She released it.

It was only through war-trained senses and years of playing seeker that Harry was able to reach out and grab the hair hairpin mid-air. Holding it up for her to see, he raised an eyebrow feeling satisfied with himself. “That wasn’t very hard. I’m surprised more people don’t rewrite their fate.”

“But you haven’t rewritten it.” She pointed out, a smug smile lighting her face. “Its fate is the same. You might not put it down now, but I imagine you don’t intend to carry it with you always. Maybe to make a point you would for a while, but sooner or later you’ll forget it. Eventually, it will fulfill its destiny. We can manipulate or alter the roads humans take based on their choices, but the outcome will always be the same… except... in your case.”

“Look, I’m sorry miss…” He balled his fist around the hairpin, willing it to dig into his skin and take away some of his pain.

“Lyra.” She offered, her eyes moving to his fate line in dismay. “Lyra Black.”

Harry’s anger left him in an instant. “As in the Black family? Sirius Black?” It would make sense, now that Harry thought about it. She had the eyes and hair for it, though she looked younger than Sirius.

“Yes.” She was smiling again now, the tapestry nearly humming in protest as she turned from it. “I was his aunt - or second aunt’s cousin? It’s all terribly confusing when it comes to pureblood lines. I never cared for them. I am sorry about him passing through the veil, love. You’ll be happy to know he talked my ear off about you when he passed through here.” She gave him a small smile. “But where were… ah yes.” She pointed to the beginning of the large, unsightly knot. “Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry was still processing the information about his godfather when she mentioned the name. He scoffed, taking a step back in shock. “Lucius Malfoy screwed up my timeline? I should have known-”

“No, no. Don’t be silly.” She waved him off with her free hand. “Draco Malfoy. You used a spell on him… Sectumsempra. Nasty bit of work. Poor dear.”

“P-Poor dear!?” Harry’s anger returned in a flood. “He was going to crucio me! I’ve been fighting a war while he sat on his arse having tea with the dark lord! I hardly think-“

“Don’t be daft.” He was cut off by the sharpness of her gaze. It was easier to her relation to Bellatrix at that moment. “He was a scared child. Don’t you remember what Voldemort told you when you tried to use the cruciatus curse on Bellatrix? He wasn’t wrong when he said that you have to mean it. I hate to be the one to tell you this, Harry, but Draco wouldn’t have meant it. You weren’t meant to hurt him that day, you were meant to save him.

“He never wanted anyone’s life on his hands. Why do you think he didn’t give you to Voldemort when he had the chance? Doing so would not only have saved his family, but given them a standing social status in the new world. He chose to save your life instead.”

Harry blinked, his eyes moving back to the tapestry. The gaudy knot stuck out more than anything else. Was it true? Was it all true? Part of Harry wanted to believe that Malfoy had not recognized him that day at the manor, but the larger part knew that he had. “I was meant to… save Malfoy? That’s ridiculous! Dumbledore tried!”

“Well Albus wasn’t meant to save him, now was he? Keep up, Potter!” He couldn’t argue with that. “Because you found that blasted book, everything was thrown off. Several deaths could have been avoided and now- are you alright? You’ve gone a bit green.”

Deaths. More death was on his hands. It had been more than just cutting Malfoy open, which he had already felt terrible about… he had killed people. “I think I need to sit down…” He sunk back into the bench behind him as the tapestry flew upwards and out of sight, making the not-place seem even emptier. “All those people… I could have…” He took a deep, shaky breath.

“You still can.” Harry’s chin jerked upwards to meet Lyra’s determined gaze. Suddenly, she looked a great deal more like Sirius than Bellatrix. “It’s against the rules, you see... There will be some things that you cannot change. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. However… if we can unknot the tapestry, you’ll get the fate you deserve and I won’t get sacked.”

Harry wasn’t sure how an angel could even get sacked, but he imagined it wasn’t pleasant. What did she mean? Did she want him to dabble in bringing the dead back? He had no desire to make Inferi, and he didn’t know of any other way. “I… I won’t bring them back to life.”

“Of course not, Harry.” She rolled her eyes. “But what if you could go back to that moment? What if you could do it all over knowing what you know now?”

In the back of his mind something prickled dangerously. It sounded an awful lot like Hermione warning him not to meddle with time. But what if he could. He would still be a horcux… he would still have to fight… but maybe, with more time, he wouldn’t have to die. Not like this. “Okay… yes. I want to do it over.”

Her smile was cat-like as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Chin up Harry. You’re going to love where this leads.”

As everything faded to white, the last thing Harry saw was the glint of light off the small black hair pin sitting quietly on the floor...

Also being posted to AO3 (in case). You can follow it HERE

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#harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #if you squint #possible future drarry #if I continue #my fic #fanfiction #I'm not happy with it #but it's better than the first draft #I like the concept I just suck at writing these plots

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aotopmha · 6 years

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I saw the Broly movie in a specific way (as it is I have no other ways to see it anyway - low or high quality) and have been stewing on it a little. I'm probably going to write a much more elaborate post once the highest quality version is out. I'll also try my best to not give many spoilers here and keep it vague, but I will address the big spoiler everyone knows - Gogeta.

So, here's the stuff I really liked:

-Goku's character. He cares about getting a good fight going into it all and as always, is naive in not entirely good ways, but you also see him be very empathic and sweet and care about protecting the Earth. The usual, technically, but above all, I appreciate the balance here. I was never bothered by DBS exgaggerating Goku's traits at points to the point where I hated his character (some of those points are actually very interesting to me), but it did bug me a few times. Here, the balance is pretty much perfect to me. Aside from that, he does have a pretty interesting character moment at the end of the movie (not the obvious one, but rather something the moment implies) - it's something that will only be obvious if you think about Goku's initial story in OG DB, perhaps even something that could entirely be nothing or unintentional, but a bit of character writing I think that potentially creates a parallel between Goku and Broly that I regardless found interesting. I even thought they would make it one of the central points of the story, but it's there in a much more subdued way, to the point where it could potentially be unintentional, but I chose to think it's not.

-They fixed Broly and actually made me feel for him. He has a pretty clearly defined personality, and above all, motivations that make sense and are very human. He's still pretty basic, in that he is reserved and barely speaks, but that's part of what is also unique about him to me. Much of his personality comes from his expressions and manner of behaviour, rather than a very complex perspective on the world or elaborate dialog. The complexity he has also comes more from the circumstances and the interaction/relationships with other characters around him, rather than a straight-up clearly defined character arc. However, out of any new characters introduced in Super, I think he is the best example of a character that could have an arc that could go in several different directions. Out of most of Super's new cast I feel like he has the most room to do something with. Rather than being just a story that is finished by the end of the movie, this movie feels more like a beginning for Broly.

-Paragus. Paragus is an interesting villain because he's 100% a villain, but you can still get where he comes from - and he actually even has an arc that leads to his villainy.

-Chirai is really fun and very likeably justice-driven and proactive. She's the "heart" within the movie along with Goku and I love her for being so empathic. Lemo is the crusty old man sort of counterpart to her, empathic, but more passive about it.

- Freeza is entertaining humor-wise, but also still very hateable as a villain. I like his further development into a more effective villain. He's kinder to his subordinates, ready to retreat when things look bad, rather than just doing everything to get a victory right away - undoubtedly evil and self-serving still, but much more calm and collected about reaching his goal. It wouldn't surprise me if being so lax with him would later lead to very bad things.

-The more diverse portrayal of the Saiyans. They're not just a cold-blooded warrior race, but we also see regular workers like Gine or Beets and the social stratification of the whole society plays a big role in why the story takes place at all. Basically, we get a much more nuanced look at the Saiyans.

-Piccolo's brief role. I really liked his moment with Goku and his moment with both, Goku and Vegeta later on was a blast.

-Animation and music were mostly spot on. Great, great stuff. I thought there was some odd music placement in one scene, but beyond that, I think even some of the sillier-seeming music choices fit. There were a couple of CG moments, but they didn't distract me all that much and outside that I thought the movie looked pretty excellent throughout. This is in fact probably the best Dragon Ball has ever looked and the other big reason I can't wait for the high quality version of the movie.

I had parts of the movie I wasn't as big on as others, but I didn't straight-up dislike anything in it.

-The fights took too long. Particularly the Gogeta fight felt too long. It was a pretty-looking battle, but that was just it. The fights with Vegeta and Broly and Goku and Broly, plus their double-team at least had character stuff going. The Gogeta fight is pretty much 100% fanservice stuff outside of the finale, which did a very cool perspective thing with both participants of the fight. But, again, at the very least, it was REALLY pretty-looking fanservice stuff.

-Related to that, while it fits the more focused nature of the story, it's really odd that nobody else but Piccolo seems to notice the battle. In fact, I think Broly could've been restrained by Gohan and the other fighters just as well as Freeza.

-Gogeta is pretty much the weakest link to me in terms of plotting, though. Again, imo, nothing that ruins the whole thing because I think the outcome would be same no matter which way - getting the Potara (Goku could have just gotten them from Shin by quickly teleporting there, the movie does not address this, it just says they don't have the Potara or Senzu) would've just prevented maybe some of Freeza's beating. I think a Fusion or something of that level was actually needed considering Broly's green-haired form clearly kept up with Gogeta and he went into it after being pushed by Gogeta, so I can believe Goku and Vegeta individually would've been beaten if they pushed him.

