#tempted very tempted to do a fanfic version of signs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatfangirlofsb · 2 years ago

Text

A/N: Hi, I'm back with another grishaverse fanfic. This time it will be about the zoyalai.

This one will be longer than the last one, so be prepared.

T/W: Spoilers of Rule of wolves.

"Zoya decides to fix the wedding that Nikolai and the shu decided to botch, but will she be able to do it without breaking down?"

Moya tsaritsa (I)

"And now I find it out?" The fury could be heard clearly in her voice even at the other end of the table, where Nikolai was happy to be separated from her thanks to all the people who were sitting around the long piece of wood.

Nikolai couldn't have been happier when everything went according to plan, but all that happiness crashed down when a very angry Zoya walked into the meeting room with her fists clenched.

"Over my age-wrinkled corpse, Nikolai." She said placing her palms on the table with such force that the wood trembled slightly at her touch. "And I remind you that the grisha live longer and take us a while to get old."

She was tempted to throw a blast of air at him that would put him against the wall and knock him unconscious for a few minutes, but she quickly forgot that idea. She was going to keep yelling at him, but when she felt the air gathering around her she turned and got out of there toward her room. Thanks Nikolai, today I won't be able to rest after the trip because of all the work I have to do, she thought before occupying her mind with solutions to the big problem that a certain blond had caused.

—————

"Was there a tornado or just an angry squaller?" Nikolai asked entering Zoya's room and closing the door when both of his feet had already crossed the threshold.

"Was there a stupid king or was it just you on your good days?" Zoya said, picking up all the papers that had been scattered on the cold floor after her blow of fury every time she began to write the apology letters.

She was angry, very angry. So as soon as the door of her room closed behind her, she unleashed her power without control between those four walls, causing all her order to disappear.

All because of that stupid boy with the lopsided smile that often made her want punch it away. But later, when she remembered who he was and what could happen to her, her thoughts became only dreams. Dreams that she prayed she had instead of all the nightmares that tormented her at night.

"Are you here to seek your death or just to work to fix it?" The grisha lifted and leaned against her desk, folding her arms as her cold gaze settled on the king. "I can make it look like an accident, so don't provoke me."

"I missed you… the whole palace missed you." His voice trembled slightly and he looked down at the ground trying to avoid his gaze. "I was wondering if..."

"If I want to blow you out of my room? Yes." She answered drily, looking over the papers she had already picked and placed on the desk for later ordering. "I'll tell you two things Nikolai. First, this wedding is going to happen and I don't care that you've had a fever and your brain has switched into some selfish version of itself. And second, you're not fleeing this room until the last letter signed by your handwriting is finished."

"Understood."

It was going to be a very long day, extremely long.

—————

"Congratulations Zoya, thanks to you now my hand will fall off."

The last letter had already been enveloped and placed on the pile to Nikolai's right. His hand was certainly tired, but not to the point of falling. Despite Zoya's words, she had also written several letters. Probably more than him, because her pile was taller than the opponent's one. But she wasn't going to complain, they were doing all of this for Ravka.

"If you hadn't messed up the wedding this wouldn't be happening." A sigh escaped her lips, and Nikolai couldn't help but notice as his gaze landed on them. "Why Nikolai?"

The blond was so engrossed looking at her that it took him a while to react. He could blame exhaustion out loud, but he actually knew that the principal point of all the trouble he had caused was a certain general standing by his side; too close.

"Can't a king mess things up?" He asked as he stood up and stretched his limbs. Most of the candles had blown out on their own, and the room was lit only by the moon and a few candles that were about to follow the same path as the others.

"Yes, but not you." Zoya turned on her own chair to look at his face, feeling her heart clench as she saw his face lighted from the side by the moon. No, she couldn't think that. Only Ravka had to be in her mind. "We both know that what you've done is bad for Ravka, and you never do anything bad for your kingdom no matter the outcome. Why?"

Why? I don't know either, but I know it has to do with you. With your beautiful blue eyes, your long black hair, your bravery, your devotion to Ravka, your mask to hide what you really feel... You, you are the culprit, Nikolai thought before shaking his head from side to side. He couldn't, he couldn't say that. Not now.

"Are you so tired that you are speechless?" Zoya's cold voice brought him back to reality, to a reality where he had to think of an answer as fast as his brain could. "Nikolai, say it or I'll have to force it out of you."

"I just was thinking." It was true, but he didn't want to tell her in what. "Zoya... have you ever wondered what you would do if you weren't you?"

"If I wasn't me?" Nikolai's question surprised her. What would do if she wasn't her? What was he talking about? Not being a grisha, not being the general of the second army, not being part of that friendship between the two of them... He could refer to so many things with those words. "I would be a very famous thief, and I would have already stolen your crown and your Lantsov emerald. I would rule Ravka with an iron fist and use you as a footrest."

Small smiles appeared on the faces of them, it seemed that Zoya's anger had largely disappeared.

"I would be honored to hold your beautiful feets, moya tsaritsa." He told her making a little bow, very dramatic for Zoya's liking.

"I could get used to that." She stretched out slightly her legs, looking at him teasingly and then crossing them over each other again.

"To what? To be queen?" He crossed his arms with his typical smirk, pulling his chair closer to her and sitting on it. "I can fix it if that's your wish."

"Are you sure? You know of any son of the queen of Shu Han who is planning to kill their entire family so he could become king?"

"Shu Han? Why?" His lips curved down, trying to appear devastated by her teasing. He hoped that her words were just that, a simple joke.

"I've had enough of the Ravkans. They are…not tolerable." Her gaze settled on him, and a slight smile with which she showed her teeths made Nikolai feel like his skin melted with that look; his heart had already succumbed long ago.

"I hope I don't have to take that accusation personally." He got up again and turned around, approaching the map that was hung on the wall. He bordered with his fingers the ravkan frontier that adjoined the shu, soon he would have to see how that country returned to bring a princess to Ravka. "I would be at sea, but then I would settle somewhere far away from the coast." He watched Zoya's smile give way to doubt, so he decided to speak. "I know you're not interested, but you could have at least asked. It's called manners."

"It wasn't that." The grisha's hands groped for the glass that rested empty next to her, only a slight aroma remained of the brandy that had been in it before. "It amazes me that you, the great Sturmhond, decide at some point in your life to settle. And far away from your beloved sea, no less. Do you have fever?"

He don't have it. But if the desire to leave everything just to be with the person he loved could be called that... yes, he has it.

"The wedding may have made me sick." He laughed as he observed Zoya's incredulous look, it was funny to see how she got annoyed with him but at the same time tried to contain herself. Playing with the death was one of his favorite hobbies.

"What wedding Nikolai? The one that did you dream about?" Her arms crossed and she blew out a small sigh before picking up the kefta from the back of her seat and got up to put it away in her closet.

"Genya and David's one." He said following her with his eyes without missing any of her movements. "It was beautiful, I would say one of the best weddings I have ever seen."

The two were silent for a long time. Although they had started with jokes and little games, remember what had happened that fatal day brought them back to reality. They stopped being Sturmhond and a queen with a human footrest and became Nikolai Lantsov and Zoya Nazyalensky again.

"Come on, it's time." She said quickly trying to change the subject so she wouldn't break down. Zoya walked briskly towards her bedroom door and placed her hand on the knob. "I have to chain a king."

"You don't know how long I was waiting for hear that."

—————

You can read the second part here.

You can read the third part here.

You can read the fourth part here.

You can read the fifth part here.

#zoyalai #grishaverse #grisha #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #leigh bardugo #shadow and bone #fanfic #queen zoya #zoya of the garden #zoya x nikolai

27 notes · View notes

parcequecestnotreprojeeeet · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2.

To answer the Anon’s question - I kinda don’t have a stockpile of written stuff ready to be released (is that bad?) I normally write when I have a moment or an idea strikes and then submit once I have double checked it for spelling or grammar errors - although I don’t always catch them ha ha.

EMT - since you said you like when we write fics based on comments on here, this is inspired by the convos about Brigitte’s hair, rings, nail polish, etc. I’d like to think given the way the two of them really seem to guard their private selves, there’s a version of them only the other gets to see - that’s kind of where this came from. If you like this piece, I can do the matching one focused on him. Hope everyone enjoys (and has a good weekend)!

Don’t get him wrong, he loves when his wife is all decked out in the finest designer clothes, shoes, jewelry the world has to offer. He loves the way her beautiful dresses skim above her knees, showing off her long, gorgeous legs; loves the way her hair perfectly frames her face when it’s impeccably coiffed, a golden halo surrounding his angel; loves the way the gemstones shine off each of the many, many rings he has given to adorn her hands over the years when her fingers catch the light. But he loves even more the private woman that only he is privileged enough to see, the things that are for his eyes only.

Like the way he knows, he sees, that her toenails are painted black this week, safely hidden under the pointed toe caps on her sky-high heels each time she appears in public, but revealing her free, independent spirit every time she bares her feet - that private little rebellion on full display for him as she walks around their apartment or slides her feet between his legs at night to warm her icy appendages. Or the way she keeps her hair piled up in a messy bun whenever she’s focused on something - she likes it because it makes it easier for her to concentrate, the wispy blonde strands out of the way of her laser focused eyes or her nervous and fidgety fingers; he likes it because it gives him easier access to that spot on her neck they both love oh-so very much. Or the way her ass looks in her his favourite pair of skinny jeans when she bends over to retrieve the toy Nemo often lovingly places at her feet as his sign he wants to play with his maman - oh-so sinful and oh-so tempting, he loses all rational thought. Or the way when she knows it’s just going to be the two of them that day, she wears her matching trinity ring, their own little secret, their own private vow, even now. Especially now.

Which is how he finds himself, staring at her, mouth a little agape, in the doorway this Saturday afternoon, finally able to return to her now that his duty was done, his heart bursting with love for the woman in front of him: her legs curled up beneath her in the arm chair, her black painted toes just peeking out from underneath the dainty folds of her endless legs, hair piled high on her head, glasses on her nose that was firmly planted in a book, the overhead light catching on the three metals on her right hand. His beautiful beloved, so clearly just waiting for him to return.

