#as far as the cat's concerned she probably has crystals again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vickysaurus · 3 years

Text

What if season 5 was two seasons?

So watching through season 5, I kept noticing how fast the pacing had to be with the amount plot threads there were and how often I went ‘I wish we saw more of X’. So as I’ve mentioned a couple of times, I’ve started wondering if it might’ve been better if its story had been spread over two seasons rather than one. Now, obviously I understand that kind of change would not have been in the crew’s hands and no matter what they wanted would likely have been impossible. This is not intended as a ‘they should’ve just done this’ but as a thought experiment. Would a sixth season even have worked? So I’m gonna try and figure out how season 5′s content might’ve been done over two seasons in an alternate universe. In order to keep straight how far in the seasons we are, I’m gonna number the episodes 5-1 to 5-13 and 6-1 to 6-13 for clarity.

-5-1: We’re gonna start off immediately inserting an extra episode: The Fall of Bright Moon. Rather than a time skip, we get to see the first days of the invasion and the evacuation of Bright Moon in the face of overwhelming force. Micah has to switch back into being king, Adora has to deal with losing She-Ra, Bow has to deal with losing Glimmer. There’s a major subplot about Scorpia working up the courage to apologise to Entrapta and the two of them reconnecting. Perfuma probably helps her with that. That sounds like a pretty busy episode, but I think the first two Velvet Glove scenes from Horde Prime should probably be moved to it to not just leave Catra and Glimmer hanging completely.

-5-2 to 5-4: Horde Prime, Launch, and Corridors stay mostly the same. Since I moved the first Velvet Glove scenes to 5-1 and we can probably cut a bit of exposition from Horde Prime with the addition of that episode, these episodes get a couple minutes extra, which is split between an extra Glimmer and Catra in jail scene and some more of Scorpia and Entrapta’s friendship in Launch.

-5-5 and 5-6: An extra season gives us time for worldbuilding and more of the new characters, and since I like the Star siblings I’m gonna selfishly give them a bunch more screen time. The plan to save Catra takes more preparation in this version, leading Best Friend Squad and the Star siblings to go on an adventure on another planet after Stranded, one that is under Horde occupation but hasn’t been destroyed by them. They’re there for either information or some kind of device they’ll need to get on the Velvet Glove, but end up sowing the seeds for a local rebellion on the planet. We’ll see more of that plot later on.

-5-7: Save the Cat. It’s perfect as is.

-5-8: Taking Control’s A plot, enhanced with some scenes from Don’t Go into a full episode.

-5-9: This is where Taking Control’s B plot with the chipped Etherians goes. To go with it, Best Friend Squad is going on another space adventure after a rendez-vous with the Star siblings while they try and escape the Horde. I’m thinking maybe Hordak could be one of the clones searching for them, and while he doesn’t come face-to-face with Entrapta we could see some more of his conflicting feelings building in the course of this. Just a moment’s hesitation on his part allows Best Friend Squad to escape. Catra befriending Glimmer and Bow is a major part of this episode, and it basically bridges the gap between the little overtures between them in Taking Control and Catra as a part of Best Friend Squad in Shot in the Dark.

-5-10: Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio only get a cameo in season 5, and that’s something I really want to change. I want to give them a ‘Lower Decks’ episode where they’re basically just trying to go about their lives post-Horde but rapidly discovering the war is impossible to ignore. I feel like we don’t see enough of the normal Etherians in general, and I think these three are a great way to show how they’re doing.

-5-11: Perils of Peekablue. However, the scene at the end where it turns out Micah is already chipped and so are enormous amounts of Etherians doesn’t happen yet.

-5-12 and 5-13: So now I need to have a big season finale happen, and unfortunately Shot In The Dark, while a great episode, is also a little too low-energy to fit the bill. So what I’m gonna do is make it the B-plot of a finale two-parter. The A-plot is set on Etheria, and is basically some big climactic business where the Princesses, General Juliet, (remember her?) and many common Etherians take the fight back to the chipped princesses, and things go well until disaster strikes and Micah gets chipped. Pretty vague, I know. The ‘Lower Decks’ episode we did sets up a lot of the plot here; Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle are probably involved in it. The two-parter ends with the big ‘Oh fuck everyone’s chipped’ moment at the end of Perils of Peekablueas the big season-ending cliffhanger. After that scene, we switch to Best Friend Squad landing on Etheria, and that’s how season 5 ends.

-6-1: I think An Ill Wind would be a solid season opener as is.

-6-2 to 6-10: Yeah, I’m gonna take this whole block of episodes in one go, because this is where it gets complicated. Return to the Fright Zone and Failsafe take place in this block, but it’s beyond my ability to figure out the full plot developments of this entire season. While for season 5 I can keep to the structure of Best Friend Squad’s space adventure, season 6 is gonna be a lot more freeform, and would presumably have major plot elements added. Here’s my thoughts on these nine episodes:

-The chipped princesses get unchipped earlier. They provide good heartwrenching moments, cool bossfights, and allow for major villains ranking below Prime without having to introduce new characters, but I think ultimately it does the chipped princesses a disservice since they just don’t get to show character in the second half of the season. Just compare how well we know Netossa as a character with how well we know Spinnerella. So they get unchipped over the course of these episodes and get to be with the Rebellion again afterwards. Mermista and Spinnerella get unchipped the same way as in canon. Scorpia actually gets to talk while chipped and has a heartwrenching confrontation with Catra in which she basically responds in the worst possible ways to Catra’s regrets (the same way we saw chipped Catra basically being am expression of her worst traits) and they have a fight that’s super rough for Catra, but Catra manages to damage her chip and save her. They have a better chat afterwards, and that’s when they make up and hug it out. I think Micah is the last one to be unchipped, and I might actually keep him chipped until Heart, Part 1 so Glimmer still gets that climactic confrontation with him. Now, a possible concern is that this means there’s just not gonna be enough ‘bosses’ around to fight in Heart. Solutions to this could include for example advanced robots, chipped minor characters like Huntara, Dumbface Octavia, and alien monsters. Maybe Hordak? Though I definitely want him back on the Velvet Glove’s bridge in time to give Prime his date with gravity.

-So that’s sort of the major arc, but there are several characters and plot threads that I feel could easily be an episode’s A- or B-plot in this bunch:

*Catra is mortified when she realises she caused Angella’s death and has a big freak-out over it and tries to run away, Glimmer confronts her and they deal with their feelings on the matter

*Another Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio episode

*A Wrong Hordak episode where he discovers his own identity and picks a name, also feat. Entrapta’s attempts to reach out to Hordak

*Madame Razz episode where Adora tries to get her help, possibly involving the Crystal Castle and George and Lance

*Sea Hawk and Double Trouble drama kids adventure where they try to save Mermista (I think Mermista vs. Sea Hawk and Mermista being unchipped gets moved to the end of this episode). These two were delightful for the little time we saw them together in Perils of Peekablue and I want Sea Hawk to somehow rope Double Trouble into an adventure.