That is, if you don't consider Ultra Instinct. Ultra Instinct probably could've also done the job, but they dance around that by having Goku do the smart thing and retreat before it could happen that he is pushed too far and have him opt for the Fusion instead. If that didn't work out, Ultra Instinct probably would've done the job, too. You could replace any of them because with any option Broly would probably be pushed into his green-haired form and defeated. Gogeta has just never been used before, so it's a more unique option.

-The Minus stuff went past pretty quickly and I actually think the rewrite is very much better than the initial Minus story, but it's still kind of bland. Bardock's story fits in what the Saiyans' life is like much better, but Gine is still boring and I still basically felt nothing for this part. In this case though, the purpose for it was just setup, which is another reason why I'm more alright with it.

I think the series has had much worse writing moments than these and it makes me happy this is the most I have to complain about. It's all mostly quality of life stuff to me and doesn't break the story or it's ideas.

Above all, I appreciate that this movie took something soulless like Broly's character and gave it soul - portions of it are clearly there to just please the fans, but the whole thing is tied together by pretty strong and heartfelt character writing and themes.

I want to definitely recommend it. If you can, support it. I want DB to continue have such heartfelt stories and look so good. This is a very good direction for the series, even if I'm bummed about the older side cast not getting to do much.

I have much more elaborate thoughts on basically all the characters and, again, 100% can't wait for the HD version. I also can't wait to dig in the themes. It has a very simple, but human core.

Right now, is it my fave DB movie? Not sure. I think it's up there.

Right now, out of those I've seen, I think only BoG tops it, though. We'll see how I'll feel on rewatches.

#aotopmha talks

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fuse2dx · 5 years

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January ‘20

I felt like trying this for a bit again.

Untitled Goose Game

Where Journey and its ilk blew up the idea of a short, single-visit game, Untitled Goose Game feels closer to the next evolution of this ultra-focused style of design. It’s a perfect elevator pitch of a game - surmised exactingly in its abstract, and not even needing to commit to a ‘proper’ title… and yet more immediate and relatable than countless other games. Your aims are clear and simple, and a compact suite of commands elicits a range of responses from its environments and characters to help you achieve them. How one begets the other is just logical enough to work for its two hour duration, but does suggest it’s unlikely to have had scope to go much beyond this without repetitive tedium, or becoming bewilderingly obtuse. That’s not to say that it’s challenges are totally intuitive, or even that it’s free of moments where janky controls entangle you - but again, you’ll easily endure through it given how briefly you’re expected to stay. The primal appeal of being a horrible goose is easy to be ensnared by, and is neither overdone nor worn thin, once again thanks to the length of it. Its elegance and charm complements the simplicity of it all wonderfully, and though not revolutionary, or pushing any particular aspect of the medium to new highs, the quirk, laughs and originality of it is the type of bottled lightning that is unlikely to be replicated any time soon. Honk.

Wattam

It’s a game by Keita Takahashi. You can assume plenty; warmth, charm, whimsy, colour, humour - and you’d be right. Divorced of a big studio and the legion of other talent that comes with it, his solo work continues to be mechanically light and missing a few layers of polish, yet is simultaneously far more experimental and groundbreakingly humane than most anything you could care to mention. Trying to explain in regular video game terms what you do is somewhat redundant, but to at least give it a shot; you play a large green square - The Mayor - who’s initially alone, but slowly coerces its population back, repopulating the world through various interactions within it.

I’ll be straight with you: I’ve had to rewrite this passage, as some of the first sessions I spent with this drove me up the wall and lead to a less-than-favourable commentary. Fully aware that talking predominantly about how it plays was “doing it wrong”, I nevertheless took to highlight how I found the camera frustrating, the characters’ erratic and independent movement to be testing, and the rapid-fire sampling of children’s cries laid over the jazzy background music to be cacophonous and anxiety-provoking rather than joyous. That I persevered and made it through the rest of the game is not to say I don’t still harbour some negativity towards it, but the last portion of the game did do a far better job of bringing me around to its charms than those earlier moments where I felt a bit too much like I was wrestling with it. I knew I wanted to see it all and to love it; the idea of being on the outside of something so light being quite so glum, but it didn’t come quite as easily as I was expecting. Don’t be too put off, but perhaps don’t also expect it to be completely painless either.

Neo Cab

Neo Cab’s setting shines a miserably relatable light on a dystopian city and the people living within it. There’s an increasingly downtrodden population of gig economy workers, a police state whose corporate favouritism is not remotely subtle, and a growing number of people whose sentiment against this climate is rallying them together, and turning to action. There is not a lot of digging required to expose the game’s politics, or to join the dots to whom it really wishes were held to justice.

Normally when talking about visual novels, or even just narratively-focused ones, I tend to find myself on the back foot, expecting folks to turn off, and having to find ways to walk it back to more traditional game tropes. Here, I was actually quite pleased with how well Neo Cab defies any lack of interaction - to the point where I’d actually be pretty comfortable recommending this to near anyone. A big component of this is set up early on; a wearable device is forced upon your character that visibly broadcasts her current mood for all to see. As well as mood limiting what you’re willing to say (crucially though, not stopping you from contemplating these options), it’s also un-conveniently right there on her wrist for folks to see when they’ve hit a nerve. As a cab driver by trade, branching dialogue options you need to assess are incredibly frequent - and give your cues are often assuming, intrusive, or just plain rude - your management of them becomes all the more immediate and crucial. Ride quality influences your rating as a driver as well as your income, which in turn impacts which rides you can take, who you can meet, and who you can rely on in future. Sometimes your choices are simple, whereas other passengers may be more obtuse, or inadvertently land you in a quandary more moral in nature. It’s not a long game, and while I naturally don’t want to say too much, it does a good job of keeping the focus grounded on its key characters, who really make it all tick over nicely. I thought Neo Cab was pretty great - it’s got a simple but stylish look to it, and gives you just enough to think about.

Demon’s Tilt

Pinball tables may not have changed much in the layman’s eyes over the years, but video game versions certainly have. In paying quite unsubtle homage to Naxat’s series of tables that blessed a number of 16-bit systems, the passage of near three decades has given Demon’s Tilt plenty of space to grow into. Larger, higher resolution screens gives us bigger play spaces and more detailed imagery, while increased technical grunt lends itself to a seemingly limitless crescendo of frenetic, often incomprehensible action. I mean, why not throw a little bullet hell into the mix? Goodness grief.

Given my particular fondness for Devil’s Crash, which to Demon’s Tilt is the clearest, most singular inspiration, I was naturally drawn to this. I’d played a little before in early access, but a more complete Switch version was appealing enough to revisit it. I was already safe in the knowledge that it’d managed to build upon and flatter my favourite pinball game without reducing itself to an imitation, but the option of portable play (with a FlipGrip, even) was particularly exciting. As it happens, trying to condense so much to a small screen wasn’t quite such the modern convenience I’d hoped - it’s a neat showcase, but quite impractical to actually play with. Not thrusting yourself within an inch of the screen and having to squint may give a smidgen more a fighting chance, but a bigger display also allows you to appreciate the slick blend of neon effects spewing themselves over the striking gothic imagery. The music contributes yet more welcome intensity to things, and though I’ve begrudged a few near misses and unfortunate bounces, in calm retrospect it’s clear the this is far more a reflection of my skill rather than any lack in ball physics. For those who are practised in ways I am not, the table itself has plenty of opportunity to flex your muscle, but even though my games aren’t the feats of endurance I’d wish for, I’m still coming away each time clamouring to go straight back in.

198X

I missed this game’s crowdfunding attempts, but after seeing its trailer - a moody and romanticised nod to all things 80s arcade culture - it was very clear this was making a direct appeal to my sensibilities. It’s a coming of age story about a bored suburban teen, whose discovery of the local arcade ‘changes everything’. Now, I love arcades far more than most, but even I found the story to be over-egged. The Kid’s monologuing through the game’s cut-scenes jumps at such breakneck speed that it genuinely made me feel uncomfortable about their state of mind. Pre-arcade, all is miserly and monotone, whereas the escapism they indulge in after this discovery is worryingly unhinged. The pixel art propping them up may be quite tasty, but I think most people will find the story being pushed to be a touch cringeworthy.

The game that’s book-ended by these scenes are actually a series of mini-games, each clearly inspired by a particular 80s title. In short clips and stills, you could be fooled into thinking these are not just dutifully upgraded, but maybe even improved homages to the given classics. Visually, yes, there is some argument to be made here as there is some terrific pixel artistry being conducted here, but as there’s only about 15 minutes of each to play, it’s no surprise that some corners have had to be cut. Generally speaking, the balance of each isn’t quite so nuanced, and unsurprisingly this leans towards them being easier than you’d expect, but there’s specific shortcomings in each too. For example: definitely-not-Final Fight has some shocking collision detection, and of particular disappointment for myself, definitely-not-Outrun has but one gear, and hardly any impression of speed. While not fatal flaws, my point is simply that you’d not choose to play these over the original games they intend to pay their respects to. A second part being teased at the shortly-reached end is likely a downer for those expecting value, but I think it’s two-hour runtime is probably just about right considering it’s best viewed as a novelty.

