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lyracasstuff · 3 years

Note

Heya!! I actually just found your blog and I would like to say how amazing your writing it! Aaaa it's so cute and you seem very sweet!! <3

I came here to ask for a idv match up! I'm a female, she/her, I'm bi but I do have a preference towards men. Also, I don't mind a survivor or hunter!! Whatever you feel like atm dear. I'm very energetic when you get me in the right mood!! I love baking and editing! I also quite like photography. I'm a very loving person but can get cold if I feel bad so it's a bad habit TwT. I do give lots of compliments to people and it may seem like i like them but I just really like pointing out nice things about people. I love hugs and kisses especially!! I love it if my s/o could give me attention but not too much yknow? Like i want them to be happy with their life with me and their life outside of our relationship. Umm I hope that's enough!! Thank you for making your blog! It is very nice!! You're doing great!! I appreciate you <3 (ps. Make sure to eat and drink enough~)

Thank you for caring about my health dearie~ Honestly,, I could also say the same for you..(｡･ω･｡)

And I'm quite glad that you enjoy reading my blog posts! It means quite a lot for me whenever I hear people enjoying my blog as much as I enjoy writing them..( ´ ▽ ` )

After much thinking,, I've decided to match you up with...

Joseph Desaulnier!!📷

Let's first address the big elephant in the room: Photography..（・∀・）

Since the both of you love photography,, I can most *definitely* imagine you two taking pictures of scenery found in the manor..

As well as *some* of the silly things that happen outside of matches.. Although,, it's more on your end than Joseph's..

However,, I must also remind you that you WILL be bombarded with questions partaining to your "equipment"..(｡･ω･｡)

Whether it'd be a modern HD camera or your smartphone,, it's safe to assume that Joseph will be VERY much curious about these "equipment" that you have brought from the "future" ((even though we call it anything *but* from the future..))

"Are you telling me that this camera of yours can capture pictures instantly??? With just a simple press of a button??? Then, does that mean you won't have to stand for long periods of time to take your picture???"

((Fun fact: the first cameras that were patented require you to stand for long periods of time to take your picture which explains why plenty of the pictures during the Victorian Era were people staying in one position like standing..))

"This "smartphone" can ALSO capture pictures?? Would you mind showing me how, ma chérie??"

"The quality of the pictures are ABSOLUTELY DIVINE! From what time period must you be to access this kind of machinery, ma chérie???"

I highly suggest that you study your equipment thoroughly because Joseph *will* be asking questions about your photography equipment..

Well,, that and Joseph will *literally* fumble with *every* single nook and cranny of said equipment where he might actually break something on accident..

Which is rare for the gentlemanly and disciplined Joseph,, however we ARE talking about one of his biggest passions here..╮(─▽─)╭

Another topic here that is perhaps connected somehow is editing!!（⌒▽⌒）

Joseph is quite astonished when you told him one time that photos can be tweaked from your time period..

Now, on one hand,, he is amused as he sometimes *does* struggle with getting the perfect picture when the environment around him just isn't having it..

But he also can't fathom the idea of people actually editing their photos so much that sometimes,, the unedited version looks far too different than the edited version...

When I say that,, I specifically mean people who probably use photoshop just a *bit* too much..(^_^;)

Not that there is anything wrong about it as everyone knows.. After all,, sometimes we just use it solely for entertainment by making weird, abstract collages of people..

((Like photoshopping a bunch of characters from different fandoms to make some sort of crack-crossover movie poster..╮(─▽─)╭))

It just that Joseph prefers less edited photos as he believes that a photo can shine on it's own when it's taken skillfully..

((Another fun fact: Based from what I can gather, the French in the 1800s preferred a more natural look, which is evident by their choices in makeup like powder for the face or some simple rouge for the lips and cheeks.. Of course,, we are excluding the hair as we all know that big, elaborate wigs were all the rage in this era..))

In fact,, he might even throw a *little* shade towards photos that are super edited...(◎_◎;)

Pls tell him to calm down and not insult people who do something similar to that.. It'll only escelate and get worse in the future..

Okay,, now that we've discussed those, I think we shall head on over to other things, don't you think??（・∀・）

Another reason as to why I paired you with Joseph is because of your upbeat and loving energy!!（〜^∇^)〜🧡

Joseph's life before the manor was already pretty gloomy, and it hasn't really improved when he got into the manor..

So your very energetic and affectionate nature will surely bring in some lost warmth to his life!!（＞ｙ＜）

Although,, please be patient with him for at least a little while.. After all, him *suddenly* receiving love and attention is a bit overwhelming for him to process all at once..╮(─▽─)╭

When he *does* gets used to it, he appreciates it very much..(∩_∩)

With that being said however,, he is still quite disciplined about the time that you two spend together AND the time that you two spend seperately from each other so you won't have to worry about having your boundaries being meshed together..（・∀・）

On the topic of affections,, Joseph will actually be a bit shocked to hear you dish out compliments to everyone in the manor.. And quite frankly,, as well as everyone else that you complimented

((Listen,, we're talking about the Victorian Era,, where modesty is highlighted as a core value..))

I'll be honest in saying that for a split-second,, Joseph *might've* actually thought of you as a flirtatious person

So when you explained to him that that's just how you are and that you just like to point out nice things about other people,, he's confused..(^_^;)

"Wait, but you complimented Mike's juggling act. Shouldn't that mean that you would like to court him??"

"Didn't you tell Victor that you thought he was sweet?? Pardon me for asking this, but are you... Interested in him, ma chérie?"

You're going to have to explain to him that just because you like a certain aspect of a person,, that doesn't mean you actually like them AS A WHOLE...

He may or not have demanded that you bake for him the next time that you two will have your afternoon tea together..(⌒_⌒;)

It's his "apology gift" as he puts it...

Okay,, I know I said that Joseph absolutely appreciates your loving side,, but he also *adores* your more "colder" side..

And no,, it's not because he's a masochist..(｡･ω･｡)

See, as much as Joseph relishes in the feeling of protecting someone he cares/loves.. Even he can admit that sometimes,, it gets too exhausting when your partner is the *literal definition* of a walking doormat..

I don't know about you,, but I kind of picture Joseph as someone who wants to have a partner that, at the *very least*,, can stand on their own two feet.. It gives Joseph a sense of pride,, see???

In conclusion,, I personally think that you and Joseph would work wonders for each other!! Different in your personalities, but united through the same common interest of photography.. I'd say its a decent balance of "opposites attract" and "similarities attract"..

🎞📷🎞📷🎞📷🎞📷🎞📷🎞📷🎞📷🎞📷

Author's note: On the topic of people photoshopping the heck out of their photos.. DON'T HARRASS/BULLY/INSULT THEM PLEASE!!! I will be blunt in saying that I frankly do not care whatever your intentions were, because when you strip said intentions away from the grand scheme of things,,

All that's left is a situation where someone insulted/bullied/harassed another person just for editing their photos a bit too much..

And when you put it like that,, wouldn't you agree that it sounds idiotic? Because in all honesty, it is..(¬_¬) After all,, those photos won't be affecting you much in the long run now,, would they??

And even if you said that you did it with good intentions, the way you acted upon these "intentions" was poorly done when it could've been handled *much* more efficiently...

So in short,, pls don't harrass anyone that you know that does these to their photos, it's not only for their sake but also yours..( ´ ▽ ` )

I apologize for ranting like that,, however I feel as though these types of situations are completely meaningless AND avoidable had it not been for the people that continue to stick their fingers into others' honeyjars.. So I personally as though it needs to be said.. Again, sorry if this rant is a bit unsettling and a bit "rough on the edges"..(⌒_⌒;)

Well that's about it.. Until next time,, I'll see you all in my next post!!ヾ(＠^∇^＠)ノ💚

#identity v #identity v imagines #identity v headcanons #identity v x reader #identity v photographer #identity v joseph #idv #idv headcanons #idv x reader #idv imagines #idv hcs #idv photographer #idv joseph #joseph desaulnier #joseph desaulnier x reader #joseph desaulniers x reader #idv matchups

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Just A Friend

AO3

Another Sunday, another chapter. Hope it’s a good weekend for you all, despite these uncertain times. I always intended this story to be a bit of fluffy light relief from the real world. Thanks for all the support for it.

There will probably be another 3 chapters after this, depending on how the characters behave. I cant seem to make them do what I want sometimes!

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Chapter 11: From Marriage to Mackenzie

It’s 1pm and I’m in a hotel room, still in a bathrobe, sipping Buck’s Fizz whilst a hairdresser wrestles with my wayward curls, finally managing to corral them into some sort of recognisable hair style.

Geillis is sitting on the edge of the bed incongruously dressed in tiara and bathrobe, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo. I catch her eye through the dressing table mirror and smile before my vision is obscured by a miasma of hairspray.

A few final tweaks of my curls and it’s done. I am just amazed that my hair can be cajoled into such glossy, bouncy curls, held behind one ear by an ornately decorated comb. With suitable compliments and thanks, Geillis and I bid goodbye to the hairdresser.

The bride stands up and adjusts the belt of her robe. She seems the epitome of calm.

“Are you not nervous, Geillis? You’ll be walking down the aisle in about an hour’s time.”

“Weel, I am a wee bit worried about a couple of things,” she admits. “I dinna ken how ma cousin Janie will behave. She may try tae proposition every man under the age of seventy five. And as fer Dougal’s Uncle Eric—he has been known tae get steamin’ drunk and puke in the rose beds. But about the marrying? Nah, I dinna have any nerves about that. I want tae spend ma life wi’ Dougal and that’s what today is all about. I have nae worries about making that commitment. He’s the one fer me. When ye ken, ye ken. Trust me, Claire.”

The pocket of her bathrobe begins to buzz. She quickly pulls out her phone and reads the message.

“I’d best go. That was Mam, fretting about something or other. Are ye ok getting dressed on yer own?”

“I’ve managed for the past twenty nine years or so. I dare say I can manage another day.” I sigh theatrically.

“I ken. Ye can manage on yer own. Ye always do. But thanks fer being here with me today. It means a lot tae have the people who mean the most tae me around,” she leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But remember what I said, Claire, when ye ken, ye ken. Dinna ignore it.”

Pausing at the interconnecting doorway, she does a quick body shimmy and grins. “Woo hoo! I’m getting married. Canna believe it’s here now,”

From the adjoining room, I can hear a shouted response. “Geillis Duncan, ye get here now. Yer mam reckons that makeup lassie has done her eyeliner wonky. It looks fine tae me. Can ye come and talk some sense in tae the daft cow?”

“Alright, Da, I’m coming.” Geillis yells back before leaving to deal with her parents.

I sit down and study my bridesmaid’s dress, now hanging on the wardrobe door. I’m getting excited about the day ahead. Probably not as much as Geillis, obviously, but a host of butterflies appears to have taken residence in the pit of my stomach.

I’m truly thrilled for Geillis to be marrying Dougal—they love each other so much. But, also, it’s scary to me. She is willing, eager even, to commit to one person, to base her future life, her future happiness on one man. If they should ever leave…well, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope with that. If you love too hard, you can hurt too much. Trust me on that, I know. People leave you. Don’t give your heart to anyone, keep it hidden away, protected…intact.

The ping from my phone diverts me from this somber train of thought.

I’m downstairs at the hotel. Can you come and say hello?

I quickly type:

Come up to the 2nd floor. I’ll meet you by the lift.

Making sure the keycard is in my pocket, I slip my feet into the hotel’s complimentary slippers and shuffle out to meet Jamie.

I’m already waiting as the lift door opens and he emerges. My first thought is oh wow, as is my second...and third. He has made an effort for this wedding, and it’s certainly paid off. Eschewing the more formal Prince Charlie style, he’s wearing a charcoal grey jacket and waistcoat, perfectly matching the grey in his kilt. A crisp white shirt and burgundy tie complement the secondary colours in the tartan. His sporran is black leather, heavily etched or embossed. I can’t quite make out the detail. Then I feel myself blush as I realise I have been clearly staring at his...er, lower body. I look up quickly.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He looks me up and down and smiles. “Nice outfit,” he comments drily. “Is the bride wearing white towelling too? What’s the theme? Salon chic?”And is that part of the design?” He points to an orange stain on the front of my robe. I pull a face and tie the belt tighter, trying to tuck the offending piece of material out of sight.

“Must have spilled a drop of my Buck’s Fizz.”

“Drinking already? Dinna be staggering down the aisle.”

He reaches out towards my hair and pauses for a second before making a random circular motion with his hand. “And this…I like yer hair. It’s verra…verra…” he searches for the word. “... asymmetric.”

“Thank you,” I hold the ‘skirt’ of my robe and bob a little curtsy. “That’s totally what we were going for—asymmetric.”

He laughs. “Nah, seriously. Yer hair and yer makeup look grand. I’m sure ye’ll look lovely in yer dress.”

I gesture to my room. “I’d best finish getting ready.”

“Aye, I’ll see ye downstairs.” He presses the button for the lift.

“By the way, you look grand too.” I try to say it in an understated way. It’s true, but I don’t want him to read anything into the statement.

The lift arrives and he steps inside. As the doors close, he fires a parting shot. “Especially the sporran, eh?”

*********

Now in my bridesmaid’s dress, I practice a couple of pirouettes in front of the mirror before hearing a quick knock on the door to the adjoining room.

“Ye ready, Claire? Mam’s jes’ gone down. Only us three left.”

I walk through to the other room to be met by a riot of open suitcases, bags and boxes. A variety of towels, dressing gowns and footwear seem to be carpeting the floor.

“‘S ok,” Geillis’ voice comes from behind me. “It’s no’ ma problem. I’m no’ sleeping here tonight. I’ll be in the bridal suite. This’ll be Mam and Dad’s room.”

I turn to see my best friend now fully dressed and ready. Her father is hovering next to her, clad in kilt and full formal regalia. I always knew she would win that battle.

As beautiful as she looks, the thing that really strikes me is the way her father is watching her, with such love and pride. She returns his gaze and brings her forehead to rest against his cheek.

I swallow hard, fighting the desire to shed a tear. It’s such a precious image, so intimate, but also, I realise that, since Lamb died, I have nobody, no father figure, to share something like this. I feel a momentary pang of, not jealousy, but a feeling of regret over an emotion that I will never get to experience.

And then, just like that, the moment passes.

It always does.

Geillis passes me a creamy white posy tied with a simple ribbon and gathers up her bouquet of peonies, roses and fragrant eucalyptus.

“OK,” she takes a deep breath and breaks into a huge grin. “I think I’m late enough tae get Dougal jes’ a wee bit nervous. Time tae roll.”

*******

The hotel’s orangery provides a perfect setting for the wedding ceremony. Softly diffused sunlight filters through the white muslin drapes at the large windows. A slight breeze wafts the fabric gently, giving tantalising glimpses of the formal gardens outside.

At the end of the room, Dougal and Angus stand beside a large arch of succulent green foliage, staring straight ahead as Geillis and her father begin the procession down the aisle with me following.

Even before he turns to look, I can spot Jamie — his auburn curls are head and shoulders above those around him. He stays still at first, but as we draw near he turns around and grins before doing his funny blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes, which I have learnt, is Jamie’s attempt at a wink. I return his smile before focussing on the arch getting ever closer.

Dougal appears rooted to the spot, but Angus turns around and watches for a moment before giving me a perfectly executed wink. I smile politely even as I shudder inwardly. The sheer self confidence of that man is beyond belief. Then he disappears from my thoughts as Geillis reaches the arch and passes me her bouquet to hold. The joy on her and Dougal’s faces as they prepare to make their vows is wonderful and I’m so happy to be a part of it all.

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

They say the sun shines on the righteous. Well, Geillis and Dougal must be exceptionally good, as it’s a perfect summer afternoon. It’s beautifully warm, but not too hot, as all the guests mingle in the gardens, admiring the beautiful surroundings whilst drinking chilled champagne.

The photographer has finished with the formal photographs, so I’m allowed to relax and enjoy a glass or two. I can still spot him wandering around, ready to take more natural, candid shots of the proceedings but nobody seems to mind.

I was initially worried about inviting Jamie to the wedding for a couple of reasons. The first was my friends. Of course, my friends are great, but Anna and Mary can sometimes have an issue with boundaries and I had visions of the ‘conversations’ they might try to have with Jamie — ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’ unless Anna and Mary are around.

The second reason was that Jamie would literally know only one person at this wedding —me. And that, when I was off doing official ‘wedding stuff’, he would be on his own, billy-no-mates. But, as I look around, I realise I had absolutely nothing to worry about on that score. He has the knack, it seems, to get on with everyone.

At the moment he’s talking to Geillis’s father, laughing and joking like they’re old friends. He notices me looking at him, lifts his empty glass up and points to me. I hold my glass up and nod. He excuses himself and strolls towards the bar.

There’s a slight touch on my elbow. “Hello, dear.”

I draw my attention to the old lady standing next to me—Geillis’ great aunt Frances. I’ve met her on a couple of occasions before and have always enjoyed her company. She’s a straight talker and makes no bones about it. “When ye get tae my age,” I remember her commenting to me “ye dinna have time tae beat about the bush, ye need tae say what ye think.” I like that in a person.

“Hello, how nice to see you.”

“Ye too,dear. I must say ye’re looking awfa bonnie in that dress. It’s a fine colour on ye.”

“Thank you. And you’re looking lovely yourself.”

Frances makes a self deprecating ‘hmph’ sound, dismissing my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Away wi’ ye. Ye do yer best wi’ what ye’ve still got. Which isna much in ma case.”

I shake my head. “Not at—“

But she decides to change the subject and moves on with her next question. “Is that yer young man over there?” She points at Jamie, heading towards us with two glasses of champagne. “He’s a handsome chap, is he no’? Mind ye, that’s no more than ye deserve. Sae, mebbe ye’ll be next?”

“No, we—“

I have no chance to say anything more, before Jamie is by my side and handing me one of the glasses. I take a sip as he notices that Frances has no drink and, without hesitation, he passes the second glass to her.

“Aren’t ye kind… er?” She accepts gratefully.

“Jamie.”

“Weel, Jamie, let me tell ye. It’s been a long while since a good looking young man has brought me a drink. I should make the most of it. Anyway, I was jes’ saying tae our Claire here, how bonnie she looks today. Does she no’?”

She fixes her gaze on Jamie, demanding an answer.

“Aye, she looks lovely.” His eyes meet mine for a second, before I look away and try to change the subject.

“Don’t you think Geillis looks beautiful, Frances?”

But, it seems that Frances has one line of conversation that she is keen to pursue. “Oh aye, she does. But, Jamie, I was jes’ saying tae Claire that mebbe she’ll be next. What d’ye think?”

Fortunately, I’m spared any response as a gong sounds and the maître d’ announces that dinner is served and that everyone should make their way inside to the dining room.

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

Having narrowly avoided any embarrassment, I am somewhat apprehensive to see Frances at our table. Fortunately, Geillis’ cousin and baby are enough to divert her attention away from any matrimonial prospects that may or may not be on my horizon.

With Jamie sitting by my side, I catch him up on all the behind the scenes activity of my day and we fall into our pattern of easy conversation and gentle banter. From time to time, I can see Frances, opposite, watching us with a look of approval on her face, but she says nothing.