*All the space adventures and world building I put in season 5 coming to a head when some form of space reinforcements led by the Star siblings come to help.

*And of course Return to the Fright Zone and Failsafe.

-6-11 to 6-13: Heart is now a three-parter, deal with it. Horde Prime is beaten at the end of part 2, or more likely the start of part 3, and the rest of part 3 is that sweet dénouement I crave.

So with all that laid out, let’s return to the question: would this work? I think if it had originally been written to be two seasons, the story could have easily worked for two. As is, I’m retrofitting a single season to be two, so some of the stuff I’ve added sounds rather redundant or vague. There are certainly enough plotlines and characters to make a split work, but of course those would’ve had to have been written into the plot from the start to not feel tacked on. Of course, brevity is the soul of wit, so even if two seasons had been an option, it’s quite possible a single that has too little time is still better than two that have too much.

#spop #she-ra and the princesses of power #meta #season 5

40 notes · View notes

imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

Happy New Year, and hello 1000 followers!!

Hello dear readers! Welcome in my writing nook, and welcome in 2021 - FINALLY!!

2020′s been a long year. A sad year. A year that felt like March for 9 months straight. A year that left a little dent in my corner of the couch as I was huddled away, writing in the most awkward positions because my cats tried to get on my lap alongside my laptop (it doesn’t fit - trust me, kitties).

But, it was also a fun year; I could spend long hours reading and writing to my heart’s content. Meeting new people, and discovering kinks and fantasies I never knew were even a thing. To that; thank you my fellow horny bitches, you gave me the perseverance to work on getting proper orgasms, buying a sex toy and making my boyfriend very confused about what-the-hell was going on with me. (thankfully the shock is now gone and he’s enjoying this new horny me far too much 😂)

In more fun news; I just noticed my once small reader tribe has crossed the 1000 follower-mark (WHAT?! HOW?! YOU GUYS AND GALS ARE AMAZING -- *bounces off the walls*)

I don’t really know how to thank you all for your love and support in reaching this unique milestone. But to those who are just crazy about reading, let me share with you something from my vault of short stories - a little side project next to this blog, to practise my writing ❤️

The Keeper

This new world order was hardly orderly.

It was dusty chaos, filtering in through the sole newspaper-covered window above the door that had just veered at the return of the Old Man, his persistent coughs making that same dust curl and swirl through the air.

Feeling my old bones crack, I took a moment, stretching out on my paper throne of Descartes’ body of work, before I jumped aside so he could add his new-found treasures to this grand collection of paper-bound napping nooks.

It was a good new stack. Six thick covers, the pages yellowed and musky in smell. Perfection, really. Old, gold, glorious perfection. But the Old Man didn’t seem to share my sentiment; his leathery face was wrinkled with concern, heavy brows furrowing like a thick hairy caterpillar above his gentle eyes.

Finding a new spot I swished my long tail, more dust swirling up in the single streak of light that caressed the silhouette of the Old Man.

I hadn’t seen him this worried since we met all those long years ago, his warm hands taking me to this dusty good place that I called my home. Our home. A home that oozed old world magic; thousands of books all lined up in ceiling-high cabinets, their vastness somewhat resembling the sky-high buildings outside; that is however where the comparison stopped. This place was warm, kind, soothing. It smelled nice, felt nice, housed mice - my favourite.

Outside, the world was cold, white, wicked. It smelled of chemicals and disdain, the presence of nature and animals one not wished for in its green, disorganised beauty. But the Old Man had been different. Had been. Right now he moved with the same hasty manner the men outside did, his heavy feet moving daintily past the hastily stacked collections, the structure in them long gone.

The same had happened to the ever structured and unchanging man I once knew; The Old Man was looking older each day, which was strange for a being I thought immaculate and immortal. In my long years of life I had never truly ever seen any differences in this man, his wrinkles ever wrinkly and his eyes ever curious. But, these past few weeks I started having my doubts. I never liked change, but change was suddenly here in abundance. I could hear it on the nervous streets outside. I could feel it in my aching bones and the knits in my pelt. I could feel it in the lack of scratches I received, the Old Man suddenly more occupied with the world outside than in.

This new world order was a terrible thing indeed.

Stretching up my aching back, I curled my tail around my paws, watching as the man passed yet again, his eye catching mine for just a second, his feet slowing down so he could give me a long overdue sign of affection.

“Hello Minnie.” He said gently, his warm voice making my muscles tremble in delight, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait yet a moment longer. Duty calls!” And with that he disappeared once more, the door hastily closed behind him as he moved back out into the streets that no longer had names.

Everything was changing and I didn’t like it one bit.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away - or actually a few streets from here - I lived a perilous life of hunting, fighting, mating and waiting. You see: I was not made for the streets I lived in, the large neon lit signs up above too bright for my eyes and the food too sparse to feed the real hunger inside of me. The hunger that goes beyond the growling of the stomach; it was the hunger that gnawed at my brain and my heart as I watched dark figures pass by beneath their umbrellas, their eyes not directed at me, but at my much shinier counterparts on those sky-licking white screens.

e-Cat, e-Book, e-Love..e-Life. The words sparked with promise on beaming backgrounds, luring in the attention of the drifting souls down on the streets. Luring them in to look up, up and away from the truth that could be found right at their feet. A truth that once, an age or so ago, was so very normal.

It must have been a good time then. With ear-scratches and hugs and real talking; I had once even seen humans talk so close to another that their lips touched. And they seemed to find it very agreeable indeed, their lips curling in what the Old Man had explained to be smiles.

Smile (verb)

Form one's features into a pleased, kind, or amused expression, typically with the corners of the mouth turned up and the front teeth exposed.

Humans are peculiar beings.

Then, one day, someone looked down, not up. A man, a dreamer probably, his step shortly disrupted from his travels as our eyes met and, just like that, I was invited into his life, his shovel-sized hands picking me up and stuffing my scrawny bones beneath his warm jacket.

The Old Man.

“Why..I thought you had gotten rid of this?” A new voice entered the small haven of books, the door swiftly closed again. Their hushed voices made me blink open my eyes, a flickering light turned on to brush artificial light over the Old Man and the new person. A Young Woman.

She was pretty I think. Her hair cut just beneath her ears and her body wrapped in a large, fresh smelling jacket. I liked her smell. She smelled of my creatures, two males I think. And so with a little more curiosity I yawned and stretched, welcoming the two back in my domain.