As she went to turn the page, something must have caught her eye, as she looked up over the book suddenly, eyes lighting up as she did so. "You’re home!" she greeted warmly, scrambling out of the chair to meet him at the doorway, throwing her arms around his neck when she reached him, as his slipped around her waist, giggling as she felt him pull her lower body into his and felt the impact she’s had on him since he had been standing there, silently watching her. "Someone’s happy to see me," she teased, her hips pressing closer of their own accord.

"You have no idea," he moaned leaning in for a passionate kiss. When the need for air became too great, he forced himself to pull back a little, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed softly as he tried to compose himself.

"Come on," she offered, out of breath herself, "let me show you how much I love you."

Hellooo fanfic Anon #2! ❤️

I totally enjoyed this piece and would be really great to have one focused on Emmanuel!

The way every detail he loves on her is described, my heart just melts 🫠 And the fact that he’s having all these thoughts while staring at her in the doorway, makes it even sweeter 🤧🥰

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

#fanfic #fanfic anon 2

6 notes · View notes

xazz · 1 year ago

Note

Hey BB!

I'm the anon from a few weeks back who was asking about moth wings and said I was going to reread Flocking Movement

I actually ended up rereading Back For More from start to finish lols!

I did end up commenting on both and I've reread/read a few new things too :)

I've been having a tough time mental health wise and for whatever reason reading your fics actually helped with my writers block (based on what I thought was physical health/brain fog) and I've been writing sooo much recently I've added like 15kish to one of my WIP and 8k on the other!

Hope you've been having as much progress with your writing :)

I remember a while ago reading some old fanfic of yours with a character named.... Spa? Spayar? I think I saw him mentioned on your writing blog (I follow both! Been tempting me into maybe making a writblr haha) I think he's one of your original OCs right?

I don't recall if you have any of your original works on Tumblr / AO3

Sorry for the blather, I'm playing DND while typing this so my heads a bit all over but I has the courage to type this while playing so wanted to send it while the shyness went away <3 - D/V (can't remember which I used to sign off last time whoops for having two internet fake names lol)

Ah B4M. Haven't thought about that fic in years oof

I'm glad my silly writing helped you break out of your writer's block. That's a lot of writing I'm really proud of you.

Yes I do have original stuff on my AO3. The VERY old version of Zealous Servant (which is where Spayar is from) and some other stuff set in that universe. I do plan on posting the new versions on my writblr and AO3 again but not until I'm back home from the holidays.

#shut up bb #ask bb

0 notes

otp-holic · 3 years ago

Text

The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

51 notes · View notes

willowstea · 3 years ago

Text

In-Depth Cinderella Thoughts (or re-writing the movie because I do not understand brevity)

First of all, this is my new favourite comfort movie. It's so much fun, colourful, and Idina Menzel is fabulous. The costuming was exquisite and it does feel like a lot of effort was put into the visuals in this movie.

But if I got a chance to write the plot, here are some changes I'd make (And am very tempted to write as my own Cinderella retelling or fix-it fanfic?). I tried to make this very coherent, but it's me and my messy thoughts in the end with a bit of reviewing and developing but don't expect this to be some sort of flawless movie pitch or something. Just bear with me.

TLDR: The ending needs much change, and the movie gets a small bit of restructuring to develop the characters more and made a stronger ending. Vivian and Gwen get a lot more character development. The King and Queen are more non-characters in this to make room for Gwen and Vivian. The Prince's role gets cut a bit too. Musical motifs are used. Some other stuff. I don't know how to explain it briefly anymore.

3K + word essay on fixing the script below:

First, I'd change the songs. Million to One and Dream Girl are staying, but I'd scrap the rest and write new original ones, although I'm very tempted to leave Material Girl in. I love Idina signing it, but think there are easier, more subtle ways to introduce this as her worldview. And it can be done within existing scenes, leaving more room to develop the characters. I loved the choreography in Rhythm Nation, but I just felt lit it set an odd tone for the movie since it makes it look like everyone is content in their roles in society, despite them being unfair. The song can be similar to Rhythm Nation, showing how well the nation flows when everyone is in their roles, with the importance being of everyone being in their roles, whether they like it or not. Alternatively, we can cut the opening number altogether in favour of an overture style montage, showing similar scenes and using all the important motifs and character themes.

There is no narration/voiceover in this version.

The next scene is the scene where Tomas is coming to see the Tremaines (at the end of the opening number, we follow his carriage to their house for a smooth transition). Cinderella is not there, and the scene is unchanged. We don't know who any of these characters are (in-universe if you know the casting etc., you'd know) and were shown a mother who is deeply concerned about the future of her two daughters now that her husband is dead. The mother comes off as very stiff and strict and the daughters are like they already are in the movie, seemingly not to take her seriously so we can see why she might be worried about them. It should be clear that Vivian can only see Tomas courting either of her girls, not Ella, but from the way, Tomas acts we get the sense he was hoping someone else would be home. There is no implication besides Tomas hinting he was looking for someone else that Ella is here.

Then, we get introduced to Ella, someone who certainly does not like her role. We meet her just as "Ella" with no mentions of Cinderella, while she's planning to sell her dress at the changing of the guards. It can still be in the basement, but no connection to the scene before should be made. When we get introduced to her, we get a whiff of the theme of the song that replaces Rhythm Nationand it blends into Ella humming her Million to One theme, which should have some similarities to the lines/verses that allude to people who aren't satisfied in their roles in society. On this note, the replacement to Rhythm Nation should also have a theme that goes with Dream Girl, so that Vivian can have her own theme for her own worldview. This way, the songs won't feel so out of place, and they will aid in telling the story through character motifs. This would also make the movie closer to a classical Broadway musical where themes and motifs are reprised and used again. I'm thinking a lot of Into the Woods and Wicked as examples, but this movie would be slightly closer to Wicked than Into the Woods. Ella is seemingly talking to herself. It should be unclear if the mice are real or a part of her imagination. The caterpillar is real. We see Ella save it, maybe it can be a callback to something about her mother, but I’m not much interested in developing that here, much further than either there is a short flashback, or her mother’s broach being a butterfly.

We don’t have a Million to One here, but we do get a prelude to it as Ella puts the finishing touches on her dress.

Next, I want to set up Gwen as a stronger character and contender for the throne. If we're giving this a feminist view, we should introduce all of our female characters and their world views first. Gwen now gets her own song (also the actress has an amazing voice, why wasn't it used more? It's a crime), it's not used here but the motif is used, and it grows as she's in her chambers, muttering to herself and writing down policies. We think she's next in line. Just as the music swells and it looks like she's about to burst into song, the king calls her name. This is where we meet the King, Queen, and the prince is absent. The King informed her that they will be having a ball because the prince refuses to do his duty and marry. We are giving the impression he's a spoiled rich kid who has no idea of responsibility, especially in contrast to Gwen. She's given a list of things she must do, along with a comment about how these will be her duties once she’s married and in charge of frivolity n some far-off kingdom. Quick angles change the queen, who has been silent, looking like she’s about to say something, but doesn’t.

The scene then transitions into another song. It’s mostly Gwen’s song, but Vivian and Ella are also in, all signing about the discontents with this man’s world and their inability to change their place. There will be a line about begging for scraps and using them for all their worth. This song has a montage of all of them going over preparations for the changing of the guards. Ella planning to sell her dresses, her lyrics being hopeful and the most upbeat, Gwen hoping things will change but fairly sure they won’t while she arranges the servants. Vivian preparing her daughters, she is completely disillusioned, and her lines are about this is what you have to do. We can see how the world tears down these people, and it’s implied that eventually both Gwen and Ella will end up bitter like Vivian if they continue down their selective paths.

The song is broken by Vivian yelling for “Cinderella”. She rushes to make them their tea, sloppily. Her basement should be very messy, except for her fabric tables and cleaning supplies. There should be heaps of stuff that used to be the stepsisters/Vivian that they are storing there, covered in dust. Per the “Cinder” part of the nickname, it should be ashy and dusty with a large lit fireplace, making the room look very cold except standing near it. Like in the Ever AfterMovie, her bed should be near the fireplace. She has an actual bed though, however, it is shown throughout the movie to be on par as the ones used by servants and other lower-class members. If one does not know the story of Cinderella, they should assumer Ella is the servant.

The next scene is the one where she serves Vivian tea. The daughters are standing in the background, not sitting because Vivian is still very much above them. There are two other tea sets on the table and two cups of tea in front of Vivian. They’re colour coordinated to the stepsister’s clothes so it’s easy to tell it was their cups of tea. The line about “this drivel” is unchanged, however, Vivian does not say stuff about Cinderella’s future husband. She says future house/housemaster etc. Then she goes on a small rant about her being an orphan, and how kind she has been taking her dearly departed second husband’s wild daughter and trying to shape her into a respectable woman, but Cinderella is just so uncooperative and could never be a housewife, she is better suited for servitude, but if she really tried, she might make a ladies maid or something a bit more respectable. I think the stepmother needs to come off as much meaner. Her motive should be clear, but it should also be clear that her behaviour is unacceptable and wrong. It should also be shown that she has some built-up resentment towards Cinderella. The scene ends with Vivian telling Ella to clean up and reminding her that she is lucky she hasn’t been thrown out on the streets. “What is going to happen to you when I am no longer here to defend you, Ella?” Vivian knows Cinderella’s real name and uses it sparingly when she’s trying to come off as nice. It’s manipulation.

Ella sulks off to the basement and dresses up. She hides her dress in her knapsack. It takes too long as Ella gets directed sketching, and Vivian comes down. Upon seeing that Ella has been drawing/making dresses, she yells at her and throws some of the drawings in the fire, threatening to not let her have a room at all. Ella needs to stay focused on what’s important in life. Vivian only throws out the stuff that Ella has been working on, drags her up the stairs lecturing her on it’s something she can do in her spare time, should she be allowed to have spare time, but it should interfere with her duties.

A big swell of royal music as they come upon the castle. People are milling around. We hear snippets of people whispering about Lady Tremaine and her spinsterish daughters, with much criticism on Vivian and her handling of Ella, and Vivian’s need for another husband. We learn they are bankrupt.