Once the speeches and toasts are over, there’s a palpable change in the guests. Jackets are draped over chair backs, sleeves rolled up and waistcoat buttons undone. I can spot more than one woman moving awkwardly in her chair, struggling to locate the shoes that were eased off out of sight under the table. Cheeks become flushed with an abundance of rich food and tongues become looser with a surfeit of fine wine.

I sip my whisky, savouring its peaty smokiness. Jamie is in a serious rugby related conversation with his neighbour. A rustle of fabric behind me announces the arrival of the bride, a look of frustration on her face.

She greets the table politely before whispering “Can I borrow ye, Claire?”

I make my excuses and follow her into a quieter room.

“What’s up, Geillis? Is everything alright?” I’m concerned that there’s something genuinely wrong.

“It’s his bloody family,” she hisses. “The Mackenzies, if ye give them an inch, they’ll take a fuckin’ mile.”

She takes a deep breath and continues. “Dougal invited his second cousin Gary and his wife tae our evening do. Jes’ the two of them mind. Sae they turn up an hour and a half early and try tae cadge dessert and brandies from the waiters.”

“Where are they now?”

“Och, they’re sitting outside wi’ a couple of spare bottles of wine.” She gestures angrily to the gardens visible through the window. “And they’ll be first in the queue fer the buffet this evening, nae doubt. And what's more, they took it upon themselves tae bring their three bairns too. Weel, I say bairns, but they’re all in their twenties so it’s no’ as if they dinna have a babysitter.”

She finally sits down and lets her shoulders relax.

I take her hand and try to look serious. If this is the worst thing that happens today, that’s not so bad. Although clearly, in Geillis’ eyes, this is a catastrophe. “It’s not going to spoil anything really is it? They didn’t gatecrash the meal or the speeches,” I speak in a soothing tone. “Are you ok now?”

She nods. “Happen ye’re right. I jes’ wanted tae get it off ma chest. And I kent what I was getting in tae wi’ his family. But tae drag Gregory, Alicia and Laoghaire uninvited wi’ them jes’ pisses me off.”

I stare at her. “Laoghaire? Laoghaire Mackenzie?”

“Aye, that’s right. Unusual name, is it no’? Ye dinna find many of them around—thank god.”

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 3 years

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Hi! I just started reading your fan-fiction, "Adrenaline Rush" and I have to say it is VERY good. I have a question if you don't mind answering it. I am writing fan-fiction of my own and I have been pushing it off for months because I don't know where to start. For this, what was your writing process? Example: Did you write your plot first or did you write as you went to each chapter?

Hi, anon! Thanks for your very kind note and interest in Adrenaline Rush! The story has its issues/tangles, but it’s definitely been a fun and personally meaningful project for me to try writing. It means a lot to hear that you’re enjoying it! And that’s very exciting that you want to start writing as well. :)

Each writer will be different in terms of their creative process, so a part of your question involves learning more about yourself as a creator too! It’s good to know how your brain likes to work and what environment helps it hum along, which may or may not align with what works for me.

Honestly, AR’s design and development has been haphazard. For me, AR all started because I was unable to attend a nearby drag racing competition in 2018, and those races had been a pretty big staple in my life. At the same time, my head was full of Voltron shenanigans because I’d just recently joined the fandom. I was walking the family puppy when it hit me that Blue Lion, Red Lion, etc. would be good names for Top Fuel machines. I was so excited at the concept of exploring drag racing in a fic. It gave me a “race” to look forward to, along with all the drama and adrenaline that came with it. In that moment, I had enough excitement in my brain to convert the Potential Energy of my idea into the real Kinetic Energy of writing/typing.

If you have the energy but are not sure how to “start” your story, then you might consider what it means to set aside the opening or even the assumed first chapter for now. What scene/image/dialogue in your head do you really want to write right now? What happens if you just…start there, and then work backwards or forwards? Sometimes you have to get a feel for the medium you’re working with before you can really start molding the scenes and imagery into something fully formed. My first “scene” I wrote for AR was definitely not the opening one. The first story lines I wrote involved Lotor smoking a cigarette on a pro stock motorcycle, lol. I built around that image, as well as the image of a determined Allura sitting in Blue Lion, preparing to race. The desire to bring these characters and their racing machines to life really helped me hammer out that first chapter in a blur of a few days, where I puzzle-pieced scenes together.

Other activities that can help you start a story is to look at how other authors start their stories. For example, do they start with a question, or a conversation, or a description of scenery? Do they start at the very beginning of a plot, or in the middle of action and catch you up on the details later? What kind of opening in other people’s stories most engages you? What happens to your story if you start with one element over another? What kinds of plots and story structures make you feel most engaged when you read them? What happens when you try to emulate those things? (Just questions to munch on here.)

I think it also helps to ask yourself why you want to write this story. Do you just want to explore an aesthetic that makes you feel good? Do you have a deep need to explore a certain kind of character or world? Are you hoping to get a catharsis of some kind? Is it a couple of things at once? Are you wanting to write a massive epic or just a short drabble to convey a moment in time? If you know “why” you are doing something, that can help you to know what kind of scenes to write—and what the story’s goal or vibe should be. Silly plot holes and clunky dialogue and some OOCness can be forgiven, especially in fanfic, which is a labor of love anyway—but if your story radically changes its tune or plot and no longer addresses the “why” that made you so excited in the first place, then that can alienate even you from it. Once you know what you want out of your story, then you can start plotting out all the different ways you could potentially achieve that goal. This feeds directly into the types of scenes that appear in a first chapter.

Before I started writing any actual scenes for AR, I did try to feel out more of the story by writing a promotional blurb. Like, if this were a book jacket or a Goodreads summary, what would that enticing blurb potentially look like? What was this story going to be about, aside from Lotor and Allura being pretty while they race machines, lol? I had some people in a discord who were kind enough to let me “pitch” a blurb at them to see if it would be of interest. This was my original pitch, which isn’t terribly different from the story summary as it appears on AO3 today:

The discord members were very encouraging, and so that gave me the push I needed to start writing story content, beginning with the images of Lotor smoking on his bike and Allura preparing to qualify. This tactic might not be for everyone just starting out, but writing a short promotional blurb/story summary can help you identify some initial parameters in terms of characters/conflict/setting. Having those basic parameters can then further target the types of images, dialogue, and scenes that make logical sense for introducing your story.

If you need more structure than just free-form writing or building off an image in your head, you can definitely use an outline to help you identify scenes or images that you’d like to try working on. While AR did not start off with an outline, it does have a plot outline now to help ensure I don’t drop something important. So I started bulleting ideas, trying to stretch out the story summary to its natural/logical end point.

An outline can help you write linearly if clear, concrete structure resonates with your brain. It can give you an opportunity to “preview” how a chapter opening can affect future events before you even write them, if you’re worried about where free-form-writing can take you. If you want to use an outline, it doesn’t even have to be all that elaborate. It can just be bullet points or explanatory sentences, or pieces of dialogue. It can be notes on a poster arranged in a spider web design. It can be a collection of gifs on your computer that signify the emotions you want to simulate in the story—it can be literally anything, and it can evolve too.

Paradoxically, writing an outline has also helped me move away from having to write individual chapters in a linear fashion, which is sometimes hard for me to do over a long course of time. So readers on AO3 might experience AR as a linear story, but I have dozens of pages of future scenes or bits of dialogue that I felt inspired to write over the last few years. Like, one major scene appearing in the most recent chapter 9, which published here in January 2021—it’s been written since July of 2019, lol. Using an outline to tackle a story can empower you to follow your bliss in a nonlinear fashion. For example, sometimes I’m more in a mood to write racing, and other times, I’m more emotionally invested in writing AR’s background drama or romance. If I halfway know where I’m going based on my outline, I can switch gears to write what I immediately want to write, and then I can later sew scenes and dialogue together later in a fairly smooth fashion.The concept of writing a chapter straight from start to finish just doesn’t have to constrain me with this method, and that’s critical for me. I understand having to trudge through writer’s block for a particular scene, but I like to minimize that pain as much as possible. And sometimes moving beyond that point can remove the writer’s block entirely.

Admittedly, the original outline I wrote for AR doesn’t match 1:1 to what’s currently written. As I started actually writing out scenes correlating to those bullet points on my outline, things changed. The space between bullet point 1 and bullet point 2 expanded with additional scenes, and those additions changed the details in the original bullet point 2. So my outline has gone through several tweaks as well.

This is the “organic” slop that can occur between your true written product and your initial assumptions for where the story should go. There are going to be plot milestones that you likely have to hit in order to achieve your end-goal/correct vibe with the story, but it’s totally okay to let your characters have a voice in how they get there. You might start an outline or a story assuming Road Trip A through the city is the best way to get to the end or achieve a certain vibe, but as your characters grow in your head, they might decide for themselves that Road Trip B through the mountains is the best way to the end. Once you set a story in motion, it’s no longer just you driving it. Your characters should drive the story too. Allowing them to do that will keep you emotionally invested and interested in the story. Sometimes, your characters will even write for you if you don’t know what to write. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure I’m in control of AR—I suppose I’m the navigator with a map sitting in the passenger seat, but I know I’m not the one holding the wheel, LOL.

And while we all do hope to create something quality that we’re immensely proud of, I do think it’s important to keep G.K. Chesterton’s thought in mind: “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” In other words, the desire to create something immediately perfect with minimal effort can keep you from doing anything at all. It’s better to accept a messy first draft and to know you may have to revise later, than to sit in fear and end up writing nothing. And sometimes, your brain needs physical content to react to before you feel you’ve found the best option. Like, just getting content down to start with can change your whole perspective. You can revise and mold things as you get a better feel for what you want to convey. There’s always draft 2 for structural changes. Or draft 3 or 4 for polishing and getting a satisfying first sentence down. There’s no pressure to crank out a Pulitzer Prize Winner on a first draft or even after you publish something to a fanfic archive. This is fanfic. It’s supposed to be fun, at the end of the day. Let yourself enjoy the process of messy creation. Let your characters help you out. Don’t be afraid to revise or try out a few different things get to the vibe/end you really want. To do is to know.

If you’re still not confident in yourself or your abilities to make a critical design decision, you can always engage a beta reader or have someone listen to your ideas. Talking things out loud or reading your work out loud to yourself can help you process creative decisions in a new way! There’s also a significant difference between typing on a computer or writing things down on paper. Typing on a computer can take away the fear of permanence, while writing things down on paper can slow you down and make you experience each word more fully.

So I guess to wrap all of this up: I have a pretty fluid process, and I’m more worried about not creating at all than I am about screwing it up. Even a screwed-up work can teach you something and help you get somewhere better next time. And if you had fun making it, then maybe it wasn’t a screw-up at all! I really encourage you to soul-search on what gives you joy or excitement regarding this fic idea you have, and to hold on tight to that joy as you begin translating images in your head or outlining plot points, or something in between.

I hope something from this response helps you! <3

#Voltron #VLD #Adrenaline Rush #Fanfiction #Fanfiction writing #writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr #lightning rambles #it's hard to know how to start something #but it can be rewarding to jump into the challenge #I believe you can do it!#Best of luck on your first steps with writing fic!

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authenticcadence18 · 4 years

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Ladynoir July Days 16/17: First Kiss/Future

Ladybug and Chat Noir are celebrating their first anniversary!!! Marinette can hardly believe she and Adrien have been married for an entire year. Adrien, meanwhile, still can't get over the fact that another "first" of theirs was erased from his memory a long time ago, during their fight with Dark Cupid.

Marinette, fortunately, has a few ideas on how to cheer him up.

@ladynoirjuly2020

AO3

...

“...alright, we’re getting closer...nearly there…and…TADA!!!!!!!”

Ladybug proudly gestured across the rooftops to a nearby building whose own roof was illuminated with rosy candlelight.

“I made us a candlelight dinner!!” she exclaimed gleefully. After a moment’s pause, she elaborated, “But don’t worry, the candles aren’t real...I didn’t leave a bunch of lit candles alone for hours, promise.”

Chat’s eyes were wide with awe (he didn’t seem concerned about the legitimacy of the candles).

“.....it’s…beautiful…” he breathed as he gazed across the skyline, still unable to fathom just how lucky he felt to love and be loved by someone as amazing as Marinette after all these years. “I know I already gave you my gift, but now I want to give you something else!”

Marinette rolled her eyes and smiled. “YOU are the only gift I need, Chaton…although the new sewing machine you got me was certainly an amazing surprise.”

She had actually already sewn a little something with the gift Adrien had given her that morning...but she wasn’t going to think about that just yet.

There would be time for it later.

Shaking her head to clear it, Marinette extended a hand out to her partner and said, “Now, shall we go?”

Adrien grinned and replied, “After you, m’lady.”

Together, they raced across the rooftops, laughing and letting out shouts of joy the whole way.

“Alright, here we are!” Marinette announced as they touched down on the luminescent rooftop. “I brought up some of our favorite foods! And there’s pastries and ice cream for dessert!!”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Adrien asked. “Let’s eat!”

...

“...so what do you think, Adrien? Is this the best first anniversary ever or what?”

Marinette sighed contentedly as she nuzzled into Adrien’s shoulder, mentally patting herself on the back for remembering to bring a nice, soft blanket for them to relax on.

“It definitely is…” Adrien replied softly, kissing his lady on the forehead. “It’s crazy to think we’ve already been married for a whole year.”

“A whole, wonderful year…” Marinette sang happily. “A perfectly perfect year!”

“It’s been a pretty special year, alright,” Adrien agreed. “A first year I’ll never forget…”

Out of nowhere, a shadow passed over his face, like a gray cloud materializing in a sunny blue sky just minutes before a storm.

“...but I wish I could say that for another ‘first’ of ours.”

Marinette cocked her head up at him, perplexed...and then she realized what he was referring to and let out a groan.

“Oh come ON, Adrien. Don’t tell me you’re still upset about Dark Cupid.”

“It was our first kiss!!!” Adrien protested, folding his arms over his chest in a pout, standing from the blanket, and pacing over to the iron fence surrounding the roof. “You remember it and I don’t!”

“But Aaaadrieeennnn…” Marinette warbled in an over-the-top, sing-songy tone as she stood to join him. “We were only teenagers! And we’re MARRIED now...it’s our FIRST ANNIVERSARY of being married! Isn’t that more exciting than a first kiss?”

“I’m not saying it isn’t!” Adrien replied quickly. “I just…” He sighed, unsure how to explain the feelings tumbling around in his head.

“Adrien, that wasn’t our real first kiss!” Marinette insisted. “It was like...a stage kiss! In a play! Not that it didn’t mean anything, it definitely did! But still!! That wasn’t our TRUE first kiss...you remember our true first kiss.”

Adrien couldn’t help but smile tenderly at that. “Yeah, I do…”

For a few moments, husband and wife found themselves lost in a beautiful memory.

And then the downtrodden expression returned to Adrien’s face. “...but no matter what, I’ll never remember our literal first kiss…and it’s all because of my….”

He grimaced, as if his intended words were too bitter to speak.

“....because of Hawkmoth…”

Suddenly the air was sharp, deadly, poisonous.

And Marinette realized her husband’s frustration at not remembering their first kiss wasn’t silly at all.

“...he took so much away from me...away from us....” Adrien whispered, swallowing and biting the inside of his cheek to keep a sob from escaping his throat. “I hate that he took our first kiss too....”

“Adrien…” Marinette cupped a hand around her husband’s face and stroked it gently with her thumb, finally understanding why this was bothering him so much and HATING that she even had to understand it in the first place. “I’m so sorry...I didn’t realize……”

For a moment, a flare of anger ignited in her gut.

Even the thought of Gabriel Agreste rotting away in a jail cell for the rest of his days didn’t help.

And then she took a deep breath.

Anger, however righteous it may have been, wasn’t what Adrien needed right now.

“Adrien...Hawkmoth might have taken the memory of that kiss from you, but he can’t take the meaning of it....just because you don’t remember that kiss doesn’t mean it shouldn’t mean anything to you. You know WHY I kissed you, don’t you?”

His eyes were still hollow and sad. “I was under a spell, trying to attack you…” he mumbled.

“And the only reason you were so GOOD at attacking me was because you cared so much about me in real life, Adrien.” Marinette stroked his cheek and smiled knowingly. “I kissed you to SAVE you...and it only worked because you were my true love. Even back then, before I knew Chat Noir and Adrien were the same person, I loved both parts of you...even if I didn’t quite realize it yet. If I hadn’t truly loved you, that kiss might not have worked…

“And, for the record, it WAS a pretty nice kiss.” She smirked and tweaked his nose playfully.

Adrien’s ears perked up a bit at that, and he chuckled slightly, in spite of himself. “Oh really?” he asked with a wry grin.

Marinette nodded, and then she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It WAS a long time ago, though...you might have to remind me what it could have felt like.”

Adrien grinned and gently took her face in his hands, caressing her cheek and pressing his forehead against her own. “I think that can be arranged,” he whispered before leaning in and capturing her lips with his own.

A kiss couldn’t fix everything, of course. But it was a start.

...

“...thanks for cheering me up, m’lady…”

Marinette and Adrien were snuggled up on the blanket once more, gazing up at the stars as they enjoyed one another’s company.

“Anytime, kitty,” Marinette replied, ruffling his hair.

Something fluttered in Marinette’s gut, and she started slightly.

In all the emotional commotion, she’d briefly forgotten about her final intended gift to Adrien.

And though they’d been married for a year, she suddenly felt just as nervous around him as she had as a teenager.

“You know, Adrien…” she voiced, leaning her head into the crook of his neck to hide her flustered expression, “I know you don’t remember our literal first kiss…but, if it makes you feel any better, there are going to be PLENTY of more amazing firsts in our future…”

Marinette hesitated.

What if Adrien wasn’t ready for this?

What if SHE wasn’t ready for this?

…maybe she needed to test the waters first.

“....like, say when we have our first kid.” Marinette posed this scenario nonchalantly, trying to hide the way her hands had begun to shake.

Almost instantly, any lingering pain or frustration vanished from Adrien’s demeanor. Suddenly, he was illuminated with hope, practically vibrating with it. “You’re so right...that will be an AMAZING first!” he replied excitedly.

Marinette’s heart swelled within her chest at his impassioned reaction, and she scolded herself for doubting her husband (and herself) for a minute.

They were SO ready for this.

“Yeah…finding out you’re going to be a dad for the first time...that will be pretty neat, huh?” she added on.

“That will be wonderful…” Adrien said wistfully. “Someday…”

Marinette bit her tongue to hold back a giggle.

Even after all these years, Adrien was still the oblivious boy she’d first fallen for.

“Holding our child for the first time will be pretty special too,” she continued knowingly. “And hearing them say their first word.”

“Yeah…” Adrien chuckled and mused, “The way you talk about it makes it sound like we already HAVE a kid…”

He gazed out over the horizon for a few seconds, longing evident in his gaze….and then he paused. His posture shifted, and he slowly turned to gaze at his wife again.

“.....we…we don’t already have a kid….do we?”

Marinette now clutched a small wrapped package in her hands, and she was practically glowing. Adrien accepted the gift with tentative hands, eyes growing wider and wider by the second. He slowly undid the wrapping, caught a glimpse of what was inside…and his jaw dropped.