“Hi there Minnie.” The Old Man wistfully scratched me behind the ear.

His voice sounded fragile as crystal, his eyes looking equally translucent as they shimmered in the low light of the single light bulb.

“OH..what am I to do, Dee? It’s just..” He turned back towards the woman, her eyes still looking in honest amazement at the huge collection of books stacked up high to the ceiling.

“Well..this is more than a ..little problem, Badger.” She looked back at him, teeth biting down onto her lip in thought. Humans sure had a weird way of expressing distress. Why didn’t she just hiss or growl? Furl up that pretty mane of her? - At least she got the eyes right.

With a quick flick of her large pupils she looked at me, then the books again.

“Alright. I’ll..I’ll see what we can do.” And with that she disappeared back out of the door, back into the mayhem of white light and clicking feet on cold pavement.

“Hahaha. Oh, aren’t you a happy little purr-machine?” His large hand stroked comfortably over my back, my legs stretching out a little further to give him extra length to touch and soothe.

“How about I read you something, hmm? Ever seen one of these?” He picked an object from one of the shelves, the thing foreign, but smelling of forests and sweat. I liked that smell.

“It’s a book. A very old, nearly extinct..book.” He shuffled a little in his seat, his hand scratching over my chin as he sensed my shock-surprise at being moved. And then he opened this so-called ‘book’, his deep voice sending warm vibrations through my body, my eyes closing slightly as I let him take me away to another world. A world with a thousand trees. And nymphs. And gods - which I think from his descriptions, are like humans but then ever older.

Every few minutes or so he would turn a page, a new whiff of smells entering my satisfied nostrils. I was warm, safe and quite content, my muscles vibrating along with the man’s words as he relieved the ache deep in my soul. I had never heard or smelled such words as his, but I liked them very much.

A loud crack burst open the door, that fierce white light burning my eyes as I quickly skedaddled, getting out of the line of sight of whatever horrific beasts were here to break into my sanctuary. Humans, their smells not to my liking. Too much rubber, plastic and other synthetic whiffs.

“Take him.” One spoke, the others following his curt instructions, the Old Man being mercilessly dragged from the corner where he trembled like a child, his large body not small enough to hide behind the books like I could.

It all happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure whether it had happened at all, the small room quiet and the dust settled before I dared to look again. I waited and waited. The night came and went, but the Old Man didn’t return. My hunger did though. The gnawing, aching emptiness made my bones clatter in their furry furbishments and I tried my best to understand the words the Angry Men had spoken.

“Incinerate elsewhere. Risk of attention. Incinerate elsewhere. Risk of attention.” The words had near eaten me alive when the dark door opened finally, the satisfying scent of two tomcats alerting me it was her. She was not happy though, my heart already aching for her before she could switch on the light, her tears muffled behind a pale hand.

“Oh gods.” She squirmed when the light bulb flickered on, her eyes roaming over a new trail that led over the floor, the smell reminding me of food..though I hadn’t found any, anywhere.

“Oh gods..Badger.” Her eyes started to rain, her lip trembling in pain as she cried out.

That is the moment when I crawled out of my hiding, my careful paws walking towards her until she noticed me, her lips curling up in what I learned was that good emotion. A smile. Though on her it looked a little weird - were there more types of smiles?

“Minnie.” She whispered, picking me up to cuddle until our short interaction was roughly disturbed by a sound outside. “Shit..Fuck..Okay we need to go.”

And, again, I found myself in the insides of a jacket. This time hers.

From the insides of the nice smelling jacket I heard a million voices spinning around us. Some human. Some metallic. Some whispering, some loud. My ears were folded flat against my skull by the time the world quieted again, the two of us landing on a mattress in a mal-furnished room; there were simply too few comfortable places to lay on, the mattress the only surface that was to my liking.

The Young Woman got up, her nose sniffling with the threat of more tears as she conjured up some food and water. Strange food and water. The type that was the standard these days. Tasteless. Shapeless. Soulless food. And disgustingly sterile water. Blergh.

But thankfully this new place brought me something good: the woman was more than eager to hug and cuddle, her body sinking down onto the mattress again so I could crawl up to her, her eye-water sinking into my fur as she held me close.

I wanted to speak to her then, and I did. I talked and talked and talked. But I’m not sure if she understood me. Why was all this water coming from her eyes? Was she the goddess of rain? I leaned in heavier into her warm chest and felt my muscles buzz with eagerness.

And then she found it. My greatest secret. The thing that the new world order was supposed to hate according to the Old Man.

Scratching my chin, I easily surrendered it to her, her fingers removing the small tube from my collar, unscrewing and finding two things: a miniscule piece of paper, reminding me of the smell of home, and some type of metal pill-tube-thing.

Silently she read the words, her lip trembling again with emotion, before they turned into a watery smile - happiness, love, good!

“Oh, I will..I will.” She mumbled.

Curiosity sparked in me and I spoke to her again, begging for her attention: “Please tell me what it reads!” -- And of course she couldn’t understand my words, but the sentiment was clear I think, for she now finally read it aloud:

“Code Minerva. Keeper of Wisdom. 112049 - Erase after uploading. Ps. she loves ear scratches.”

It was the day the new world order fell into true chaos.

I liked it very much.

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @aletheladyinred

#1000 followers #happy new year #and a different bit of fiction #no idea if anybody would want to read this #but here you go!#celebration time #yaay

23 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 4 years

Text

Dark Cybertron Chapter 3: This One’s All About Skywarp. Honest!

It’s a beautiful day during Cybertron’s apocalypse, and Starscream is talking to a corpse to work through his emotions. He goes through a very brief rundown of what happened last issue, I guess because Swerve’s too busy being in space to do the Story So Far, and caps it off with an apology to Metalhawk over killing him. Rattrap watches this go down in the background, because this is Skywarp’s toy tie-in issue.

After this very incriminating conversation, Starscream goes out to see to the massive crowd standing outside, including Scoops’ little Targetmaster buddies.

I don’t care for that man’s beard.

Starscream promises to go talk to the Titan, though he really doesn’t want to, and Rattrap catches up to him to touch base. The two of them go to see Megatron, who’s still trapped in the forcefield hamster ball Wheeljack stuffed inside his chest back in RID. Starscream teases Rattrap about trying to be conniving, comparing it to his own endeavors as the Decepticon SIC, and offers a bit of advice.

Implying that Starscream hasn’t been flying by the seat of his proverbial pants since he became a main character in Phase Two.

Starscream, having met his daily quota of rubbing his success in Megatron’s face, goes off to see what he can do about this Titan situation.

Over at the Titan itself, the Autobots and Decepticons are duking it out, with the man of the hour gracing us with his presence.