The scene with Ella climbing up on the statue remains. This is where we meet the prince for the first time. The scene focuses more on the balcony than on Ella, and we see the prince get more and more intrigued with Ella as she quips with his father. The Queen looks very uncomfortable with this, and Gwen looks impressed. Vivian’s double-take STAYS I loved it. Music starts as the peasants dissipate, and keep the part where Ella is dancing to her own beat/music unlike the rest of the citizens, making her stand out.

Then, we follow the royals inside. Gwen and the Prince talk, the prince saying Gwen should take the throne, Gwen reminding him that she can’t and calling him a few choice words for not wanting this. She winders herself up and starts yelling at him about her frustrations. He yells back, saying he doesn’t want this, and he can’t do what he wants either. They duet, the prince about wanting love, his parts having a montage of Ella, and Gwen, wanting to be queen, with a montage of the kingdom prospering under her rule.

We end with the prince dresses as a commoner in the streets. He runs into Ella trying to sell her dress. One of the shop owners calls a guard on her and the prince helps her runs away. They have the same exchange as in the movie and he buys her dress.

Ecstatic, Ella runs home. She sees Vivian making her daughters do the wash and overhear her telling them that they need to marry rich if they don’t want to do the washing. Ella mutters something about taking washing over a husband, implying she wants her shop and she’d do the washing. Back in the basement, she’s talking to herself again, about how proud her stepmother would be of her. She can make money for them. Bring them out of poverty, save her father’s house. Million to One starts. In the shop vision, we also see her being respected by Vivian and owning her father’s house with her sisters happily married. She starts working on her dress that she is going to wear to the ball. It ends with her running up the stairs to present herself to Vivian and tell her the good news.

We have a misunderstanding. Vivian tells Ella that she has great news, she knows how Ella can save her father’s house. Ella says she does too, and at the same time Vivian says she is betrothed, and Ella says she sold a dress. Vivian goes quiet, and the stepsisters take some steps back while Ella goes on about how she’ll own a shop, make money. No one would have to get married or do anything they never wanted again. She offers the sisters work in her shop. They almost accept, caught up in her dream when Vivian stops them, and Ella’s excitement. Vivian is furious. She sternly tells Ella that it is illegal for a woman to own a shop or make sales. That she could get all of them thrown in jail. Ella tried to persuade her by giving her the leftover money, but Vivian is standing strong. She tells Ella in no certain terms that she will not be going to the ball, she will never, ever speak of selling a dress again, and she will marry the day after tomorrow as Tomas is not only looking over Cinderella’s lack of a dowery or any actuals skills but is willing to save their house. Ella tries to protest, and Vivian ruins the dress, telling her she has eighteen hours to find it within herself to do her duty to this family. We see actual fear in Vivian’s eyes at the idea of being destitute. She then turns to her daughters while Ella sulks off and tells them that they will find a match tonight as poverty would not become them.

They leave and Ella is cleaning her room, Million to One reprises, the theme sadder as she cries over some of her designs. Devastated, Ella starts tearing at her dresses and throwing the pictures in the fire. I want this lowest moment to feel low. In the movie, it was over too quickly.

Ella realizes she made a mistake and tried to rescue a few of her drawings but she can’t and collapses on the floor in tears.

Now the fairy godmother appears. His song had musical motifs similar to Million to One, giving Ella new hope and telling her that her life is going to change. Ella asks to make sure that Vivian and her sisters can’t recognize her (how did the queen lady know Ella after the party?). She gets a carriage out of a pumpkin, and horses from mice etc. She wishes she could wear one of her own dresses and the fairy godmother restores one of the designs from the fire and tells her never to give up on her dreams, then leaves.

At the balls, it’s masquerade but Ella isn’t wearing a mask so that she stands out. Also, I just like masks it will be pretty. We see the prince trying to find out if Ella is there. Ella is looking for him but keeps avoiding the prince as she’s worried about having to dance with him wasting her time. She runs into Vivian, who does not recognize her and Vivian all but kisses her shoes thinking she is some royal. It’s rather demeaning and pathetic and Vivian is coming off as very desperate. The stepsisters in the background flirting with different men, and we see them both get turned down by the prince. We see Gwen trying to talk politics with her father’s generals but getting turned down. Ella meets the queen from the other country, the scene stays as-is. I enjoyed how tong tied Ella got, it works as she is a peasant and not used to nobility and we all get like that sometimes. Like in the movie, when he’s leaving, she gets caught up with the prince. This progresses with the prince offering to marry her and fix all her problems (and is a bit demeaning because that’s how he was raised)She refuses because of her dreams. They part on sour turns.

Sometime before the party is over, Gwen says something that changes his mind, but by then she is gone and all that’s left is her shoe. Vivian sees it and hears the orders for the land to be searched for the wearer of the shoe. The montage of looking for the wearer stays, I thought it was very well edited.

Then we flip back to the estate where Ella is trying to get her stuff together to escape before she has to leave. Vivian decides to surprise her with breakfast because she knows what she is resigning Ella too. She never uses the cinder prefix for this part of their exchange. Ella begs her to reconsider, but Vivian tells her that we all have to do things in life we don’t like and that she made certain Tomas is a nice man and will treat her right. She says she might be strict, but she isn’t cruel, and Ella should see some of the men Lady X’s daughters ended up with. Ella would have a house and position and when Anastasia and Drizela get married, Vivian promises she can have her father’s house back. Just don’t mess this up. Ella forcefully agrees to this, side eying her runaway bag she’s hastily hidden. Vivian gets up to leave, but trips on the bag. She goes tumbling down on the floor and ends up eye-level with the shoe Ella had hidden under the dresser.

“it’s You!” she exclaimed, then tells Ella that this is wonderful, and she doesn’t have to marry Tomas. She can be queen. She can rule the country. Vivian goes on about how Ella wants change, and with the Heir’s ear, she might be able to influence him and make it.

Ella says no. She doesn’t want a throne; she wants a dress shop. Vivian slaps her and calls her an ungrateful rat, saying she would have done anything to be in Ella’s position “Do you think I wanted to end up like this!? End up here with three unwed daughters and an estate on foreclosure!? I’m too old to marry rich again. You have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made to keep this place going. You have no idea about the sacrifices your mother must have made either. Life’s not fair Ella! (And so on)” then she tells the pianist story and Dream Girl starts. It finished with Vivian and the piano and Ella sneaking a look.

“You just don’t listen, I can save this house,” Ella says to no one, and she makes a run for it to the market square. Then the prince comes, and Vivian can’t find Ella, but shows him the shoe and tells him she accepted his hand in marriage, she’s just nervous about the wedding and the … after the wedding. Both are extremely uncomfortable and a big search for Ella is mounted.

Million to One is reprised along with Dream Girl as we see Ella fun through the forest and the fields, flipping between that and the hunt and the Queen who is waiting for her. She gets to the market square, and she is late, and the Queen is gone, she is then cornered by Vivian and Tomas, and the prince and his guards.

She now has a choice: go back to Vivian or marry the prince. Both Tomas and the prince make their appeals to her. The prince says things about changing laws, if she’s willing to wait until he gets crowned, he’ll change the laws then abdicate. Gwen wants the throne anyway and she’s more suited to it, just as Ella is more suited to running a business over a household.

She goes with the Prince and Vivian tells Ella she is proud of her, but Ella says she doesn’t want Vivian’s approval anymore.

Years pass as the prince becomes King, then Gwen becomes queen (much to the shock and dismay of the king, but he cannot do anything about it and Robert tells him as much), and the newly non-royal Robert invests all his money in his wife’s shop. We see that Ella and Vivian eventually reconcile their differences, and Vivian is given a private piano tutor. The stepsisters get to marry whom they wish.

We get the final scene much like the opening number, except that now everyone is happier. We see many female shop owners and Gwen’s table of female politicians etc. end credits roll.

I want Ella to marry the prince because a) it fits with the original fairytale and b) she is using the system to her advantage as much as she can. It puts her in the same place as Vivian, bound by the laws, but also serves to show how women in our history had to operate within the confines of their society. I also think that the king’s change at the end is way too fast, and this was he is forced into “accepting” it, but it doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t.

I really hope all of this made sense.

#willow's tea #essay #cinderella2021 #camilla cabello #idina menzel #billy porter #nicholas galitzine #maddie baillio #kay cannon #review #movie #movie rewrite #my first essay and it has nothing to do with if/then #i really needed to brain dump i've seen this movie a lot and still cannot stop thinking about it #i guess that makes it very good art if it stays with me #like the mona lisa #it's popular but is all that nice to look at?#hester's stuff

5 notes · View notes

thedetectivessay · 3 years ago

Text

"Case 002: Family Affairs"

A Busted fanfic

010.

Undisclosed Alley

Gangnam, South Korea

It’s a miracle to Kwang-soo that he and Jong-min are still alive. Both of them seem to have stopped breathing nearly an hour ago after the goons in suits appeared up the street. Jae-wook has told them that their very lives now depended on them being very quiet and very unseen, and terrified out of their wits (and the very, veryreal guns sticking out of the men’s holsters) they have withheld even a necessary thing such as air from themselves.

“Hyung,” Jong-min says so quietly as he continues to sink into the front passenger seat. “Are – are you sure they can’t see us?”

“Windows are heavily tinted, and we’re nearly fourand a half blocks away from them,” Jae-wook says coolly, eyes straight ahead to their marks. Though discreet, Kwang-soo thinks he’s still a little too loud. He won’t be the one to say that to him, though. “As long as we stay put and not draw attention, I doubt they’d know about us.”

Jong-min only swallows – a reaction Kwang-soo fully understands.

“Hyung, how long do you think it’ll take Poet to get here?” Kwang-soo asks.

That begets a cutting glare from the former police officer. “How many times will you ask me?” Jae-wook says. “I told you both earlier that this will be a stakeout. That means we could be here the whole night. Instead of asking me questions, why don’t you look at the street behind us to see if there are any cars approaching?”

Jong-min gives him a sympathetic glance once Jae-wook peers into a binocular. The two of them got stuck with this assignment because Jae-wook decided earlier that they were going to come with him. They’ve been dreading it since – and so far it looks like they were correct to feel that way towards it.

