#rough drafts

[aloofobtuse]

Funny concept on what I plan to make for the 6th-grade teacher AU.

[backpackingspace]

a rough sketch of an idea

Polites found odysseus in the sheep's field weapons and armor and body broken and bruised. It looked like he had been dropped from a great height. He felt his gut clench at the sight. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. But it was the worst he had ever seen his friend.

Odysseus had been collecting more and more bruises over the past year, becoming more and more cagey about their source. About his training. "Proof of athena's favoritism" he called them with a grin "it'll all be worth it when I'm the best fighter around"

But polites couldn't help but worry. Pride and honors and achievements didn't matter if you didn't survive the training to get there. Polites desperately wished there was something more he could to do to help but even if he could convince odysseus to cease this insanity, how would even get out of it without offending the goddess?

"I take it training didn't go well, my friend?" Polites asked with a smile forcing his voice to keep its teasing edge. He extended a hand to help odysseus up off the ground.

"Shut up polites" odysseus grumbled as he threw a hand up to clumsily grasp at polites hand.

Despite the muscle odysseus was rapidly gaining polites could still haul him up easily. He'd thank the gods for his height but lately praying had left a sour taste in his mouth. As he dragged odysseus towards a well paid and secured doctor he eyed the broken spear, sword, and sheild. A glimmer of an idea started to take shape. It was likely odysseus would continue to break mortal equipment as he did battle with gods and his family had been pressuring him to choose a calling already....

"Eurylochus is coming from same tomorrow" polites chatted ideally, hoping to distract his closest friend from his pain. Odysseus groaned and banged his head against polites shoulder.

"Come now!" Polites chided through his laughter "you love the man!"

"Not when he's trying to bed my sister I dont" odysseus slurred somehow managing to drip annoyance through the concussion and other pains.

(@www-dot-why-are-you-here-dot-com tagged as promise! It's more on the angsty side of my headcanons so let me know if you only want to be tagged in the fluffy ones)

[orcinus-the-orca]

Was going through my notes when I stumbled upon a snippet from a larger story. A Batfam x DCMK crossover, to put it plainly. The main jist is Conan, Saguru, Heiji, Haibara, and Kaito end up in the DC world because of gem shenanigans. And then somehow, the first four end up in the good graces of the Batfam. Kaito avoids them like the plague, and as far as the detectives (and Haibara) know, they don't know if he followed them to this world or not. Here's one of those proposed ideas of how they find out about KID's presence.

Further background: Tim Drake (as Robin) has had at least one run-in with a strange guy. I wrote this around the time of just getting into DC lore, so forgive some of the wording. This was also last updated in October 2022.

 “What do you have there?”

 Tim jumped at the small voice, swiveling his chair around to look at the little girl by his chair. She was staring at his monitor with a bored expression, though her blue eyes seemed to sparkle with something else. Curiosity, maybe, but Tim was too tired to properly guess.

 The teenager leaned back into the back of his seat, rubbing the sting from his eyes. He’d been twenty minutes without coffee and the effects were already getting to his nerves, “Some guy I met on patrol.”

 “Trying to find leads?” The little girl hummed, tilting her head back to view the bright screen better. “At least you’re being smart about it.”

 “Hey, I–“ Tim blinked, “What do you mean by that?”

 Haibara glanced up, surprise finally alight in her features, “You are reviewing footage. Had it been Kudo-kun, he would be breaking into homes and licking foreign objects.”

 Tim had no answer. He was already thrown off by the implications that he was doing something rational, which was not a word typically used to describe him nor his habits. He was the “weird” one by his family’s standards and had never once had himself compared to being normal about anything. Though he wasn’t sure the word described him, he wasn’t going to ruin it by admitting that he and Kudo shared a lot of things, actually.

 “Have you any leads?” Haibara asked, and Tim realized only then that she had dragged another one of the chairs to the desk. “Suspects?”

 “I– No,” Tim shook his head. “Just that he’s hard to trace, apparently. Impressive, really.”

 “How do you mean?” Haibara linked her fingers together.