Outstanding, you funky little robot.

Arcee tries a little banter, but it falls flat, and instead she just decides to sword fight a cat. Bumblebee asks Soundwave just what the hell he thinks he’s doing, and Soundwave gives a complete non-answer in the form of Decepticon propaganda, because anything else would make things too easy. This is where Starscream shows up and has his little chat with the Titan.

Back over in prison, Rattrap’s getting the skinny on the dark prophecy Scoop introduced into the narrative last issue. Rattrap wants to know just how this information got passed around so well outside of jail, and Scoop suggests that there are people who perhaps have a vetted interest in what may or may not be happening with Starscream. Then Rattrap makes it weird by A) not being terribly concerned about the potential end of the world and B) being impressed by the idea that Starscream somehow planned said end of the world.

This Skywarp issue is really good.

Over with the Lost Light, Ultra Magnus has taken command, and the lads are about to make the quantum jump to chase after Jhiaxus. But wait! Something’s off! The ship’s moving in a way that it shouldn’t be! Very odd, that. Brainstorm calls with answers, asking Magnus to grab Getaway, for some friggin’ reason, and head down to the shuttle bay.

Getaway asks Magnus how it feels to be big man on campus, and Magnus seems to think it’s a bit overrated.

Wow, someone needs to go talk to Xaaron about maybe thinking through his debate topics before he posts them, so he doesn’t get pegged as a space racist. The Universal Killswitch happened, like, last week, my dude.

The two of them get to the shuttle bay to discover that Metroplex’s thumb- which they picked up back in Spotlight: Trailcutter- is floating, and more or less pushing the Lost Light off-course. Getaway is pretty jazzed to see this thing on the ship, sort of missing the bigger picture. Brainstorm hypothesizes that Metroplex is using his severed thumb to guide the Lost Light to him.

Not sure why Getaway needed to be here for this.

Back on Cybertron, Everyone watches as Starscream flies up to the Titan. Arcee is ready to blast him out of the sky with a gun as big as she is, but Bumblebee wants to see where this goes. This pisses Prowl the hell off, and he starts yelling, but Bumblebee tells him to shut up. Bumblebee tells a lot of people to shut up in “Dark Cybertron”.

So we’ve got a team-up going on between the Autobots and the Decepticons- Bumblebee says it isn’t, but it pretty much is. Soundwave and Prowl get into a bit of a scuff, as Starscream lands and asks the Titan to chat.

Yeah, that doesn’t really work out too well.

Starscream manages to escape the Titan death blast in his alt, as the poor bastards on the ground below begin to dissolve into black fizz.

But Skywarp’s okay, so it can’t be all bad!

Yeeeeah, Skywarp.

Prowl starts yelling at Bumblebee again, as if he can’t see that the friggin’ death wave the Titan shot out of its face is still heading for Iacon, Starscream just barely managing to stay ahead of it. He lands as it hits, screaming about how Cybertron is his and he’s not gonna let some murder energy to steal his thunder, bracing his arms out as if that’ll do anything. Everyone watching him do this has about the expression you’d expect from witnessing such madness.

As the Iaconian populace gets dusted, someone else wakes up from the dead. It’s Metalhawk, and it’s time for him to become a tool of the narrative.

Metalhawk launches into the air and lands on top of Starscream, interrupting his personal diatribe to gripe about how he killed him. Still, there are bigger fish to fry, as he kicks Starscream through a wall and walks into the room where they keep Megatron.

Metalhawk releases Megatron from his hamster ball prison and carries him away, despite Starscream maybe insinuating that Megatron is dead somehow? It’s not super clear. Anyway, Metalhawk must do some pretty intense arm exercises, because he carries Megatron out and shoots into the air, holding him one-handed to his side.

Eat your veggies, kids, and you too can kidnap an entire warlord.

As the city falls apart, Rattrap and Scoop enter the scene, the prison likely having collapsed in the aftershocks of the death wave. Good thing they’re giant robots who can’t be killed by mere crushing damage. Rattrap tries to connive, but Scoop is more concerned with the fact that many people are dying, because he’s a somewhat decent person. Some of these people have begun to turn on Starscream, who takes it about as well be you’d expect.

Back on the Lost Light, the lads have decided to go find Metroplex, and to hell with bringing Jhiaxus to justice. At least for now. Of course, Ratchet tries to argue that they should do what Orion wanted them to do, but Orion isn’t here right now, is he? And Orion isn’t the space pope at this present time, now is he? So yeah. Metroplex time. They quantum jump, ending up underwater, with said water swarming with robots. That might be an issue, especially since they don’t seem to be terribly friendly.

Back in the Crystal City with Shockwave, Metalhawk’s dropped off the package, and Shockwave reminds us that he installed a space bridge in Megatron’s torso. Scientists sure do like to shove random bullshit into Megatron’s torso.

Hey.

Let’s talk about the NAILs for a second.

This is Tappet. I’ve been calling him Hat Guy up until this point, but his name is Tappet.

Everything Tappet done in the last 20+ issues of RID can be explained without him being the subject of the sentence:

The Decepticons kicked Tappet’s ass. Prowl sent Tappet to prison. Metalhawk bailed Tappet out of prison. Metalhawk brought Sky-Byte to the trashcan fire to talk to Tappet and some other neutrals. Starscream takes off his top as Tappet watches.

The point I’m trying to make here is that Tappet doesn’t actually do anything. None of the NAILs actually do anything, other than die and fill out crowd shots. Sometimes they bitch about the current situation, but even then, a lot of the time, those more vocal NAILs were actually involved in the war at some point.

This is an issue, because we’ve been presented with this entirely new group that’s in direct opposition of the war caused by every character we’d met prior to The Death of Optimus Prime.

And they have zero agency within the story. Shit just happens around them and they react. In fact, one of the major point points of RID is whether or not the Autobots should let the NAILs have agency within the very government that rules them, and it is such a point of contention that it takes literal in-story months and several disasters for them to reach a consensus. A decision that barely involves input from Metalhawk, the guy who is a NAIL, and is meant to be their advocate. Metalhawk, who is supposed to be on the same level as Bumblebee in terms of sway in the narrative.

At first, he did- he was the subtly conniving bastard who would trip Bumblebee up in front of others to make him look bad, and then deny anything of the sort happened if questioned. It was an interesting dynamic with a character that was new to the continuity. Metalhawk was interesting.

Then Starscream got involved, and Metalhawk’s role was reduced to yes-man and character motivation to both of them, because conniving is Starscream’s thing, and obviously we can’t have two bastards gang up on poor, sweet lil’ Bumblebee.

Who had a remote control that could blow up people’s heads if they pissed him off.

You remember when Bumblebee was the kid appeal character? Because I do.