Once Jong-min turns back around, Kwang-soo does as he’s told. He looks through the streets behind them for any signs of life. Quickly, he concludes that it’s a drearier, less exciting version of their view blocks ahead. The street lights cast a melancholic glow on a forgotten piece of Gangnam. The backdrop of a dark and nearly starless sky depreciates the already dismal scenery even more.

Eventually, he tires of the chore and pulls out his phone. He’s tempted to text Min-young, to tell her how everything is driving him crazy. However, he realizes that it won’t be fair to involve her in this. She already did her share of the dangerous and the tedious that morning. No need to drag her back in.

“He’s here.”

It’s nearly half an hour later when Jae-wook says that. Sitting up, Kwang-soo sees that as their group stirs to life, Poet’s friends are also awakened. He leans forward, careful not to bump into the touchy former agent.

It’s then he notices Jong-min asleep.

As a token of appreciation for his sympathy, he taps him awake before Jae-wook can notice.

“Poet’s got a couple of his men with him, but they’re outnumbered by whoever he’s meeting with,” Jae-wook reports as he tunes in with his binoculars. He smirks. “Whoever they are, they’re not happy that it took him a long time to get here.”

“Do you know what they’re saying, hyung?” Jong-min asks.

“How could I know? It’s not like we bugged the alley.”

“Bug?”

Jae-wook says nothing.

“A listening device, hyung,” Kwang-soo tells Jong-min. “Like the one that cops use.”

“Ah,” Jong-min nods. “But, Detective Ahn, if we can’t get near them, how is this going to help our search of Lee Soon-jae?”

“Because he might appear in one of the places Poet goes,” Jae-wook answers. “If he knows where he might be, he will eventually lead us to him.”

“But he told us he doesn’t know who he is.”

That time, Jong-min gets the glare. “He’s a criminal. You believe him?” Kwang-soo looks at Jong-min sympathetically. It’s been nearly three days since the six of them reunited. Yet, even with that much time, none of them really know what had made Jae-wook so sour and bossy. The latter, they guess he has the right over since he’s the oldest, but why did he always have to be so mean?

“Some of the guys in suits had just been sent out to check cars. Poet must have told them he’s been arrested last night,” Jae-wook informs the two. “We’re far away enough that they probably won’t even get here. But in case they did, get ready to cover up.”

True to his words, they watch as two pairs are directed – one towards the left and one towards their direction. A couple of others spread out in alleys to search just in case.

Like they did in the beginning, Kwang-soo holds his breath. He had only seen guns up close twice in his life (at least to memory): one with Yeon-seok and the other with their military client. He knows what usually happens when they appear. If he has to suffocate just to avoid the same outcome that M and the music producer had, he will endure it.

“The leader of the gang’s nagging at Poet,” Jae-wook reports. “Drug dealers usually get paranoid when one of their distributors gets caught. There’s always a good chance they got flipped into an informant.”

“They’re not going to kill him, right?” Jong-min asks.

Jae-wook shakes his head. “I don’t know. Probably not. A hoobae told me that Poet’s one of the top dealers out there. They’ve been trying to catch him for nearly two years now. The tip that they received last night was the break the drug task force needed to finally arrest him.”

Kwang-soo knows Jong-min is also thinking about their theory regarding Jae-wook. “Tip?” he tests.

“Yeah. Someone told them that Poet is at Club Neon.”

Jae-wook’s apathy doesn’t improve their suspicion any. Of course he would not acknowledge the slip he made. Admitting to that impulsive move would mean telling the group he’s unfit to lead, and if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed with Jae-wook, it’s that he knows what his age and status should afford.

“Why was he released?” Jong-min asks instead. “They have all the proof they needed to prove he’s guilty.”

Jae-wook shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he did become an informant.”

“Overnight?”

“You’d be surprised. Sometimes even some of the most loyal of these criminals cave in when you offer them a cozy prison sentence.” Then, a moment later he mutters, “Sometimes even a seemingly good guy can become an adversary, too – if they’re dumb enough.”

They jump when someone taps loudly on Jong-min’s window. Looking up, they see it’s a man wearing a suit.

He’s using a gun to tap on the window. “Hey. Open up,” the man demands.

“Hyung,” Jong-min says, barely breathing as he leans away from the shadow. “What do we do?”

“Yah, did you not hear me?” The man taps on the glass with the barrel of the weapon. “Open this!”

Jae-wook takes a deep breath. He slips the binoculars under his seat. “What else?” he says as the man threatens to shoot them. “We roll the window down.” The window hums as it lowers, revealing what must be faces drained of any color.

“You a cop?” the man asks.

“Aniyo.” Jae-wook leans over, his facial expression surprisingly serene and friendly. “We just pulled in; we live at the house right there. My wife asked me to run to the store and get something, but they’re closed. We’re just getting back home.”

The man observes the two closely for an extremely long and uncomfortable moment. Then, he chuckles. “You’re lying.” He tilts his head. “Get out of the car.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Either your lives end where you sit, or you get a fighting chance. You two – ” he gestures at them with the mouth of the gun, “get out of the car.”

Kwang-soo only realizes then how far he’s leaning back into his seat. He watches as Jae-wook and Jong-min step out in dread. His heart is beating so fast and so loudly that he thinks that it booms like festival percussions through the whole street.

He thinks about calling 112, to call for cops, but he’s frozen. If he moves, the men outside might realize that a third person is inside, and all their chances of survival would be gone.

But if he doesn’t move and his hyungs die on his watch...

He shouldn’t have left the Philippines. It was lonely and hot and friendless, but at least he’s safe. He’s safe, and Jae-wook and Jong-min are safe.

The commotion has called the attention of the party ahead. Not even a minute after, Jae-wook and Jong-min are surrounded by Poet’s men and the gang. “Hyungnim,” the man reports, “I think these two have been watching us.”

“Must be cops,” the leader of the gang says. He turns to Poet and chides, “So I was right: you did turn against us.”

“No, hyungnim! No! Please believe me,” Poet begs desperately. “I – I don’t know these men. I have never seen them!”

“You haven’t seen them.”

“No.”

The leader ponders about it a moment. Then, he turns to one of Poet’s men. “You tell me the truth, I don’t shoot you.” He nods at Jae-wook and Jong-min. “Have you guys really not seen them before?”

Poet’s people exchange glances. They know what will happen if they say anything contrary to what Poet has said: their boss dies, but they would be hunted down by the rest of their crew.

Still, despite knowing this, one of his men cautions another glance at the men in question. His eyes lock on Jong-min a while, and then he points at him. “Hyung,” he tells his boss quietly. “This man. He was there last night.”

Poet looks up at Jong-min, and this time recognition comes to his face. “The new buyer with the pretty girlfriend,” he mutters. He steps closer to Jong-min. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh...”

“Were you a cop all this time?”

“No.”

Poet scoffs. “I knew it. You were asking some weird questions last night.”

“So you have seen him before?” the leader of the gang asks.

The fear returns to Poet. “Yes,” he says, “but he was there as a buyer. I didn’t know he was a cop.”

“We’re not cops,” Jae-wook says.

The leader of the gang sighs. He nods to his men. “Look around, make sure no one else is with them,” he instructs. Once a couple leave, he looks at Poet. “You spineless weasel. I knew one day you’d do this.”

“No, hyungnim,” Poet begs. “Please – ”

“You know the boss doesn’t tolerate traitors in his business.” He clicks his tongue, as if only upset by an annoying but relatively insignificant loss. He draws out his gun from his holster. “Sadly, I still have use of you yet. You said this man has a girlfriend. If you take care of her for me by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll give you a running head start of three hours. If you don’t, you’ll be the third person they’d read in the papers tomorrow.”

“T-third?”

The leader hands him the gun. He nods at Jae-wook and Jong-min. “Make it nice and clean,” he says as he steps back.

Poet hesitates a moment. He looks at the gun a while, and for a second it seems that he will refuse.

But then, the same predatory glint Kwangsoo’s seen in killers’ eyes before flashes brightly in Poet’s eyes. He raises the gun towards Jong-min.

Kwang-soo’s head spins. Min-young tomorrow, Jae-wook and Jong-min tonight. If he gets out, he can still warn Min-young and tell her to leave Korea as soon as possible. Yeon-seok can take her to safety.

But his hyungs – there’s nothing he can do for them. He will witness their murders, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do.

When his head bows a little, closing his eyes in extreme regret, one of the leader’s goons notices him. “Jamkamanyo,” he says, halting everything. He narrows his eyes. When Kwang-soo lifts his head and eyes up, he finds the man staring straight at him. “There’s another man in the car.”

All the spinning stops, and so does every motion within him. He watches in helpless dread as Jae-wook and Jong-min, who he now just noticed was blocking everyone’s view of his window, are pulled away to give the leader a good look of the silhouette in the car.

The leader frowns at him. Then, a long moment later, he chuckles. “Fourth,” he corrects himself, amused.

“Get out of the car,” one of his men instructs Kwang-soo. Kwang-soo flinches when the man pounds his fist against the window. “Now!”

The leader holds up a hand to the man. “Maybe he’d rather be found later at the bottom of the river. We can make that happen.” He hisses as he pretends to think. “That might take decades, though. They don’t really find anyone unless they know specifically where to look.”

Kwang-soo forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s shaking terribly, and his knees don’t feel like they’re functional anymore. But he has to get out. He can’t just let his colleagues – his only family – die because of him.

If they’re to die tonight, at least they should die together.

With another breath, he pulls on the door handle and, as composedly as he can manage, he steps out.

The night is colder outside the car, but the hostility from Poet, his men, and the others burn hot against him. He looks at Jae-wook and Jong-min, and in their eyes, above all other emotions, he sees the realization that this is it for them.

Which is why he fails to notice the look of surprise in the gang leader’s face. The leader bows to him. “Hyungnim!” he greets. “I’m sorry, hyungnim. I didn’t know it was you!”

Like the rest of the others, Kwang-soo stares on, confused. He thinks for a moment that it’s just a cruel joke. The leader would rise and kill them himself.

However, all the leader does is stand back up and smile at him as if to curry favor. He then notices that the others with him aren’t moving. With a glare, he tells them, “Do you all want to die? Show our hyungnim some respect! Greet him!”