 Tim waved his hand as he rewound the footage for the 53rd time, “I can’t find where he went; let alone where he came from. My only guess is he’s disguising himself, so maybe some sort of shape shifter…”

 Tim waited, expecting another question from the little girl, but she kept quiet. Her eyes were locked onto the playing video, following every movement of the man Tim had met. The man performed that trick with the cards, throw an eight of hearts and ace of spades at the two men who had been firing at them. The force at which each card had been thrown managed to knock the men off their balance while still being capable of embedding into the wall behind. Tim stared down at his notes, contemplating whether super strength was qualified to be added.

 “I was wondering where he might be.”

 Tim snapped his head to Haibara, whose expression had lifted into something amusement. Tim stared at the video then at her, “You know this guy?”

 “Who said anything about knowing?” Haibara asked with a coy smile. “I cannot say I know him, but I certainly know of him. Kudo-kun and Hakuba-kun, on the other hand, have had enough experience that I would reason they’re in a committed relationship by now.”

 “Kudo and Hakuba?” Tim mouthed.

 “For both of our sakes, I would recommend you not tell them of this,” Haibara explained, inching towards the edge of her seat. “When it comes to him, the detective will do anything to have one of their confrontations.”

 Tim’s eyes narrowed, “Why is that? Who is he?”

 Haibara placed her elbows on her knees, creating a rest for her chin to set upon, “You have heard his name before. He is a criminal of many faces, a thief who steals his prizes only to return them to their rightful owners. The magician dressed in white to perform his tricks for his faithful audience. The one thief those detectives have never bested.”

 Haibara lifted her gaze towards Tim, her blue eyes sparkling with humor, “He is the internationally wanted thief, Kaitou 1412. Better known by his name KID.”

 “KID,” Tim mouthed, then with louder ferocity, “That was Kaitou KID?!?”  Haibara closed her eyes, “Bingo.”

[thegeminisage]

i haven't posted an excerpt in a while but this is my favorite part of the fic so far that i am willing to post before it's Officially posted. what a fucking pair of losers

[brynnmclean]

It's Wednesday! Hoping that tumblr will cooperate and let me post a snippet for WIP Wednesday!!!!

Still working on the Hellblade fic, but I have thankfully finished the rough draft of chapter 4! I posted a snippet on Saturday, but here is the part that follows that one because I want SOMEONE to hug Senua:

Senua turns toward him and though it hurts when she folds herself into his arms, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about himself at all, only prays that his legs stay steady for her. It is like the strain of a shield-wall, but he’ll stay shoulder to shoulder with her in the battle against memory and fear. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, ill-practiced at soothing, but saying it anyway. Holding her anyway. The side of her face presses against his chest, her arms folded up and fingers of her hands knotted together, as if she is afraid of clinging to him—but every place they touch feels vital. It’s the fire kindled by another fire, the thing that keeps a man safe in winter. No one lives long in this land on their own. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, he wants to say, and you’re not alone now, and you broke curses in this land, you didn’t bring them, but he can’t speak, all of it too crowded in his throat. He just puts his arms around her and lets her shake apart for as long as she needs to. The storm passes slowly, leaving them both shivering and swaying from the force of it, but still on their feet. Senua pulls away eventually, rubbing at her reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, needless apologies tumbling from her lips. Thórgestr dares to touch her hair, gently cupping the back of her head and tucking a braid behind the shell of her ear. “It’s all right,” he says, coaxing her back to bed so that he can sit down. If he has less strength tomorrow, he refuses to regret this. “You’ve seen me half-dead and mad with fever—this is little compared to that.” Senua’s face crumples, but she lets Thórgestr tuck her back against him, though she maneuvers so that her forehead presses into his shoulder where he is less sore. He feels greedy about touching her, soaking up her warmth, hardly believing that he can press his hand between her shoulder blades and listen to her catch her breath. When was the last time he held someone like this, for the comfort of it? When was the last time someone held her? Is he the first since her lost love, her Dillion? Thórgestr doesn’t say it aloud, but he makes another promise to her and to himself: he’ll prove himself worthy of this moment, even if this is the only time.

Tagging @wildwren, @eisoj5, @skatingthinandice, @stitchingatthecircuitboard, and @rain-sleet-snow! Also @nukyster-blog for fic awareness. :D

[thelongestway]

Ok, so at this point I need a masterpost for the Nameless Fanfic (placeholder name) and a tag. Because I just realized like an idiot I shouldn't be reblogging it all the time, because it will take more chapters than I envisioned and it would get annoying otherwise.