The point is, the NAILs exist, but their existence isn’t justified within the story. They’re set-dressing, not characters. And now Metalhawk in particular is a prop for Shockwave, and somehow I doubt the other guys are going to be doing a hell of a lot in this story.

I dunno, it just seems like a bit of a waste.

Anyway, Skywarp sure was present in his toy tie-in issue, huh? Remember when he did that thing? And the stuff? Ah man, that was so cool!

Yeah, someone probably crossed their I’s and dotted their T’s on this one, because I’m pretty friggin’ sure this wasn’t meant to be his, even if the exclusive cover says otherwise.

#transformers #jro #dark cybertron #issue 3 #rid #exrid #issue 23 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

66 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered, Chapter 1 (Crygi, Jan x Nicky) - Joley

ao3 link

“Mail call!” Crystal called out, even though it was only her and Jan in the apartment. She sorted the pile out between the two of them, ending up with two slightly messy stacks. “Looks like you got an international package!”

That brought Jan barreling out of her room, nearly slipping on the rug on her way in. She grabbed onto the counter to support herself, taking a gasp of air before standing upright. “Oh yay!” She grabbed the package with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning and took it back to her room along with the rest of her pile, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Crystal chuckled, looking over to see her cat perched on the couch, staring into Jan’s bedroom with something of a perplexed expression. “It’s nothing for you, Tic. But maybe she’ll let you play in the box,” she mused before her gaze drifted back to her pile of mail, sifting through what inevitably turned out to be nothing but junk. With nothing else of her immediate interest, she wandered into her roommate’s room, sitting on the bed while Jan was at her desk. “What’d you get?”

Jan carefully opened the box, gliding the box cutter down the tape seams so she didn’t have to rip and yank and risk tearing anything inside. She took the neatly folded letter out first, holding it to her face and taking a deep inhale. The scent of patchouli and vanilla wafted into her nose and made her smile. It was the smell she most associated with Nicky, every package and letter she sent came laced with the aroma of her perfume.

“Bonjour, mon petite poupée,” she started to read, ignoring the way Crystal started to laugh at her butchering of the French phrases. “I hope spring is as beautiful there as it is here. I have sent you a box of macarons—I enjoy them year-round, but my mother always loved to bake them the most this time of year. I wanted to send you some of hers, but hopefully bakery ones will suffice. I’d love it if you FaceTime or Skype me when you get them, I want to see your live reaction, and I sent you enough to share with Crystal, so be nice. Until then, câlins et bisous, Nicky.”

Jan smiled broadly as she finished reading the letter, noticing the lipstick kiss print that Nicky signed off every letter with, and gently set it aside. “Okay, it’s like nine at night where she is, she’ll still be up,” she said as she took the pastel box tied neatly with a white lace bow out of the package. “Oh look, this is so cute.” She took out another piece of paper where Nicky had hand-drawn each macaron and wrote the flavor next to it, making a color-coded guide. “Isn’t she so sweet and thoughtful?”

“She told you to share, so yes.” Crystal chuckled, running her hand through her hair to look presentable while Jan called Nicky on Skype.

Nicky answered the call right away. “Hi Jan! Hi Crystal!” She greeted them with energy even though she was dressed for bedtime, wearing a black tank top and white cotton shorts (the latter not being visible in the frame). Her hair was damp, air-drying, and draped over her desk chair. “Did you get my mail?”

Jan nodded, holding the box up for her to see. “Just did. Thank you so much, Nicks. That’s so sweet of you.”

“Of course, I’m still making my way through the gift basket you sent for my birthday. I have opinions on all the different Oreo flavors.” Nicky giggled. They had gotten into a discussion about all the different flavors of the cookie, and she had become obsessed with the idea of trying the variety. So, when her birthday rolled around, Jan had painstakingly arranged a cookie bouquet (along with a few other treats) with as many flavors as she could find.

In the year they’d been communicating, Nicky had both come to expect Jan to go the extra mile and would still be surprised every time. The university course that had brought them together through its pen pal program certainly didn’t require an exchange of presents, but it started with Jan not being to help herself and (unbeknownst to Nicky) progressed into an ever-present desire to impress her.

“We can get to that next, I’m really excited to try these. Which one is your favorite?” Jan asked as she took the bow off the box without untying it and opened it up. “Oooh, it still smells fresh-baked.”

Nicky grinned as she watched her, opening up a bottle of rosé and pouring herself a glass. “I am partial to the red velvet and the apricot.”

Jan licked her lips. “You know I love red velvet.” She plucked the deep red cookie from the box before handing it to Crystal, who was making grabby-hands at it. She waited for her friend to choose and set the box down on her desk. “On three.” She counted down, then took a bite. “Holy shit.” She covered her mouth, not wanting to talk with her mouth full. “Nicks, these are delicious. You’re gonna have to send these on the regular.”

Crystal was enjoying herself just as much. “Is there a word for like, food horny? You know, like it tastes so good, I’m kind of turned on?”

Nicky snorted and Jan looked down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just say you like it, Crystal.”

“I do,” she confirmed, then looked down at her phone. “Anyway, gotta go. Bye Nicky, thanks for the cookies!” She waved at the screen before darting right out of the room.

Jan chuckled, knowing exactly what propelled Crystal out of the room so quickly and shouted “Tell Gigi I said hi!” after her. Then she faced forward again, her attention effortlessly returned to Nicky. “Anyway, how have you been?” “No complainings,” Nicky hummed, aimlessly strumming her fingers against her glass. “Did you get around to listening to that study playlist I sent you?”

“Oh my god yeah, I forgot to say anything because I kept listening to it after I was done studying and fell asleep,” Jan admitted with a laugh. “You have impeccable taste.”

She twirled her slowly drying hair around her manicured finger. “Tell me something I do not know, darling.” She winked.

Jan’s breath hitched in her throat and she covered it with a cough. Nicky exuded a seductive beauty so effortlessly and it didn’t take much for Jan to get flustered. If their friendship wasn’t exclusively long distance, her crush would have been impossible for Nicky or anyone else to not pick up on. Hell, Crystal only knew because she had been aching for the release of gushing about her feelings and her roommate lent a willing ear. “Last time I did that, we ended up talking about juice boxes for an hour,” she retorted once her body had unclenched.

Nicky chuckled softly at the memory. It was so easy for them to go off on tangents about the smallest things. It was probably her favorite part of her conversations with Jan, everything flowed so easily, awkward silence simply didn’t exist between them. “That is true,” she conceded. “But I’ve got to go eat dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow, yes?”

“Go eat.” She never quite grasped how Nicky always ate dinner so late at night, but she had all but memorized her schedule by now. “Au revoir,” she cooed, just because she knew it would make her laugh, and waved as she ended the call.