With this command, the other men bow. Even Poet, who looks suspicious and resentful, does the same.

The leader approaches Kwang-soo’s side, suddenly docile and friendly. “You don’t remember me, hyungnim? It’s Chan-seok. We’ve had drinks a couple of times before,” he says. When Kwang-soo only stares at him blankly, he chuckles awkwardly. “Of course it’s been years. What brought you by? Are you checking to see if we’re handling the business well?”

Kwang-soo blinks. He looks around. All the scorching fire from earlier has turned into a warming flame.

He looks at Jae-wook and Jong-min. All he sees now is confusion. What case did we just actually agree to work? he wonders as he thinks of the two strangers who claim to know him and this shocking immunity to death that he finds wherever he goes.

#Fanwork Friday #Lee Kwang Soo #Ahn Jae Wook #Kim Jong Min #Ko Chang Seok #Case 002: Family Affairs #Busted Netflix

5 notes · View notes

luninosity · 4 years ago

Text

fanfic writers tag game!

I was tagged by the marvelous @musette22 for this lovely fanfiction tag game that was devised by the clearly very brilliant @thewaythatwerust, to discuss some of the fics I’ve written over time! Thanks so much! 💖

Let’s see, I shall tag... @thebestpersonherelovesbucky @turtletotem @gerec @whtaft and @ninemoons42 <3

Which of your fics…

* Did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got:

Ah, a tricky one! I feel like I never really have expectations - I just write words because I can’t not! But maybe lines of light, which was my Steve/Bucky Fake Character Death Trope fic - it’s sort of a weird little fic, but I wanted more of that trope, but maybe that’s just me!

* Got a better reaction than you expected:

Oh, goodness - just about all of them! I remember being so shy and so nervous to share any of my writing, years ago, and now I write things that people seem to like...I think probably never mind the why and wherefore surprised me most, though! That’s my TJ Hammond/Johnny Storm fic, and when I started writing it mine was literally the third fic on AO3 for that pairing, and for that small a fandom, I’ve just been amazed.

Also, of course: I’m constantly amazed by how much people love Like Sugar! It was the biggest thing I’d ever tried to write, and it made me a better writer along the way, and I suspect it’s the Evanstan fic/series people might remember most, from my fics? (Also also, if original-fic-inspired-by-an-Evanstan-drabble counts: the love for Character Bleed has been overwhelming!)

* Is your funniest:

...am I funny? I don’t know! *waves hands about* I feel like I never set out to “write something funny,” but then again I like terrible puns and wordplay, so there’re probably funny lines in most fics? I hope?

Honestly maybe every inch of north and south, which has the Chris-turned-into-a-puppy plot, or Now That I’ve Found You, Stay, because giant patriotic dildos, or some of the banter in just a couple lovebirds, because I love Chris and Seb in that one. Or some of Bucky’s pulp fiction stories in tales to astonish. Or all the TERRIBLE autumn-related puns in the current Evanstan fic, A Place Not Far Away!

Or we could go REAL old-school and pull out the McFassy semi-crack fic in which James gets magically cursed to turn into a kitten. There’s that.

* Is your darkest/angstiest:

Ahahahaha. Um. *stares in Characters Having Emotions*

Okay, okay, um... Aside from certain specific chapters of Like Sugar and Amateur Cartography, it’s either The Tones That Tremble Down Your Spine (Bucky needs all the softness, after this! of course so does Steve...) (sometimes I think about adding a chapter, because it ends a little abruptly, but I also wanted it to - not everything’s 100% resolved, but it’s clearly on a healing trajectory!) ...

...or, over in Cherik-land, I hope we rise to the occasion, which does have a hopeful ending but is painful, or the balancing act stories (also Cherik) which were...personal in many ways (also originally written over on Livejournal, because I’m old).

* Is your absolute favourite:

Impossible! *laughs* It’s always the current story I’m (actively) writing. Which at the moment is the Evanstan autumn fluff-with-porn A Place Not Far Away. I don’t know if it’s my favorite-favorite, but it’s nice to get back to Evanstan and I love fall.

* Is your least favourite:

Also impossible! There’re things I love about all my stories. If I have to...maybe It’s Time To Bring This Ship Into The Shore, mostly because Michael’s such a dick to James for a lot of it. Which is also true in Loving Days (why was that a plot point in a few of my McFassy fics?) but I think I did a better job with his redemption in that one, and showing how much he changed and tried harder. And with Ship & Shore I wasn’t super-knowledgeable about the soul-bond trope (it was a request-fic) so I never felt quite sure I’d done it well enough!

* Was the easiest to write:

Amusingly, considering how epic and glorious and long the whole series became, I’d say Like O, Like H - the first Like Sugar Evanstan story. It just flowed. It knew what it wanted to be, and I tried to keep up. (Lovebirds was also one of those, as was the TJ/Johnny fic, never mind the why and wherefore.)

* Was the hardest to write:

the sound of rain on tin. It’s been the fic I’ve had the hardest time with ever. It’s my own fault for trying to do too much in terms of plot - sort of AU, an Evanstan-Stucky crossover, Lovecraftian elements - and then starting to post before I had it all properly sorted. I do know how it ends in general terms, I promise! but resolving plot/action has never been one of my strengths, and we’ve hit the point where I actually have to figure out How To Fix The Magic Portal-Thing, and I don’t feel like I’ve got it worked out well enough.

I mean if you all just want me to write the emotional Sebastian talking to Steve Rogers (and maybe a little curious kissing) and Chris talking to Bucky, and then *poof* suddenly Seb and Bucky are back in their respective universes and we get Emotional Reconciliation Scenes and Love Confessions, that part’s easy. I’ve had stray bits of those scenes done for years.

* Have you re-read the most:

Like Sugar, in part for continuity as I worked on later stories and in part because I’m really kind of proud of it.

* Would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time:

Depends on what genres they like! I’m probably best known for - if anything - Like Sugar, and I think it’s pretty representative of my writing in terms of loving tender kink-with-emotions! But the person would have to not mind Evanstan RPF and soft Dom/sub kink and arranged (sort of) marriage tropes.

Other than that, for Evanstan, maybe Sweet Disposition (the third version of the clothes-sharing fic!); or (baby won’t you please), which is the Chris And Seb Go To A Sex Club For Research For a Role fic, or tempt me, tease me, which is...Sebastian leaves an unsatisfactory date with someone else (brief and random) to go pick Chris up from a bar, and then there’re lots of revelations about Feelings, and also porn-with-emotions. Those last two ‘feel’ similar in my head for some reason - mood, maybe, or story arcs about revelation and discovery.

...for Stucky, maybe when and where our eyes meet (Bucky falling asleep! soft blankets!)...or tales to astonish, because it’s such fun!

...if you want to go a bit older, I have weird affection for my first-ever Cherik fic, Know That It’s True, which is a Cerebro hurt/comfort fic, and then I love the slow development of the McFassy in No Wonder, No Wonder, which I occasionally still think about trying to revise as original, but it’s so character-driven that it’d be hard, but I love the feel of it, the hints of magic and the setting...

* Are you most proud of:

Like Sugar! At the time it was the biggest story I’d ever tried to write, both in terms of length and in terms of world-building and planning and characters growing closer together. Character Bleed got more complicated in terms of needing multiple outlines and plot, eventually, but I couldn’t’ve done that if I hadn’t done Like Sugar first.

* Has your favourite line/exchange/paragraph (share it):

Too hard to pick! There are so many!

I sometimes say it’s this one, from tempt me, tease me, though not always:

“If you’d like,” Sebastian offers, “we can even tell them I borrowed your key and lost it, if you don’t mind asserting small untruths to hotel personnel.” Big blue half-plastered Captain America eyes stare at him some more. “…Chris?” “You…” One hand waves, a partial gesture, pulled back at the last second. As if Chris has meant to reach out, and thought better of that. “You really would? You wouldn’t, y’know, mind?” Sebastian half-smiles. Thinks of cars with broken-glass windows in Romanian capital-city streets, thinks of students waving flags and cheering with feral glee, thinks of saucer-eyed childhood memories and songs of revolutionary fervor and desperate upheavals of optimism like birthing-pains. Chris Evans is beautiful and genuine and real, and Sebastian would do far worse things, would splinter his body and perjure his soul, to give Chris one more day in which to eat pizza and laugh and clap friends on the shoulder with a broad happy hand. “No,” he says, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Or, from the WIP - the next chapter of A Place Not Far Away - because my favorite is often what I’m currently working on, there’s this! Enjoy? <3

They both watch Sebastian for a second; he’s nodding, jotting down a quote, hair bouncing with the motion. His fingers are quick and tanned, gathering notes; his jacket’s casually open, and dirt’s left a scuff on his right boot.

He’s a New York City reporter in a black leather jacket and a stylish sweater, but he’s also a reporter who doesn’t mind getting dirty and will run through a corn maze and helped set out signs the first day Chris ever met him.

Carly pats Chris’s shoulder, says, “Enjoy yourself,” and heads off to supervise some historical blacksmith demonstrations. The sky shimmers in clouds and satin and magic and unfallen rain.

Sebastian bounces back over. “That’ll be fantastic, she was so excited, she’s already thinking about next year, which is so perfect for a pull quote, and it’ll get people thinking ahead about coming here then!”

Would you come back, Chris doesn’t say. Would you come back next year, next month, next week, even if your story’s done? Would you stay and not leave?

He can’t ask that. This is Sebastian’s job.

He says, “That’s awesome. You want lunch?”

“Absolutely. I haven’t eaten my way through your menu yet. Recommendations?”

“Classic Oktoberfest? The whole German sausage, potato, onion thing? That one’s popular. And, um, baked apples. In maple cream sauce.” Food. He can talk about food. Promoting their menu. Not getting down on both knees and promising to bring home every pumpkin Sebastian likes, if that’ll make those happy eyes stay at his side.

“Sounds good.” Sebastian’s eyebrows go up, beckoning Chris into the joke. “And I do like sausage.”

“I like your sausage,” Chris tells him, and Sebastian’s laugh is a splash of sunshine through clouds and cold and tree-branches that stretch to the sky.