Nestled within the folds of the wrapping paper was a black blanket accented with green and red.

A baby blanket.

“....surprise!” Marinette whispered as Adrien lifted the gift up reverently. He turned to her, eyes shining.

“...is this the secret project you were working on this morning?” he asked, voice shaky.

Marinette nodded.

“....we’re going to be parents? You’re going to be a mom?? I’m going to be a fa…a dad???”

“You are!” Marinette replied warmly, glancing down at her stomach and then up at him again with a beaming smile.

Adrien engulfed her in a hug, sobbing and laughing and kissing her cheeks and sobbing some more. Then he recoiled away.

“Wait, is this okay? Am I allowed to hug you still??”

Marinette let out a hearty laugh (and wiped away a few tears of her own) before hugging him again. “I’m FINE, Chaton…I’m not that far along yet, but I appreciate your concern.”

Adrien smiled as he snuggled into her arms.

“....I love you so much, Marinette……”

He leaned out of her arms and gingerly laid a hand on her stomach. “...and I love you too…” he whispered softly.

Marinette placed a hand on top of Adrien’s and smiled. “They love you too….” she whispered before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“...and so do I.”

“....you were right, Marinette…this is definitely a more amazing first than our first kiss.”

“...I told you so.”

...

I'm writing some one-shots for Ladynoir July! What days will I write for? How many fics will I be able to finish?

...only Ahtohallan knows.

(I originally started writing this for Day 16, and then I realized today’s prompt is “Future” and got super excited because I wouldn’t have to post it late after all!!)

(also, I want to give a HUGE THANK YOU to @youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal! She beta-read this fic for me AND helped me brainstorm stuff while it was still just a bulleted list of events and a stream of dialogue 😂. SHE'S AWESOME!!!)

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Sands #4 (1/4/2021)

Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”

Alastor and Sir Pentious @hiss-and-vinegar hang out on the beach! Alastor offers to make magic stuff for Sir Pentious out of an old shed snakeskin Sir Pentious gave him and Sir Pentious asks for baby things for his hypothetical future children. They talk about Sir Pentious’s future plans for setting up a household outside Hell. Alastor dodges around admitting his worries about the few friends he’s left in Hell for the extermination, but eventually spills his woes and Sir Pentious comforts him.

Sir Pentious

The sea was calming to look at. Always, just so, the smell of the air around the sea was something that sent him back to the few parts of his life when he felt calm, when he felt happy. Picnics with ⬛ ⬛ ⬛ ⬛. And now he could have picnics with Valera. Already had one of those by a sea in Hell. His tongue flicks and he touches his blushing cheek a moment. Away, restless thoughts.

He leans on his cane, just a touch, and sits in his coil.

Alastor

And then the peace and calm is disrupted by a whole-ass Radio Demon springing out of Sir Pentious's shadow. "Hello!!"

Sir Pentious

FLOOP goes the HOOD. BUWAGH!!! HE'S HISSING!!!

Alastor

"Oh, don't give me that look! You're happy to see me, aren't you? Be honest!" He flops to sit in the sand next to Sir Pentious. "I've been looking all over for you!"

Sir Pentious

Oh it's Alastor! Oh it's the Alastor he likes... His hood relaxes, and he sTRAIGHTENS his hat. "YOU SSSTARTLED ME! OF COURSSSE I REACTED THAT WAY." Huff. He's going to look over at the deerman, "YOU'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR ME??? THERE ARE ONLY *TWO* SSSSIR PENTIOUSSSESSS HERE, UNLIKE THE MULTITUDESSSS OF YOU!"

Alastor

He's grinning impishly. He's a little terror and not ashamed at all. "It's true, the place is rotten with radios and suffering a scarcity of snakes! And you've been outdoors practically since we got here. I expected to find you sunning on the rocks. When you weren't there, I thought, 'Well, not a problem, I'll look for his footprints and follow them,' and you can guess how little help that idea was!" Studio audience laughter.

Sir Pentious

SNORT. He flicks his tongue at Alastor with a *smug look* and slowly slithers around the other, "OH! WELL! JUSSSSST FOLLOW THE TAIL SSSTREAKSSS IN THE SSSAND! I AM NOT HARD TO *MISSSSS.*"

Alastor

"Have you ever heard of a private eye tracking tail streaks instead of footprints? Sherlock Holmes would take one look at the trail and say 'Why, this isn't the man we're after! See the way he weaves back and forth in the street? It must be some drunk fellow!' Granted, Mr. Holmes doesn't track many snakes, does he?"

He turns to watch as Sir Pentious slithers around him. His head can turn freakishly far. Is he a deer or an owl? "Anyway, I've found you now! And I've got a question for you!"

Sir Pentious

Humph, thinking of Sherlock Holmes describing him as drunk gets a Face out of him, but he's quick to dismiss the thought. He tilts his head, and flicks his tongue again, "A QUESSSTION? WHAT IS IT?"

Alastor

"I've still got the majority of that shed you let me have—all but the bits I made into pouches. And lately I, well..." He loses his jollity for a moment and has to glance away self-consciously. "I don't think it's appropriate for me to have it, really."

He hops back to his feet. "So! I thought *you* ought to decide what to do with it. I could return it to you to deal with, I could dispose it myself—or! I could use it up more creatively! Whatever charms and baubles you want, name them and I'll make them. Up to you!"

Sir Pentious

Oh, the *shed.* Sir Pentious had been ever so happy to *not* think about it ever again, and it seems that even the offer to take it back makes his entire face scrunch up *strongly.*

"I *DO NOT* WANT IT. EVEN THINKING ABOUT IT..." Gag. He touches a few talons to his mouth delicately, ew ew ew.

Once he's feeling less *reviled* by the suggestion, his head swivels a little, "AND WHAT KIND OF CHARMSSS AND BAUBLESSS ARE ON OFFER? ALASSSTOR, I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE OCCULT LIKE YOU DO."

Alastor

"All right, all right, don't you worry. You'll never have to see it. At least, not until I turn it into something more palatable!"

Alastor shrugged. "Why—try me! Name something you want done—something influenced or tweaked in the fabric of reality—and I'll tell you whether or not I can make it happen. I told you all the things snakeskin is good for—protection, luck, rebirths and fresh starts... make a pocket, purse, wallet or gloves with it to protect your things and money from being lost, but I doubt you'd like that direct contact with your skin, would you? And since it's a piece of *you* it can be used to represent you in most workings! I can do spells, potions, gris-gris, alchemy... Or you could ask for something *really* out there and I'll figure out how to make it happen, I always love a good challenge!"

Sir Pentious

Yes he would not like to tuch it. Sir Pentious slithers around Alastor a little more, like he's pacing except the circle around Al is getting smaller. His hands are behind his back as he thinks, his eyeballs rolling around in his sockets as he thinks about it. What *would* he want to have made that could become *protection*? He didn't really need anything else considering his airship was already aligned with the stuff. Hmmm...

💡 His head turns, whips around practically to look at Alastor... "... WHAT ABOUT CHARMSSS TO PROTECT OFFSSPRING."

Alastor

Alastor's smile stretches wider. "You know, I *thought* you might want something like that! I've already marked out part of the tail to make more pouches—like the ones I made for your ship, but a few different ingredients. I can have some on standby to await any children who will need them. But I won't be able to use up all the skin that way unless you have *dozens* of children! I could do some more elaborate protective magic—dolls, for instance—or you could come up with more you want for the rest?"

Sir Pentious

.... <:umboy:738987081992372234>.... His hands are fidgeting with one another, as he thinks on something... He wouldn't like to tuch his own shed, but.... "MAYBE... SWADDLING CLOTHING...? OR LITTLE BLANKETS MAYBE..." His eyes are getting so big thinking about it..............

Alastor

Alastor pauses. "Sir Pentious, if they were swaddled in your shed, would you be able to touch your own children?" He laughs. "I could use it as a lining inside some blankets?"

Sir Pentious

"AH. RIGHT." He clears his throat. Don't look at him. "YESSS, THAT WOULD DO."

Alastor

"I'll have to get some help from Rosie for the sewing! I can do basic repairs, but I'm not very skilled at making stitches look *nice*. And future royalty deserves only the best!" A trumpet fanfare plays for these hypothetical future royals. "That should take up most of the skin."

Sir Pentious

Oh! He loves the fanfare. Sir Pentious straightens up, adjusting his robe as he smiles all smugly, eyes closed. He's preening and petting down his hood, "WHY YESSS, ONLY THE *BESSST* AFTER ALL!"

Alastor

"So! A few bankets, maybe a few dolls—I'll see what I can get out of the skin and let you know if there's more to use up after that, sound like a plan?"

Sir Pentious

Penny is going to curl up around Alastor. Just slither over his legs. Crunch.

"YESSS, THAT SSSSOUNDSSSS ACCEPTABLE, MY DEAR FELLOW. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN ENJOYING THISSSS PLACE?"

Alastor

His legs belong to the tail and the sand now, goodbye cruel world. He leans against Sir Pentious. "Oh, it's been a grand time so far! We lost the piano, but between pestering the guests and experimenting with all the exotic food in the kitchen, there's been nearly enough distractions to keep me from wondering how things are going back home! What about you, my friend?"

Sir Pentious

Hmmm. He is hopeful that the airship is *fine*... it would be a pity to go back home and find out he'd have to start work on *another* ship without ever having flown the latest one. Sir Pentious leans on himself, "IT'SSS NOT MY FIRSSST TIME HERE, I MUCH PREFER THE AIR ON THISSS WORLD. GOOD TO ESSSCAPE FROM THE SSSULFUR. YOU KNOW, I HAVE AN ESSSSTATE WAITING FOR ME, AFTER I KILLED THAT OAF WHO CONTINUED TO THREATEN MY LOVE."

Alastor

"Do you! To the victor go the spoils! You'll have to give me the grand tour sometime soon." He stares out at the ocean thoughtfully. "I suppose you're going to be spending more time here than Hell pretty soon, aren't you? New house, new spouse, kids being planned..."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious looks out over the water, too. There's an air of... melancholy about the way he does it, and about the tone of their conversation. He drags his talons along his scales and nods his head. "THAT I MAY BE. I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT. I HAVE A FUTURE TO LOOK FORWARD TO WITHOUT THE CONSSSTANT DISSSAPPOINTMENT LOOMING A SSSLITHER OR TWO BEHIND ME. MY PLACE OF WORK SHOULD BE HELL, BUT MY HOME?" He leans down on his tail, which also happens to be the portion that's crushing Al's legs. "HAVEN'T I LIVED IN HELL LONG ENOUGH?"

Alastor

"Long enough—like it's not supposed to be an eternal thing." He laughs weakly. "But I understand. Who would choose to live in Hell if they had any other options?"

He pulls back his hands from where he'd casually rested them on Sir Pentious's tail to give him room to lean. "I'll miss you."

Sir Pentious

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN..." Or maybe he didn't. Sir Pentious found it so hard to get up day to day, and sometimes he couldn't even muster the energy for his maniacal conquests! What was the point when no one feared you? To be stomped down over and over and over again? Yes, it was Eternal Punishment, he knew it well... and he was tired of hurting every day.

Penny turned, resting his head on his folded arms to look up at Alastor. His brow creases... "You can alwaysss come sssee me."

Alastor

Oh, he knew. Sir Pentious wasn't the only one Hell had worn down. At times the only thing that kept Alastor moving was schadenfreude.

Sir Pentious looks so lovely like that, all curled up and looking up at Alastor. Alastor has to look away. "When you've got a new household to manage and a new family to take care of? How often are you going to want to entertain a house guest, really?"

Sir Pentious

"YOU'RE MY BESSST FRIEND, SSSO I'M SURE I'LL BE ABLE TO MAKE TIME, YOU DOLT." Penny gave a smile, tongue flicking, "I WILL NOT LET YOU REBUKE ME! I'LL HAVE YOU *ABDUCTED* IF I MUSST, NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

"Hah!" His tense smile relaxed a little. "You won't need to do that! Just call for me and I'll come. But if you find you're too busy for a mere friend, I won't hold it against you."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious reaches a hand up, and *flicks* Alastor's bang out of his face.

"A MERE FRIEND. MMHM. YOU'RE ALWAYSSS TRYING TO MAKE YOURSSSELF APPEAR SSSMALLER THAN YOU ARE. I'D WANT YOU TO MEET MY CHILDREN, ALASSSTOR."

Alastor

Alastor doesn't flinch. "Oh, I don't mean it that way! What's a friend next to a family, that's all I meant. It's not that a friend is *smaller*—just that family is *bigger.*" He smiles crookedly. "Meeting them should be the bare minimum! If you didn't want me to do at *least* that much, I'd be mortally insulted."

Sir Pentious

The serpent gave a slow blink, watching him and then shrugging his shoulders. Alastor's probably just doing that thing where he talks a lot? Probably to wave off the awkwardness of having told him he'd miss him--not that Pentious thought it an awkward thing to say, but he was well aware of how Alastor felt about him, and how saying things so honestly seemed to give him living heart syndrome.

"OF COURSSSE I'D WANT YOU TO MEET THEM, WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?"

Alastor

He's going to be working off the awkwardness of saying out loud that he'll miss his best friend for the rest of the day.

"Of course you do, right. See, I'd—thought that meeting them would be a given. Not a special privilege."

He pauses, musters up what little remaining capacity for vulnerability he has for the day, and asks, "Is... is that where it caps out, then? I'm involved enough to make the kids' acquaintance—shake their little hands, 'how do you do, nice to meet you'—and that's as much as I'm going to get to know them?" He cuts off the urge to keep babbling—*if so that's fine, I wouldn't trust kids around me either; but you talked like you were going to want me around more than I'd been expecting and that actually is what I was expecting*—and waits for a reply.

Sir Pentious

..... Sir Pentious sits up, suddenly, looking quite offended. His head jerks back, and his hood is raised quite high, every eye staring pointedly at the deerman in front of him. His robe droops just enough to reveal the eye on his chest as well, and it, too, is staring.

"WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR, ALASSSTOR? DO YOU TAKE ME FOR SSSOME-- SSSOME--" He didn't even have a word for what he wanted, he just looked *hurt* at the assumption that he'd only just expect Alastor to meet his children and then be off. With each word, his head jerks forward, as if he's fighting back the instinct to strike-- that threatening snake instinct. Penny takes a deep breath, slow exhale, then another deeper breath... slow exhale.

His hood lowers, and he closes his eyes. "I WANT YOU TO BE *APART* OF THEIR *LIVESSSS*, BUT FIRSSST THEY MUSSSST TO *MEET* YOU, THAT'SSS ALL I *MEANT* BY THAT. WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT ABOUT ME, AFTER EVERYTHING?"

Alastor

Relief washes over Alastor's face. "Okay! Okay, good. I'd thought—I'd *hoped* so, but—well, I wasn't going to assume."

Sir Pentious

"YOU DID ASSUME! SSSOMETHING COMPLETELY *OPPOSSSSSITE* OF WHAT I'D DO!" Huff. His arms fold and he looks away.

Alastor

"I didn't assume! I asked for clarification, didn't I? I took you at your word and not a step further than your word, and then I asked you if that was what you meant or not!" He leans as far as he can while all coiled up, trying to make eye contact with Sir Pentious. "*Hey.* Come on, now." He's got that affectionate tone reserved for trying to coax an angry cat out from under the furniture.

Sir Pentious

Oh no, the affectionate tone is working, Pentious keeps glancing at Alastor, his mouth in *such* a pout as his long neck allows him to turn his head practically backwards.... and if Alastor leans the *other* way, he's going to turn it back around! Still much pout...

Alastor

"Oh, is that how it is! You're never going to look at me again." He sighs dramatically—and then, just like the dramatic fool he is, starts singing: "I miss your voice, the touch of your hand; I long to know that you understand. My buddy, my buddy~ Your buddy misses you~~"

Sir Pentious has probably only been refusing to look at him for like, thirty seconds.

Sir Pentious

It is IMPOSSIBLE to avoid smiling when Alastor starts singing like inches from your face. He's screwing up his mouth, trying not to break!! But he turns back around, watching the fool singing. There's a grin on his face, and he's squeezing his own cheek, kind of embarrassed. Not embarrassed. What was the word for this feeling? When your best friend is singing *inches from your face* so dramatically!!!

Alastor

Mission accomplished. Alastor bumps his shoulder against Sir Pentious's, grinning back at him. "All right, so what *should* I do if you say something and I can't tell which way you mean it?"

Sir Pentious

"SSSSPEAK UP, IMMEDIATELY SSSO!" He frowns, but it's not quite the pout from before. Sir Pentious bumps back, "DO NOT INTERRUPT ME, BUT DO NOT SSSIT THERE MAKING ME OUT TO BE SSSOME KIND OF VILLAIN WITHOUT SSSTANDARDSSS."

Alastor

"My friend, I know you are a villain with the *highest* standards! All right, so I'll ask. Like I asked this time." Nudge.

Sir Pentious

"YOU MADE INCORRECT ASSUMPTIONSSS THIS TIME, FIRST! DO NOT DO THAT!" Very easy, clearly.

Alastor

"Oh, okay, I'll just switch off my capacity to draw conclusions based off of the words that other people say. I'll just not think until I'm sure I have enough information to think the correct thoughts! I don't know how I'll figure out I've got enough information if I can't think about it, but hey! It's a work in progress." He smirks wryly at Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious

He knows that Alastor is teasing him, but instead of responding to it, Sir Pentious just nods his head, arms folded. A short, firm nod, "GOOD!" That settles that!

Alastor

Innocently, Alastor asks, "I don't want to *assume* anything, here—did you miss the sarcasm, or do you think I can really turn off my brain?"

Sir Pentious

"I DON'T THINK YOU CAN TURN OFF YOUR BRAIN AT ALL!! NOT WITHOUT HEAVY DRINKING." He smiles, and PUSHES Alastor playfully-- he would have pushed him down but there wasn't far to go with Pentious' tail everywhere.

Alastor

He pushes back. "Ha! True enough! I got rid of that dial. You can switch the station, but you can't turn me off and can't adjust the volume!"

Sir Pentious

Penny thinks a moment, tapping his chin. "SSSOMETIMESSS I CAN'T TELL IF YOU'RE JOKING OR NOT. PERHAPSSSS YOU SHOULD WINK OR SSSOMETHING WHEN YOU ARE BEING SSSARCASSSSTIC, MAKE IT VERY OBVIOUSSSSSS."

Alastor

"I'd look like I'd developed a facial tic, I'd be winking so often!" He played a short phrase in Morse code, one glowing eye flashing brighter with each beep. "I'm never a hundred percent sincere or a hundred percent facetious, I don't know how I'd signal you if I'm somewhere in the middle. But we'll figure something out. I'm a poor entertainer if the audience doesn't get the joke, aren't I?"

Sir Pentious

"INDEED, INDEED." Sir Pentious nods again, resting his head back down, "OR MAYBE YOU'LL JUSSSST HAVE TO BE MORE LIKE VALERA AND I, AND SSSAY 'THIS IS A JOKE' ALOUD."

Alastor

"Oh, how gauche! I'm sure I can do better than that. Maybe I'll have to wear a neon sign around my neck that says 'laugh now' and flash it on when appropriate." A beat. "That's a joke. But I hope that one was obvious?"