#untitled goose game #wattam #neo cab #demon's tilt #198x

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tenroseforeverandever · 7 years

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Home for the Holidays, Chapter 4

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3;

A @dwsecretsanta gift for @chocolatequeennk.

Characters: Ten x Rose; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Mickey Smith; Jake Simmonds; Donna Noble; Empress of the Racnoss; Lance Bennett

Rated: Teen (rating may change)

Tags: Doomsday Fixit; Runaway Bride rewrite; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Separation; Eventual Christmas fluff; adventure

Summary: A Doomsday Fixit that also follows the events of the Runaway Bride.

Despite having the victory of the Battle of Canary Wharf behind them, Rose remains resentful that the Doctor tried to send her away after she promised she’d never leave him.

Chapter Summary: Lance is properly detained, and Rose comes face to face with the Doctor for the first time in months. And Donna is her ever-brilliant self. .

Notes: Please don’t kill me. The babies will get there. Right now, there is still a lot of uncertainty and idiocy to push through. At least one more chapter, and then possibly an epilogue. We’ll see.

Many, many thanks to my brilliant beta team, MrsBertucci and Hellostarlight20! They made lots of great suggestions and I have done so much to the chapter since they last saw it! All mistakes are mine.

Also a ton of thanks to my fangirls on Facebook, for helping me with some Donna-isms. I hope I did her justice in the end.

Any recognizable dialogue comes from the Doctor Who episode, The Runaway Bride.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

***Please note: I have made some edits to Chapter One as a result of continuity issues with upcoming chapters, mostly dealing with the level of intimacy in the Rose’s relationship with the Doctor.

HOWEVER!!!! Tumblr is being a pig and not allowing me to edit at this time. Please refer to the updated versions on AO3, FF.net, or Teaspoon. Sigh…

Home for the Holidays: Chapter 4

Lance had been an absolute, insufferable twat over the half hour they had waited for the water levels to drop. Bearing in mind his earlier treachery, trying to pull her into the water, Rose had decided it would be best if she was prepared to defend herself and had appropriated a gun from one of the dormant robots. She didn’t really like guns, and her recent attempt to use one against the Racnoss had been an utter failure, but somehow feeling the solid weight of it in her hands made her feel more secure and in control. Besides, while Lance had had nowhere to run when the water levels were high, Rose had had no doubt he might need the additional inducement to stay put once the passage below was clear again.

Not that she actually believed she’d ever be able to turn the gun on him… although she had to admit, he was definitely making the prospect very tempting. She had been feeling miserable to begin with, soaking wet, cold, and emotionally drained, and Lance had done nothing but whinge and complain about everyone and everything, showing no concern for anyone but himself the entire time they were waiting. Not for the first time, Rose had found herself marvelling at Donna’s fortitude, sticking with the tosser for as long as she had, and being prepared to go through with a wedding to boot.

It came as no real surprise when Lance had eventually called Rose’s bluff once the water levels had dropped to ankle depth, making a break for it back down the ladder to the main corridor. With a groan of frustration, Rose tossed the useless gun aside and zipped down the ladder in pursuit. Landing with a splash in the water below, she barreled out the door into the long curving corridor, toward the elevator, assuming that was the direction he was heading. Tosser he certainly was, but he was also a dangerous criminal, one who had committed terrible crimes against all of humanity. He could not be allowed to escape. With renewed determination to recapture her quarry, she sped up, sprinting along the corridor.

Only a few seconds later, she found herself faltering to a jog, her stomach twisting in knots of angst at the sound of the Doctor’s voice ringing out from just up ahead. “…and there you go, Donna,” he crowed. “Told you she’d be all right. The TARDIS can survive anything. Oh, Lance! There you are! You seem to be in a bit of a hurry. What’s your rush?”

“Bloody hell! This must be some kind of joke?” Lance protested.

“Nah, I’m very serious.”

Rose lurched to a stop when she came around the bend. She barely noticed Lance standing only a few steps away, his back toward her. Her eyes were instead focussed beyond him, locked onto the bedraggled, pinstriped form of the Doctor, who stood with his hands in his trouser pockets and damp hair flattened against his head, doing his very best to appear casually imposing. The TARDIS stood a few yards behind him, effectively blocking the corridor with a sort of quirky, blue grandeur. Pride filled Rose at the sight, and a tight smile tugged at her lips.

The sound of Lance’s voice tore her from her thoughts. “And, just how do you think you’re going to stop me?” he jeered.

The Doctor shrugged. “I don’t actually think it’s me you have to worry about.” He nodded over Lance’s shoulder, indicating Rose, and then behind him to Donna, who took a menacing step forward, eyes flashing.

“It’s over, Lance,” Rose spoke up, moving toward the fugitive. “I’m takin’ you back to Torchwood for questionin’. And I expect some rather serious charges will be laid against you. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”

“Oi! I’m just as much a victim here–”

Donna cut him off with a swift verbal assault. “You have got to be kidding me!” The bride took a couple more threatening strides toward him and he stumbled back, nearly jumping out of his skin, when Rose placed a commanding hand on his shoulder.

“I would be very careful about how you choose your next words, Lance.” The Doctor offered the man a piercing look, his eyes narrowing. “Might I suggest they involve some pleas for mercy and the phrase I surrender?”

“I surrender! I do!” Lance blurted. “I surrender!”

The Doctor turned his attention to Rose, his eyes boring into hers. “I can give you a lift to Torchwood, if you like. Help make sure he’s properly secured before I take Donna home.”

Rose’s gut churned at the casual indifference in his tone. “Yeah, that… that would be great. Yeah.”

“And in the meantime…” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a pair of fuzzy, pink handcuffs, tossing them to Rose with an arched brow.

Rose’s face burned as she snatched the cuffs out of the air. The last time she had seen those, they had been securing her hands to the Doctor’s headboard as he buried his head between her thighs, using his clever tongue to–

Donna’s strangled gasp wrenched her from her reminiscence and she was suddenly very aware of the other woman shooting glances back and forth between her and the Doctor. “You… you said you used to travel with–”

“Okaaay!” Rose cut Donna off, as she deftly yanked Lance’s arms behind him and secured him with the ridiculous handcuffs. “Let’s get goin’ then, shall we?”

“But… but…” Donna sputtered.

“Right-o!” the Doctor chirped, turning back to the TARDIS. “Yup! Better be on our way. UNIT will be swarming all over this place in the next few minutes. I don’t much fancy being down here when they arrive. They’ll ask all kinds of awkward questions I’d rather not answer.”

Rose gave Lance a shove in the direction of the time ship. “What about the Empress, Doctor? She escaped. Don’t we need to stop her?”

“Nah,” he glanced back at her as he unlocked the TARDIS doors, and stepped in, “she’d used up all her Huon energy. She was defenseless. Donna and I saw her ship explode, eh Donna?”

Donna nodded. “A bit sad, really. Just imagine waiting all those years… I know, I know, it was all wrong, completely mental! But still, I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for her.”

“I know what you mean,” Rose agreed as she jostled Lance toward the TARDIS doors. “But as for this one…” She gave him an extra shove just to make a point.

“What?” Lance protested.

“Just get in there, yeah.”

“We’re not all going into that box! We’ll never all f-fi–” His words stuttered and ceased as Rose thrust him through the doors where he promptly fainted as he took in the transcendental interior of the TARDIS.

“What a dolt!” Donna rolled her eyes, as she stepped over him and into the ship. “To think I might have married that idiot, and all the time the pervy pillock was prob’ly gettin’ a leg over with that big, red, alien slag.”

Rose let Donna’s rant fade to the background as her mind filled with the achingly familiar hum of the TARDIS joyously welcoming her home. All the cold and discomfort of being soaked to the skin dwindled away as she let the warmth and love of the time ship surround her. She left Lance’s motionless form lying in the doorway and rushed up the ramp to the console. Tenderly, she touched the metal surface, her fingers trailing over the various gadgets and buttons. “I’ve missed you too, darling,” she whispered. “And him…” she admitted. “I just don’t know what to do now…”

The Doctor’s petulant voice pulled her from her reunion with the TARDIS. “Oi! Not back here a minute and you’re already leaving rubbish all over the place again!” With an extravagant sigh and unnecessary groaning, he hauled Lance’s unconscious body up the ramp, releasing him in an unceremonious heap on the grating next to the console.

Rose rolled her eyes at him, attempting to quell the crushing hurt she felt at his flippant remark. “Don’t worry. I’ll be takin’ him with me. It’s only for a mo’.”

“Oh! Speaking of which…” he responded, shooting her a pointed look, a challenge that raised her hackles even as it made her insides turn to mush. He had to realize the effect he had on her. “You left a few other things lying around when you left.”

She stared at him stupidly, the train of her thoughts completely derailed, as he withdrew from his pinstriped jacket pocket a couple pairs of her knickers; a bathrobe; her eighty-first century, nipple-stimulating, lock ‘n’ load bra; and her favourite purple jacket.

Through her haze of astonishment she was aware of Donna gasping into the charged silence. “Wait! Isn’t that–?”