#fanfic ask thing!#meme thing #musette22 #yay!#my fic #evanstan #stucky #cherik #mcfassy

23 notes · View notes

princess-sengoku · 4 years ago

Text

Secret Santa Fanfic

@hunny-pp This is for your request in Secret Santa for this year. I hope this is great. Merry Christmas to you and Merry Christmas to everyone else. AAAA My first fanfic to be posted on Tumblr :')

Carnival Competition

Rating: K

Modern AU

Summary: Shingen and Kenshin are going to Osaka carnival to see who can win the most games at the carnival.

The carnival's in town as everyone from all over the land of the rising sun go to one of the most underrated festivals in the land; Osaka Carnival. The fun games, great food, and amazing rides that it had was all in good fun for everyone to enjoy. Once Shingen heard for himself that the carnival was going to be in town tomorrow, he just had to call Kenshin to join him for the carnival. He was disappointed that he didn't show up last year, then again they weren't dating at the time. Maybe this year would go in his favor? He and Kenshin could at least compete in the games, kinda like a battlefield? Shingen was in Osaka for a quick vacation and the carnival would be the top of the cake. With that in mind, Shingen picked up the phone and began to text to Kenshin.

Shingen: My stoic dragon "nemesis", are you still awake?

Kenshin was comfortable on his futon at his Castle, just starting to head off to bed and sending a quick prayer to Bishamonten to thank the god of war for allowing him the pleasures of life. There was wine, business, and finally Shingen. Shingen was probably one of the most worthy friend and business partner he could ask for in this life. Although he didn't show much happiness on his stoic face, his actions show that he cares for him, especially when he accepted to be Shingen’s boyfriend. Speaking of Shingen… 'Bing Bing'. Kenshin heard his phone go off. "It is almost time to go to bed… Who's texting me?" He said, visibly annoyed. He picked up his phone and once he saw the message, he softened a little bit. It was Shingen.

Kenshin: Tiger of Kai, my "nemesis", I was about to go to bed, but I can talk for a bit.

Shingen gave a good-natured chuckle at Kenshin's message sent a couple of minutes later. Of course he forgot that Kenshin would be getting to bed around this time.

Shingen: Sorry about that, I was hoping maybe this year we can go to the carnival together. Think of it as a date.

"A date?" He mouthed to himself. When was the last time they had a date together? It had been a while. They were both taking it slowly so they wouldn't be discovered and to have it at a carnival, that everyone was going to…

Kenshin: Are you sure you want me to go?

Shingen was not giving up on making him go to the carnival. They were always competitive when it came to the games. A lightbulb went off in his head. He can use the games as an excuse for him to go.

Shingen: I bet I can win a lot more games than you. Don't worry I'll give you some prizes :)

Shingen always knew how to push Kenshin's competitiveness button. They both were like strategists in their own businesses but eventually one must come on top eventually. He really now was interested in this carnival but he would conceal his intentions to him.

Kenshin: It is tempting to go to the festival to have a friendly competition. Go have fun. Good night "nemesis"

Shingen shrugged at his message. At least he tried to convince him to go. At the back of his head, he did feel that Kenshin would come here. He just had that hunch.

Shingen: Good night. Don't have a rough night.

As soon as he got Shingen’s message, Kenshin got dressed again, called his limo driver, and took a blanket. He would now begin to surprise Shingen to the festival date. "Shingen, let's see who wins the most games." he thought with confidence. They always liked competitive plays over each other. He just thought of what kind of games would be there to play as the limo left with him inside, going to Osaka, as he drifted to sleep.

~The next morning- 8 AM~

Shingen saw the shining sun glimmer in the curtains as morning came and he was just starting to wake up from the tiger's slumber. This short bald man yawned as he sat up in the bed, slowly getting his act together. It was also very hot today when the festival and vacation was in the summer. He could only imagine what the south had to deal with like the Shimazu in the summer. After 10 minutes of just sitting there, he finally got up to brighten the room. The curtains opened and Shingen shielded his eyes from the brightness a bit. Once it got adjusted, he finally saw a limo in front of the hotel. It had the Uesugi symbol on the side and the limo was white. He could see Kenshin come out the doors. "Hahaha, I knew Kenshin would be here!" Shingen said to himself. He put on a tiger print t-shirt with some khaki shorts and some sandals.

Kenshin walked out of the limo with a nice short sleeved buttoned white shirt with white pants with some nice black loafers. He was casually sleeping the whole ride so he would be well rested for today. Carnivals are mostly energy sucking. The driver let him know he's here so he doesn't have to rest during the day. "Great Bishamonten, please give me strength to have fun today and beat Shingen in a whole bunch of games." He prayed. They both met in the lobby and gave a hug. "Haha, I knew you would come. So are you ready for the carnival?" Shingen asked. Kenshin gave a small smile and nodded. "I am. Looking at the clock means that it had just started." Said Kenshin as he looked at the clock which read 9:00A.M.

Looking out at the carnival laid out before them, it was full of life and high fun energy. Many games, food stands and other attractions can be seen before them. People were walking around them full of laughter and friendly talk. You can't really hear what they had to say because there were so many people and they were loud. Shingen and Kenshin simply walked side by side together holding pinkies looking out at what games they should play.

The first game they saw was kinda strange with a huge log and there were lines in the ground. Musashi was actually the one hosting that game. "Hey you two! Do you want to try the log toss? 1 yen to try it and the rules are clearly read on the sign." He managed to get Shingen and Kenshin's attention. "You want to have a go Kenshin?" Asked Shingen. "Sure" said Kenshin blatantly.

They both walk up to the wooden sign. It was well made with no chances that anyone can get a splinter and it looked really smooth for writing on as shown in words that are painted on. It says the following:

Log toss:

'You throw a log as far as you can. This can be played for competition. If you are solo, you win a prize no matter what. If you are against each other, then the winner gets a prize.'

Shingen was known to do some lifting at the gym sometimes, Kenshin watched him while he worked so he knew as well. They've decided to do the competition version. The prizes included stuffed animals, posters and pins. Shingen went first as he went and picked it up by the sides then he spinned around a few times getting ready for the wind up. He threw it up and away pretty far and it landed with a thud and the ground shaked a bit. Musashi ran to where the log went with a measuring tape and a flag. "150 feet-1st person!" Musashi announced. Kenshin smiled at Shingen’s impressive performance. It was as expected for him as was a worthy challenge for Kenshin to try to beat.

"You're next Kenshin." Shingen said as he stood back with a smirk, a smirk that Kenshin loved a lot. "I have practiced a bit in lifting." Kenshin remarked as he picked up the log. He winded up by standing back a bit then using the force that he gathered to launch the log forward as he stepped forward. It flew not as high as Shingen did but it definitely was going far. There was a thud in the distance and Musashi was running fast with the other marker. "Not bad! It's about… 160 feet. The second person wins!" Musashi announced happily as he went to pick out a prize. Kenshin kissed Shingen on the forehead proud of his own victory. "Well done 'nemesis'." Shingen said, congratulating him. Musashi gave Kenshin a big tiger plush. 'It would be perfect for Shingen.' Kenshin thought.

Many hours go by with more prizes, food, the times they went through a funhouse and a haunted house in a succession while holding many little toys, pins, posters, more stuffed animals. It was a lot to carry for a long time, then again they had played lots of games. Games were ring toss, balloon pop, guess what's approximately in the jar, bumper cars, test your strength, and many other games.

It was the last few minutes of the carnival to be open for the day. There was one more game they wanted to try for a magnificent dragon plush. Shingen was immediately reminded of Kenshin when he saw that plush. "Kenshin! Before we go let's try this game!" They both look at the bucket of water with ducks floating right along. The sign read the following:

Lucky Duck:

'You hook a duck on the hook stick provided to you. Get a star duck (which the star is on the bottom) to win any prize you want.'

"This game sounds simple and quick." Kenshin remarked. "You can do this game." Said Kenshin as he gave the game owner 1 yen to play the game.

Shingen concentrated on the pond itself like a fire trying to get hotter by the minute. Any of those ducks could have a star on the bottom and any number of the ducks could have stars. They all looked the same. All he could do would be to guess which one had the star and which ones didn't. He took the hook stick on the ground and just went for it, eyes closed. When he opened them again, he looked underneath the duck and a gold star was at the bottom. He won the game and the dragon. "This is great!" thought Shingen as he got the dragon in his hands.

As Shingen turned he saw Kenshin take the tiger plush out of the mass of prizes they won and handed it out like it was a gift for him. Shingen saw a slight blush on Kenshin's stoic face. "So umm… this is for you 'nemesis'." Kenshin said in a softer voice than usual. Shingen laughed out of kindness a little, knowing that Kenshin wasn't used to the sometimes sweet moments of their relationship. "Thank you 'nemesis'. In return, I will give you this dragon I just won." Shingen blushed a little bit as he received the tiger and Kenshin received the dragon. They soon divided all of the prizes in between them. Shingen’s vacation would go on and Kenshin would join in for the last week that Shingen had left.

--------------------------------------------------

P.S. as a bonus I give you some headcanons of the pairing on google slides that I made myself. This helped me create the fic lol.

#pokemon conquest secret santa #samurai warriors #kenshin uesugi #shingen takeda #shingen x kenshin #musashi miyamoto

4 notes · View notes

realfuurikuuri · 5 years ago

Text

Don’t Look Away

MMHOPH Missing Arm! AU fic

WC: 2,954

Angsty as fuck

Oneshot

AN: This was a little thing I did using @spookylovesboba MissingArm! AU. It's been a while since I last wrote fanfic(like two years) but this was pretty fun. There wasn’t much to go on The AU gave a lot of room to invert the themes of the original source, which was pretty fun. If I had to place this anywehre on the hypothetical timeline it’d be before he finds the new arm so things aren’t too bloody. The story is a oneshot. I might do more; I might not. Depends on how I’m feeling. I could ramble about this for a lot longer, which I probably will in the tags, anywyas enjoy the fic.