(The Nameless Fanfic) is a rough draft of a crossover fanfic for Time to Orbit: Unknown and The Murderbot Diaries. This is set post-canon for TTOU and just after Fugitive Telemetry for TMBD, but spoiler-wise it's extremely heavy spoilers for the end of TTOU (of the "you should probably read the original first" variety), and light spoilers for Fugitive Telemetry for TMBD.

EDIT: Complete draft done!

(The Nameless Fanfic)

Chapter 1: Connection Test Start and Chapter 2: Construct Chapter 3: Bees Chapter 4: Protocols Chapter 5: Security Chapter 6: Medical Suite Chapter 7: Damage Chapter 8: Affect Chapter 9: Humans Chapter 10: Hostage Chapter 11: Extraction Chapter 12: Metaphors Chapter 13: Friends Chapter 14: Plans Chapter 15: Play

[painted-doe]

WIP word search

Tagged by the exceptional @bromcommie! Enjoy a bunch of snippets from some of my WIPs based on the keywords that appear in them. (These are probably longer than they're supposed to be but hey ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

My keywords were: space, sharp, sweet, home

space

From “what the water wants”, a horror story about a poltergeist haunting Bucky and Sam (although no horror makes an appearance in this part).

The one and only time he’d ever been invited over to Bucky’s place, Sam had stood in the doorway of the barren apartment and stared. For a moment he’d wondered if the elevator had taken them to the wrong floor — if maybe this apartment was empty and waiting for a tenant to move in. Because this wasn’t a space where someone lived. 

But Bucky had pinned him with a stare that said don’t fucking say it, and had shouldered past him and thrown his keys on the counter with the familiarity and confidence of a person who did, in fact, live here. Anyway, they’d both been bleeding and bruised and covered in toxic slime at the time, so there had been more urgent things on Sam’s mind.

But later that night, once they were both scrubbed and disinfected and bandaged, each wearing a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants and working their way steadily through several white boxes of Szechuan takeout on the floor in front of the TV, Sam had turned to him with purpose. Bucky had stiffened and stared straight ahead like he’d never seen anything more fascinating than the crowds cheering for Hungary’s soccer team.

“Dude,” Sam said, not unkindly, “you know you don't have to live like this?”

sharp

From “Diptych”, a two-part Sambucky fic. Part 1: Sam and Bucky are sucked into Westview and Wanda mashes them together like a couple of action figures kissing. Part 2: The aftermath when they return to real life.

Sam didn’t remember there being any children in Westview, but he must have forgotten somehow. 

Of course there were children; there were children everywhere now that Sam was noticing them. Even Marcus and Jeannie had a son, Jack. Maybe it was odd that he had forgotten about little Jack, since they lived right next door. But it was very easy not to think about that, so he didn’t.

Jack was competing in a junior league baseball game and everyone was invited. Bucky was feeling steady enough to leave the house, and that didn’t happen every day, so they put on sweaters and dusted off their baseball caps and held hands as they walked down to the baseball diamond in the crisp air. They were entering the deepest days of autumn, with Halloween right around the corner, and the low afternoon sunlight dappled the orange-red leaves of the trees that lined their little suburban street. Bucky’s winter-coloured eyes caught and held the amber light, and it softened all his sharp edges to gold; Sam’s heart flipped a little when he met his gaze and smiled.

sweet

From the upcoming second chapter of “A Candle in the Window”:

“Hi, Mr. Barnes!” Peter shouts, waving at him.

Barnes, who has just leapt onto the metal dinosaur’s spiny back and is using a combat knife in each hand to scale it like a mountain climber, looks genuinely horrified to see him. It’s actually kind of sweet.

“Is that you under there?!” he yells. “What the — get outta here, kid!”

“Thanks for coming!” Peter shouts back happily, and promptly gets knocked out of the sky mid-swing as the thing’s big metal tail smacks him. 

Fortunately, he lands in a tree. 

Unfortunately, the tree is about to be set on fire. 