“Thanks,” Rose blurted at the Doctor, once again thwarting any further verbal speculation from Donna. Her face was burning in mortification. What was the bloody alien thinking? Would it have killed him to find a private moment to do this? She yanked the clothing from his hands, bundling the incriminating lingerie against her body, and met his eyes with fierce resolve. “What the hell, Doctor?” she gritted out under her breath, feeling a jolt of satisfaction as his mouth dropped open in shock and he stepped back from her, scrubbing the back of his neck with an uncertain hand.

“But that’s the same purple–” Donna persisted, eyes darting between Rose and the Doctor.

“Donna!” the Doctor yelped. “How’d you like a cuppa, eh? Been a long, cold day! We’re all a bit wet.” He spun around on the balls of his feet, and strode off down the corridor toward the galley, Donna tripping after him trying to get a word in edgewise. “Besides, best to give Lance time to wake up before we move him into the Torchwood cell. After all…” The sound of his voice diminished as he turned down the next corridor, Donna still in hot pursuit.

Rose hurriedly stuffed the pile of clothing into the crook of a coral strut near the TARDIS doors and, took a moment to check Lance’s pulse (slow and steady.) Then, with a brief glance back at their prisoner, she silently followed the Doctor and Donna to the galley. She ducked into the shadows outside the galley doorway, and smothered a chuckle when she realized Donna had only just managed to find a chance to speak.

“…ever stop yapping! Blimey, do all aliens have a gob like yours?”

“Weeell… not as such, but it’s dead useful when you’re dealing with–”

“Subjects you’d rather avoid, yeah?”

“Wha–? That’s jus –”

“Oh, I have the measure of you, skinny boy!”

“But–”

“That little purple jacket?”

“Donna…”

“It’s the same one I saw earlier, yeah. That was Rose’s! That’s her, innit? The one you’ve been mooning over all day. The one you lost.”

“I’ll have you know, I do not moon.”

“But you’re not denying it’s her, are ya? What’d you do then?”

“How d’ya mean?”

“Well she’s not travelling with you anymore, so you must have done something. She doesn’t seem like the type to shy away from adventure. You may be a Martian, but you’re still a bloke, yeah?”

“I’m not… I’m not a… Urrrgh, never mind. And why am I always to blame?” The Doctor’s voice cracked up an octave, and Rose could picture him ruffling his lovely hair in frustration. “Blimey! S’pose you’re gonna slap me again.”

“Nah,” she relented, “it’s not my place, is it? Not this time!”

There was a short, awkward silence and then Donna pointed out the kettle was boiling. Rose took that opportunity to reveal herself. “Could use a cuppa myself.” She offered the Doctor a hesitant smile as she stepped into the galley. “You still have my favourite mug?”

The Doctor picked it up from the counter, indicating with a little shake he had already it prepared for her.

“Should probably take that with me too, I guess…” She nibbled at the side of her thumb, dropping her eyes from his.

“Oh, I don’t mind keeping it here. Can always use another mug, and you never know when you… weeell…” He shrugged, his voice low, and he shuffled his feet, but it was only a few seconds before his behaviour, ever mercurial, changed again. “So how’s Lance?” he asked, his voice resuming its usual strident volume.

Rose released her breath, grateful for the change in topic. “Still out cold. Pulse steady, though, when I left him. But I s’ppose we should really be watchin’ over him.”

“I can do that!” Donna offered. “He’s really my responsibility after all. That way you two can… you know… catch up…”

Unnerved at Donna’s implied suggestion that she and the Doctor talk things out, Rose also opened her mouth to volunteer to stand guard over Lance, but the Doctor beat her to it. “Nah, that’s all right, Donna. I’ll go.” He hastily poured the tea, grabbed his own mug, and made a beeline for the door. He glanced back at Rose and Donna. “Finish your tea. Meet me in the console room when you’re ready to go.”

The two women watched him retreat down the hallway. “Does he ever sit still? He’s a flippin’ whirlwind, that one,” Donna commented. “No wonder he’s so skinny.”

“The Oncoming Stoooorm,” Rose drawled contemptuously under her breath, plonking down in one of the chairs around the breakfast table. “Ugh,” she groaned as her wet clothing shifted uncomfortably around her. “I’ll be glad to get back into some warm, dry clothes.”

“You can say that again! And I’ll be only too happy to bin this bloody dress!”

“I can’t blame you for that,” Rose commiserated, taking a sip of tea. She couldn’t suppress the almost indecent moan of pleasure that escaped her at the flavour bursting over her tongue. “God, I’d forgotten what a great cuppa he makes.”

Donna took a sip too, as she came over to sit across from Rose. “It is a good cuppa, I’ll grant you, but I honestly just don’t know what else you see in him,” she commented, “a skinny streak of nothing, like that.”

Rose’s breath caught. “Who says –?”

“He may be blind, Blondie, but I’m certainly not! The two of you could not be more obvious: you have a thing for one another, or I’ll eat my veil.”

Rose hung her head, gathering in her tears, refusing to let them fall. Taking another fortifying sip of tea, she raised her eyes to Donna’s. “Doesn’t matter what I feel, Donna. I made my decision a long time ago and I have to live with it.”

“But I swear, the way he looks–”

“Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t give second chances. He’s that sort of a man. He never looks back, just keeps running forward, away from his past.”

“A bit odd for a time-traveller, that.”

Rose’s cynical laugh caught in her throat, and she met Donna’s compassionate gaze. “I’m just a fleeting blip in his life, anyway. Even if he’s still got feelin’s for me…”

“More than feelings, I’d say. You didn’t hear him today. Blimey! The moaning, and the long face, and reminiscing about last Christmas. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Rose smiled fondly. “Yeah, that was me… But it’s done, now, Donna. Leave it.”

“But–”

“Please?”

“All right. But if you ever need to talk, a shoulder, yeah, I’m here.” She reached to cover Rose’s hand with hers. It was warm and comforting.

“Thanks, Donna.”

They sat quietly for a moment, sipping their tea before Rose spoke up again. “You’ll be out of a job, Donna! Blimey. Didn’t think of that. H.C. Clements will be shut down. Everyone will be given their notice. What’ll you do?”

“Oh, there’s always something for me to do: best temp in Chiswick!” She waggled her fingers in the air in front of her. “One hundred words a minute! Besides, the Doctor’s shown me there’s so much out there. I think I’d like to see a bit more of this world; travel a bit, y’know?”

Rose’s mind was alight with inspiration. It must have shown on her face.

“What?”

“It’s just… my Dad. He’s been looking forever for an administrative assistant, someone who’s not just good at office work, but someone who can handle the concept of aliens and such. And sometimes even deal with the aliens personally.”

“Aliens? What kind of work does your Dad do? He’s not part of this Torchwood business is he?”

“He’s head of Torchwood, actually.” Rose grinned, shaking her head.

“Oh, is that all?”

Rose chuckled fondly at her new friend. “Yeah, that’s all.”

“Not sure I even bloody know what Torchwood is. It’s just a mysterious name that you lot bandy about.”

“It’s a bit difficult to pin down, that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve even touched the tip of the iceberg, and I’ve been workin’ for them since… well, since I stopped travellin’ with the Doctor. But the thing is, Dad’s tried hirin’ a couple of new assistants recently and has had to let ‘em go. And then they’ve had to be retconned.”

“What’s that, then? Retconned?”

“Means their memories are… erm… adjusted. So they don’t remember Torchwood or the aliens.”

“You wipe their memories!”

“Not like that! Not completely. But it’s a messy business. An’ it’s not right. So he’s been doin’ without someone for now. Thing is, once you know ‘bout Torchwood and everythin’ we do… we need to try to keep it secret, yeah. You can’t jus’ come and go. If knowledge about what Torchwood really does got out to the general public…”

“It’s like bloody Men in Black!”

“A bit, yeah.” Rose laughed at the analogy.

“So what happens to me now? Are you going to wipe my memories?”

“Nah, I think we can trust ya. B’sides, you’re a friend of the Doctor now, and that counts for a lot.”

“Well, I’ll certainly think about your offer. Sounds a good deal more interesting than my usual gigs, that’s for sure. But I would still like to travel.”

“You’d be perfect! You’re brilliant! An’ you would get great pay, and plenty of personal days for goin’ on holiday. Might even get to travel as a perk of the job.”

“Sounds exciting! I don’t know how to thank you, Rose!” Donna grinned. Then, abruptly, her face crumpled, tears welling in her eyes. “Blimey, don’t know why I’m getting so excited ‘bout my future. I’ve got no bloody future. I’m still being poisoned by those Huon particles inside me. I’m going to die!” She began to sob, her hands covering her face.

“Hey,” Rose rubbed Donna’s arm, “the Doctor said he’d fix it. An’ he will. I trust ‘im. I didn’t for a while there, but I was wrong, Donna. I trust ‘im with my life and lives of everyone on this stupid planet.”

“Well…”

“C’mon, Donna.” Rose set down her mug. “Drink up your tea and let’s go find ‘im.”

--oOo--

The Doctor parked the TARDIS inside the Torchwood building, directly outside Rose’s office.

“Weeell, I never thought I’d have to set foot in here, again,” the Doctor announced as he stepped out, scrunching his face up in revulsion.