——

When Crystal got the text ‘come hang out, im done with class,’ she was out the door before she even sent ‘ok.’ Gigi was a junior while she and Jan were seniors, but all of them going to the same university had their schedules aligning relatively often. But she and Jan were living off-campus, so she didn’t want to waste any time on getting to her.

“Hey.” Gigi smiled, greeting her best friend with a hug. “Come on, we’re going on a coffee run,” she said, leading the way. Her direct nature was something Crystal had appreciated—she didn’t ask questions, she made statements, and it came off as harsh to some, but Crystal was terrible at making daily decisions, so she was happy to leave it in her hands.

“Sounds good. You should come over soon, Jan got these amazing French cookies from Nicky. I think she’ll let us steal some,” Crystal mused, linking their arms as they walked.

“Cool.” She nodded. “Has Jan told Nicky she’s in love with her yet?” It had come up in conversation in the past, leading to Crystal giving the entire backstory of Jan and Nicky’s relationship. Luckily, Jan hadn’t held it against her and could live with one more person knowing the truth.

Crystal laughed softly and shook her head. “Nope. But, you know, you can’t push someone to admit how they feel if they aren’t ready.” Her tone was a bit strained in the remark, looking straight ahead as she spoke.

But Gigi didn’t notice the shift in her voice anyway. “That’s stupid,” she said flatly. “They’re like, four thousand miles apart, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Feelings are feelings.” She shrugged as they entered the café. Of course, she could relate to what Jan was going through, but as far as she was concerned, her situation was worse. A pen pal could be out of sight and out of mind, she reasoned. But having a crush on your best friend made day-to-day life excruciating. She was constantly torn between the desire to distance herself so her emotions didn’t overwhelm, and the powerful urge to spend as much time and be as physically close to Gigi as possible. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the latter would always win. “So, how’s your final project going?”

Gigi let out an exasperated groan. “God, I’m killing myself making a dress for the wedding I’ll never have,” she lamented. “I never want to see white lace again once I’m done with it.”

Crystal winced, averting her gaze. “You don’t think you’ll ever get married?”

“Not the takeaway here, Crys,” she rolled her eyes, but there was still fondness in her expression. “Listen, I’ve made it this far in life without a relationship, maybe that’s just my destiny. I’ll just be far too busy taking over the fashion industry to worry about it.”

It wasn’t a personal rejection, but it was painfully difficult for Crystal not to take it as one. Her heart ached and her chest felt heavy with a sudden sadness, coupled with her active efforts not to let it show. “No, yeah, I get it.”

Gigi rubbed her arm gently. “Don’t let my cynicism ruin that hopeless romantic in you. It gives me hope in this cold, dark world.” She looked into her eyes, silently offering the apology she was just a little too proud to verbalize.

Crystal lightened back up, though she was embarrassed that Gigi had such a hold on her emotions without even realizing it. “I’ll do my best.”

——

Crystal returned to the apartment just as the sun was setting. Coffee had turned to dinner and time had just slipped away from her. But when she got inside, she went right over to knock on Jan’s door, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Come in!”

“Jan, I had an idea!” Crystal let herself in and sat at the desk, as Jan was now in bed with her laptop.

Jan closed the laptop and set it aside. “I’m scared already,” she joked.

“No, no, no, I’m totally serious, and it’s a good idea,” Crystal insisted, shifting to sit cross-legged on the chair. “You and Nicky are like, a million miles apart and that really sucks, right?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

Crystal waved the comment off and continued. “So here’s the plan—you tell her there’s a big event that you’re going to this summer and you want her to come to visit. Dunno what the event would be, but we can worry about it later.”

The brunette tilted her head to the side. “Like graduation?”

“That’s not enough time. It has to be something that’ll happen in like, a month or something,” she explained. “But you guys will just be so excited to be together that you’ll forget about the event entirely, problem solved.”

Jan stared blankly at her friend, wondering if she had become delirious from too many all-nighters. But then she shrugged, what did she have to lose? “I’ll talk to her about it in the morning, then. It couldn’t hurt to bring up…”

“That’s the spirit!” Crystal clapped her hands together. “Let me know how it goes!” And with that, she left the room with a spring in her step.

And Jan did sleep on it, weighing out the pros and cons of creating an elaborate ruse just to get the girl she was pining after to travel overseas. It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about visiting each other, but they could never ‘justify’ it, there was always something else they needed to focus on, or the finances just wouldn’t allow it (she wasn’t about to ask her parents to send her to France when they were already paying her bills). The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a decent idea.

After breakfast and a shower, Jan called up Nicky on FaceTime. “Are you busy? I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“You have my undivided attention,” Nicky assured.

Jan smiled, sitting down on the couch. “So, I’ve got this big event coming up next month, and I know we haven’t been able to arrange a visit yet, but I think this would be the perfect opportunity. I really want to see you.”

Nicky tilted her head in curiosity. “I want to see you too. What is the event?”

“A wedding,” Jan answered confidently. She had decided that it would make perfect sense for the time of year.

“I love weddings.” Nicky’s face lit up. “Whose is it?”

Fuck. Why hadn’t she planned one step further? “It’s…” At that moment, she somehow forgot the name of everyone she had ever known for a brief moment, and she wanted to yell at Crystal for giving her this stupid idea in the first place and—

“Crystal and Gigi’s,” she blurted out.

Nicky knew Crystal had a romantic interest in Gigi just from passing conversations, but she had never quite pieced together the nature of their relationship. She was a little surprised at how serious it apparently was, but decided there was no need to question it. “Oh, good for them. I’ll have to double-check, but I think I will be able to be your plus one.”

Jan didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled in relief. “Great! I’m so excited, I’m sure Crystal will be thrilled to hear it.”

“Send her my good wishes, I have to get to class, though,” Nicky replied, exchanging goodbyes before the call ended.

“What am I gonna be thrilled to hear?” Crystal asked as she tossed her bag into her bedroom. The door was always left open so TicTac could go in and out as he pleased. She had just returned from class, dried paint splotches still staining her fingers and palms.

Jan’s face froze. Yet another issue she had not accounted for. “Nicky is going to come visit.”

Crystal beamed triumphantly, getting ready to rub her brilliance in the other girl’s face. “See? I told you it—”

“She’s visiting for your and Gigi’s wedding.”

She blinked, looking at her incredulously. “Mine and Gigi’s what now?”

“Look, I panicked, it was the only thing I could think of. And this was your idea anyway, so if I’m going down, you’re coming to hell with me,” Jan got up as she spoke, pacing around the room as she desperately tried to figure out what to do next. “Just go with it, please.”