The robo-dino’s mouth opens toward him, its jaws wide enough for him to stand up between them, and those are some very big pointy steel teeth, and he can see the flamethrower powering up at the back of the throat where the tongue ought to be, and all his instincts fail as for one critical second he <em>freezes</em> —

And at that exact moment, a big ball of snarling supersoldier slams fist-first right into the thing’s metal jaw, a vibranium uppercut hard enough to knock it off one of its hinges. The jaw is now dangling by one end, like a car’s bumper after a fender bender. The jet of fire that was about to melt Peter’s face off ends up going cockeyed and blasting a duck pond instead. He hopes there weren’t any ducks paddling around in there, because there definitely aren’t now.

home

from “Lagniappe”, a novel-length TFATWS story about Bucky rescuing a dog from a dogfighting ring and accidentally rehabilitating himself along the way.

The dog didn’t have a name. That was what made him decide.

He hadn’t had a name either. Not for a long time. The electricity and heavy dizzying drugs had scraped even that last dignity out of him. Even now, years later, the person-thing he’d managed to salvage and stuff back into himself was only a messy amalgamation of bits and pieces. Secondhand stories from Steve of who he’d once been; hazy snapshot memories; habits and tastes he didn’t quite remember but had been informed he once had, and so had now re-adopted out of a weird fear of somehow getting it wrong. Getting the business of being Bucky Barnes wrong. 

He was an unabashed mess, but most of the parts HYDRA had ripped out had slowly grown back, little by little. He still lost his words from time to time, but he didn’t have to carry a knife to be able to bear a trip to the grocery store. Sometimes he still woke in distress in the night, keening and shivering from the memories, but now he could look someone in the eye and tell them no if he didn’t want to obey them. Now he could go for a walk on a frosty day without losing his breath and having to call someone to take him home. He was even making amends for the things he had done — or at least was trying to, in his bitter fumbling way.

And all of that had started with his name. His name in Steve Rogers’ mouth. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve had told him desperately on that helicarrier, like wedging his foot into a door that was trying to slam closed — and Bucky had still fought him, had almost killed him, but the words had worked their magic. His name had begun to reawaken him. His name.

The black dog didn’t even have that.

@philtstone, @fixing-the-boat, @possumwoodpie, @clucku, @toxiclxki, @snarkythewoecrow @writethewolvesaway @wishihadatail @shackleton2 I choose you! Your keywords are: ignore, kind, lose, silver (And anyone else who wants to play, consider yourself tagged -- sorry if I missed you!)

[incendavery]

rejected rough drafts (+ one forbidden rough draft posted for my patrons only👀)

[cambionverse]

Happy March 29th!

Once again, it's Cambionverse Day and Jesse Turner's birthday. We don't have the next chapter of Envesseled ready to post yet, so we decided to post some excerpts from it instead! Please enjoy them, and as always, thank you for your patience <3

Amazon Rainforest, Brazil

"Do you think this is what it looks like?" asks Jesse as they leave, moving on foot through the towering forest until they find a place without angelic interference to let him jump. "In...Heaven or whatever. Where souls go. Do you think this is what Ben sees?"

Claire has dreaded the thought of Heaven since she was eleven years old, and some days she thinks she only survived this long out of fear of ending up there. Maybe this forest is a close analogue, if the way her skull feels about to vibrate off her spine is any indication.

"I keep thinking about what Marie said," he confesses. "About how he might be—happy there. With his mom."

"He's probably surrounded by angels," Claire retorts. "That's no one's idea of a good time, even if you're a Winchester." She doesn't want Ben to be happy in the afterlife, she realizes; either she is cruel enough to tear him out of Heaven, or cruel enough to hope he is suffering so that even being with her again would be a relief. She kicks away a vine that crosses their path and then crushes it under her heel out of sheer spite.

"But what if she's right?" says Jesse. "Don't you think—"

"No one asked you to think," she snaps. "I don't need the Antichrist's opinion of Heaven. Just take us to the next place."

Jesse stops. Claire does too, silent and glaring. He searches her face, and for a moment it's like he's looking at a stranger.

"I still want him back," Jesse says. "I didn't say I don't."

Claire flicks out her hand like she's drawing a sword. "Then stop wasting time," she says, "and let's go."

She kisses him again later that night, after a piece of grace in Kabul knocks her out too badly to continue. It's not an apology, and she doesn't try to make it one. But it does keep him from asking about Ben again.