Sir Pentious

He smiles... Really wide. Look at that! Penny feels a lot better about that.

"THISSSS TIME, BUT AS SSSSOON AS YOU SSSSAID YOU WERE JOKING, I FELT ANY DOUBTSSS DISSSSSIPATE!"

Alastor

Okay, good, obvious but not 100% obvious—but what *could* be 100% obvious, really? "Maybe I'll give the 'laugh now' sign to my audience so I'm not winking every ten seconds. I think they've been slacking lately anyway. It's about time they earn their pay." Studio laughter. "Ha! No, I don't pay them. They do this out of love for me!" Bitter studio laughter.

Sir Pentious

*SNRK*. Penny gestures at him with a claw, "ARE THOSE POOR SSSSOULSSSS YOU GATHERED UP OVER THE DECADESSSS?"

Alastor

"They might be!" His answer is utterly gleeful. "Maybe I'll tell you someday. I like keeping a little bit of mystery around me!"

Sir Pentious

"FASSSSCINATING THAT YOU CAN, YOU TALK SSSSO MUCH." He smiles, resting his head back down again. Prrrp.

Alastor

"The trick is to not say anything important! Be interesting, not sincere! Audiences don't want sincerity, just a colorful facsimile of it."

Sir Pentious looks comfortable. What if Alastor, just. Sort of. Flops across him. Is that alright? He's about to hear loudly if it isn't.

Sir Pentious

He's not going to raise a fuss actually, he's just going to lift himself up... and lie across Alastor. THE SMUGGEST SNAKE. Welcome to pretzel city. "AH, THAT'SSSS TRUE. A COLORFUL FASSSSSSSSCSIMILE!!! OR... FASSI-SMILE? NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

“A facile facsimile smile.” This is a weird angle to be pressed down at. He wiggles a bit to get comfortable, and then relaxes. Okay. Flopping is okay. Sir Pentious had even reciprocated and increased the flop. “... This is nice. I can’t remember when I was last at the beach.”

Sir Pentious

...................................... Sir Pentious can remember when *he* was last at the beach. And he's just. Staring. At nothing in particular, his entire face is *hot pink*.

Alastor

Alastor is 100% oblivious. Brief silence? That means it’s his job to fill it! “I tried visiting a couple back home long ago, but they really aren’t worth the trip. I know there are nicer ones in the outer rings, but it’s quite a pain to sneak out—you really need a bigger goal than the beach for it to be worth the effort...”

Sir Pentious

........ Oh shit Alastor is talking. Sir Pentious clears his throat, "YESSS, YOU REALLY DO... I ENJOY THE ssssSEA OF SCREAMSSSS AND TORMENT, THEY REALLY SSSOUND MUSICAL AFTER A SSSCERTAIN POINT."

Alastor

“Huh. Well, I’m all for musical screams. Maybe I’ll give it a visit sometime.” He closes his eyes. Comfy.

Sir Pentious

"YESSS. AFTER I BLOW UP A PARTICULAR TREE." Mhm. Not even gonna elaborate. He thinks a moment, "HOW ARE VAGGIE AND THE OTHERSSSS? I THINK YOU'RE THE ONLY ALASSSTOR WHO BROUGHT ANYBODY."

Alastor

After he whats a particular what?

The topic moves on before Alastor can ask. “Oh—they’re all well enough! About every time I’ve left the kitchen Niffty’s been lurking outside waiting for an opportunity to clean up, hah. Angel’s been repeatedly using my antlers as a coat rack, I think he’s having a grand time. I haven’t seen Husk, no doubt he found something fermented and passed out face down in a puddle of it.” A pause. “Vaggie’s been glued to her phone. Getting updates from Charlie. I don’t know how she can stand it—this is the first time we’ve had an opportunity *not* to worry about the extermination, why is she squandering it?” He huffs. “But I suppose she doesn’t have much to worry about but the hotel. The only one she had to leave behind is Charlie, who isn’t in danger.”

Sir Pentious

"I CAN'T IMAGINE CHARLOTTE IS ENJOYING MISSING *THISSSS* PLACE. ALL THE SSSSPACE, THE FRESH AIR, THE MUSICAL NUMBERSSSSS." He clears his throat and extends his forearm, "*MY BUDDY~*"

Alastor

Alastor’s mood had been slowly starting to sink as he discussed the extermination, but it shoots straight back up at that. If he wasn’t being pinned down by a snake he’d be sitting bolt upright. “*My buddy~ Nobody quite so true~!*” He laughs in delight.

And then his mood gradually dips again. “You didn’t have to leave anyone, right? Just the eggs?”

Sir Pentious

"JUSSSST THE EGGSSSSS. AND MY TAILOR." He waves a hand, "SHE'LL BE FINE, I'D BE MORE CONCERNED FOR THE ANGELSSSSS, NYA HA HAAA!"

He returns to the Snenison Sandwich, "I CAN MAKE MORE EGGSSSS. THAT IS, HAVE MORE MADE.... I BROUGHT A FEW TENSSS OF THEM."

Alastor

"Your *tailor?*" He laughs. "Are you close? Or do you just appreciate her work?"

Sir Pentious

"SHE'SSSS A TAXIDERMISSSSST, BUT SHE'SSSSSS THE ONLY ONE WHO GETSSSSSS MY MEASUREMENTSSSSS DOWN PERFECTLY!! I SUPPOSE SHE'S NOT REALLY MY TAILOR BUT NO ONE USUALLY ASKSSSS." He snickers, "SHE'SSSSS RATHER GOOD AT WHAT SHE DOESSS. VERY SHORT TEMPERED."

Alastor

He laughs more loudly. “A taxidermist! Of course! Who else would get the measurements perfect!” He tries to think of a pun for a short-tempered taxidermist. Nope. Nothing coming. He can’t always be on his game.

Sir Pentious

Prrr prrr. Crunch Alastor. He's entertained from being able to feel that boney body under himself. Enrichment.

"SHE'D LIKELY NOT TAKE ANYONE NEW, BUT SHE ISSS IN THE CANNIBAL COLONY."

Alastor

“Oh, *really!* Why, I spend half my time around there! What’s her name, is she someone I know?”

Sir Pentious

"HER NAME ISSS MONARCH, SHE'SSSS A... HMM. WELL, SHE LOOKSSS LIKE A BUTTERFLY AND A SSSCORPION AT THE SSSAME TIME. I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'VE MET HER, SHE WORKSSSS THERE BUT SHE DOESN'T CARRY THE SSSAME *AIR*, IF YOU UNDERSSSTAND MY MEANING."

Alastor

"I'm not familiar with her! I'll have to look her up. See whether she exists in my neck of the woods, too. If not, I'll have to go *bug* yours!" He finally got in a pun. He was proud.

"I wish I could have brought some of the colonists out here. But, well." A shrug. "Seemed like a poor idea."

Sir Pentious

It had been on Penny's mind, really... the Sir Pentious from Alastor's neck of the woods, so to speak. He didn't know how to bring it up, or if he *should*. Another awkward argument was definitely not on Penny's list of things he wanted to do during the escape from Extermination. He clears his throat... "DO TELL?" At least this way, he wasn't being too specific.

Alastor

They're both gonna dance around it huh. It's waltz time. "I mean—not for the obvious reason!" He laughs. "I'm sure any cannibals I brought along would be perfectly well-behaved guests, especially with their afterlives on the line."

Sir Pentious

It's waltz time!

"HA! MONARCH WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN WELL BEHAVED-- WELL, NOT IF PEOPLE ATTEMPTED TO BOTHER HER. I REMEMBER COMING IN FOR MY APPOINTMENT AND SHE'D GUTTED A CUSSSSTOMER FOR INTERRUPTING HER WORK, WAS TURNING HIM INTO SSSOME KIND OF COAT HANGER." Prr prr prr. "IT WASsss INTERESSSSTING TO WITNESS!"

Alastor

"Ha! It sounds like it was the other fellow who wasn't behaving! Seems fully deserved to me!" That purring was like having a massage chair lying on his back.

Sir Pentious

"NYA HA HAAAAAAA! FULLY AGREED!! BUT WHO'SSSSS TO SSSAY UNDER *ALIEN* SSSSTANDARDSSSS." Sir Pentious preens, "THE VECI FIND ME ABSSSSOLUTELY TERRIFYING AND BEAUTIFUL, AS THEY SHOULD! SSSO QUICKLY THEY BOWED TO ME, AFTER ALL."

Alastor

"As they *should*!" A round of ghostly applause.

Sir Pentious

Hmm.... He's looking at Alastor. 👀

Alastor

Why is Sir Pentious looking at him? Did Alastor say something weird? Was the applause too much? Is Sir Pentious expecting him to say something? What is he expecting? Alastor doesn't have anything to say. Nothing *specific,* anyway. He always has a hundred things to say, but nothing particularly relevant—

"I'm worried about them." Oh never mind, apparently he does have something relevant to say. "Not the Cannibal Colonists, they can handle themselves. And the ones that *can't* handle themselves—well, I'll see them one last time at the post-extermination potluck." (Weak studio laughter.) "But I left friends."

Sir Pentious

"YOU COULD HAVE BROUGHT THEM ALONG, I'M SSSSCERTAIN, PROVIDED THEY WOULD NOT HAVE ATTEMPTED ANYTHING *TOO FOOLISH* WHILE VISITING VALERA'SSSS ESSSTATE." He lifts a brow, though in his mind he wonders if Alastor means the other Pentious. Probably not friends... present tense.

Alastor

"I didn't want to put all my eggs in one basket." He laughs weakly. "This is the first time we've tried this. Until we got here, we didn't know this was going to work. Technically we *still* don't know. Sure, we're safe right now, but what if we open a gate to go home and find a squad of angels on the other side waiting to take out the jail-breakers?

"So I decided to split my odds. Ensure some of the people that matter are here, in case this works—and leave some of them in Hell, in case this backfires horribly."

Sir Pentious

........ Gulp. Sir Pentious' anxiety creeps back up, and he rubs at his throat to try to quell the lump within. They broke jail a few times! And nobody punished them, but would angels be different? Mmmhf. Don't think about it... but he's definitely not as soft to lie on right now, getting tenser.

"I SSSSEE. IT WAS A NO BRAINER FOR ME, JUSSSST BRING MYSSELF FROM MY OWN VERSION OF HELL. THERE'SSSSS NO ONE THERE THAT I'D BE WILLING TO RISSSSK MUCH FOR. IT'SSSS EXPENSIVE TO CLONE ALL OF THE EGGSSSS AGAIN."

Alastor

Oh, he can feel that tension under him. He feels around until he finds one of Sir Pentious’s hands so he can take and squeeze it. “I wouldn’t have come along this year if I’d thought we’d be safer in Hell than here. I would have asked Valera to host a guinea pig for us and hunkered down in the hotel. But... you know. There’s still that little bit of uncertainty until we get back.”

Sir Pentious

Oh it's hand holding time. Don't mind him as he holds so tight he threatens to break all the bones in Alastor's hand. CRUNCH. Other than that, he looks completely Fine!!! "YOU PROBABLY WOULD HAVE SSSSSAID SSSSOMETHING, YESSS. I'D *IMAGINE...*"

Alastor

He squeezes harder! Not enough to threaten bones, though. “I would have said something.” In a faux conspiratorial tone, he adds, “Now, the hotel crew? *Them* I’d be willing to use as lab rats, sure! *Not* my best friend.”

Sir Pentious

"...WHO *IS* YOUR BEST FRIEND AGAIN?" He thinks, "IS IT THAT... ROSIE AND FRANKLIN PERSON? I THINK YOU'VE MENTIONED THEM BEFORE."

Alastor

A moment of awkward silence. "Are *you* the one joking now, or have I not been making it blatantly obvious enough that it’s you?”

Sir Pentious

OH. He. Covers his face, hood FLOOPING UP!!! don't LOOK AT HIM---

"I THOUGHT WE WERE TALKING ABOUT OUR RESPECTIVE ***HELLSSSS*** SHUT UP!!!"

Alastor

He’s trying not to laugh. He barely succeeds, but it doesn’t stop his invisible audience. “I’m counting interdimensional finalists in this competition, not just the local contestants! But no—I meant, if I thought this was the *more* dangerous option, I would’ve fought tooth and nail to persuade you to stay in Hell until we’d seen whether hiding on an alien planet works for other sinners.” He pats Sir Pentious’s hand, he’s not giving that back any time soon. “As for *local* friends... oh, these days I’d say it’s a toss-up between Rosie and Mimzy. Depends on what kind of friend I need more at any given time.”

Sir Pentious

HUFF. Penny uncovers his face, but he is turned away, arms folded.... Well, one is. His tongue flicks and he is sulking!! It'll pass.

"AND WHAT ARE THEIR USES? SINGING?"

Alastor

“Oh, both of them! It’s a good thing they hardly know each other because if either of them heard the other’s singing chops, I’d be out *both* my favorite duet partners!” He laughed. “But aside from *that*, well... Rosie is the kind of friend you go to when you need a Mary Poppins. Mimzy is the kind of friend you go to when you need a Roxie Hart.”

Sir Pentious

He understood one of those references. His head comes back around to tilt, making a squinted look, "*WHO?*"

Alastor

“Roxie Hart! From *Chicago*? Haven’t seen that one? Think of, uh...” He wracked his brain. He couldn’t think of a comparable Gilbert & Sullivan character. “The ambition and callousness of Lady Macbeth with the personality and body of Ophelia.”

Sir Pentious

Oh! He understood that reference! Sir Pentious looks smug, suddenly. Esteemed Sir Pent, Knower of Reference. "AH, THEN I IMAGINE YOU'RE RATHER SSSSKILLED AROUND SSSSUCH SSSSORTSSS. YOU'D CHARM THE LADY MACBETH WITHOUT ISSUE!"

Alastor

“I do better with the Lady Macbeths than with the Ophelias, truth be told! Give ‘em the brush off and next thing you know you’re fishing them out of the drink, what a pity. Nobody’s drinking out of *that* well for a while.” Studio laughter. “But I like Mimzy, she’s all right. I think we were friends before we ever met each other, can you imagine that? I’d gossip about her movies and her personal drama on my show and she’d gossip about my show to the papers, and by the time we crossed paths in Hell it was like running into an old pal.”

Sir Pentious

SNORT. Penny adores gallows humor. He puts his clawtips together, hood lowered once more as he seems to have calmed down from that hissy fit.

"I'D SSSAY THE CHANCESSSS OF THAT HAPPENING ARE SSSLIM, BUT WE *ARE* HAVING OVER POPULATION ISSUESSSS.... SSSTILL, I HAVEN'T MET ANYONE THAT I KNEW THAT SSSSSURELY BELONGSSSSS IN HELL. LIKELY LYING LOW!"

Alastor

"Hah! Afraid of what you could do to them, no doubt." Is he calm now? Alastor reaches up and tugs Sir Pentious's head down to get him to lay on Alastor again. Pressure from friend good. "Mimzy's the only one it's ever happened to with me, and it wouldn't have worked out if we weren't both famous."

Sir Pentious

And he lies on him again. Squish. Local serpent is warm from the sun. Feels like a particularly squishy loaf of bread. Fresh from the oven.

"HMMM, SSSTILL. NO CHANCE OF IT HAPPENING IN THE LIVING WORLD NOW! THOUGH, MAYBE YOU COULD MEET SSSSSOME FOLKSSSS WHO REMEMBER YOU FROM THEIR LIVING DAYSSSSS, IF THEY PASSED RECENTLY!!"

His eyes are half moons as he taps his temple with a claw, "THEY'D SSSAY! 'I FIGURED YOU'D GO TO HELL, HA!'"

Alastor

Deer in the middle of a bread loaf. Venison sandwich. "Hah! If they did say that, it would only be with the greatest of affection! I played an amusing troublemaker on air—but no one would have called me evil then." He sighed. "But someone who's a hundred years old would have been only thirteen when I died. The odds of new arrivals that remember me are getting lower every year."

He poked Sir Pentious's tail. "I wonder how many people said that when you arrived, ha."

Sir Pentious

He makes a face, rubbing his cheeks a little in thought. "WELL I DON'T KNOW! AS I'VE MENTIONED, I'M NOT AS WELL KNOWN AS I'D LIKE TO BE! PERHAPS THERE ARE THOSE WHO KNOW ME, BUT HELL SSSEEMSSS CHOCKFUL OF AMERICANSSSSS!"

Alastor

"Apparently, we're just a uniquely terrible nation!" He laughs. "You know, every time you mention Americans not knowing who you are, I get this... this little bit of mental whiplash before I remember you did all your work in England."

Oh, they've looped dangerously close to the topic Alastor wants to talk about but keeps dancing around. Should he go for it? "... I'm most worried about him."

Sir Pentious

AHA-- Pentious clears his throat a bit, putting his fist to his lips. DOn't sound too excited, or look that excited for that matter. He glances to Alastor, "THE PENTIOUSSSS FROM YOUR VERSION OF EVENTSSS, YES?"

Alastor

"Right." He laughs ruefully, "I'm sure he wouldn't have come here even if I'd offered. 'Hello there, old friend—how would you like an all-expenses-paid vacation to a parallel universe, courtesy of the man who backstabbed you, in the middle of an extermination? All you have to do is step through this little portal you have no power to summon back up yourself if you need to escape!' Hah. Sure."

Sir Pentious

"WELL, I'M SSSSURE HE'S FINE! HE'S A SIR PENTIOUSSSSS. WE TEND TO *BOUNCE BACK*, AS IT WERE. YOU COULDN'T KEEP ME DOWN IF YOU TRIED! NYA HA HA!" He meant that more generally, but he immediately regrets it, "ER, GENERALLY SSSSPEAKING."

Alastor

Funny, because Alastor thought he'd done a pretty good job of putting a permanent damper on his own Sir Pentious's prospects, and by the sound of it this Sir Pentious's Alastor had done much the same.

But, like, had they been *exterminated?* "Right. He'll probably be fine. Right? He's been fine every year before!"

Sir Pentious

"EXACTLY!" Well, yes, that was true, but Sir Pentious wasn't ERASED and THEREFORE he couldn't be kept down. He did always bounce back! Eventually... He pats the Vension Sandwich, "SSSO YOU'VE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, REALLY. I CAN'T IMAGINE THE ONE EXTERMINATION WHERE YOU ARE HERE, THAT WOULD BE THE ONE WHERE HE'D GO *KAPUT!* THAT DOES NOT SSSSOUND LIKE ME."

Alastor

"It does sound like *Hell,* though. The *one year* I couldn't intervene if I saw angels swarming the airship." He sighs heavily and puts a hand on the one patting him. "But no. Hell wouldn't go to the trouble of orchestrating an end to *you* designed to torment *me* if it didn't also make sense for you. And you're right, it doesn't sound like you." So he keeps telling himself, but he's noticeably tensed up since this topic came up.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious can feel the way that Alastor's tensing up, and he frowns. What to do? His face screws up in thought, and he uncrushes the other so instead he can take both of his hands, pull him into a nice Hug, and rest his chin atop the other's fluffy head.

"IT WILL BE OKAY, MAN."