“Oi! No need to be so rude! I’m tellin’ ya, it’s better now,” Rose countered, irritated by the Doctor’s uninformed dismissal of all of Pete’s hard work. “It’s not the Torchwood you remember: not the one who drilled that hole to the centre of the Earth or brought the Cybermen through the Void.”

“Or, I suppose, the one who created those Huon particles I was being filled with!” Donna added as she followed Rose into the building. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be shot of them!”

“Yu-p!” the Doctor grinned at the red-head. “All gone. Both you and Lance are as clean as a whistle. The Racnoss purged every last particle from your bodies to revive her young. You’ll be as healthy as ever with no residual effects, Donna Noble!” He then turned to Rose, his expression darkening again. “And, as for Torchwood, it is what it is, and what it will always be: power-hungry and corrupt.”

“No, but really, Doctor. Things are different now. Trust me on this,” she quipped with a nervous smile, giving him a thumbs-up, mirroring Pete’s Vitex slogan from the alternate universe.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, ignoring her attempt to lighten the mood.

She had instinctively tried to lure him into a bit of banter, the once-familiar common ground of friendly repartee that, in the past, had always given them an easy out when trying to evade the deeper issues of hurt, anger, trust, and... love. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? That’s what had brought them to this point.

Avoidance.

Failure to communicate.

“So what now?” The Doctor’s words, mirrored Rose’s thoughts, and hope fluttered in her chest that they might actually be on the same page. But just as she opened her mouth to answer, he clarified: “Where are we putting Lance?”

Crestfallen, Rose’s hope evaporated, and she scrambled to conceal her emotions and reorganize her thoughts. “Erm… I jus’ wanna call Dad first; let him know where I am and what’s happenin’. He and Mum’ll be worried sick. I guess we’ll just shove Lance down in the holding cells when I’m done. They’re down in the basement. Hmmm…” she paused, thinking. “He’ll need somethin’ to eat, somethin’ to hold him over ‘til he can be questioned. We’re runnin’ with skeleton staff for the holiday, and I’m pretty sure every field officer available is out on clean-up duty right now, what with the Racnoss’s ship explodin’ and all. No tellin’ when someone will be in to check on him. Tell ya what, though, there’s a vending machine around the corner. Has bottled water and snacks. Think you could sonic out something to hold ‘im for a while?”

“Can do, Rose Tyler. C’mon, Donna, give us a hand!”

As he disappeared around the corner with Donna in tow, Rose ducked into her office, stuffed the clothing the Doctor had returned to her into her rucksack, and picked up her mobile to call Pete.

“Where the hell have you been?” Pete’s angry voice blasted from the phone before she had even had a chance to greet him. “You mother’s goin’ completely off her trolley, there was a bloody, great Christmas star castin’ lasers all over the city, the Thames has been drained, and you’re not answering your phone!”

“Sorry, Dad. I left it on my desk. I didn’t realize what I was goin’ to be walkin’ into. Wait! The Thames has been drained…? What, completely?” Rose shook her head. Only the Doctor…

“Yeah, strangest thing! Not quite sure yet what to make of that. So you were there, I take it, in the thick of it?”

“Yeah. And the Doctor, too.”

“Oh… it’s all becoming clear, now, the Thames draining.” Pete sighed, resigned.

Rose couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips. “Yeah. But he was the one that sorted it all, to be honest.”

“Rose!” Donna popped her head into the office. “We’re ready when you are.”

“Be right there, Donna! Look, Dad, I’ll give you a full report whenever I get home. But jus’ so you know. There’s a prisoner here. Got to do with that ‘Christmas star’. I’ll be puttin’ him in one of the holdin’ cells.”

“Right. Look, I gotta go, too. UNIT is all over the place, and I’m just tryin’ to keep on top of things, make sure no alien tech from that destroyed ship gets into the wrong hands.”

“Need a hand?”

“Nah, thanks, love. I’ve got several teams here. And your mother would destroy me if she found out I didn’t send you home on Christmas Eve. I might be late. But let her know I’ll be there Christmas morning, no matter what.”

“I’ll call her right now.”

“The city’s a mess, Rose. Don’t know how you’ll get home. Tube’s down; roads are blocked…”

“I’ll manage, Dad. I’ll get a lift from the Doctor. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Won’t mind what?” The Doctor, hearing his name, stepped into the office, peering around at the bits of alien tech, gadgets, and books adorning her shelves.

Rose couldn’t help feeling a little defensive under the scrutiny. Was he impressed with what he saw? Was he proud of her attempts at making a life for herself? Or did he wish she was still traveling with him instead? Nervous, she swept her damp hair back from her face, and their eyes locked.

“Givin’ me a lift home,” she clarified.

He sniffed. “S’pose I could do that.”

A prickle of irritation muffled her anxiety. “Wow, thanks.” she rolled her eyes, returning her focus to the phone in her hand. “Look, Dad. I’m off. See you soon. Be safe.”

“You too, love. Bye.” He hung up.

Rose pocketed her phone. “You drained the bleedin’ Thames?” she barked at the Doctor, her conflicted emotions latching on to an outlet.

“Oi! You might care to remember, draining the Thames is what saved your precious planet. And,” he beamed, waggling his eyebrows, “you have to admit, the results were pretty impressive.”

She released a breathy chuckle, rolling her eyes at him again. “Somehow, I’d forgotten how things with you just go completely mental.”

“Yeah, but you miss me,” he quipped. As Rose’s eyes widened in shock at his words, the smile melted from his face, his ears reddening.

Rose stammered some nonsensical gibberish, floundering to find the right words to say. How could she even respond to that without laying the ruins of her heart open, without swallowing her pride and confessing she’d been rash in leaving him, without risking his rejection… again?

He huffed at her faltering response, knitting his brows at her and clacking his teeth together as he bit off whatever tart remark he had been about to make. He wheeled out of her office, beckoning to her from the hallway. “Right. C’mon, then. Let’s get Lance settled into his new Five-Star accommodations. And then I’ll drop you home.

Rose sighed. Maybe there really was too much distance between them for them to ever make amends. Pulling her rucksack onto her shoulder, she followed the Doctor out to the corridor with a heavy heart.

#home for the holidays #chapter 4 #ficandchips #ten x rose #the runaway bride rewrite #doomsday fixit #adventure #drama #angst #separation #eventual christmas fluff #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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writersindigestion · 8 years

Text

taunted | edward nygma x reader

“maybe regret wasn’t a strong enough word.”

reader gender: female

words: 2527

warnings: probable PTSD, paranoia, trauma, substance abuse, death, general negativity

notes: hey, y’all. this part was getting... extremely lengthy. the original document is closing in on 10,000 fucking words, so i did y’all a favor and split this part up. no ed in this one, though he is heavily mentioned... will post the next part within a day or two. lotsa edward later on.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX also available on: AO3

[Y/N] never made a return to her post at the GCPD. She didn’t tell them she wasn’t coming in, she didn’t tell them she was quitting, and she definitely didn’t tell them why. Surely they had tried contacting her cell phone - not that she could answer it, considering it had been stolen. The precinct had tried calling her home phone as well, but in the past weeks, she’d completely moved in with Chrysanthemum. Every time she returned to pack more things, she’d see the blinking light on the answering machine, but could not gather the guts to check her messages.

The only employee that ever got ahold of her was Kyle - and he was more than happy to keep his mouth shut for a chance at spending more time with a woman who never failed to make him smile. He’d brought her desk things to her, all bundled up in a little package so as not to break anything. All she’d really wanted was her coffee mug, but she was sure-as-shit happy to have any of her stuff from work in the first place.

Kyle had asked if she wanted to spend the night at his home, but [Y/N] turned him down, explaining that she didn’t feel safe enough in Gotham to accept his offer. He pressed her for details, worried that she was in danger, but she shut him out. It hurt, just a little, to think of the kicked-puppy expression on his face as she closed her door for the night.

This was for his safety as much as it was for hers. Who knows what his plans were as of late? Was he busy murdering someone else? Did he look for her? Was he still covering his tracks? Or even, blissfully, she wondered if justice was hot on his heels.

She shook those pleasant thoughts from her head - the man was a genius, if not a felon and a murderer - he wasn’t likely to get caught. Still, a little part of her was hopeful, and a large part of him was an egomaniac - he could get sloppy for the sake of narcissism.

There was nothing more in the world that she wanted than to meet him again so she could give him the beating of his life. If [Y/N] ever saw Edward again, however, she knew she’d either end up dead, kidnapped, or laid. None of those situations were ideal since she figured fucking him would just feed into whatever sexual, and likely psychological, fixation he had with her (or maybe, it was herself with the fixation).

It didn’t matter - it was the only thing that mattered - it didn’t matter at all. She didn’t dwell on it - it was the only thing she dwelled on - she didn’t dwell on it at all.

Her head ran itself in circles, trying in vain to make her feel safe. Safe? But being afraid was so much safer. Stay afraid, stay safe - that’s how it worked, right? It had been so long since the young woman had felt secure. Every single thought of Nygma was encapsulated entirely by fear - especially when she was alone.