Nile River, Egypt

"Just leave some for tomorrow," Jesse says as she wrings out her hair. The locals on shore haven't noticed them yet, but it's getting to be a close thing. "This is already more than we usually get in a day."

"I'm almost done," Claire mumbles. Her mouth tastes like copper. She reaches down again, gets hit with a flash of Castiel fighting off one of his brothers, and comes to with the river breaking across her face as Jesse pulls her up again.

"Claire," he says, holding her upright. "This is stupid. Just stop."

She ignores him, tries to pull away. When that doesn't work, she frowns and aims her mouth at his mouth instead. To her surprise, Jesse tightens his grip on her shoulders and stops her there too. When Claire's eyes refocus, she sees him watching her with a frown.

"Look," he says, quieter. "You can get your blood on my mouth if you want to. I'm still going to tell you you're going too far."

Claire reaches up to wipe her face, petulant, and only now notices that her nose has been bleeding all along. It's not that she didn't think he would notice the pattern, but he's not supposed to talk about it. A drop of red falls off her lip and stains the river red.

Jesse sighs. "It's not like I mind," he says. "The kissing, I mean, or whatever you want to call it. But just 'cause I like it doesn't mean I can't tell what you're doing."

"It's not a reward," Claire grouses.

"It can be whatever you like," says Jesse, too sincere. His hands are still holding her in place, holding her up. "You know that's always been true, don't you? And if you decide you don't want to do it anymore, that's also fine." His cheeks go a little red. "Or if, when Ben is back—"

The warmth of tolerant exasperation curdles in Claire's throat instantly. She pushes out of Jesse's arms, and this time he lets her go. "This isn't," she begins, and then chokes as the truth curse tries to twist her words. She smears more blood off her face and glares at the river. "My usual outlets aren't available right now. I've already explained what this does and doesn't mean to me. You have no excuse for wishful thinking."

She's glad she can't see whatever face he makes at that. By the time Jesse speaks again, his voice is as even as hers. "As I said. You'll do what you like." He steps out of the water. "Let me know when you're done."

Claire tastes blood the whole rest of her time in the Nile. They don't share a bed that night.

[kairos-thehumanpoet]

Pathetic

if loving you

makes me

pathetic,

then I am

a goddamn

disgrace.

~kairos💛

[hellverse]

writing dean is a form of self torture

[aloofobtuse]

Cozy heart penguin

Plus a rough sketch of a comic

These are ideas of how cozy might be drawn by me. Maybe with more time, I could come to a decision.

[makeshiftstory]

Finally, for now, we're at the end of the art dump before the second page for Changes is uploaded tonight. These are some prototype sketches for a teacup tattoo I'm thinking about getting in the future. It's a bit of a sisters' joke amongst us (Little Sister, Smaller Sister, and then Teacup Sister). I'll like do a combination of the three teacups to make the best one possible for my first tattoo.

[orcinus-the-orca]

Whumptober Day 08: Sleep Deprivation | Isolation chamber | Forced to stay awake | “Leave the lights on”

Guess whaaaat, it's more Parlor Tricks! This was completely incidental, the stroke of luck kicking in for day 7. Just to let you all in on a little secret, I have ideas written for every day of Whumptober prompts save for a few (day 7 being one that didn't have any concrete ideas). This planning of mine is mostly the reason I'm continuing with Whumptober; they're just too good to pass up!

Okay, rambling over. Enjoy!

 Kaito was severely underprepared, and this time there was no pulling out. He really should have seen this coming, should have known that they would do anything if it meant they got what they wanted. His mistake was thinking that it would only be his life at risk. The truth was, the opposite was true.

 The woman with the voice, that horribly gentle voice, had come in and asked the same question. At that point, he had given up answering at all, learning that any answer but the one they wanted earned him a brutal reminder that he was awake; he was alive. His silence wasn’t taken lightly, either. The woman, touching him so gently and promising him it would be so much better if he just cooperated, had to pull away when he responded with a snap of his teeth. She didn’t even the decency to cry out, only snicker as she turned her back on him.

 “Why don’t we leave the lights on,” she said, her voice so very heavy and comforting. “Perhaps a change of perspective will convince you into good behavior.”