Alastor

*Oh.* Did he seem freaked out enough to warrant all this? He didn’t want that. Fucked up how if you start talking about how you feel suddenly people know what your feelings are.

He shuts his eyes, returns the embrace, and leans into Sir Pentious. “Right.” Long, long sigh. There’s nothing he can do about it from here. At a minimum, for the next few hours, it *is* okay.

He’s not going to fully relax until he’s home and *sure.* But all the same, the reassurance is... reassuring. “Thank you.”

Sir Pentious

What would be comforting? HMMMM...... He offers COBRA PURRING. Deep., raspy GASPING hissing sounds, don't you feel better Alastor. DON'T YOU.

Alastor

Being subjected to rattly growly snarly breathing? HE ACTUALLY FEELS VERY COMFORTED. He tries to match Sir Pentious’s breathing, and the ambient hiss of radio static around him rises and falls in sync with the raspy purrs. ASMR.

Sir Pentious

OH! ASMR!

He looks like a contented smiley face.

"THERE, LISTEN TO ALL THAT SSSSTATIC, YOU SSSSOUND LIKE YOU!"

Alastor

“Who did I sound like before?” Don’t mind him if he gets kinda droopy, he’s just sagging/relaxing against Sir Pentious. Resting his head on Sir Pentious means he can listen to the cobra purring more easily.

Sir Pentious

"I DON'T KNOW. A MAN WHO *WORRIESSSS*!" A shrug! He's looking out over the water again, tongue flicking.

Alastor

A laugh. “Oh, well we can’t have that!”

Sir Pentious

Hee hee. He smiles, that big wide smiley faced kind of look. How could someone so DIFFICULT TO LIKE be so FRIEND SHAPED. Sir Pentious is content to look at the water like this, for however long Alastor wants to remain in his coils for the duration of it.

Alastor

Alastor was going to be content to stay exactly where he was for a good long while. He'll just play some cheerful instrumental songs and enjoy the view and the company.

#hissandvinegar #chat log

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masterhandss · 4 years

Note

This is just my opinion on hamefura, but I wish the author just ended at v1 for the light novel. The ending there was perfect for me. Sometimes, author need to know the right time to end, and there's no need to drag further or the thing that attract the reader might become tiring. Reading that Katarina got hardly character development make me sad. Sometimes I just wish her to stop being oblivious and realized the dead flag are gone!

SPOILER FOR A BIT OF THE LIGHT NOVELS

You mean by V1, you mean Arc 1 (Volume 2) right? (aka where the Fortune Lover game ends) I can totally understand where you’re coming from. This is just my personal opinion though, since i’m a dumb little bean so I can’t really speak much for future volumes since all the spoilers I know are either from reddit or @spacupanda (and I can’t even remember them all because of my pea brain) but it does get annoying. Katarina kind of walks in this fine line where she seems to be or at least wants to mature, but has to revert back into an idiot when the plot needs it to. It’s not to say that she doesn’t grow at all by Volume 6 (the current volume that has an English translation) since she does have the desire to act and become an adult while slowly becoming more self aware of her surroundings (at least her brain can comprehend the concept of sexual advances now, in a way). I heard from spoilers for future volumes that she genuinely wants to understand the world of Sorcier and has a desire to help make it better, which is a lot coming from someone who saw the world as half a video game and half as her life. Katarina is also aware of Keith and Gerald’s feelings now, so that’s a plus.

Since you probably came from the Volume 4 post I reblogged, all I can say is that my brain turned off during half of the contents of that book, and it felt like the author prioritized establishing future events and testing the post-FL1 waters that the writing ended up suffering. It gets better in Volume 6, in my opinion (since both volumes involves the cast going on a trip to do something).

In the author’s defense, I’ve head that it really was supposed to end in Volume 2, but they were convinced to write more because the light novels was gaining popularity. I know that some might say that the author should have put his foot down and ended the series there, but I feel like there is still so much to tell about the story and world of HameFura. Granted, what we have so far isn’t too satisfying, and there’s a lot that could have been tweaked to make it better, but the characters and setting of the series is too good to just end so quickly so I can understand what the executives were thinking.

Again, spoilers for future volumes (aka Vol. 6) but Katarina’s flags aren’t gone yet. It’s kind of worse than before actually (since she either dies alongside Maria in every route or thrown in jail). This is kind of why I wanted to elaborate my feelings on extending the novels because depending on your stance on the matter, the existence of more doom flags can either be a blessing or a curse. I’m just assuming this but unlike Arc 1 Fortune Love 1, I think by Volume 10 (the next JP volumes), I think Fortune Lover 2 isn’t done yet? As long as some sort of doom flag exists, she can’t completely live in peace (as that’s just how she works) so I think the author is trying to find a balance between letting her learn about the world and maturing as a person while keeping the established mantra of her doom flags being a looming threat to her character (both literally and figuratively).

By Volume 7, Katarina would be 18 which most people would assume is the point to which she’ll start maturing and acting like an adult because it’s the point where Katarina is finally living a life beyond her escaped-death and her actual death. I haven’t heard too much about how her character has changed in those Volumes, but i’m assuming it’s mostly the same. I feel like if they could at least explain why Katarina’s character is sort of stagnant, I would be a little bit okay with it. Like say it’s an outcome of her friends and her parents being too lenient on her, preventing her form making decisions on her own or something like that.

That’s just my opinion though, sorry if this reply is all over the place haha my brain isnt working correctly today hahaha. Thanks for the ask!

#mh ask #my next life as a villainess #hamefura #hamehura #bakarina #destruction flag otome #katarina claes #hamefura spoilers #i dont even know what i'm talking about jhgjsfg i'm no good at reading between lines #hope this helps though #Otome Game no Hametsu Flag shika Nai Akuyaku Reijou ni Tensei shiteshimatta #My Next Life as a Villainess! All Routes Lead to Doom!

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mel-ixa · 5 years

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Had a random thought that after Stephen got dusted and Tony got back on earth, Tony would have done massive research on Stephen (because just who was that cryptic wizard who just saved his life??). Tony would have then found out about the car accident and start to work on a stabilising glove for Strange just because he’s always upgrading and building stuff so the glove idea must have popped up in his head at one point. And since Tony knows where the sanctum is from IW, he could have left it there in hopes that maybe someday they’ll meet again because ‘there’s no other way’ means that they haven’t lost yet right? And so this box is left in the sanctum for so long that Tony himself might have forgotten about it and then endgame happens and Stephen finally gets back to the sanctum to this dusty box and breaks down when he finds out what it is.

Additional points if:

1. The glove is equipped with an A.I.

2. A.I. has stored videos of Tony working and sometimes speaking to the camera directly - like those logs from Big Hero 6 of Takashi working on Baymax - and it plays the vids holographically like what we saw in endgame

3. Log #1: ‘Hey Stephen, not sure if you’re ever going to see this, but first off, what the heck is ‘there’s no other way’?? Some elaboration would have been great you asshole. Can’t believe you left me on a deserted planet! Ugh but that’s not the point, here, see this? I’m working on a glove. For you. I don’t know why so don’t ask me either. I just thought of it while fixing Peter’s suit to stabilise his shooters. So yea here’s some gloves for you I guess? Don’t even know if you’ll be back to even see this but if you are, welcome back asshole’

4. Log #3: ‘ok the machinery is smoother now but I have to work on the joints it still locks up sometimes’

5. Log #9: ‘hey what if I add a repulsor like my suit? Wait never mind you’re a wizard you can probably shoot fireballs out of your hands or something right? Oh wait does that mean I should wizardproof this so nothing damages it?? Wow it suddenly became a shit ton more complicated’

6. Log #15: ‘ok so i made it nanotech and you can withdraw it anytime, see? Just like my suit haha’

7. Log #22 (final vid): ‘okay so I guess this is it. The final product. Would need you to test them out though but you’re not here so feel free to hit me up once you see this I guess? I should be free to tweak it if I’m not held up by some hero stuff. Gosh would I still be doing hero stuff? Maybe I would have retired by the time you’re watching this. Guess that just gives me more time to fix your glove haha good for you. Logging off for now, see you in the future, asshole’

———————————————————————

This turned out a lot longer than I thought haha it was a prompt at first but it started flowing and I just kept writing and now it’s a mess but I guess it still works as a prompt so here y’all go!

#ironstrange #tony stark #iron man #ironman #stephen strange #doctor strange #i love them so much sobs

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lokiondisneyplus · 4 years

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In late March, when Robert and Michelle King convened the writers room for their supernatural drama Evil, they plotted out a second season premiere in a haunted New York City subway station.

Now, more than two months later, as the novel coronavirus continues to ravage so much of the world, the idea has been scrapped at the behest of their line producer, who warned that filming permits would be hard, if not impossible, to come by. When the CBS series does return, the season opener will explore the spiritual consciousness of its characters instead, with a storyline devoted to the "God helmet" and its virtual-reality-meets-peyote-style impact. It's a plot perfectly suited for a post-pandemic world, explains Robert King, because it relies heavily on visual effects. "You have to look at scope in a different way," he says, in this case referencing the scope of the brain rather than scope of a subway.

In virtual rooms all over Hollywood, writers like the Kings are being asked to rethink what could be feasible once production resumes. Many are waiting to actually tweak their scripts — "I don't want to have to rewrite everything six times while the guidelines change," says Shameless' John Wells — while others are already avoiding or scrubbing crowds, hugs and handshakes. Sex scenes and fight scenes will need to be carefully considered, too, and in some cases reconsidered as storytellers along with their line producers and studio bosses navigate an unknown future.

"What we're telling our writers is 'Don't be dumb,' " says one studio executive, who suggests that an elaborate crowd scene with dozens of extras would surely qualify. "We're not going to be able to shoot it, so don't write it."

Regardless of directives, which vary by studio, more than a dozen producers who spoke with THR say their anxiety lies largely in the uncertainty. "It's very hard when you don't know what the future looks like," says Marta Kauffman, showrunner of Netflix's Grace and Frankie, whose situation is made more complicated by the fact that the youngest of her four leads is 79 years old. She has yet to go back into her scripts and start making the necessary changes, but that's coming, and she's dreading it. "We had scenes at our assisted living facility with a crowd, and, well, we can't do that anymore. And we know we certainly won't be doing lots of kissing with elderly people, but it may have to go beyond that."

Though Kenya Barris' actors are several decades younger than Kauffman's, he's having trouble wrapping his head around how he'll make his Freeform series Grown-ish, which takes place almost entirely on a college campus. "It's literally about a place where people gather," he says, "and you can only do so many [contained] bottle episodes before it starts to lose the tone and feeling of what the show is." Meanwhile, Mythic Quest's Rob McElhenney was smack in the middle of shooting a scene set at the E3 gaming conference when production shut down. "There were literally thousands of people in the audience, and that's not going to happen anytime soon," he says. "So I'm going to have to rewrite it and reshoot it."

The days of doing a dozen extra takes are likely over, laments another producer, and shooting long just to have it, too. In fact, one executive suggests scripts could soon be five or six pages shorter ultimately, to make room in a show's budget for pricey protocols like crew-wide testing. There have been rumblings of putting line producers into writers rooms as well, though writers with any modicum of power are likely to resist additional infringement on the creative process. ("It's a terrible idea unless you have an irresponsible showrunner," says Kauffman.)

Writers will also be asked to lean on fewer characters along with special effects to provide scale. As one producer explains, if a pre-virus scene was set at a backyard birthday party full of children, the post-virus one will have two or three characters sitting around a kitchen table talking about the party — and any flashes to it would largely be CGI.

"The technology that brought you dragons and exploding people is the same technology that will be bringing you ordinary crowd scenes on shows you wouldn't expect [to use] visual effects," says You's Sera Gamble, who suggests CGI will be of little help on her intimate scenes, which she isn't interested in writing out. "We're not at the place in 2020 where we can talk about using visual effects to fake a kiss between [You stars] Penn Badgley and Victoria Pedretti — that's a separate issue and one we have to figure it out."

In recent weeks, writers such as Gamble have been looking abroad to see and study how productions elsewhere are grappling with the same challenges. All eyes are on Australia's long-running soap Neighbours, which announced it's resuming without extras or physical contact between castmembers. The show's producers have said they'll cut away before a kiss or punch, relying on the audience's imagination to do the rest. It's a strategy that some will consider stateside, too, particularly when it comes to intimacy.

Other approaches being discussed involve facilitating separate shoots, which can then be pieced together in post, and quarantining participating talent for 14 days, with testing done regularly, before shooting the scene in full. The actors involved with the latter would have to be OK with that plan, of course. "And if they're not, you're fucked," says one executive, "because you can't force an actor to do something that they're not comfortable with." At least two more predict those kinds of conversations about comfort levels — both general and specific — will start to happen with No. 1's on every call sheet in the coming weeks, if they haven't begun already. And the responses are expected to vary, particularly among the older and more vulnerable set. Regardless of how many safety measures are put in place, there will be some who simply won't feel comfortable and, as one network head warns, some shows could go away as a result.

For the time being, writers seem to be relying on their own gut to guide them. Barris, for instance, won't be writing in handshakes anytime soon, since he cringes every time he sees one on TV now. "I'd be less offended if you came up and cupped my girl's boob than shook her hand," he jokes. Curb Your Enthusiasm boss Jeff Schaffer agrees: "The handshake is gone," he says, "it's the VHS of salutations." And McElhenney's partner, Megan Ganz, reveals she'll be editing out a pre-pandemic line in which Mythic Quest's lead characters are asked, in response to their slacking, "What have you been doing for the past six months?" because it no longer feels right.

Studio and network execs must rethink their choices, too: Some are looking to their own libraries for contained shows that might be worth rebooting, while others are exploring potential series add-ons where only a couple of characters are needed. Working in their collective favor is an overwhelming desire among most casts and crews to get back to work. Says Black-ish showrunner Courtney Lilly, "If [our show] ends up being a one-act play for 21 minutes between two characters so that people can work and America can see characters they like onscreen doing something that isn't a repeat, we're going to find a way to do it."

It's a sentiment shared by many — just not all. Robert King falls among the skeptics: "Oh my God, network shows can't be made more boring," he says, horrified by the notion of having to scale Evil or The Good Fight down to a series of two- or three-character scenes. "You need to find ways that are visually interesting and inspired, and if you start limiting things, it'll just be, 'Why do I want to watch that? I'll wait for the newest Netflix thing that's shot in Hungary or somewhere where they will let people sit on each other's laps.' I just think everybody needs to calm the fuck down and not write with the idea of limitations in mind — or [at least] not as the guiding force."

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betweengenesisfrogs · 5 years

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Homestuck is My Favorite Sprite Comic

Yes, you read that right.

Homestuck is my favorite sprite comic.

Those of you who remember the earlier days of the internet are probably looking at this post in disbelief right about now. Others of you might be scratching your heads, not knowing what I’m talking about.

But here’s my pitch: Homestuck is the culmination of an entire genre of internet art, and the tools that make it so powerful are the very tools that made that genre once so reviled.

Homestuck is the greatest and most successful sprite comic of all time.

And honestly, I’ve wanted to talk about that for ages, so let’s do it.

WHAT SPRITE COMICS WERE

Many of my readers are probably too young to remember the era of sprite comics. So: what were sprite comics?

Sprite comics were a genre of webcomics made entirely by taking pixel art from video games – especially character art, called “sprites,” but also backgrounds and other images—and placing them into panels to tell a story. They were near-ubiquitous on the internet in the early 2000s, emerging right as webcomics in general were seeking to establish themselves as an art form.

They were not, shall we say, known for their quality. The low bar to access meant that art skill was not an obstacle to starting one. The folks behind the huge swell of them tended to be young people, kids and early teenagers recreating the plots of their favorite video games with new OCs—not the most advanced writers or artists. They were the early 2000s’ quintessential example of ephemeral, childish art. Unfortunately, they look even worse today—blown-up pixels don’t hold up well when displayed on higher-resolution monitors.

Today, they’re mostly forgotten, remembered only as a weird, strange moment in the youth of the internet. Someone who evoked them today, such as a blogger who compared them to one of the most successful webcomics of all time, would be inviting good-natured teasing at the very least.

It would be unfair to dismiss them entirely, though. In this low-stakes environment, comics where the author could bring more skill—engaging writing, legitimately funny jokes, or especially, a real ability to work with pixel art—really stood out. (Unsurprisingly, these authors tended to skew a bit older.)

The obvious one to mention is Bob and George. Bob and George wasn’t the first sprite comic, but it was the most influential. Conceived initially as Mega Man-themed filler for a hand-drawn comic about superheroes, it quickly became a merging of the two concepts, with the original characters made into Mega Man-style sprites, full of running gags, humorous retellings of the Mega Man games, elaborate storylines about time travel, and robots eating ice cream. It was generally agreed, even among sprite comic haters, that Bob and George was a pretty good comic. Worth mentioning also are 8-Bit Theater, which turned the plot of the first Final Fantasy into a spectacular and hilarious farce, and of course Kid Radd, my second favorite sprite comic. (More on that later.)

But even if you weren’t looking for greatness—there was something just damn fun about them. The passion of sprite comic authors was clear, even if their ideas didn’t always cohere. To this day, I think the sprite comic scene has the same appeal pulp art does—it’s crude and rough, full of garbage to sift through, but every so often, something deeply sincere and bizarre shines through, and the culture of its authors is a fascinating object of study in itself.

Okay, full disclosure: I was one of the people who made a sprite comic. I’ve written about my experiences with that in more depth elsewhere, but yeah, I was on the inside of this scene, rather than a disinterested observer, and from the inside, maybe it’s a lot easier to see the appeal.

Still, let me make this claim: even with all their flaws, sprite comics were doing some incredibly interesting things, and Homestuck is heir to their legacy.

TAKE ME DOWN TO RECOLOR CITY

One of the problems people always had with sprite comics was the sprites themselves. They’re the most repetitive thing in the world. You just keep copying and pasting the same images over and over again, maybe with a few tweaks. That’s not really being an artist, is it? It’s so lazy. Re-drawing things from different angles keeps things dynamic, develops your skill, and makes your work better in general. Right?

I’m mostly in agreement. Certainly I think it’s fair to rag on the Control-Alt-Delete guy, along with other early bad webcomics, for copy-pasting their characters while dropping in new expressions and mass-producing tepid strips. And to be fair, digging through bad sprite comics often felt like an exercise in seeing the same slightly-edited recolors of Mega Man characters over and over again. You got really tired of that same body with its blobby feet and hands.

(It should be noted, though, that there were folks in the sprite comic scene who could pixel art the quills off a porcupine. I salute you, brave pixel art masters of 2006. I hope you all got into your chosen art school.)

All this said, I think the repetitive and simplistic nature of sprite comics was often their biggest strength.

THE POWER OF ABSTRACTION

In his classic work Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud makes an observation about cartooning that has stayed with me to this day.

McCloud notes that simple, abstract drawings, like faces that are only few lines and dots on a page, resonate with us more strongly than more detailed drawings. This is because our minds fill in what’s missing on the page. We ascribe human depth to simple gestures and expressions based on our own emotions and experiences – and this makes us feel closer to these characters as readers. Secretly, simple cartoons can be one of the most powerful forms of storytelling. If you want your readers to fall in love with your characters, draw them simply, and let them fill them in.