Mao Mao polished Geraldine, holding the sword in his right hand, holding the handle with his tail. Every so often he would turn towards the silent monster alarm before he went back to pointlessly polishing his sword. Badgerclops and Adorabat were out getting… Ice cream, was it? He wasn’t paying much attention when they left. Maybe he should have joined them and actually done something with his day. The monster alarm wasn’t giving him anything to do.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Or maybe it was. He grabbed his sword and headed out the door and headed back in when he realized that it wasn’t the monster alarm. The ringing was coming from the backroom. Covered in dust, hidden in the shadows, was the home phone. Mao Mao slowly walked up to the phone, mind already racing with the unfortunate possibilities. Was it going to be one of his sisters? Probably not, he never gave them his number. Was it going to be his father? Definitely not, Mao Mao almost found the idea of him finally calling commercial. Almost.

Mao Mao reached for the phone,” hello?”

“Is this… sheriff, Mao Mao?”

The voice on the other end was faked, although there was something to it he could almost recognize.

“Who is this,” Mao Mao asked.

“Your reckoning. I am here to destroy everything you hold dear! I am here to make sure you get what's coming to you! I am-”

“-Going to stay out of the mayo,” Mao Mao interrupted. “Dammit Pinky, quit prank calling the sheriff's department!”

Mao Mao slammed the phone back down without even letting him finish. “Need to have the number changed again,” he said to himself.

He sheathed his sword and headed for the door. He might as well explore the town. It was better than getting prank called by Pinky.

* * *

“He just hung up on me. The ass just hung up on me!” The stranger threw the phone on the ground, growling in frustration. “Can’t even let me threaten him right. Prick won’t let me do anything!”

“Hey, that was our phone.”

“Shut it!” The Stranger snapped, voice echoing throughout the Sky Pirates ship.

Orangusnake didn’t know what to think of this man. Kid more like. He couldn’t have been much older than 16 maybe 17. He was a cat with mostly white fur, save for a patch of black here and there. He was a little taller than the sheriff and even sounded like the sheriff. The only thing the kid had that Mao Mao didn’t was both arms. If he closed his eyes he could easily imagine it was an extremely vulgar version of Mao Mao.

“So whadda we do now, boss,” Ratarang asked.

“Well, -uh, first we’ll…”

“You’ll shut the hell up and let me do my thing,” the stranger said.

“Hey! You can’t just come to MY ship. And start disrespecting MY crew.”

“I can when I’ve already beat the crap out of you and tied you up.”

“You haven’t even beat us up!”

“Do you want me to?”

Orangusnake was about to tell him to try it, but the kid’s eyes reminded him of Mao Mao on a bad day.

“Fine! But you said you could get rid of the blasted sheriff for us, so you better do it.”

“Don’t throw a bitch-fit, I have a plan.”

* * *

Mao Mao arrived in the town on foot because Badgerclops had to take the aerocycle. He walked through the streets making sure everything was under control. Occasionally he called out their names, but he got no response. It was quit. Too quiet. The town wasn’t on fire, Pigguns hasn’t tried to run him over, and there was no trail of mayo from Pinky. Something was horribly wrong. Did it only affect the sweetie pies? Was it the Sky Pirates? A monster? Did whatever happen also effect the King? Mao Mao gritted his teeth and began to run to the castle.

He ran as fast as he could up the castle steps. He could hear chatter get louder and louder until he finally kicked down the door.

“My door,” the king exclaimed, but Mao Mao ignored him. He had to take a minute to wonder what exactly he was seeing.

The entire kingdom was caught in a net with a misshapen piano hanging above them like it was some sort of cartoon. The group Horde Gaggle Headache of sweetie pies all began to speak at once.

“Quiet!”

The headache finally fell silent letting Mao Mao think. He pointed his sword at the King.

“Speak,” he said.

“Sheriff, get me out of this mess these… ruffians are disgusting.”

“What happened? Why you are in a net?”

“Oh, help me! Help me! Help Me! Help me! The pink… thing is getting closer!”

Mao Mao was tempted to let the King sit there and deal with Pinky however, he did sign his paychecks, so he had to do something. He took a few steps back before he began to run towards the net, pushing it with his one arm as the Piano began to fall. One swing with Geraldine and the leaf was in two pieces? What? Was Tanya behind this? Was she the one that kidnapped the sweetie pies? Did she do all of that just to mess with him? Why?

Mao Mao was moving towards the net when he noticed that the leaf wasn’t green. It was red. A nice fall red.

“Sheriff! SHERIFF!”

The King’s screams snapped him out the daze. He walked over to the net and grabbed the king by the collar.

“Who did this,” he asked.

“Who? I don’t know, just let me out-”

“Who did this,” he asked again.

“I said I don’t know, now get me-”

“What did he look like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A black and white cat, maybe. A lot like you, actually.”

Mao Mao let go of the king with a huff. He turned to the door and began to walk to the door.

“Don’t forget about me. Sheriff? Sheriff? Cut me loose...Please,” the King asked, Mao Mao’s mind too busy to hear; his mind buzzed with thoughts and old memories.

* * *

“So, uh, care to tell me what exactly is going on?”

The Stranger looked up at his captives. One was a rather large badger with an eyepatch and a little blue bat. He knew the bear was Badgerclops although he didn’t know the small one. He expected it would take more than a half-assed ice-cream stand to catch them, but it seemed to work.

“What’s going on is that you'll both sit there quietly and wait for him to show up.”

“Whose he,” the blue one asked.

“I don’t know, maybe I would if someone would tell me what’s going on!”

Orangusnake slunk up to the captives with a wicked smile. “What’s going on is-”

“Nobody shutting the hell up. That’s what's going on,” The Stranger mumbled.

“Okay, why are you so rude? I let you into my ship! Then you start yelling at everybody! What do you want?”

“First off, you don’t ‘let’ me be anywhere. I can do what I want and you certainly can’t stop me. Secondly, I’m not rude you all are just insufferable. Lastly, what I want is to finally give Mao Mao what he deserves.”

“And what is that?”

The Stranger just smiled and took out more leaves. A flick of the wrist and a puff of smoke turned them into poorly made dolls of Mao Mao, Badgerclops, the blue one and himself.

“What are those?”

“The important people.”

“We aren’t I there,” Orangusnake said.

“Dude, I literally just said it's the important people.”

“That… that hurts.”

The Stranger rolled his eyes going back to his dolls. “First, I kidnap you two. Already done that. Then he shows up and we beat him up. Once he’s all nice and bruised we bury him alive. Let’s see how he likes being locked up without anyone to help him.”

The Stranger let out a cackling laugh.

“You’re a lot like your dad you know that,” Badgerclops said.

The laughter suddenly stopped. “What would you know?”

“I mean, you’re Jǐngtì Mao, right? Mao Mao’s son?”

Everyone turned to the Stranger. He squinted his eyes, pushing a finger into Badgerclops’ face. “Okay, its Jǐngtì Keys actually.”

The blue thing’s eyes lit up like stars. “Oh my gosh! You're Mao Mao’s Kid! WhatshelikeWhereyou’vebeenIsn’thethecoolestwhoseyourmom- wait, if you’re Mao Mao’s kid then why’d you kidnap us?”

“Well, you see… Blue thing. Mao Mao is… awful. So, I’m going to make use of the only way he taught me to deal with my problems: bury it deep deep down and hope it never comes back up.”

“That doesn’t sound very heroic.”

“Well, you see that would be a problem if I was a hero, fortunately, I’m not so I don’t have to worry about shit.”

“If Mao Mao’s your dad then who's your mom,” Orangusnake asked.

“Tanya Keys.”

“Who.”

“What do you mean who she was here like last week.”

“Never met her.”

“Really? Tanuki. Did the stuff with the leaves. I mean you should’ve met her, she’s a bounty hunter.”

“These guys don’t have bounties on their heads,” Badgerclops added from the back.

Jǐngtì turned to the pirates then back to Badgerclops. “Aren’t they pirates.”

“Sky Pirates,” Orangusnake added from the back.

“Yeah, but they suck so we never really placed bounties.”

“We’re right here.”

“Damn, I thought they were strong because mom didn’t catch them.”

“Nope. They’re bottom of the barrel.”

“We’re still right here.”

“Why do I even have these guys then?”

Everyone turned when they heard a loud bang. “Open up Jǐngtì! I know you’re here.”

“They may not be fighters, but I suppose they can be cannon fodder.”

* * *

Mao Mao kept knocking on the hull of the Sky Pirates ship. His one good hand was starting to hurt when the door finally opened a tad. Jǐngtì poked his head over the door, his face covered with the purple bandanna.

“Son.”

“You.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Four years and 156 days. Believe me, I’ve been counting.”

“How are you even out of jail?”

“Mom paid bail.”

“All of it?”

“What do you think she was so desperate for bounties?”

Mao Mao sighed and scratched his ears. “If you stop know we can have this kidnapping stuff all blow over, so just get down here.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Yes, I can.”

“There’s just one of you and six, maybe seven if you count the snake-monkey as two different people.”

“You mean the Sky Pirates?”

“Yeah.”

Mao Mao raised an eyebrow.”Really? You’re just scraping up wood chips. I beat them once a week, twice if I need to blow off some steam.”

“See! That’s the shit I can’t stand. You pretend to be better than everyone else when you’re just as awful!”

“What do you mean?”

“I make one mistake and you just throw me into jail. You didn't even try to help me. You complain about your dad when you’re not better.”

Mao Mao didn’t know words could hit that hard. He felt all the wind leave his lungs and pain in his chest. He clenched his fist and closed his eyes before looking up again. “You can’t just do things without consequences. You can’t just do wrongs and expect no justice.”

“You’re right,” Jǐngtì said,” so let me fucking bury you alive.”

“Please get down here. And stop cursing, Adorabat’s only six.”

“The blue thing?”

Mao Mao nodded.

Jǐngtì turned over his shoulder then back to his father, looking him dead in the eyes. “Shit, ass, fuck, motherfucker, bitch-”

Jǐngtì certainly inherited his obstinance. He climbed up and swung the back of his blade at Jǐngtì. He dodged the attack, stepping forward to bring down his knife. Mao Mao stuck his sword in the floor, freeing his hand to catch Jǐngtì’s wrist.

“-cock, fucker, and motherfucker.”

“You said motherfucker twice.”