But sometimes, at night, she would feel her lover crawl into bed behind her, wrapping thick, warm, caring arms around [Y/N]’s middle - and no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the feeling of Chrysanthemum breathing next to her, she only felt the cold, slender limbs of the forensic murderer coiling tighter and tighter at her torso. Depending on her level of lucidity, she might feel the feathers of dark, unintelligible murmuring along her neck, or icy claws tiptoeing between her legs. And as she leaned into the heat of her lover, she couldn’t help but think of the anaconda drawing her deeper into its circle.

She’d often find herself in a state of sleep paralysis, unable to escape the nightmare, even though she knew it wasn’t real.

[Y/N] rarely slept anymore. Her girlfriend would cry with frustration, tired of seeing the traumatized young woman in a state of such despair. She offered her everything - a confidant, a therapist, medical help, a vacation, a night out - but most everything required leaving the comfort of the apartment building, and so her efforts were ineffective.

Drugs, however, were the one thing that helped. Most of her surplus cash was spent on weed, booze, and sleep meds. At first, Chrysanthemum wasn’t bothered by the blatant substance abuse, but after finding her lover puking in the toilet on one too many occasions, she started hiding all of her drug paraphernalia, leaving only a solitary beer in the fridge every morning.

[Y/N] noticed the sudden disappearance of her liquor, pills, and marijuana. In fact, for several days, most of her alone time was spent searching for her stash. She never found it, and hated herself too much to complain. When she wasn’t working at the coffee shop on the ground floor, she was sitting, stock-still, in the chair by the window, a lonely beer in one hand, and her head in the other. The TV would drone on in a nearby part of the room, filling in the empty spaces between morbid thoughts, and her eyes would lay steadfast on the church across the street.

In the midst of depression and the beginnings of a drug habit, a new development was forming - Jim Gordon was sent to Blackgate prison for a string of crimes that were suspiciously… Nygma-fied. [Y/N] spent the morning following that piece of news with her head hugging the porcelain throne, and a small handgun clutched in her fist. She wouldn’t let Chryssie leave for almost four days, she was so petrified that she was next on his list. Eventually, she lacked both the emotional and physical strength to keep her girlfriend home with her.

The frayed woman was allowed two beers and a small glass of wine, provided that she accompany Chrysanthemum on at least two outings per week. Begrudgingly, [Y/N] obliged, even going so far as to add an errand every day! Unfortunately, her daily trip was to the building next door, where she took up a gym membership and started participating in self-defense classes.

It was “unfortunate”, being that the only reason for pushing herself was to try and keep her girlfriend safe from a man that she hadn’t seen in several weeks. Chryssie joined her on most gym days, intent on keeping the withering woman from hurting herself. At least she was more health-conscious now - the exercise kept up her appetite, which Chryss was sure to satiate with nutritious meals.

“Gotta keep your strength up, girly! Do it for me, if not for yourself.”

More weeks passed. More gym days. More coffee-making days. More staring-at-the-church days. More searching the apartment days. More snakes-around-her-waist days.

[Y/N] had long since reached a stalemate with someone she wasn’t even sure was still a player in their sick, little game.

The woman somehow refused to admit to herself that she was afraid - especially at this point in the situation. Sure, she got nervous if her girlfriend was a bit late coming home. Sure, she choked on her own heart when someone knocked on the door. And sure, she checked the dark corners of their home for long, lanky men every morning, noon, evening, night, and each time she got home from any single errand - but that didn’t mean she was scared, per say… Just… Unhealthily cautious.

It was getting to the point that she wished he would: a) kill her, b) kill himself, c) otherwise die, or d) get himself arrested.

And one glorious, partly-cloudy, snow-littered, chilly day - Edward Nygma selected option - drumroll, please - … “D”!

When her roommate returned home that day, she was concerned to find [Y/N] sobbing - not that it was unusual, however… Tender hands caressed shaking shoulders, and she placed her head in the crook of her neck. “Honey… Baby?” She cooed, rubbing circles on her girlfriend’s arms, “Baby, what’s wrong? Can I help?”

The fragile woman’s body shook harder after the question, her tears soaking into the crumpled newspaper she had clutched in her fists. After another moment of tears, she relinquished hold of the paper, letting Chryssie take it.

“Jim Gordon Released As Cops Catch Correct Killer.”

The couple were quiet for a moment before soft giggles started to rise from [Y/N]’s chest. Her giggles escalated in volume until she was practically howling with laughter until her cackles became so loud that they could no longer even be heard.

It was infectious. Both women found themselves on the floor in a fit of hysteria, eyes cinched shut against their own giddiness. Nearly five minutes passed before either of them spoke.

The previously crying woman was the first to break the silence. “... That’s a lot of alliteration…”

…

They erupted once more into peeling squawks of laughter, and laid there, on the floor, for nearly an hour, content to simply hold each other.

She had Edward’s mugshot framed later that evening, tucking it carefully away in the bathroom cabinet, and a celebration was planned for the next night.

All of her friends came - the ones she’d spent months avoiding, the ones she’d alienated. When asked what the sudden cause for cheer was, [Y/N] would only grin wider, would only speak louder - it was like weeks of damage and shame had been lifted from her shoulders.

Everyone was ecstatic to see the woman they once knew act like herself again. She was ecstatic to smile again. When the bane of your existence was under lock and key, what more reason did you need to throw a party?

She wrote a card to Jim, feeling forever grateful for his work in the force. It took her a few tries to get it just right - half of the rewrites were because of her tears staining the page. She couldn’t tell him the real reason, but she could congratulate him on his regained freedom.

God save Gotham if Gordon should ever fall like that again. The people should shudder at the thought.

[Y/N] was bustling with energy now that Edward had been detained - she felt like she could conquer the world. That was… Until the Adderall wore off.

She came down from that high pretty hard, finding herself blearily wandering her apartment after spending an ungodly amount of time wide-awake. The road to real recovery would be a long one, but it was nice to imagine, if only for a night, that she could feel like herself again. Chrysanthemum had flushed the leftover pills anyways.

Tiny steps, then. [Y/N] thought positively, or at least tried to. She figured that feeling down wouldn’t make her situation better. There were compulsions to avoid, paranoia to ignore - therapists to see, something she still refused to do.

The first item on her agenda was to visit someone she’d been meaning to see for far too long.

Solid, black leather boots sunk into the ground, her feet set firmly into the dark, damp earth, and her body turned towards the warm, grey headstone before her. The dirt, though it had begun to pack together, bore no grass, showcasing recently overturned soil. The woman’s face was solemn, her tongue twisted around itself as she searched for the right words to say.

After several minutes, [Y/N] spoke, voice bending and cracking with the weight of sorrow, “I’m sorry I… I didn’t come sooner, Kristen. I know how much punctuality meant to you. We were supposed to hang out… Several months ago.”

A cold breeze bit at the back of her neck, but she would not pull her hood up as if to punish herself for the negligence of her friend. “It’s my fault you’re here now - you know that, right?”

Her brow crinkled, feeling the stinging behind her eyes. She could almost hear Kristen yelling at her from behind the tombstone.

You know that’s not true. I wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for Edward.

She cringed, angling herself away from the grave just slightly, but the wind only served to draw more tears forward. It wasn’t fair. [Y/N] didn’t deserve to be so heartbroken, and her friend absolutely didn’t deserve to be swimming with the proverbial fishes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side when you needed me. He is an evil man - I knew that and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you,” She said, her words becoming more and more strangled as she continued, “I should be in Arkham with the rest of the clinically insane - or at the very least in prison. I practically let him kill you. I let him murder my best friend.”

The babbling woman clutched a small, tin box in her hands, jostling inwardly with her guilt-ridden conscience. Stepping forward, she set the parcel just before the headstone, next to a few, stray, withered flowers. “I was going to bring you a bouquet, but I figured you’d appreciate this more.”

Fumbling, she opened the box, ignoring the teeth of winter air on her skin. Inside lies a newspaper clipping, showcasing Ed’s arrest, a small bag of generic, strawberry-flavored candies, a box of matches, a Beatles cassette tape, and a tube of chocolate pink lipstick.

“It’s cheesy, yeah, but I think about you a lot. The matches are because your hair is fiery, by the way,” She explained, laughing slightly at her own expense, but the moment of mirth only served to make her feel more empty as it passed, “... I should probably get going - before my hands freeze off. Oh!-”

[Y/N] moved with a start, digging in her purse for something. After many moments of struggle, she pulled out a small figurine, placing it with the rest of her gifts, before shutting the lid tight.

Laughter crept back into her body with the tears, and she shook with both as she rose to her feet. “It’s a Santa Claus doll, my dear Saint Nicholas! I know you would hate me for leaving that with you, but you’re not allowed to feel sorry for me - I’m still as rotten, inappropriate, and unfunny as I was when you were alive.”

Several more minutes went by, but the female finally got out her parting words, “I’ll be back again soon to leave you some actual flowers, and check on your grave. I know you’d want it tidy.”

“... I just have one thing to ask, and I know it’s a lot - the afterlife, if there is one, is probably very busy, but I need to borrow some of your strength.”

Her tone deepened as if trying to keep others from hearing her, “Please watch over me - protect me where I couldn’t protect you from this shithole city. Please forgive me for leaving you when it mattered most. Please help me recover from this - I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

With reluctance, she began to walk away, stopping only a second more to say goodbye, “You deserved so much better, Kristen Kringle. I love you to the end of the earth, and back again. Please sleep well.”