It had taken another moment for Crystal to fully process the information. How was she supposed to tell Gigi? What was she going to do if she couldn’t get her on board? But she didn’t want to compound Jan’s panic and make everything worse. “Well, Gigi does have a wedding dress in the works…” She looked over at her friend who was still on the verge of an anxiety attack and rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. “Listen, we’ll make this work. I don’t know how, but we will, I promise.”

Jan took a few deep breaths, allowing herself to be calmed down. She hugged Crystal tightly, hiding her face against her shoulder. “Where do we go from here?” Her voice couldn’t reach above a whisper.

Crystal chewed her lip as she rubbed Jan’s back. “I guess first thing’s first—I have to tell Gigi we’re getting married.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #nicky doll #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #jan x nicky #lesbian au #university au #college au #signed sealed delivered #joley #s12

43 notes · View notes

scribblesofanaricat · 4 years

Text

Crossed Out

(an older version has been posted here before, but I’ve finally gotten round to making a fully edited version with an altered ending (and hopefully a bit more of an explanation), so I hope you guys like)

---------

It’s not a crime to be curious.

That simple fact is what’s led him to end up stuffing his knapsack with an assortment of things that normally have no business being in there. Normally. A scarf that just so happens to be ideal for somebody who’d rather their face went unseen. A chunk of nut and raisin-infused bread snuck- borrowed from the loaf his mam keeps wrapped up in the kitchen (which he can never resist sampling at the best of times). And the battered old woodcutter’s axe he can barely raise any higher than his shoulder - just in case.

That bag’s been packed for days now, wedged out of sight in a corner of his clothes chest. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to do anything more than that. Until now, that is.

His teeth clench at every telltale creak of the floorboards under his bare feet, even though he isn’t really doing anything wrong…yet. He gives them a hard prod with his toes all the same. Traitors.

As he fervently hoped, the front room is clear of any mother-shaped obstacles when he slinks his way downstairs. Just the rough-hewn table and chairs sitting in their usual corner and the mismatched sideboards pushed up against their usual walls, although one of them now has what looks like fresh creamy milk waiting patiently atop it.

Right on cue, a distinctive voice swells from beneath the threadbare carpet.

“Arlo, that milk was just delivered this morning! Don’t you go drinking it straight from the bottle!”

“No, Mam,” he half-mutters, setting down the glass bottle he definitely hasn’t just been raising to his lips.

This is okay. Perfect, really. If she’s down in the cellar, that means she’s probably busy making preserves to sell at the market or something again. By the time she notices he’s neither in the house nor working in the garden, he’ll be well away. And then…then he’ll have some answers, whether she likes it or not. Satisfaction curls in his chest like a languid cat.

Arlo inches out of the door shoulder-first, lifting and lowering the latch as noiselessly as his fingers can manage - the same fingers that nearly drop the scarf twice when he knots the stained grey fabric over the lower half of his face, cursing the pit of his stomach for the uncomfy feeling spreading through it like so much spilled mead. What does he even have to feel guilty about? It’s not a crime.

Enough of that. Enough of it all.

He darts one glance over his shoulder, back at the rusty rooftop and their patch of garden, a weather-beaten face spotted with a mishmash of flowery freckles (except for the bit with his mother’s favourite lilies arranged on it, obviously. Those, she keeps spick and span and never lets him go anywhere near, though he has no idea what she thinks he’ll do to them). Then he starts to run. His legs set about their task in earnest, without taking directions from his mind. He already knows the kinds of places where he can find them…not that it’s any huge secret anyway. Or rather, it’s a secret to everybody; the type little kids hear all about as soon as they can toddle a few steps. Then they get their ears bruised with dire warnings to stay well away from it. Stupid. As if that won’t just put ideas into their tiny heads.

He’s not a kid anyway, Arlo reminds himself, puffing his chest out a little despite how short his bursts of breath are growing. This is no daft childish game. It’s something important. Something that goes hand in hand with the way he’s been jolting awake lately. Gagging around a yell jammed in his throat; a weird sort of dread tying his insides into hard knots. Or opening his eyes to find a stupid wetness spilling down his cheeks…or (he stifles a groan at the memory, heat rushing to his face) soaking his bedsheets.

He doesn’t know if he’s having nightmares...hallucinations, terrors, whatever. How can he? They float away like soap bubbles on washing day every time he tries to latch onto them. But it feels familiar to him, in all the places where it shouldn’t. One morning, he even woke up with the ghost of a name on his tongue and of blood suffocating him with its metallic tang. That’s all they were, though. Ghosts. And they vanished just like that, leaving nothing behind but a dragging weight in his chest.

Arlo just doesn’t know. Yet he’s sure- he’s sure he remembers, no matter how dimly.

To make matters weirder, talking to his mam hasn’t been any use whatsoever. No sooner do the words leave his lips than she butts in to set him some chore or another, or else shifts the topic in a way that curls his hands into fists. The last time Arlo tried to ask her about it, she had her own grilling ready for him – “Who have you been talking to? Who’s put all of this in your head?” – and something in her tone, something strange and strained, made him drop the subject like a hot coal.

He supposes some part of him wanted her to laugh at these dreams that he can’t even remember and at him for ever confusing them with real memories. That’d be better than having this brush-off tossed his way instead. Anything’s better than that.

So this is all her fault, if anything. All she has to do is be straight with him, just like she is with everything else…but no. Instead, he’s been left to flail in the dark. And driven to a straggle of shacks, several miles apart from any other dwelling.

At least, any human dwellings.

Arlo’s foot chooses just the wrong moment to catch on a particularly mean-spirited tussock. He stumbles as gracefully as a sledgehammer in a knife fight, the scrubland sailing up to greet his face. It’s not until after he clambers back up (along with a muttered spate of the words his mam indulges in when she thinks he’s out of earshot) that he gets back to reflecting on the rumours that’ve flown thick for as long as he can remember.

The Hexes. The…things that hushed voices regularly call witches, demigods, monsters, spirits, fae, devils and everything in between. And the only ones in this world who can shed any light on what’s happening to him.

As far as Arlo’s concerned, Hexes are the sort of stuff that everyone acts so certain about, like they know everything that is to know. Yet when they’re asked if they’ve ever even seen one for themselves, their faces flap like fish caught up in a net. And that’s the thing with all these rumours. His mam’s market customers insist they’ve spoken to others who’ve seen Hexes melding with slivers of moonlight and devouring the stars. Somebody has a relative whose neighbour knows someone who swears blind that the lot of them are descended from the legendary Ironflayer clan – that kind of thing.

None of them really know anything.

Before long, Arlo will.