 The perspective turned out to be insanity, or at least the cusp of it. Kaito was very aware the risks of sleep deprivation, and he could feel the adverse affects. The room was empty, he knew that for a fact, but he swore he could hear someone shuffling in the corner. There was no evidence, no shadow (yet) but logic was fleeting. He began to question if he was really remembering right or if he had been awake for that long. Maybe if he could rest his eyes–

 BZZT.

 He stutters awake, limbs jerking as his brain struggles to coordinate. The culprit is the collar around his neck. It’s not electrical, it isn’t shocking him into wakefulness, but it does buzz violently when it detects he’s falling asleep. At least, that’s what he assumes. They never told him, had simply slipped it on and walked out.

 He needed an out. If he was having auditory hallucinations, then he was nearing the fourth stage if he wasn’t already there. He tried to recount what all the symptoms were for each stage, if only to gauge where he was at, but he was so tired. If he could just close his eyes for a minute.

 BZZT.

 “I GET IT!” He slammed his head into the wall, regretting it immediately when the room spun faster than before. Why were the lights so bright? Couldn’t they dampen them a little bit so his eyes wouldn’t hurt? Nooo, they had to make him feel sick. Make him feel miserable, as though his whole life weren’t already a train wreck. He lifts his head, still throbbing from the hit, to look at the camera in the corner. “I bet you think this is…this is…” 

 His head hits the floor, followed by the rest of him. He hopes the position won’t trigger the buzzing collar, hopes it’ll leave him alone so he can at least rest his neck. He needs to keep it together, needs to remind himself of reality, but it’s getting so very hard to focus. To think, even. Why is he even here? What is so important that they would torture him like this?

 Because you’re KID. Because you have what they want. Don’t let them have it. Don’t let his death be in vain.

 Wherever the thought comes from, he’s not sure. It’s not his, so he decides it’s probably KID’s. It makes sense, KID is meant to know how to escape these things. It’s him who prides himself in his ability to escape from anything. Maybe he should be here instead, since he’s so good at it. Kaito hasn’t done anything deserving of this.

 I do appreciate your hard work, Kuroba-san. Hold out a little longer, yeah? For Ol’ Pop’s sake.

 BZZT.

 “Do it yourself,” Kaito hisses, fingers pulling at the tightly wound collar. “You good for nothing–“

 What would Pop think?

 “Pops is dead! If he cared so much, he wouldn’t fu–“

 BZZT.

 “I’M AWAKE!”

 It’s not glamorous, I will admit. But you took this responsibility, everyone is counting on you. Even when the lights fade, keep your poker face.

 Never let them know you’ve stumbled.

 Time passes, he hears the door open. He opens his eyes.

 “How are we feeling?” Asks the woman, lips twisted into a wicked smile.

 KID smiles back. “How pleasant it is to see you again, Gila-san.”

[thegeminisage]

I have to know about the dead beat ghost of George Kirk, that lit my brain up. Also Spock on Spock violence either/or. both even?

BOTH IS GOOD. tysm. this got so long don't worry about reading this entire answer lol <3

ok, so, spock on spock violence is a fanfic i conceived when i was deep in the throes of trek last autumn. but i had to wait until i had watched EVERYTHING with nimoy's spock in it before i could begin working on it, and by the time i got there, the steam sort of ran out of my engines. so i'm not sure if it'll ever get done at this point, especially considering i sort of veered back into working on something else. anyway, to general concept of this is - while it's very sweet that in the movies and in real life quinto spock and nimoy spock are friends, it's also. love and light. a little boring. i think that really, spock is an individual who is in many ways at war with himself, and when asked the age-old question "would you fight your clone or fuck him?" would unequivocally choose FIGHT every time

the very basic plot of the fic (which is really just a flimsy excuse for spock and spock to be petty cut-throat bitches at each other) is that post stid quinto spock has been traumatized by 1. the death of his mother 2. the death of his planet 3. the death of his boyfriend (hi, jim) and he's decided to break up with jim and do a kohlinahr so he doesn't have to feel grief anymore (and, with his longer vulcan lifespan, never has to watch jim die) because this shit is killing him. jim thinks this is stupid and nimoy spock also thinks this is stupid so nimoy spock and quinto spock spend a great deal of time hurling insults at one another about it.