... Y’all, this is a whole lotta feelings, and not a lotta action. But fret not - I will return within a few days time to add to this narrative. I’ve got a ton of shit going down in part four. You’re not even ready. Leave me a request - I’ll pretty much take any! Tag me in your stuff, I’d love to read it! <3′ ALSO: looking for a beta reader. Message me if you’re interested. - writersindigestion

#edward nygma x reader #edward nygma fanfiction #edward nygma smut #riddler x reader #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #edward nygma #dc fanfiction #Cory Michael Smith #ed nygma #ed nygma x reader #ed nygma smut

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myjackiejackie01 · 8 years

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“Thwarted” Chapter 48 Review

@perrydowning because who needs sleep???

You surprise-updated on me, sneaky sneaky Perry!! Also SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I did finish writing it at first but Ao3 hates me and refreshed the page and I lost my comment. THEN I got a terrible migraine and took a nap BUT better now and rewriting this baby up at 3.30 am because THAT'S HOW I ROLL.

To start off, I feel incredibly awful about the Esharans suffering at his hands, especially Tet Jarmash and Jan Kressin-Vryn. Their sections were a bit hard to read, but necessary and I'll get into why in a little bit. You can understand where they're coming from. Kylo, if he wasn't so hellbent on vengeance, is dealing with consequences of his dictatorship (in ways, it is, I find). Of course not everyone is going to just sit back and take your take-over lying down, you silly man-child! Not to get political, but these people are essentially being oppressed, especially vocally, and can't express opinions that go against the regime. Doing so is seen as a crime punishable by death. They've lost people and don't want their freedom taken. Do their methods going about trying to "make a point" to the First Order make them right? Absolutely not. Millions of innocents died and that's never the price to pay to get your point across. I don't agree, but I understand. I will say I gave a clap for Tet; she put up a fight against Kylo's Force abilities and I admired that. But in the end, it wasn't enough against a strong Force-user like Kylo. I felt the worst for Kressin-Vryn. Death is "too good" for him. Nope, Kylo needs him to suffer immensely. And what better way than frying his memories of his deceased beloved and dying with the knowledge you no longer remember them? Absolutely chilling, heartbreaking and brutal, but oh so Kylo Ren when you decide to fuck with him.

I feel awful for what's coming for the families of the parties involved. We've only seen a fraction of what Kylo has planned. He only got SOME of the people involved in the bombing, after all! *shudder*

Right, onto Kylo Angst.

Oh, Kylo. My poor, hurting, incredibly moronic and thirsty child. I find myself crying for our Galactic Idiot in this chapter.

As a reader who LOVES angst and drama, I absolutely LOVED Kylo Ren in this chapter. We got to see the side of him I think a lot of "Thwarted" readers may have side-stepped around, because at the end of the day, this is a story about Kylo and Rey and their character development and journey from enemies to lovers. Sure, he's been a great boyfriend and over the moons in the galaxy since Rey said those three words back to him, BUT everyone forgets, I think, that he hasn't really changed just because Rey is with him. I mean he has made some changes, but none that will overall make him rethink himself, I find. Kylo hasn't really had that "Wow, what I've been doing is SO not okay. I should work on that and fix myself" moment, and we got to see this chapter that Kylo will have a LOT to answer for, both to Rey and to himself. The 'monster' Rey claimed him to be once is out, and Kylo will have to own up to it.

Seeing Kylo off the rails was absolutely crushing, but in the best way possible! You see the worst of him when the best of him is taken away. He's right at the edge of the cliff to madness and wants to give in but his bloodthirsty need for justice - and possibly the hopes that Rey will come back to him - keep him from giving in and completely losing his mind. I didn't find him sadistic at all during his rampage for his skewed idea of justice. It is totally unnecessary and his grounds for doing so have really no basis. BUT I do think that Kylo DID need this; this need to just release all this pent up energy, a way to relieve all these bottled up emotions because really, this man-child has no real way to cope in a positive way. He's passionate by nature and expresses himself to the height of his ability. He never does anything in halves, I find. It's all or nothing. And in dealing with his "justice" towards the Esharans responsible for the bombing and, indirectly, responsible for Rey's condition, he's dealing with it that exact way. Imprisonment is out of the question. Death is too good for them. He feels like his heart has been carved out of his chest and he wants them, in the worst ways possible, to know even a fraction of how he feels when Rey isn't there.

Kylo's heartbreak spells out doom for everyone, and no amount of pleading or bargaining can move him. I do wish though he'd listen to those little flutterings he's getting in the back of his mind. He KNOWS what he's doing is wrong, knows that Rey wouldn't like it, BUT he feels justified because it's FOR Rey. He is Rey's protector, her lover, her vengeance. And she will have it, whether she wants it or not. I am curious about those little flutters in his mind, though. Could it be his conscience trying to get through to him? His beloved Rey trying to come back to him?? Curious, curious!!!

Also, the imagery you gave when he ripped through their minds was absolutely brilliant. I always tell you that you have a way with words, and I re-affirm that statement. Your use of imagery without little but direct description is absolutely lovely and envious. I could SEE what he was seeing and FEEL what the characters were feeling. You're such a gifted writer, Perry.

I also think when Rey finally wakes up and realizes what Kylo did while she was out of the game, it will give her a LOT to think about. Like you said before in the previous chapter; Rey HAS compromised her integrity by loving him. She's more than aware Kylo is a few olives short of a whole martini, but her attraction to him and the Bond amplifying those feelings won out. Our girl isn't stupid. She's aware Kylo has done really unforgivable things (e.g. hunting her across the galaxy, killing people, kidnapping her, etc...) but her love for him won out and she's chosen to be with him. I remember a few chapters ago, Kylo asked her if she could forgive him for what he's done and for some, she has. But HAS she really? She knows waaaaaay down deep that she should've turned her back on him, yet here they are. Carrie Fisher once said in an interview that Rey is forgiving, and I do believe that she is. Despite all he's done, Rey clearly saw something in Kylo that was "worthy" in her books to give him the time of day and not just anything physical. I think a lot of her reason may have been because of Leia and her telling stories about Ben. Rey got to listen about the boy Kylo once was and learned, once upon a time, he was actually a pretty nice young man. And that, as well as factoring in her attraction that she tried to deny, could've also played into the times she gave in and would speak to him through the Bond. She wanted to meet that man Kylo used to be, because he's much more pleasant than dealing with the reality that he turned into a kind of dictator of the universe, no? Rey will have a LOT to think about once she wakes up, her little fantasy world is about to burst and she'll have to face up with what she's "blinded" herself to. But she has all that she needs to work through it, I think, to help sort herself out and what it means for her and Kylo, and I think by doing so, it could and can help Kylo with himself, as well.

I really felt for his Knights. I'm sure Wylan could care less, because his Supreme Leader is digging himself into a hole he hopes he won't be able to get out of with Rey. Jashad, Natan and Palek are probably shaking their heads. And then there's Galactic Cool Aunt, Vitok. The poor woman is doing her best to try and reign Kylo in, but she only has so much power. I DO believe that she would've had a bigger impact on Kylo if he was actually reasonable. And if Rey was there to back her up, because again, this plays into what I mentioned in earlier comments. Rey is very much his "conscience", she plays a big part in what he will overall do. But she's not here, and so Vitok is basically powerless in trying to get through to Kylo, though she is doing her best. If he would only just listen to that little voice in that back of his mind that's questioning his actions but is overridden by his need for vengeance!!

You've properly killed my feelings this chapter, Perry. You let us see a side of Kylo that is absolutely brutal, ruthless and uncaring towards the rest of the Universe; I felt awful for the Esharans yet I felt more-so for Galactic Idiot because we know exactly why he's doing it, as unnecessary and completely unorthodox as his methods are. We saw the side of Kylo that was "forgotten" in this story because he was trying to win the affections of his lady love. Kylo Ren is still very much the villain at the moment, but he's not so far gone that he isn't capable of salvaging himself and getting that redemption and happy ending. This Pain Train to Hell is absolutely gut-wrenching and I can't wait to see where it goes once Rey wakes up. Your writing this chapter has reached a new pinnacle of amazing. You had me cry, you made me feel anguish, you made me wanna reach into my screen and slap Kylo silly. Your writing does such marvelous things to my feelings, and I can't wait to read more.

Happy writing!!!

#perrydowning #story reviews #fic updates #reylo #thwarted

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timesorceror · 8 years

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Day 18 (January 24th) - Anders and Legacy

Rewrites of Legacy for Anders’ experience in it? Or maybe just talking about Anders’ role in Legacy? Or art of Anders in Legacy? The theme for this day is Anders in Legacy.

For @justhanderspositive‘s challenge: [HERE].

Anders groaned as the song scratched maddeningly loudly in his head. He was curled in on himself, sweating and panting.

The Hawke… the Blood of the Hawke… bring me the Blood of the Hawke!

“Shut. Up.” He hissed, clutching his head.

“Uh, Blondie?” That was Varric. Right? Yes, that was Varric. “Are you gonna be alright?” Anders shivered, turning over and groaning into his pillow. Justice fought with the mental intruder for a few moments and eventually, eventually, the song of the voice dimmed to a low throbbing pulse at his temples. He panted, turning over on his side as he looked blearily over at Varric.