Their shadow’s just slightly out of sync. Maybe it’s the gloom playing tricks, or maybe all those tales have made Arlo ridiculously paranoid. But he could swear that the very silhouette of the Hex is something a little too slow, a little too disjointed. Something that breathes.

Arlo tries to keep his head fearlessly raised, his eyes darting from corner to corner as the Hex breathes life into a candle wick, birthing yet more shadows, and shadows of shadows, from everything it casts its azure-tinged flame upon. The grip on his bag tightens all the same, clenching around the long bump of the axe’s handle.

He can’t make out their face. Not really. Every time he attempts to get a glimpse, it melts away somehow. In the end, he resigns himself to running his fingers in a weird erratic rhythm along the splintery surface of the table, not unlike his mam’s at home. He has to wrench his mind away from the thought of what her face would look like if she knew where he is right now.

Arlo doesn’t see the Hex placing the mixture down in front of him. One moment there’s nothing there but the elaborate symbols (probably occult-y hieroglyphs or something) carved into the tabletop; the next, kaleidoscopic light spills out over its surface from inside a vial. Specks of gold dance in its contents, rising and falling, swallowing the colours and spitting them back out.

His brow furrows, one hand coming up to rake through damp hair.

“You want…me to drink that?” The question rasps in his throat.

The shadow opens its eyes, two acid-green spots burning into Arlo’s face. But the Hex doesn’t so much as turn their head, let alone halt. ‘Not a crime, neophyte, I’m sure?’ they ask at length, words emerging as though they’ve drawn them out from some deep well. They echo off cold damp stone that isn’t there; they drip down his neck like icy, brackish water. ‘And neither are such answers as you seek. Drink.’

Arlo stares at the unknown mixture. Just like the Hex’s shadow, it stares back, pressing spectral hands against its crystal prison. Drink.

He shouldn’t.

He has to. Doesn’t he have every right?

His fingers obviously agree. Despite the stupid tremor running through them, they greedily close around the vial and prise out the cork, letting loose vapours that ghost over his skin.

The brew blazes its way down his throat and sets his stomach alight. Cough after cough rattles deep in his chest. He isn’t sure whether he’s been forced to his knees or not. Those gold spots have returned to swarm his vision, scratching out everything before him.

Arlo’s head rolls from side to side, trying to find where the Hex has disappeared to, trying to get some sign that this is what’s meant to happen. All that comes out is a mangled noise (has his tongue always been this heavy?) before it snakes into his head and swallows him whole. And the floor beneath his feet - or is it the entire world? - caves like a house of cards…

and tips him down, down, down into a slough of phantoms lurking,

living,

breathing,

waiting to snare him in its murky waters. A quicksilver voice sings him to his fall.

‘Memories don’t sleep, neophyte. They only like to pretend that they do.’

Cold. Cold biting at his skin like a million tiny pinpricks. Cold tendrils creeping around his heart, around the very flow of blood through his veins. And the kind of silence that comes when time itself is suspended.

Even so, the masses of limbs and soulless white eyes watch him.

He watches them right back, as empty of fear as they are of flesh and blood. How can they live here? What do they feed on?

Whatever your head offers us, is their answer, as they bare bloodied teeth in a gory grin.

As if in explanation, the golden scratches swimming at the edges of his vision fall away, only to be replaced with a face he feels like he knows. A face that cradles him in its familiarity yet crushes him beneath the expression etched deep in every line of it. He can’t place that expression. But the voice belonging to that face (didn’t that voice once call something to him about a milk bottle, a million years ago?) drips with it.

“What’s going to happen to him?”

Him. Him, him, him.

He stares at the place where that disembodied face hangs long after it’s flaked away like a butterfly drawn on a wall. Is he the reason for that shattered look in her eyes?

That’s when a twisted symphony – blurry and broken but somehow sharp enough to pierce him over and over again – awakens from the depths of some excruciating black hole spreading through his head.

Screams of a name. That name isn’t his own. It’s a name that once slept in a little bed next to his and proudly showed him the worms it had dug up with a stick behind the house. Once. It’s gone now. But also not gone at all.

It’s still there, out in the garden - only this time, it’s below the earth. He never saw that happen. A whisper in his heart knows it did, all the same, and knows exactly where (don’t ever touch the lily patch).

A wasted limb ending in long yellow claws stretching out from underneath his mattress…its grey splinter teeth, the smaller body leaping in front of him and trying to wrestle its grip from his ankle…the blood. So much blood, splattered so far. He remembers wondering how such a small person could hold that much.

He remembers.

And everyone kept it hidden from him, she kept it hidden from him, his mother- no, their mother, theirs-

That clawed arm, those teeth-

It’s coming back.

It’s coming to finish what it couldn’t before.

His cry seems to come from across an ocean. The pain explodes, taking every spectre with it, as his fingernails dig into his scalp like they can tear it away.

Gone is any idea of who he is, where he came from, what he was searching for in the first place. All of it is crossed out, scrubbed from existence, until only a blank wall remains. With one thing painted on it in burning black letters.

It’s coming.

It’s not a crime either, to want to be sure. To have to be sure, to know. The second the rough wooden lid is prised open with numb fingers, something cold and black grips his heart anyway - and he wouldn’t care if it struck him down where he stands.

The lid slips, joining the shovel on the lilies beneath his feet. Its fall could almost be called soft, if that wasn’t so wrong. But how could anything be more wrong than- than this?

He isn’t sure how long his gut chokes him, burning his throat, nostrils, eyes. When they finally give up, he drags a sleeve across his mouth. Huddles in the hole that seems to be opening into a bottomless chasm even as he clenches himself against its side, blurrily aware of the damp earth pressing into his forehead. Just like the nothingness seeping through his soul.

Little by little, one arm raises until barely two inches separates it from the arm in the box. One so alive. The other so grey, like the shadow they’ve become to him. And small. And folded with withered flowers over a sunken chest.

The gashes. So many. He wonders if it’ll do the same to him.

(It’s coming.)

Those phantoms laugh. Play in his head.

(It’s coming.)

#my scribbles #mine #fantasy #supernatural elements #monster #tw nightmares #tw blood #tw implied vomit #tw implied corpse #original writing #writeblr

13 notes · View notes

missjanjie · 4 years

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered | (1/?)

Title: Signed, Sealed, Delivered Summary: Jan is in love with her French pen pal, Nicky. Her roommate, Crystal, is in love with her best friend, Gigi. A (perhaps ill-thought out) plan emerges: give Nicky a reason to visit by inviting her to Crystal and Gigi's wedding. With a month to pull the scheme together, no one knows how this will end up. Word Count: 2.8k (this chapter) Relationship(s): Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode Rating: T (so far)

Read on AO3

also, thanks to @janssports and @imalwaysaslutfordrag for beta-ing xo