there is also a side plot that very vaguely cribs from the tos episode "what are little girls made of?" wherein people are getting replaced by androids, and at one point, quinto spock is tempted by a jim android, because, after all:

an android jim never has to suffer! he never has to die! spock could have and love his boyfriend FOREVER AND EVER and never have to fear the pain of loss ever again! that will totally work and fix everything with absolutely zero problems, right?

since i don't actually have any prose written for this yet, i will provide an excerpt from my notes, edited slightly for clarity:

to quinto spock, nimoy spock is a living example of his every failure and his worst fears. he gave up the good fight against his own internal humanity, he TOOK A HUMAN MATE (gross!), and he allowed/indirectly caused vulcan to be destroyed. nimoy spock, old and at the end of his life, has no one. he's been mourning his jim for longer than they were ever together. the only thing he knows is the unbearable pain of grief. quinto spock fears this kind of pain more than anything. he thinks he is seeing his own future and he is desperate to prevent it via any means possible, even the kolinahr - this timeline can be different, right?

to nimoy spock, quinto spock is a living example of the very worst and most cowardly parts of himself, and wastes all the precious opportunities he has - he makes nimoy spock sick with envy. quinto spock has SO many years left to spend with jim and he's going to WASTE them just because he's afraid of what life will be like without him. worse, he's hurting the person nimoy spock loved most by pushing him away, and it's all his own (nimoy spock's) fault because vulcan was kind of his bad. by allowing vulcan to be destroyed he has ruined not only his future, but also his past. quinto spock is destroying himself from the inside over his misguided prejudice over his own humanity, and his internalized xenophobia or whatever, and he's too young and too stupid to see that the only way to get through it is to GO through it, and he won't listen to the one person he should trust above all others (himself) because he HATES HIMSELF, that's his/their whole problem

like, imagine your entire deal is self-loathing and an abject refusal to accept both halves of your extremely internally conflicted being. and then suddenly there's another version of yourself who can stand next to you, who can be blamed and yelled at (possibly punched?), who is somehow doing an EVEN WORSE JOB at being you than you already are!!!!! you have to watch this other you make mistakes so massive even YOU wouldn't do them and you guys are supposed to NOT fight somehow??

ultimately, this is a fic about confronting grief and pain rather than running away from it, but it also morphed into a kind of fix-it for generations (the movie where kirk bites it in the most underwhelming death scene ever) which turned it into a very full project because those two things are a bit at odds with each other, so i had to reoutline it, but the outline IS all ready to go, i just...haven't gotten around to it yet because i'm working on the other project. i haven't given up on it though!!!

deadbeat ghost of george kirk is essentially a story about how completely useless it is to have a ghost for a dad. not a literal ghost, it's not that kind of story, but despite how affecting the opening of the 2009 movie is, we have to contend with the sad reality that if you grow up without a dad there is a high risk of simply becoming chris pine's kirk. like, that's why he's like that, right? hard truths. i only have about 800 words of this and it's quite likely it will never be finished or posted, but every time someone says something horrible to me in real life about my dead dad (happens more often than you think) i add another rage-fueled paragraph. an excerpt (content warning for child abuse and suicidal ideation):

What's so heroic about it, anyway? Jim's dad didn't die to save eight hundred lives; he died to save two, and counted the other seven hundred ninety-eight as a happy bonus. And what became of those two people? His mother a chronically offworld functional alcoholic, married to a chronically on-world nonfunctional alcoholic, whose favorite hobby is hitting his wife's sons with his belt and whose second favorite hobby is seeing which bones he can break with his steel-toed boots. Jim himself, sent to the hell that was Tarsus IV for driving a car off a cliff, who at eleven years old had already been jaded enough to consider just going off the cliff with it. Would George Kirk do it again the same way, if he could somehow know how the world turned without him in it? Would he think it was a fair trade? Either the answer is no and he was an idiot who threw away his life for nothing, or the answer is yes and he was an asshole. Either way, it hardly amounts to heroism. What good is a dead father to anybody? They can't turn up at the school play or the track meets. They can't teach you to tie a tie or throw a punch at bullies or slip you your first beer or bring you birthday gifts. You can't give a Father's Day card to an empty grave, not if you're saying anything true. All the cards say things like Thanks for being there for me, Dad!, and all Jim knows about his father is that there is the one place he wasn't. See, Jim has been in space, which is quite literally the absence of everything. He's also been on Tarsus IV, a planet where people got so hungry they started hacking limbs off of corpses to soothe the absolute absence of food in their stomach. And yet, for all that, the absence of George Kirk is the keenest absence he's ever known.