“I… think so. For now,” Anders mumbled. “That… that thing keeps trying to get in my head. It must be… connected to the darkspawn somehow. Justice is helping, but… I don’t know how long he can keep protecting me.”

Anders couldn’t see Varric’s expression from where he lay, but he could vaguely make out the dwarf frowning at him before turning to Carver, and whispering something he couldn’t hear. Then someone slid up behind him and pressed against him, their chestplate cool against his back even through his tunic and coat. Fenris.

“Can I help?” he whispered. Anders turned around and pressed his face against Fenris’ neck, his closed eyelids touching one of the lyrium lines and clearing the headache completely.

The lyrium is refreshing, Justice supplied. Do tell him so.

“Mmm. This. This is helping. Your lyrium… ’s cleared my headache. Justice is feeling stronger.”

“Good,” Fenris affirmed. “You stay here and rest, then.”

Anders grunted. “They help keep that thing out of my head. The darkspawn dreams still get through, unfortunately.” Anders felt Fenris’ shoulders shrug. He could almost imagine the nonplussed expression that was surely on the elf’s face. “Well, try to get some sleep. There’s time left yet on the hourglass Hayden brought.”

Anders mumbled something in protest, but then Fenris started up a low purr that instantly had Anders dropping off in moments.

He was jolted awake by the feeling of Fenris pulling away, the lack of connection with the lyrium like a splash of cold water to the face.

“Sorry,” Fenris mumbled in apology. “It’s time we get going, though.”

Anders nodded, and packed up his bedroll. Varric put out the fire while Hayden and Carver scouted ahead. Fenris remained with Anders as he buckled up his coat and boots. They still stuck a little sometimes, being the new black ones Fenris had brought him to be fitted for when his old coat and boots had grown too threadbare for his liking. Hayden had offered to make the purchase themselves, but Fenris had insisted. He liked buying things for the mage. Hayden had simply smiled that knowing smile of theirs and let him do what he needed to do, not bothering to correct Fenris about the fact that Anders wasn’t the only mage between the three of them. But they both knew Fenris meant Anders when he referred to him as such.

“Your head still alright, Blondie?” Varric asked as he walked up, adjusting Bianca.

“Still got a wicked headache, but so far I’m fine.” He grit his teeth as another slow scrape of darkspawn song clawed at the edges of his mind. The sleep had helped, and being pressed against the lyrium in Fenris’ flesh had given Justice the time he needed to recover from the previous mental onslaught. Still, Anders worried for his friend.

Concentrate on fighting, Justice soothed. I can handle keeping us safe for now.

Anders picked up his staff and tightened the straps on his pouches to secure them. Carver and Hayden came back, telling them about the roving bands of deepstalkers ahead, and to watch out for the glowing water.

“Water, this far down in the Deep Roads?” Anders frowned. “That’s… rather odd.”

Carver nodded, adjusting bits of his own armor that were beginning to come undone. “Yeah, I thought it was weird too. I mean, I’ve not been in the Deep Roads much since the Joining, but we were down pretty deep during the expedition, right?” Anders nodded distractedly. “Well, just, uh… don’t drink it. If it’s glowing, it’s probably not a good thing.”

“Huh,” Varric huffed. “Tell that to Rivaini next time we head into one of those Tevinter ruins back home before she starts reaching for the sparklies.”

Anders snorted. “I doubt she’d listen even if I did. You know how she is about sparklies.”

“Well, she’s yet to pluck out my eyes and wear them around her neck,” Fenris added. “So I’d say she does listen to our advice on occasion.” Varric chuckled as they walked through this new, damp, eeriely green part of the Deep Roads. Maker, the water really was glowing. “Broody, I think she only listens to you because you’re more likely to pluck out her heart than she is your eyes.”

“Then perhaps I should be the one to tell her not to touch any sparklies that glow.”

“I can’t believe you just said "sparklies” with a straight face,“ said Carver, glancing back at them from his point position next to Hayden.

"Who says I said it with a straight face? I could be smiling for all you know.”

“Anders, was he smiling?”

Anders felt his lips twist into an automatic smirk as he replied without missing a beat, “Of course he was. Couldn’t you tell the difference from the sound of his voice?”

It had been Fenris’ usual near-monotone the entire time. Carver groaned.

“Ugh. Now I know you’re feeling better. I can practically feel you making kissy faces at him from up here.”

“Actually,” Hayden chimed in cheerily, “He makes the kissy faces at me. Anders and Fen don’t so much as make kissy faces as they sort of attack each other with their lips.” Carver groaned again. “Hayden, that’s… just.. no. Not a mental image I needed to see.” Hayden giggled, but their laughter was cut short when a tiny deepstalker walked around a doorway and began to shriek at them, warning any nearby deepstalkers of their presence in the area.

“Say Carver,” Hayden began as they drew the staff key from its sling across their back, readying for a fight, “d'you think you can count how many of these things you can kill before we reach the end? Bet you five gold pieces that I can get more than you.”

Carver chuckled. “Oh, no way I’m taking that one. I’ve seen what you can do with a firestorm.”

“Ah, well. Your loss.” And then they slammed their staff on the ground and cast a rolling wave of flame across the ground as the little beasts began to swarm.

Later, after the harrowing struggle against the magister-darkspawn thing, Corypheus, when they were back at Kirkwall, Anders was waiting in his spot on the sofa in front of the fire while he listened to Fenris pace behind him and Hayden said their goodbyes to Carver out in the main hall. Eventually, the sound of their voices ceased, and Hayden entered the room.

Anders glanced over as Hayden closed the doors, leaning against them with a deep sigh.

“Glad it’s finally over?” he asked. Hayden could only nod as they padded slowly over to the sofa, plopped down next to Anders, and then crawled partway into his lap, clutching at Anders’ robes. Anders frowned, noticing that Hayden was shaking terribly.

“Are you alright, Hayden? You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

Behind him, Fenris stopped pacing and immediately made for the sofa to sit next to Hayden.

It was a while before Hayden could speak, but once they grasped Fenris’ hand and a deep, low purring began to fill the room, they managed to take a breath deep enough to speak about what bothered them.

“I just… can’t stop thinking about what Carver said about the Calling. I keep closing my eyes and seeing Larius in place of him or, or you…” Hayden buried their face partly in Anders’ feathers and took a few long, rattling breaths as they held back tears.

Anders had always known his days were numbered. He just hadn’t had the courage to tell them. Either Hayden or Fenris.

They are not as numbered as you think, Justice rumbled, sounded as though amused at a peculiar discovery. Anders frowned.

Wait, what do you mean?

It appears that the darkness in you that the Wardens call “the Taint” is frozen in the state of progress it was when we first joined. I can only assume that I am the cause of its stopping, and therefore you will not likely ever hear the Calling. Not while you and I share your body.

Anders couldn’t help the audible gasp that escaped him, causing Hayden’s head to snap up sharply. “What? What is it?”

“Justice,” Anders breathed. “Justice tells me that the corruption in my blood… it hasn’t spread any further into my system since… since the day we joined.” He knew he sounded strange, but his world felt like it was tilted on an axis, slowly turning upside-down. Hayden shifted in his lap so that they were kneeling on the sofa, sitting on his thighs.

“W-What does… does that mean…?”

“Then… as long as you and Justice share your body, you won’t ever hear the Calling?”

Fenris had stopped purring momentarily to shift closer and piece together the meaning of Anders’ revelation. He nodded, feeling almost giddy with numbness, though he wasn’t certain if it was from Hayden’s perch on his thighs or the rush of elation that flooded him at the implications of Justice’s discovery.

“Y-Yes. At least, that is what Justice tells me, anyway,”

And not a moment later Anders found himself with an equally giddy mouthful of mage as Hayden pressed their body against his to kiss him with abandon. Their hair came undone from the messy braid it had been bound into earlier that day, falling in long silky curls around his face and shoulders. When Hayden pulled away, leaving Anders stunned and out of breath, Fenris chuckled beside them.

“And you said that I preferred to attack the mage with my lips,” he quipped.

Hayden merely glanced over and shot the elf a sultry smirk. “I never said you preferred to, or that I didn’t. But something that I do prefer… is being sandwiched between the two of you.” They glanced back at Anders, panting softly as they rolled their hips against Anders, who was already acquiring a substantial hard-on.

“And I want it here, on the sofa. It used to be our favorite place, remember?”

Anders shivered at the implications of that statement, and at the flash of arousal that shot through him at the memories it brought along with it.

“I don’t know if this poor sofa can handle the three of us,” he said between breaths as Hayden began working at the buckles of his coat with slow yet practiced motions. Hayden’s only response was to glance over at Fenris, who was already beginning to divest himself of his own clothing, and then back at Anders as they leaned forward again to stage whisper in his ear, “Well, we won’t find out if we don’t try, will we?”

And then they kissed him again, and the lot of them didn’t leave the library sofa (which did indeed survive their exploits) for a very long time.

#anders #fenris #hawke #hayden hawke #non binary hawke #fenhanders #legacy dlc #dragon age 2 #the calling #corypheus #carver hawke #januanderstakeback #timesorcerorwrites #anders doesn't turn on them #because lyrium keeps the mean coryphenus out of anders' head #justice helps

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