Video game sprites work very well in this regard. They have that same simplicity that cartoons do. In fact, I’d be willing to bet a huge part of the success of SNES-era RPGs was simple, almost childlike character sprites drawing people in. I think sprites did the same for sprite comics.

Here’s the weird thing: Bob and George worked. Despite four different characters being variations on the same friggin’ Mega Man sprite in different colors, they immediately began to seem like different people with distinct personalities. For me, George’s befuddled, helpless dismay immediately comes to mind whenever I picture his face, while with Mega Man himself it’s usually a wide-eyed, childlike glee. I would never confuse them. This, despite the fact that the only actual difference between their faces is that George is blonde. It’s pretty clear what happened. The personalities the author established for them through dialogue and storytelling shone through, and my brain did the rest.

Sprites, in short, were a canvas upon which the mind could project any story the author wanted to tell. Even the most minute differences in pixel art came to stand, in the best sprite comics, for wide divergences in personality and ideals, once the reader spent enough time with them to adapt to their style of representation.

Wait a minute, haven’t we seen this somewhere before? Character designs that focus on variations on a theme, with subtle differences that nonetheless render them instantly recognizable?

Oh, right.

Look at what greets us on the very first page of Homestuck. An absurdly simple cartoon boy, abstracted to a ridiculous degree—he doesn’t even have arms!—followed a whole bunch of characters that follow suit. Though many other representations of the characters emerge, these little figures never quite go away, do they? Why is that?

Simple: they’re very easy to manipulate. They’re modular—you can give John arms or not, depending on whether it’s useful. You can put him in a whole variety of poses and save them to a template. You can change out his facial expressions with copy and paste. You can give him a new haircut and call him Jake. It’s all very quick and easy.

Sprite comics proliferated because they were very easy to mass-produce. Andrew Hussie’s original conception of Homestuck was very similar: something he could put out very quickly and easily, where even the most elaborate ideas could rely on existing assets to be sped smoothly along. We all know the result: an incredible production machine, churning out unfathomable amounts of content from 2009-2012. I’d say it was a good call.

But it goes way deeper than that. The modular nature of sprites always suggested a kind of modularity to the sprite comic premise. George and Mega Man were different people, true, but also two variations on a theme. Was there something underlying them that they had in common? Perhaps their similarity says something like: We exist in a world which has a certain set of rules? One of my favorite conceits from Bob and George was that when characters visited the past, they were represented by NES-era Mega Man sprites, while in the present, they were SNES sprites, and in the future, the author used elaborate splicing to render them as 32-bit Mega Man 8 sprites or similar.

Suppose there was a skilled cartoonist thinking about his next big project, who wanted to tell a story centered around this kind of modularity, a narrative that was built out of iterative, swappable pieces by its very design. He might very well create a sprite comic named Homestuck.

Homestuck is a story about a game that creates a hyperflexible mythology for its players, where the villains, challenges, and setting change depending upon what players bring to the experience, yet which all share underlying goals and assumptions. What more perfect opportunity to create a modular story as well? Different groups of kids and trolls have motifs that get swapped around to produce new characters, whether that’s through ectobiology, the Scratch, or the eerie parallels between the kids and trolls’ sessions. And yet each character can be analyzed as an individual.

This is an incredible way to build a huge emotional investment from your readers. Not only does this kind of characterization invite analysis, the abstractions draw readers in to generate their own headcanons and interpretations. A deep commitment to pluralism is at the heart of Hussie’s character design. Then, too, it encourages readers to build their own new designs from these models. Kidswaps, bloodswaps, fantrolls—these have long been the heart of Homestuck’s fandom. And what are bloodswaps if not sprite recolors for a new generation? With the added bonus that now a change in color carries narrative weight, evoking new moods and identities for these characters in ways that early sprite comics could only dream of.

In Hussie’s hands, even the dreaded copy-and-paste takes on heroic depth of meaning. Even when Hussie moves away from sprites to his own loose art style, he continues to remix what we’ve previously see. Indeed, Hussie talks about how he would go out of his way to edit his own art into new images even when it would take more time than drawing something new. Why? Because he wanted to evoke that very feeling of having seen this before—the visual callback to go along with the many conceptual and verbal callbacks that echo throughout Homestuck. This is at the heart of what Doc Scratch (speaking for Hussie) called “circumstantial simultaneity:” we are invited to compare two moments or two characters, to see what they have in common, or how they contrast. Everything in Paradox Space is deeply linked with everything else. And Hussie establishes this in our minds using nothing less than the tool sprite comics were so deeply reviled for: the “lazy” repetition of an image.

(It’s fitting that some of the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous images in Homestuck—dream bubble scenery and the like—are the result of Hussie taking things he’s made before and combining them into fantastic dreamscapes.)

But it all started with the hyperflexible, adaptable character images Hussie created at the very beginning of Homestuck.

And if you need more proof that Homestuck is a sprite comic, I think we need look no further than what Hussie, and the rest of the Homestuck community call these images.

We call them sprites.

THE FIRST GENRE-BENDERS

Was Andrew Hussie influenced by sprite comics in the development of Homestuck? It’s hard to say, but as a webcomic artist in the first decade of the 2000s, he was surely aware of them. It’s likely that he quickly realized that his quick, adaptable images served the same purposes as a sprite in a video game or a sprite comic, and chose to call them that.

One purpose I haven’t mentioned up until now: sprites lend themselves very well to animations. In fact, in their original context of video games, that’s exactly what they’re for: frames of art that can be used to show a character running, jumping, posing, moving across a screen. It’s not surprising, then, that sprite comic makers quickly saw the utility in that.

Homestuck was, in fact, not the first webcomic to make Flash animations part of its story. There were experiments with various gifs and such in other comics, but I think sprite comics were among the most successful at becoming the multi-media creations that would come to be known as hypercomics..

Take a look at this animation from Bob and George. It represents a climactic final confrontation against a long-standing villain, using special effects to make everything dramatic, but ultimately, like many a Homestuck animation, leads to kind of a pyscheout. The drama and the humor of the moment are clear, though. This relies in large part on the music—which is taken directly from the game Chrono Trigger. This makes total sense. Interestingly, it also contains voice acting, which is something Homestuck never tried—probably because it would run contrary to its ideals of pluralism. What I find fascinating is that in sprite comics, animations like these served a very similar purpose to Homestuck’s big flashes: elevating a big moment into something larger-than-life. Another good example is this sequence from Crash and Bass. Seriously, it seems like every sprite comic maker wanted to try their hand at Flash animation.

(By the way, it’s a lot harder than it looks!! I envy Hussie his vectorized sprites. Pixel art is a PAIN to work with in the already buggy program that is Flash.)

The result: because of the sprites themselves, sprite comics were among the first works to play around with the border between comics and other media in the way that would come to be thought of as quintessentially Homestuck.

What it also meant was that another genre emerged in parallel with sprite comics: the sprite animation. Frequently these would retell the story of a particular game, offer a spectacular animated battle sequence, parody the source material, or all three. Great examples include this animation for Mega Man Zero, and this frankly preposterous crossover battle sequence. Chris Niosi’s TOME also found its earliest roots as an animation series of this kind. You also found plenty of sprite-based flash games, in which players could manipulate game characters in a way that was totally outside the context of the original works.

The website the vast majority of these games and animations were hosted on?

Newgrounds, best known to Homestuck fans as the website Hussie crashed in 2011 while trying to upload Cascade.

What’s less talked about is that Hussie was friends, or at least on conversational terms with, the owner of the site, hence the idea to host his huge animation there in the first place, and other flashes, like the first Alterniabound, were initially hosted there as well.

It’s hard to believe that Hussie wasn’t at least a little familiar with the Newgrounds scene. I suspect that he largely conceived of Homestuck as part of the world of “Flash animation—” which in 2009 meant the wide variety of things that were hosted on Newgrounds, including sprite animations.

The freedom and fluidity sprite comics had to change into games and animations and back into comics again was one of their most fascinating traits. Homestuck’s commitment to media-bending needs, at this point, no introduction. But what’s less known is that sprite comics were exploring that territory first—that Homestuck, in short, is the kind of thing they wanted to grow up to be.

PUT ME IN THE GAME

I would be a fool not to mention another big thing Homestuck and sprite comics have in common: a character who is literally the author in cartoon form, running around doing goofy things and messing with the story. This was an incredibly common cliché in sprite comics, no doubt because of Bob and George, who did it early on and never looked back. You might have noticed that the animation I linked above concerns a showdown between Bob and George’s author, David Anez—depicted, delightfully, as another Mega Man recolor—and a mysterious alternate author named Helmut—who is like Mega Man plus Sepiroth I think? It’s all very strange. I could ramble for hours about the relationship between Hussie and the alt-author villains of Homestuck and what it all means, but I’m not sure I can nail anything down with certainty for these two. Maybe Bob and George was never quite that metaphysical.

But yes, bringing the author into the story in some form was already a cliché by the time Homestuck started up. Indeed, I think that’s why Hussie’s character refers to it as “a bad idea” to break the fourth wall—he’s recognizing that people will have seen this before, and are already tired of this sort of shit. And then he goes and does it anyway and makes it somehow brilliant, because he’s Andrew Hussie.

Homestuck breathes life into the cliché by taking it in a metaphysical/metafictional direction. I don’t think that was really the motivation for most sprite comic authors, though. Let’s see if we can dig a little deeper.

I think the cliché kept happening because sprite comic authors were writing about a subject that very closely concerned themselves: video games. I’m only kind of joking. The thing about video games is that even though they’re made for everyone, playing through one yourself feels like an intensely personal experience. You develop an emotional relationship to a world, to its characters, that feels distinctly your own. Now, suddenly, thanks to the magic of sprites, you have an opportunity to tell stories about that world for others to read. Of course you’re going to want to put yourself in the story in some form.

When it wasn’t author characters in sprite comics, it was OCs. You know Dr. Wily? Well here’s my own original villain, Dr. Vindictus. You know Mega Man? Here’s my new character, Super Cool Man. He hangs out with Mega Man and they beat the bad guys together. Stuff like that. Most sprite comics retold the story of a game, or multiple games in a big crossover format, with original elements added in. There was quite a lot of “Link and Sonic and Mega Man are all friends with my OC and they hang out at his house.”

What’s interesting, though, is that because these sprite comics were very aware that they were about video games, this was where they sometimes got very meta. It started with humorous observation—hey, isn’t it funny that Link goes around breaking into people’s houses and smashing their pots? But sometimes, it grew into more serious commentary. Is Mega Man trapped in a never-ending cycle, doomed to fight the same fight against the same mad scientist until the end of time? Is it worth it, being a video game hero?

Enter Homestuck. What I’ve been dancing around this whole time is:

Homestuck is a sprite comic…because Homestuck is a video game.

Or more specifically, Homestuck’s a comic about a video game called SBURB, where the lines between the game and the comic about the game blur as characters wrestle with the narratives around them, both those encoded into the game and those encoded into our expectations.

Homestuck presents the fantasy of many a sprite comic maker: I get to go on heroic quests, I get to change the world and become a god. I get to be part of the video game. And then it asks the same question certain sprite comics were beginning to ask:

Is it worth it, to be that hero?

I want to tell you about my second favorite sprite comic, a comic called Kid Radd.

Kid Radd distinguished itself from other sprite comics of the time by being a completely original production. Its sprites looked like they could be from a variety of NES and SNES-era video games, but they were all done from scratch, and the games they purported to represent were all fictional. Kid Radd used animations with original music, and sometimes interactive, clickable games, to tell its story. It also used all sorts of neat programming tricks to make it load faster on the internet of the early 2000s, which was great—unfortunately, these same techniques made it break as web technology evolved, something Homestuck fans in 2019 can definitely relate to. The good news is, fans have maintained a dedicated and reformatted archive where the comics can still be seen and downloaded.

Kid Radd’s premise is that video game characters themselves are conscious and alive—more specifically, their sprites. Sprites developed consciousness as human beings projected personality and identity onto them, remaining aware of their status as video game constructs while also seeking to be something more. The story follows the titular Kid Radd, at first in the context of his own game, commenting on the choices the player controlling him. He must endure every death, every strange decision along the way to save his girlfriend Sheena. Then the story expands into a larger context as Radd, Sheena, and many other video game characters are released onto the internet as data. They try to find their own identities and build a society for themselves, but struggle with the tendency toward violence that games have programmed into them. The story culminates in an honestly moving moment where Radd confronts the all-powerful creators of their reality—human beings.

It’s a very good comic.

The first sprite comic authors wanted to fuse real life with video games. Later sprite comic authors decided to ask: what would that really mean? Would it be painful? Would you suffer? Would you find a way to make your life meaningful all the same? Despite the limitations of sprite comics, these ideas had incredible potential, and in works like Kid Radd, they flourished.

Homestuck is heir to that legacy.

It takes the questions Kid Radd was asking, and asks them in new ways. It tries to understand, on an even deeper level, how the rules of video games shape our own minds and give us ways to understand ourselves.

At its heart, Homestuck is a sprite comic, and it might just be the greatest of them all.

EPILOGUE

I’ve seen a lot of good discussion recently on how Homestuck preserves a certain era of the internet like a time capsule: its culture, its technology, its assumptions, its memes.

I think sprite comics, too, are part of the culture that created Homestuck. Do I think Hussie spent the early 2000s recoloring Mega Man sprites? No, probably not. But what I do know is that sprite comics were part of his world. The first webcomic cartoonists came of age alongside an odd companion, the weird, overly sincere, dorky little sibling that was sprite comics. Like them or hate them, you couldn’t escape them. They were there.

And maybe a certain cartoonist saw a kind of potential in them, in the same way he summoned Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff from the depths of bad gamer culture.

Or maybe he just knew, as some sprite comic authors did, that the time was right for their kind of story.

On a personal level—Homestuck came along right when I needed it.

Around 2009, the bubble that was sprite comics finally burst. People were getting tired of them, or growing out of them, and blown-up sprites no longer looked so good on modern monitors.

I was more than a little heartbroken. I’d enjoyed Bob and George, read my fill of Mega Man generica, and fallen utterly in love with Kid Radd. I’d been working on my own sprite comic for a long time out of a sense that there was huge potential in them that we were only scratching the surface of. I’d dreamed of maybe someday doing something as amazing as the best of them did. But I was watching that world disappear. I had to admit to myself that my work wasn’t going to continue to find an audience. That I could live with. But it was painful to think that the potential I sensed, the feats of storytelling I wanted to see in the world, would never be realized.

And then, in the fall of 2010, a friend linked me to a comic that broke all the rules, that mixed animation, games, music, images and chatlogs. A comic that crafted its own sprites, just as Kid Radd did, and remixed its images into an ever-expanding web of associations and meanings. A comic that took on the idea of living inside a video game with relish and turned it into a gorgeous meditation on escaping the ideas and systems that control us.

That this comic would exist, let alone that it would succeed. That it would become one of the most popular creations of all time, that it would surpass other webcomics and break out into anime conventions and the real world, that it would become such a cultural juggernaut, to the point where it’s impossible to imagine an internet without Homestuck—

I can’t even put into words how happy that makes me. It’s the reason I’m still writing essays about Homestuck nearly eight years after I found it.

And it’s why Homestuck will always be my favorite sprite comic.

-Ari

[Notes: The image of the kids came from the ever-useful MSPA Wiki—please support and aid in their efforts to provide a good source of info about Homestuck! They need more support these days than ever.

For more on Homestuck’s place as a continuation of the zeitgeist of early 2000s experimental webcomics, this article by Sam Keeper at Storming the Ivory Tower is excellent and insightful.

Thanks for reading, y’all.]

#homestuck analysis #homestuck #homestuck's influences #hypercomics #understanding homestuck #sprite comics #internet culture

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littlemeowmeowschimmy · 5 years

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Life’s Little Joys [Yoongi x Reader] 7

credit: littlemeowmeowschimmy

Requests opened // prev - m.list - next

Genre: Cute // Fluff // Smut // Angst

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn when your period comes five days late…

WC: 1.9k

A/N: I just realized, I hadn’t updated this in over two months. Oops

You stayed out for almost an hour and a half. It was beautiful living close to the city because you could just walk out of your apartment and venture around. The thought of being a mother terrified you, especially since your business was beginning to pick up traction. Furthermore, you couldn’t imagine the struggle to be a mother while your soon to be husband was traveling around the world.

Every little thing terrified you. Your parents were old fashion, in the sense that they wanted you to have children only after you were married. Maybe Yoongi's parent's wouldn't mind, but your parents would. Even thinking about it brought you to shiver at their reactions.

Finally, how the hell were you now supposed to fit into your wedding dress? It was only two weeks away, but you were already four weeks in. The thought of giving the child up, or even having an abortion was starting to creep in.

At four weeks, the baby had a heartbeat. You certainly didn't know if your body was starting to change, but you knew that the baby was a living being. In the end, it was your decision, and the thought was terrifying. You blamed yourself and your recklessness. You had said that you weren’t going to do anything stupid and now, now you were pregnant and only a couple weeks before your wedding.

During your almost mental break down, this journey brought you into a small store a few blocks away. You started to venture through the aisles. You were looking for little things for the apartment. Maybe more cleaning supplies, possibly even a few new pens. It's not like you needed any more, but it couldn't help to have some lying around. However, it landed you right where you least expected.

The baby aisle was filled with such small things. Anywhere from diapers to clothes, shoes, and much more. This wasn’t good for your health, as you were still stressing out over what you were going to do. Perhaps distracting yourself might help.

Your legs began to move faster than your mind could process. You ventured in, eyes glossy and wide as your fingers rubbed some of the clothes. Even touched the toys and other small trinkets. Your mouth dropped, and you were started to feel your eyes water. How much time you spent in this aisle you didn't know, but somehow it brought you some peace.

In doing so, you remembered you had to go and grab vitamins and other things. Mostly because you remembered picking these things up for your sister. As you thought more about it, the thought of scheduling an appointment with your doctor came. Once again, you were left to thinking about the future as your anxiety heightened again.

You needed to focus on yourself and getting the baby as healthy as possible. Everything else was going to fall into place....right?

»»————-　★　————-««

Everything was not falling into place. Those few weeks before and during your wedding was hectic. Trying to work around Yoongi’s schedule, keeping tabs on the small infant growing inside, as well as other little annoying events. You still hadn’t told your parents, and you were now six weeks pregnant. Thankfully, you hadn’t started to show, so it was easy to continue living life as is.

Your wedding dress had to be tweaked little since it was tight around your curves. Other than that, everything went to shit. The number of times you had to reschedule things and move different objects around was trying. Your close friend Yuri decided that she was going to take over all of the small logistical things. She was the only person outside of the six rambunctious brothers Yoongi hung out around, who knew you were pregnant. It took a lot of convincing, but Yuri finally won. Yoongi and the others pitched in as much as they could, even with their hectic schedule.

You had two different weddings on two separate days. One was for your side of the family, as the other was for Yoongi's. Your parents had originally come from the west, so they wanted more of a westernized wedding, while Yoongi's wanted a more traditional Korean. You weren't going to argue with either side as you tried to respect both wishes equally. So, after much discussion, you two decided it was best to split it into two different days.