let people send you an ask with the WIP title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

[brynnmclean]

in the core of everything drums a beat - snippets round up post

Actually, not a bad idea to have some kind of post with all the Hellblade fic fragments I've posted so far. In vague order of how they should fit together chronologically in the fic:

Chapter one

Rough draft of chapter one where Thórgestr is having a lot of fever dreams (there was an earlier post with a small section that I think is still my favorite in the chapter)

Also from chapter one, but I think @eisoj5 asking me for "and" as a word in that WIP meme remains hilarious, so here's that post

Chapter two

Part of chapter two and the introduction of my Irish healer OC Iseult

Thórgestr awake and making a very bad joke about getting stabbed, my beloved

First Senua Giantsbane name drop!

"Is my father dead?" "He's alive. He's an exile."

I'm really fond of Fargrímr and I do think he cares about Thórgestr, so this is a nice little moment for that

Chapter three (once upon a time I said I could finish this in 3 chapters, lol)

Intro to the chapter where half-asleep Thórgestr eavesdrops on a conversation between Senua and Fargrímr

There is so much in the game about Thórgestr's dad so why not feature a dream of his mother, here's her introduction

I gave her some very specific spirit vibes :)

You know, lot of emphasis on being your father's child, but Thórgestr is also his mother's son and I think that's important. Also I know surnames are patronymic, but there was that whole thing in the game about the importance of names, chosen names included, and so I really dig the idea of Thórgestr privately thinking of himself as Eindridson. (Also I like prophecies and love the idea of Eindrid as ghostly fate-spirit predicting how Áleifr will die... Honestly, chapter three is a fave!)

Thórgestr probably forgot what his mother's face looked like, so of course he's afraid to look away from her when she appears in his dreams

You ever write a bunch of fun images and then have a friend brainstorm plot developments with you later when you're at a loss on what kind of object you might need characters to go find, so of course your friend is like, "hey, you already wrote what you need." Just me? (thanks @allatariel <3)

Chapter four

The beginning of the chapter

Part of a midnight conversation between Senua and Thórgestr, early in the chapter

A moment I think is cute at the end of that scene

The beginning of an important conversation between Ástríðr and Thórgestr.

"Your father is gone. So is mine. But I’ll have what I’m owed. Tell me, Thórgestr," Ástríðr says, "what is your regret worth? What of your word?"

please I want the beginning of this next scene to be down, I've been struggling

working on another conversation between Senua and Thórgestr, but also this is a post where I ramble about some things I want to accomplish in this fic!

Senua first talks about Dillion

Senua finally gets a hug LIKE SHE DESERVES

It sounds simple, but Thórgestr and Senua talk a little bit about being friends and that is important to me

Chapter five

Another spooky dream :) this one heavily referencing the beginning of the game in Reykjanestá

Thórgestr waking up from the above dream

Chapter six because I have lost control of my outline again!!!

Chapter opener -- Thórgestr is finally getting out of the sickroom!

"Senua Giantsbane, Senua Truthseeker"

A funny part of a conversation with a Bjarg skáld OC who pitches a marriage of convenience between Senua and Thórgestr to his utter bewilderment

Chapter... uh, current outline says eight... JUST KIDDING it's Chapter ten now

One of my favorite parts I've written for the whole damn thing even now -- Thórgestr doing sword drills alone on a beach near Bárðarvik

Thórgestr and Fargrímr conversation snippets one and two that are actually part of a larger scene

Multi / Misc:

Sections from multiple chapters: intro descriptions of OCs!

There was a WIP Excerpts meme going around late Dec 2024, so here is the tag for my responses to asks about that

Other posts:

My fanmix / fic playlist post

Others Narration transcription posts (6 total)

My video games screenshots tag

The overall tag for this fic is hertan writing tag

... also for my own reference, first mention of the fic, dated 04 June 2024 (sighs so heavily about how slow of a writer I am)

LAST UPDATE ON THIS POST: 08 Jan 2025

Feel free to author subscribe on AO3 if you want to catch the fic drop whenever that happens in the future

Chapter One Tumblr Post