The nights of your weddings passed as they were filled with drunken laughter and a bunch of kisses and hugs. Both families were extremely excited to welcome each party into their own. Yoongi's side kept giving you advice and dragging your poor husband, to which you laughed and played along. While your side did almost the exact same thing as Yoongi's. The way they got together made your little heart full and happy, enough to even make you cry.

Now fast forwards to you, snuggling up against your husband as he wrapped his arm around your waist. Pulling you close in as you two lay down in the penthouse. Your feet felt like they were going to be swollen, but your body was overcome with emotions. To say the least you were overstimulated. The baby talk hadn't come up since you left the house two weeks ago. Everything got in the way of you sitting down and talking to your husband. Even now, you didn't want to bring up such a heavy topic. All you wanted was to snuggle up to Yoongi comfortably and not think about anything.

“You doing alright?” Yoongi questions while shifting himself upwards. You glanced forwards at the television and shrugged your shoulders. Giving him a silent answer while you clung onto his waist. Yoongi noticed you were silent but didn’t press any further on the matter. Instead, he simply rubbed your back. Even raking his nails down to scratch certain parts of your body.

“I’m just thinking,” you eventually spoke, arching your back like a cat when he found the best spot. You groaned in his embrace, this giving him a small heads up as you wanted him to continue. Yoongi chuckled under his breath, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you react to his actions.

“About?”

“Everything.” You answered, puffing your cheeks out and then flattening them as your lips came to a thin line. You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes glued on his shirtless abdomen. Your brought one finger up to move around the faint line of muscle that was beginning to show. Before Yoongi could even elaborate on such a topic, you simply mumbled,” I hope your damn stylist doesn’t tell you to stop working out.”

This caught Yoongi off guard as his gummy smile emerged. He laughed at your small statement, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Your head moved back only for your eyebrows to furrow as you looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles in between fits of laughter. His right hand comes up to grab your wrist, then his fingers slowly move up to wrap around yours. Bringing your hand up, Yoongi places a kiss on your knuckles and then sets it down by his waist.

It went silent again as you and Yoongi embraced each other. You were solely focused on how his body was slowly changing due to their workouts. You didn’t mind at all because he was starting to take care of himself. Especially after the scare, he gave when he lost all that weight because he wasn’t eating. Now you got to pinch his chubby cheeks and call him a sweet boiled dumpling. Which he didn’t particularly enjoy, but he wasn’t going to stop you. Instead, he welcomed it more than anything.

Yoongi was focused on figuring out what was going on inside your head. He had been with you long enough to know that you weren't going to talk about something until you were ready about it. However, that didn't excuse him from asking questions and figuring out something. Yoongi was just as worried about the baby as you were concerned about it. Everything happened so quickly that he didn't know how to process it himself.

“Baby?” Yoongi questions shifting himself once again, this time letting go of your hand and replacing it by touching your back again.

“Hm?”

“When are we going to tell our parents?” you froze at the thought. Yes, it had occurred to you to tell them, but you were just as afraid as Yoongi was. Maybe his parents would be only a little more understanding, but yours, perhaps not. The thought of telling them brought you to roll over out of his hold. You sat up on the edge of the bend, running your fingers through your hair as you crossed your legs.

“I’m not entirely sure Yoongs,” you mentioned biting your lower lip in thought. At first, you hadn’t noticed when his weight shifted on the bed. Yoongi moved closer in, pressing your back against his chest. He gently places his hands on your stomach, his chin resting on your left shoulder. Making his breath hitting your skin, that caused goosebumps to form.

“After the small honeymoon?” he muses, placing gentle kisses along the collum of your neck. Oh, so now someone wanted to change the subject. You giggled at his attempt to get you into the mood. It was undoubtedly working because you were interested now.

“I can handle that.” you mused, allowing your husband to roam your neck further. This honeymoon was something you two needed. Considering that the group had a comeback lurking in the future. You wanted to spend as much time as you possibly could before your lives got crazy once again.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into a month and a half. You two didn’t venture out of Korea; however, you ventured out of Seoul. It was a collective decision to stay in Korea, just in case the company needed him. You two took your time traveling among places you hadn’t explored in Korea yet. Going to traditional towns and eating many different delicious foods. Since an infant was growing, your appetite had gone up exponentially.

Yoongi was amused by how much you were eating, and now he decided to call you a boiled dumpling. After all the weeks he spent getting pinched, it was his turn for revenge. Maybe in hopes that you would stop, but you never did. Yoongi’s puffy cheeks were absolutely adorable, and there was nothing that was going to stop you.

In doing so, you were twelve and a half months pregnant, and a small bump was showing. You had to check in with your doctor over the phone or webcast, but she eventually decided that it was time to come in for a gender reveal. You hadn’t sad anything to your parents, so you decided to wait a few more weeks. Just to give you enough time to sit down and talk to them.

On the ride home, Yoongi held your hand tightly. “We can pass through

Daegu if you want..” You mentioned chewing on your lower lip. Your parents lived in Busan, so it wasn’t that far of a drive to Daegu. Yoongi puffed his cheeks, which made you want to touch. In doing so, Yoongi saw your hand creep close and gently smacked it away. He gave you a gummy smile, then stuck his tongue out.

“If we’re going to do that,” he ventures. “Then we’re going to say hello to Holly.” turning to give you one more gummy smile before stepping on the gas and heading straight for home.

#littlemeowmeowschimmy #bangtanarmynet #bts series #bts #bangtan boys #baby au #bts baby au #reader insert #bts reader insert #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts fluff

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 3

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Malcolm didn’t get a second of sleep that night. After more than an hour tossing and turning in bed, mind racing, he reluctantly reached for his tablet and glasses, turning on the bedside lamp.

A simple Google search turned up hundreds of thousands of articles on inheritance, but none seemed to offer any solutions to receiving the inheritance without meeting the stipulations of the will. He was an old man, perhaps he was going senile? Why would he do this?

He shot off an email to the will executor and solicitor, asking Is it possible he was not in sound mind? Is there a previous version of the will that doesn’t include this marriage requirement?

It was likely a vain hope, but he had to try. Resolving to forget about the marriage idea for the moment, he turned his attention to finding a job posting board. After a few false starts he tried charity administrator openings London, and with a sigh, began reading through the first posting.

No matter what happens, this is going to suck. Thanks a lot, Uncle Wally.

Friday

By the time his alarm went off he was dressed and ready to go, texting Graham to cancel his morning pickup and deciding to take the Underground instead. Pausing just outside the gate and staring up at the townhouse, he realized with a jolt, Everything I have is tied up in the Estate. If I lose this inheritance, I lose everything.

At twenty-seven he’d fled Glasgow before the ink on his divorce papers was dry, bringing Clara to London for a fresh start. His uncle had been kind enough to give him a job working for The Thistle Foundation in the mailroom, and he spent most of the next decade working his way up and earning his keep until Wallace decided to retire, leaving Malcolm in charge. The townhouse went with the Estate, having been owned by the family since shortly after it was built, and he didn’t so much draw a salary from the Foundation as receive a stipend from his uncle.

I’m fifty years old and have almost nothing to my name.

It had always been a given that he would inherit; Wallace had never had children, his only sibling Malcolm’s father, and Malcolm was in effect an only child, his brother having died decades ago. He’d never had to worry about assets, had few personal expenses. To lose the Estate would cost him everything.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, barely making it through the doors onto the platform before they closed. Coming up to street-level he looked around, catching sight of the little shop Rose usually got their morning coffees from, only recognizing it by the familiar logo.

Stepping inside, it wasn’t until he was facing the cashier he realized he had no idea what Rose usually ordered. “Erm, hi. I don’t do this, my assistant is usually in here – pretty, blonde, big smile, name of Rose? D’you-”

“Oh, you must be Malcolm!” the girl, Amy, gushed, eyes lighting up. “Of course we know Rose, she’s in here everyday! Oi, Mel, Rose’s regular order, stat!” She turned back to him, finding him blinking at her in surprise. “Always nice to meet a fellow Scot. Rose is great, isn’t she?”

“The absolute best,” he agreed proudly, unsurprised but touched by the impression she obviously left everywhere she went. That’s my gi- that’s Rose. “I’d be hopelessly lost without her.”

“Too right. Anyway, here we are, that’s ten quid,” she passed over two large takeaway cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

Right. Feeling like a moron, entirely out of sorts after first the previous day’s bombshell and then no sleep, he dug out a twenty-pound note and thrust it across the space. “Keep the change. Thanks.”

Picking up the order he made his way to the door, more focused on the drinks than where he was walking, elbowing open the door and slamming right into someone entering. “Shit!” He barely managed to keep hold of everything, coffee sloshing dangerously but only spilling a little, and he looked up to give the person a piece of his mind only to stop dead in surprise. “Oh, fuck me.”

Rose arched one eyebrow in response, a smile flickering over her lips. “I’d rather not get banned from here, if it’s all the same to you, ta.” She plucked one of the cups from his hand, lifting it to her nose before taking a large gulp. “What’re you doing here?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk they started down the street towards their building, falling naturally into sync.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in early. I saw the place, and…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she echoed, rolling her eyes. “Clara stopped by, talked my ear off until half two. Decided to just get a move on.”

The silence was awkward, which only served to annoy him; they had always had a good rapport, after the first six or so months once she had settled into her role. Now, eight years later he considered their partnership to be a well-oiled machine, two halves of a whole despite the on-paper power imbalance.

He held the door for her as they entered their building, nodding to the security guards as they buzzed through. Rose hit the button on the lift for their floor, and they rode up alone.

Malcolm followed her to her desk, watching as she flicked on the lights and shrugged off her coat, vaguely curious to her routine; she typically arrived only a few minutes before him- long enough to be settled and ready to face the day, but recent enough that his coffee was always hot and fresh.

“Oh!” she yelped, turning around to see him leaning on the corner of her desk, watching her. “D’you need something? My computer’s still booting up.”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, before he sighed, shoulders slumping. “No, I’m good. Just- oh, you know what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office.” Extracting his muffin from the pastry bag he slunk into his office, falling into his desk chair and turning to gaze listlessly out the window.

What am I supposed to do?

It was, quite frankly, the worst day of Rose’s professional career. Things got done, most of her duties able to be completed on autopilot after so long, but she could muster no spark to put into any of it. No banter. None of her signature Rose Tyler charm.

Her computer dinged and she glanced up from where she was poking at her salad halfheartedly to groan. “Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking shitting me.”

“Rose Tyler!” Malcolm’s delighted voice made her jump and yelp, “I’m so proud of you. That was almost a proper swear.”

“Missy’s on her way up,” she didn’t even look at him, clicking on the IM box from Mickey, the building’s security guard and one of her oldest friends. It was just an emoji, two wide eyes, but it was their code. “What do you want me to do?”

He sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll see her. I swear, she must have my office bugged or something.”

The lift dinged, and she raised her eyes to glance at him. He looks like he’s having as rough a day as I am. He’d said he hadn’t slept; had it been for the same reason she hadn’t? No, he was probably thinking about the gala. Of course it was about that, dingbat. “I’ll send her in.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared back into his office as Missy walked in, and Rose had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing or rolling her eyes. What did he ever see in her? Missy Tucker was without comparison the most extravagant, eccentric person she’d ever met, and that included all of her mother’s rich society ‘friends’.

“Good afternoon, welcome to The Thistle Foundation, do you have an appointment?” Rose asked sweetly, as the older woman approached her desk.

“I’d like to see my husband, please.” Missy’s smile was just as fake-sweet as Rose’s, as they went through the whole song-and-dance. One of the very first things Rose had been taught on her first day, by both Malcolm and her predecessor Jo, was to stall Missy as long as possible, making enough trouble that she didn’t find it worth it to visit the office.

This is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, Rose lectured herself, pretending to stare intently at her screen for a moment. “I can give you a few minutes, but he has a call at one that he can’t miss.”

“Thank you.” And she swept past Rose into Malcolm’s office.

Once the door shut behind her, Rose let loose an undignified snort. Taking a subtle picture with her mobile, she texted it to Clara with the caption Your mum’s here.

Missy Tucker was the subject of ongoing amusement amongst the three; every time she appeared after months of no contact she had an entirely different style, often with a slight tweak to her features suggesting she was a fan of cosmetic surgery. Today her chosen look was that of evil Mary Poppins, complete with a plum-colored ankle-length skirt and matching dress coat, a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck with an elaborate bow, black heeled boots, a delicate hat, and an umbrella Rose would swear was an actual prop from the movie.

She looked ridiculous, and like she would be right at home as the evil orphanage matron in a Victorian version of Annie!

Are you fucking kidding me? Clara pinged back almost immediately. I love my Dad, but God I wish I was adopted. Please tell me I didn’t inherit her fashion sense!

Snickering, Rose shook her head and returned to her work polishing up her resume. At precisely one o’clock she buzzed in on the intercom, using what Clara called her flight attendant voice. “Malcolm, I have that potential donor on line two.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

A moment later the door opened and Missy stalked out, a murderous expression on her face. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she threatened her ex over her shoulder, ignoring Rose as she stormed towards the lift.

Rose waited until the lift doors closed before rising and entering Malcolm’s office. “So?”

He was lying on his couch with his head back against the cushions, a crystal cut glass of scotch hanging loosely from his hand. “She wants to reconcile, says she’s changed, wants to go back to what we once were.”

“What did you say?” She settled gingerly on the end of the glass coffee table by his head, watching as he opened tired eyes to stare at her.

“That who we were went up in a flaming pile of shit twenty-three years ago when I caught her high in bed with the babysitter on our fifth wedding anniversary. That who we were was a childhood friendship that went too far. That who we were died many, many years ago.”

He looked so sad, Rose’s heart went out to him.

“It’s far, far too late now. A part of me will always miss that, always wonder, but… It’s ancient history. Never mind that this is all because of Wallace’s death and the inheritance. She didn’t say it, but I know her. Anything that even sniffs of money or power and she’s first in line, plotting how to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered, giving him a kind smile. “You deserve better than her.”

Sighing, he struggled upright, turning to plant his feet on the ground and set the untouched glass of scotch on the coffee table next to her. “Thanks.”

Their eyes met, and for once, she didn’t blush and look away. Clara’s question from the previous night circled back through her mind, and she let herself actually see him. Ice blue eyes capable of such a coldness shined back, warm and open, something only a privileged few were allowed to see. His strong features could be severe, Clara had once called them attack eyebrows, but when he smiled… his entire face would light up, almost like he was a different person.

She'd always found him attractive, may have had the occasional fantasy involving them, a bottle of wine, and a hot tub, but love?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically licked her own. She would be lying if she said she’d never wondered – didn’t everyone, at some point? He drew closer, and she realized that she was leaning in; they were both leaning in. Is this really happening?

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding, and she could feel his breath against her lips when-

“Dad?”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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threadsketchier · 5 years

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Whumptober #17 - “Stay with me”

Some of y’all may remember my old Melodramatic Space Trash™, I’ll Come With You. I took it down a few years back after getting epically stuck and then growing displeased with it overall. It’s in Princess Bride “mostly dead” territory, but...only mostly dead. After I wrote “A Hard Question” I decided that if ICWY were to keep existing I stubbornly wanted to connect them by having AHQ become the prologue of ICWY, and just bridge everything with my Zahn 2.0 series. But I digress.

For those of you thinking WTF is this story, ICWY is a “I LOL’ed & then I srs’ed” take on “Shattered Ties” by Jedi_Lover. AKA, Mara suffers irreversible amnesia of the events of Vison of the Future and is stuck with a dubious Force bond that’s not all rainbows and sunshine to deal with. Because, taken seriously, this plot is arguably a disservice to Mara in saddling her with more mental issues for sake of Luke’s manpain, I wanted to take more consideration on the consequences for her in any future revision. BUT I DIGRESS. This is the opening of Chapter 1, which has only had minor tweaks from its original version to make it fit with the new prologue. The first several paragraphs consisted of direct quotes from VotF in order to dovetail the story from there, so there’s a bit of that snipped here. Note the difference in Luke’s catchphrase for attempting to wake Mara carried over from AHQ.

He was standing in a pool just off the edge of the last of the underground rivers he and Mara had passed during their trip through the caverns. Five meters to his left, the torrent that had brought them here had vanished, leaving only the river rippling its sedate way along.

And two meters to his right, bobbing gently in the pool as she floated beside the craggy rock, was Mara. Her eyes closed, her arms and legs limp. As if in death. The precise image he'd seen of her in that Jedi vision on Tierfon.

And then he was at her side, raising her head out of the water, gazing at her face in sudden fear. If the trance hadn't kept her alive – if she'd struck something hard enough to kill her after he'd lost his grip on her –

Behind him, R2 whistled impatiently. “Right,” Luke agreed, cutting off his sudden panic. All he had to do to bring her out of it was speak the key phrase she'd chosen, the phrase she'd wondered aloud if he could handle. Almost as if she was afraid he couldn't…

He took a deep breath. “Come with me.”

There was no response.

A sickening dread began to clench his gut. Forcing calm into his voice, he repeated himself, a tremor still escaping him as he enunciated each word more clearly. “Come with me, Mara.” An almost manic hope that perhaps this was just a fiendish little trick of hers skittered across the back of his mind. Perhaps she had heard him all along and was only pretending, trying to scare the wits out of him for old times' sake. But he knew it wasn't true even as the thought crossed; however brief it was, the disorientation upon emergence from a trance wouldn't have allowed her to pull it off.

Only the quiet rush of the river answered him. Mara lay still and flaccid, eyes closed and mouth slack, a blue tinge to her lips.

“No.” The denial left him in a moan. “Mara, no. Please.” Echoing slightly off the cavern walls, R2's anxious fluting joined his exclamations and went ignored. Despair made his grasp on the Force as slippery as the sodden rock around him, and he crushed it down until it coalesced into a near-physical pain deep within his chest. He needed his senses now more than ever, to find if–

Instantly Luke was hefting her up and struggling his way out of the pool toward the nearest surface where he could lay her flat. She was not gone. Not yet. But she was near the edge and fading fast, her heart locked in either v-fib or a faint spasm of pulseless electrical activity. He didn't know if her lungs were waterlogged, but it was irrelevant at the moment. How many minutes had she already been in this state?

As it had been with the sentinel droids, his entire focus was narrowed to this one desperate task: to revive her, somehow. Fear, fury, and even expectations had to be cast aside as he began vigorous compressions. He could not fight the will of the Force, but he would fight as long as he still had her, even if only by a thread.

“Artoo!” he shouted, splitting his concentration just long enough to seize him in a mental grip and lift him over the water and terrain. “Get your arc welder out. I'm gonna need a charge.” More elaborate ideas were quickly dismissed in favor of the simplest solution. With the extra power packs, R2 likely still carried enough energy to spare at least one, possibly two, jolts strong enough to attempt defibrillation, although the effort would drain it significantly. A monophasic electrical impulse was not ideal, requiring more power and risking serious burns, but there was no other choice. The fact that they were all drenched just made it that much more dangerous. There were so many factors that he could not control without having a medpac's auto-defib for diagnostic measurements and adjustments.

All he could do was listen for the songbirds, to tell him how much and when.

“You ready?” At R2's affirmative chirp and the whir of his arc welder extending, Luke paused compressions for only a moment to gather a fistful of the charred fabric around Mara's shoulder and tear it violently to expose enough bare skin for the tip of the appendage to rest near her heart. The incurable gallantry within him, in a bittersweet way, was relieved that there was no need to fully expose her. Despite her usual crassness and pragmatism, this was not the way he would have ever wanted to see her, the last of her dignity literally ripped away.

“You need to press down hard, Artoo. Now juice it up, and I'll tell you when to shoot, okay?”

Beneath his hands he felt something give way with a soft pop, and strangled down sharp regret at having either broken cartilage or bone. It was almost inevitable with crude manual resuscitation.

Be careful.

Always, Farmboy.

But he hadn’t been careful enough. He’d come here to protect her, hoping to save her. But the harder he tried to prevent his visions, the more inevitable they seemed.

R2 blurted readiness, and Luke plunged into the Force, pleading for that precious guidance. Electrons gathered until…

“Now!” He pushed himself backwards, completely away from Mara and any residual water around her, and the astromech shot current straight into her. He watched her body twitch from the shock. Wheeping urgent queries, R2 leaned back to lift the welder off of her. Luke reached for her neck, but the tension had not cleared from his mind; it hadn't worked. To his horror, he noticed her arms starting to curl up and her fingers gnarling in decorticate posturing, an ominous sign of brain damage.

Gritting his teeth, he resumed compressions. “Again, Artoo. We have to try again. Same thing.” The droid's reply was blatantly nervous; it certainly wasn't accustomed to delivering what, in any other situation, would be harmful toward a non-hostile organic being. Astromechs weren't medical droids, no matter how heavily modified.

If it failed a second time, other options were far less viable. His bionic hand wouldn't contain enough power for that kind of discharge, and releasing energy from the few other electronic items they had left would either be inadequate or potentially deadly. Even after years of study, he knew he did not quite have the same deep, fine biological control that an instinctive healer such as Cilghal possessed. His own body was a living battery, but he had never attempted a Force technique for making any use of it that wouldn't involve Sith lightning, not to mention that he stood the chance of killing himself with such a wild endeavor. After everything they'd been through and divulged to one another, Mara would sooner prefer to die than see him call upon the darkness as a solution to save her.

He would have to let her go.

You've defeated my clone, you've slain a mad Dark Jedi, you've braved vornskrs, you've prevented Thrawn's rebirth, you've spat in the face of death a dozen, a hundred times. Fight back, Mara. Fight back for us.

Again R2's welder came down on Mara's chest. “Go!” he cried, and held his breath.

She convulsed a little harder than before. This time R2 rolled backwards, knowing a third try was beyond its capacity. Electrons dispersed haphazardly, depolarizing wayward cells, and for a split second her heart and his world were still.

Then he felt nerves fire in return, and it might as well have been the ignition of a new star.

Springing forward, Luke sealed his lips against hers and sighed out his pent-up conviction into her lungs, half the battle won. That's it, Mara. Come on. You're almost there. He breathed for her until he felt her diaphragm hitch, and sour water suddenly shot into his own mouth before he could detach; he rolled her onto her side as she gagged and coughed weakly. Her pulse was rapid and thready at first, but gaining strength. Hot pressure built up behind his eyes and a sob of relief escaped him.

“You did it, Artoo.” There had been many times, Luke mused, when his faithful droid had been worth double its weight in platinum, and this was one more of them. No, truly, R2 had no price.

Mara was breathing but not regaining consciousness; her eyes remained half-lidded and rolled back in their sockets. Luke refocused his senses on her to try to discern any injuries she might have suffered from their brutal journey through the lake's drainage that had caused the hibernation trance to fail. He shuddered to consider that it was his fault, that he had not done a thorough job in slowing down her functions and she had nearly drowned from his own hasty negligence. He'd been so certain that it was effective when she'd gone to sleep in his arms.

Across her head, however, he picked up a glaring area of inflammation, and it soon became clear that she had indeed collided with something on the way. It didn't lessen the pangs of guilt. If only he'd managed to hang onto her the entire way…

He would have needed a greater level of consciousness, enough that he would have run out of oxygen sooner and drowned himself. Or even slammed into the same spot she had, and neither of them would have survived. He could perfectly picture her chiding him once more about uncontrollable factors.

“Mara,” Luke whispered, still afraid but now suffused with hope, “we're getting out of here. Hang on.” The words were more for his own encouragement, for he knew she couldn't hear him. He bent and brushed his lips against hers before carefully lifting her again, and set his concentration on healing her as he began to follow the river's path out of the caverns.

#i lived bitch #i mean the fic not just mara lol #whumptober2019 #no.17 #my fics #star wars #luke skywalker #mara jade #r2d2 #ICWY #zahn 2.0

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askcarlyle · 4 years

Note

Dear sir, if I may inquire, how is the circus intending to celebrate Christmas this year? A more fanciful performance? Some sort of reindeer parade to match the one with the elephants?

Dear Anonymous,

As you may have discovered from the newspaper reviews that appeared in the month since this query was submitted, we did indeed have special holiday programming at the circus. We’ve added and tweaked things each year, but the aim has always been to create a sort of fantastical winter wonderland for our visitors to lose themselves in. With the new acreage and tent, we have been able to expand this vision in more recent years beyond what had initially just been a themed show at the former location.

This past season, we removed the audience seating and turned the show into more of a carnival-style affair. 12 small stations were set up, forming a large oval, to depict the 12 Days of Christmas. Different acts took shifts performing at each station throughout the day, each with their own interpretation of the theme. For instance, Miss Wheeler had an aerial routine at Five Golden Rings that involved five small golden rings suspended at various heights and the voodoo twins did a lovely interpretative dance for Two Turtle Doves. This style of programming allowed us to include our entire roster and provided more variety than would fit in a normal night’s schedule. One entrance ticket allowed guests to stay all day if they desired, and see all the constantly changing sights. Stepping outside of our normally structured limits also gave the audience members a chance to experience our acts on a more intimate scale, approaching within arm’s distance rather than having to remain in their seats.

In addition to performers, we also had roaming food and souvenir vendors selling seasonal treats, such as elaborately iced gingerbread elephants and peppermint candy floss beards. Outside the tent, the carousel was decorated in garlands of spruce and candles, as was the miniature locomotive, and the exotic-animal-drawn carriages were outfitted with velvet bows and jingle bells. The largest tree we could procure was placed in center ring and covered with an almost unimaginable amount of tinsel and ribbons. PT has a love of tinsel that borders on obsession, I’ve discovered.

Mr. Barnum, as you may have guessed, took great delight in donning his own version of a Santa Claus outfit and sitting at the center of it all in a gilded sleigh. Yours truly might have been issued a similarly designed costume as Santa’s helper, which seemed the lesser of two evils when the other option was a rather voluminous Mrs. Claus gown.

Although city ordinances have limited our parade allowance to twice a year, due to the need for increased sanitation and crowd patrols after each of them, reindeer sound like a wonderful addition. I am rather surprised we have not yet explored it, though I suppose it might come down to their practicality throughout the rest of the year. Still, it would definitely add to the seasonal charm of our Christmas village attraction and is something I shall look into for the future.

Hoping the new year is treating you well,

Phillip Carlyle

#Anonymous #tgs #the greatest showman #pt barnum #phillip carlyle #barlyle #anne wheeler #voodoo twins #circus fam

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darylwillfightnatureforcarol · 4 years

Text

Back To The Past Chapter 7

Description: Future Daryl finally comes face to face with his past self.

Back To The Past

It took him a long time to fall asleep that night. For one thing he was still hungry.

Shane’s interruption had also interrupted his chance at dinner. The former deputy had only been merciful enough to allow him to relieve himself on occasion. Always at gun point.

For another thing, his wrists burned, and his back was cramped as hell.

Eventually, he did manage to drift off.

Daryl snapped awake with a gasp. His breath coming heavy and his chest burning. He closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the tree. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming but it was not anything good. He tried taking in slow, deep breaths.

It was something the book he had picked up in Atlanta encouraged. It was helpful for PTSD apparently, and they seemed to be onto something. Whenever Daryl had dreams like that, he used the technique, which helped him get himself back under control.

He heard voices then. They sounded panicked. Off all things, he also heard a car alarm.

He frowned trying to clear his mind of the fog his nightmare had left over him. Car alarm. Why was that familiar?

It clicked in his mind then.

Glenn.

He had heard about Glenn’s ride back from Atlanta in the flashy, red sports car.

He allowed a smile as he remembered Glenn explaining it with a wistful expression, mourning the loss of the car. It had gotten dismantled for parts.

His smile dropped quickly though as thoughts of Glenn recalled his death. It was always what happened when he thought about Glenn. He could never make it too far through the good times before he was back in the clearing with Negan.

But now, Glenn was alive. Another person Daryl had a chance to save. Glenn would get to see his future son grow up.

Daryl focussed his attention to the source of the commotion. Luckily, he wasn’t tied up too far from the main area of camp.

The alarm was cut off soon and the voices became clearer.

He heard people greeting the returnees. Amy eagerly meeting her sister.

He listened to the idle chatter before he heard Carl’s excited scream of “Dad.”

Daryl heart stuttered as he realised that Rick must have made his presence known. He felt himself getting choked up, thinking back to the last time he saw his best friend and brother. Across the water, on a bridge, that quickly became a ruin of smoke and flames.

Another life to save.

His reminiscing was cut short by a wince, as he heard his own arrival on the scene.

He listened to his past self complain about the loss of the deer he had been tracking. Understandable really, but he supposed he could have been a bit more tactful.

Then he listened as he called for Merle.

He cringed as he listened to the showdown between himself and Rick. Thinking back, he couldn’t believe that he had thrown his squirrels at him.

He heard Shane address his past self. Heard him ask him to follow him.

Well, this was gonna be interesting.

(From here on Daryl from the future will be referred to as Daryl)

Daryl waited, (not that he had much choice), as the footsteps grew closer. He was not looking forward to this conversation.

He knew his past self was not going to believe any of this. Daryl didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t if someone else had said it to him. Hell, he hadn’t, the day when Eugene had revealed his creation.

“This is some damn bullshit,” he heard himself mutter as they neared.

Shane led the way over. He watched his younger self squint as he looked at him against the tree. Shane crossed his arms.

“Well, tell him,” Shane urged him. He could tell the deputy was still sceptical himself.

Daryl sighed.

“I’m you, from the future.”

He didn’t bother beating around the bush about it. He wasn’t going to believe him either way.

His younger self stared at him for a long while before scoffing.

“What?” he said, looking annoyed.

“He says he’s you from the future. I figure you’d be the only one who could confirm that,” Shane took over explaining.

Younger Daryl gave him a glare.

“Confirm what? That this guy’s fucking crazy?”

Shane looked between them before he shifted.

“Hang on. I know it sounds like bullshit but there’s something going on. Look closer at him man. There’s certainly a resemblance there,” Shane said.

Younger Daryl gave him another look of annoyance before looking back at his future self. He cocked his head to the side. He moved closer and his eyes searched over his face.

Daryl watched as his past self’s eyes grew wider. He looked surprised and confused.

“I always thought I might have other siblings out there but…” his younger self breathed, still looking shocked.

Daryl huffed and shook his head.

“I ain’t your brother. I’m you.”

“Bullshit,” his younger self bit out with a glare, “Time travel ain’t possible.”

“That’s what I thought too, before it was,” he glared back at himself.

No wonder people got fed up with him in the beginning. He was a pain in the ass.

“Why don’t you explain how this happened? That’s what I want to hear,” Shane cut in, looking intrigued. “If you’re from the future, I wanna know how you got here.”

“Why bother? You ain’t gonna believe me anyway,” he spat, getting tired of the interrogation.

“Humour me,” Shane encouraged with a sarcastic smirk.

Daryl shook his head but figured, why not?

“I’m from close to ten years in the future. There’s this guy we met on the road. He’s a pain in the ass, but super smart,” he started to explain.

Shane and Daryl watched him carefully. His younger self still held a glare on his face. Not surprising considering that had been his default expression back then.

“We had this incident. A satellite crashed from space. He took pieces from it, and worked on a damned time machine in secret,” Daryl said, still not believing the absurdity of it. Of course, only Eugene would think to even build such a thing in the world they lived in.

“There was… An accident a couple of weeks ago. People died,” Daryl spoke carefully, trying to keep the pictures his words conjured from his head. It didn’t matter that he had prevented it. He’d still watched it happen.

Shane and his younger self continued to watch him silently, with interest and distrust respectively.

“So, Eugene comes to me one day, out of the blue and asks me to go back in time to try to stop the accident,” Daryl finished, knowing it sounded far too simple.

Shane frowned.

“I thought you said this accident was weeks ago. From what you’ve told us, this is years ago for you.”

Daryl nodded. He would need to choose his words carefully next.

“It is. The original plan was to send me back those few weeks, but I couldn’t stop thinking, ‘what if I could stop other things from happening?’ So, I asked him to send me back to the start. We didn’t know if it would work, but I needed to try.”

It was a little tweak of the truth.

Shane and his younger self were quiet for a while. They both looked deep in thought.

“So, you came back to help us?” Shane broke the silence, looking dubious.

It was close enough to the truth. While Carol and Sophia were his main priority, he certainly hoped to try to save the others too.

“That’s right,” he confirmed with a nod.

Shane still looked a little sceptic, but it was less pronounced than it originally was. He was starting to believe him, at least a bit, Daryl realised.

His younger self, on the other hand…

“What a load of crap!” he spat as he continued to glare at himself. His younger self chanced a look at Shane. “You can’t really believe this shit?”

Shane looked at him, where he still sat tied to the tree. There was uncertainty in his eyes.

“I don’t know, man. It’s almost crazy enough that it’s gotta be true. I mean, why would someone make this up?”

“Because he’s fucking nuts, that’s why!”

Daryl watched them argue, blocking out their voices.

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy to convince them. His younger self had such a chip on his shoulder that he wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. He just needed to think of something that would demonstrate that he couldn’t possibly be lying.

Shane moved closer to him, and despite his protests, grabbed his hand. He held it out towards his younger self.

“Look man, same tattoo,” Shane proclaimed as he tilted Daryl’s hand, presenting the star between his thumb and forefinger.

Daryl looked down at his own hand with a frown. He shook his head.

“Nah, look at his other hand. I don’t got that!” his past self argued with a wild look in his eyes. It was like he was desperate to prove this was not true.

Shane picked up his other hand and examined the skull tattoo with the smaller x’s on his knuckles. He looked at him with a question in his eyes.

There was a tattoo artist that they had found outside the walls and along his travels, he had managed to pick himself up a kit of supplies. He had set himself up at Hilltop to offer his services. Regardless of the day to day struggles they faced, people still wanted tattoos apparently. Most people used it to remember a loved one that they had lost.

Daryl’s new tattoos had been designed by Judith.

She had drawn him little designs for a whole week before she declared this was the one. She explained that the skull was badass, like him, and the crosses represented the family that shared a home together, a cross for each person. One for Michonne, One for Judith, One for RJ, and One for Carol. He’d never planned on getting anymore ink but he decided, fuck it, why not?

“I got them later,” he finally said.

Shane and Daryl frowned and shared a look.

“You met a tattoo artist later. In this world?” Shane asked with doubt.

“Yeah,” Daryl answered simply with a shrug of his shoulders. Then he figured he should elaborate, “Things are different later. The world’s different.”

“Different how?” Shane questioned, while Daryl chewed his lip, still watching himself distrustfully.

“Jus’ different. It’s a long story and I don’t know enough ‘bout time travel to know if telling you any of this is gonna fuck with things,” he explained.

It was true.

He had no idea what revealing any information could do to things. Him even being here, face to face with himself could be screwing everything up for all he knew.

Shane considered that before conceding a nod.

“You gotta give us something though. We can’t just take your word for it, man,” Shane begged with less of the cocky tone he had been sporting.

Daryl thought for a moment.

“Your partner. His name’s Rick. He got shot before all this went down and he was in a coma. You tried to get him out of the hospital, but you left him there.”

Shane’s eyes were wide, and he was looking at Daryl with shock. There were even a few tears in his eyes.

Daryl found it hard to reconcile this image of the man with the one he had last seen. Plotting against Rick and trying to kill him.

Could he end up saving Shane too?

Lori was still around, so he doubted it.

“How do you know that?” Shane breathed, and rubbed a hand over his head.

“Because he told me. Years later he told me how you explained to him what went down.”

Shane looked like he’d been knocked down a peg or two.

“All this shit still ain’t proved nothin’ ‘bout how you’re me,” his younger self interrupted with a glare. “You don’t even act like me or talk like me.”

“Well…” Shane trailed off with a look between them.

Daryl shot him a look.

“I changed. Met a lot of people who helped me be better. Believe it or not, but Rick Grimes is one of them,” Daryl revealed with misty eyes.

He never stopped missing him. Even through the disagreements they had in the lead up to his death, he never stopped loving Rick.

Younger Daryl didn’t look like he believed that for a second.

Daryl huffed. They were going in circles. They could be here for hours and they were never going to believe.

“Fuck this, I’m going to get my brother,” his younger self spat as he turned to start marching off.

His heart skipped a beat as an idea came to him.

He hated this idea. It went against every part of him and he warred with himself about it.

“Wait!” he called out, making his past self pause.

Daryl swallowed heavily and addressed Shane this time.

“Untie me. I can prove it,” he choked out, feeling his skin prickling with anticipation.

He didn’t want to do this.

But he had no choice. It was the only way his younger self would believe him.

Shane hesitated a moment before, after a careful examination of Daryl’s demeanour, he approached the tree and set to work undoing the knots.

His younger self had turned to face him once more and was watching and waiting for the proof that Daryl proclaimed to have.

When the ropes fell to the ground, Shane watched him warily as if waiting for him to make a move.

Daryl stood on shaky legs. The circulation had begun to get cut off from being in the cramped, uncomfortable pose for so long.

He stood before Shane and Daryl for a moment, dragging it out. He sighed, he just had to do it. Rip off the band-aid.

“Sorry,” he muttered, meeting his past self’s gaze before he brought his hands up and unbuttoned his vest, before tossing it aside.

He then set to work on his long-sleeved shirt, his fingers trembling. He let the shirt fall open and then, not letting himself think too much about it, he pushed it off his arms, letting it fall to the ground. He sucked in a deep breath before turning to present his back to them.

“Jesus,” he heard Shane whisper.

Daryl kept his head down, trying to keep his breathing steady. Every part of him wanted to run. To grab up his shirt and cover himself.

He heard soft footsteps and knew they couldn’t be Shane’s. He walked like Rick. Too loud.

He stood with his back turned, letting them both get their fill of his mangled back. He knew his younger self wouldn’t be able to argue further now.

The memories were on display right in front of him.

He felt something soft brush his arm from behind and he looked down. It was his shirt.

He turned and came face to face with himself. There was a haunted look in his younger eyes and the rage that had been present only moments ago was gone.

Daryl held out the shirt towards him.

He took it with shaking hands. He wasted no time in shoving his arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up with speed.

“He’s me,” Daryl breathed.

#caryl #carylers #caryl on #caryl positivity #caryl fanfiction #caryl fanfic #carol and daryl #daryl and carol #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #carol peletier #daryl dixon

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