“Well, I am fighting you so I guess it was on my mind.”

Jǐngtì pulled a bomb from his bag forcing Mao Mao to jump back. When the fuse burned out the bomb just turned back into a leaf.

“Pirates!” Jǐngtì called out.

Mao Mao was forced to let go and quickly step out of the way of Rammaraffe, he was pushed back by an egg-bomb from boss-hostrich, a small head-tilt was enough to dodge Ratarang. Orangusnake let out a battle cry, leaping forward with battleax brandished. He couldn’t win like this. He dashed underneath Orangusnake, and reached for Geraldine. When the sword was nearly in his grasp it was pulled away.

“How does it feel to be disarmed again,” Jǐngtì asked.

“You’re like really mean, you know that?”

Jǐngtì gave Badgerclops the side-eye before transforming with a large puff of smoke. “Meh meh meh meh meh, that’s what you sound like,” he said.

“Hurtful, but why’d you turn into modern art?”

Jǐngtì raised an eyebrow,” what do you mean modern art I’m supposed to be you.”

“That’s supposed to be… me?”

Badgerclops laughed. He laughed and laughed as Jǐngtì’s frustration grew and grew until he exploded in a puff of smoke. “You know what! I don’t see you doing magic! You don’t get to criticize me for doing mine!”

Mao Mao pinched the bridge of his nose.“ Badgerclops, quit arguing with an actual child and free yourself. Also, hand my sword while you’re at it.”

“Can’t tied up.”

“Quit being lazy. You know that’s not even a rope. It's just a leaf.”

Badgerclops rolled his eyes and stood up, popping the rope around with a puff of smoke. He pointed his arm right at Jǐngtì. “You’re both very demanding you know that?”

“I suppose I’ll just try burying him alive another time.”

Jǐngtì pushed Badgerclops arm up. A single misfire blasted a hole right through the Sky Pirate’s ship. He grabbed Adorabat without hesitation, jumping off Badgerclop’s face to start climbing towards the exit. Mao Mao called his son’s name, quickly following after. They climbed to the top of the airship. Jǐngtì held Adorabt in one arm. The wind howled in their ears.

“That’s enough, Jǐngtì.”

“Enough of what?”

“Enough of all this. You have to stop.”

“Why? Why should I?”

“Because you literally held an entire kingdom hostage. You teamed up with the Sky Pirates. You’re just becoming a villain.”

“Like father like son, I guess.”

“Jǐngtì just… just stop before this goes too far.”

Mao Mao walked forward while Jǐngtì kept walking back.

“Before I too far? I already thought I did go too far back in Queens Putland.”

“You stole from the monarch and stole their crown! You can’t just do that and expect nothing of it!”

“So, I guess it's justified to leave me in jail without even trying to post bail. I guess it’s fine to just up and move on with your life like you didn't spend 13 whole fucking years with them! Instead, you fuck off and replace me with… this!”

He shook Adorabat around like a ragdoll. “Careful!” Mao Mao shouted as he took a tentative step forward.

“Listen I get it I… am a hypocrite, certainly not the best father, but that's no excuse to do any of this.”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Jǐngtì reached into his pouch throwing leaf after leaf.

Some turned into bikes, others into furniture, pianos and anything heavy. It didn’t slow Mao Maod down; he just cut them down one after the other. The final thing he threw was also the largest. A massive boulder that belonged at the slope of a mountain hurled through the air. Mao Mao simply raised his hand, simply grabbing onto it so tightly that it popped.

“Are you done?”

“No, I’m not done! I never will be until you finally get your shit together! Put action to your words, and try, for once in your life, to do something right!”

It happened in an instant. A step back when nothing was there. Jǐngtì fell back, too surprised to even scream.

Mao Mao lunged forward grabbing onto his wrist.

To his horror, Jǐngtì seemed genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“Does a man have to give a reason to protect his own children?”

The look in Jǐngtì’s eyes gave him hope. Hope that maybe mistakes can be fixed, or at least worked past. He helped Jǐngtì to his feet and placed his hand on his shoulder. Jǐngtì refused to look him in the eye, but he didn’t shrug it off.

Without warning, he threw down one of Adorabat’s bombs. A cloud of smoke filled the air. When the smoke cleared he was holding Adorabat and Jǐngtì was nowhere to be seen.

“Mao Mao,” Adorabat said.

“Hm?”

“What was that?”

Mao Mao took a deep breath as he searched for the right way to phrase it. “Adorabat, we all have to deal with the consequences of our actions. You can’t just forget about them, lest we start to hurt the people we’re close to.”

“Did you forget him, Mao Mao?”

“You know what? I never could. I never even wanted to. I hope he knows that.”

A loud crash shook the ship. Badgerclops helicoptered out through a brand new, much larger, hole with his arm cannon at full charge. “Alright daddy issues, that’s enough.” He waved his cannon around, searching for his target.

“What?”

“No not you. Jǐngtì,” Badgerclops said.

“You can put the arm cannon down now. He’s long gone.” He knew Jǐngtì wasn’t. He taught him that disappearing trick, after all.

“Oh. Well then let's get the aerocycle and go. I have no idea where it's parked.”

“But I didn’t ride the aerocycle here.”

Badgerclops groaned and they shared a laugh as they walked back home

68 notes · View notes

thatgirlonstage · 5 years ago

Text

liaroflesbos replied to your post “High key tempted to figure out how to create some kind of virtual...”

i've started doing this spreadsheet where i put fics into different categories. i think of it like as playlists for certain moods... i just think better in spreadsheets lol

Oh I like that concept! I don’t think it would work to scratch the particular itch I’m troubled with, but I do like it and I’m glad it works for you.

Part of me is tempted to be like “fuck it I’m unemployed in quarantine what else am I gonna do” and make mock-up dust jackets for my bookmarked fanfics and literally put them on a shelf lmao — which may mostly be a sign of the “being stuck inside monkey brain says hands need things to do” issue. But really my like, ideal imagination here is a website where I could have a visual of a real life bookshelf, be able to create “books” to put on the shelf, be able to ORGANIZE those books in whatever arrangement I want (sidenote why on Earth won’t Kindle let me choose how to order my books. Why must I see series listed in the wrong order. Why won’t NETFLIX let me do anything to organize My List or AT THE VERY LEAST do it in some consistent order like alphabetically so it doesn’t take me 97 years to find whatever show I’m looking for if it’s not what I was watching yesterday), and then whenever you click on the “spine” of a book it takes you to like a page where you can copy over the information like tags, rating, summary, etc, and then also have within there a link to the fic itself (or if it were an offline thing where I was downloading & saving fics, then click through the spine straight to an ebook or PDF of the fic).

What I do have, currently, for my regular books, is a document that I started after my parents got a second house and I left for college and suddenly my books weren’t all neatly contained to one bedroom anymore, where I just list all my books so that if I’m ever trying to remember if I have something specific I can check, and it’s color coded for when I’m trying to remember what’s on my TBR (although I also use Goodreads, to an extent, for that), it looks like this:

(I include publication citation for anything originally published prior to 1900 just because it’s more likely to be significant which specific edition I have)

And I’m thinking I can do a slightly more expanded version of that for my fics, maybe (like, title and then an indented bookmark with a line or two to remind myself which fic it is, since fics blur together easier than original fiction).

The thing that I’m really missing though, and I’m only realizing this as I’ve been writing this answer, is that the variety of covers and colors and shapes and sizes of physical books actually REALLY matters to me because I can just glance at my bookshelf and know without having to really read the titles which book is which, and if I’m trying to pick something out that’s really... nice? It requires less focus to read through each title individually, instead I can just be like “oh I’ve been meaning to read the fat red one”. Which is why in my ideal fantasy world I’m so attached to the notion of the visual of an actual bookshelf, even if there’s no reason it actually needs to look like that in virtual space.

wow sorry for rambling at you for so long about my fanfic organization woes ^^’’ I just like organizing books lol and I’m frustrated when I can’t make the other things I read similarly neat and tidy

#liaroflesbos #personal

2 notes · View notes

in-arlathan · 5 years ago

Text

The Scar

Time period: Elvhenan Characters: Solas, Mythal, Elvhen OC Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,620 words Rating: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: Driven by the desire the become one of the Evanuris, an elvhen mage summons a spirit of wisdom and tricks it into taking on a physical body to impress the all-mighty Mythal. Disgusted by what the mage had done, the All-Mother sides with the former spirit and helps him to free himself from his mistress's bindings, owning the name the mage has given to him: Solas.

A/N: This is an updated version of the fanfic I posted over @old-arlathan. Now with 50% less typos and more accurate terminology for the Elvhenan timeline. ;)

You can read this on AO3, too.

______

“He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”

– Cole

Her blood pooled around his feet, thick and dark as the night. He shuddered and stepped back, away from the dead woman who’s blood he’d spilled across the ancient marble floor. Her arms and legs lay twisted as if they belonged to a puppet rather than a living being. He dropped his hands and the spell faded away, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole in his heart.

His mistress was dead and he had killed her.

“Well, that is that, I presume,” Mythal mused.

Sitting on her golden throne, the All-Mother had watched the fight in absolute silence. If she felt disgust or horror upon the murder, he could not tell. Her face was still, her breaths long and steady.

She is justice incarnate, he thought.

Is that why she had allowed him to kill his mistress? Because she thought it was just? He wanted to believe it so very badly. Maybe it would keep the darkness at bay that grew within him with every passing moment.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Mythal asked. Her voice was soft and candid. It was a gift he did not deserve.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, wiping away droplets of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The fight had been much more exhausting than he had expected.

Slowly, the All-Mother rose from her throne and came towards him. Her rich green robes rustled softly as she descended from the dais, her steps echoing from the high stone walls of her Throne chamber.

“I remember the day she presented you before my court,” she said with her eyes fixed on the dead body on the floor in front of her. “She all but burst with pride while she told the tale of your summoning. A spirit of wisdom, eager to share his knowledge with The People, yet too kind to recognize an enemy on sight.”

He swallowed, hard. He, too, remember this tale. Remembered it all too well. It had become a part of his being, just like the body he inhabited.

“She learned everything she could from you,” Mythal continued, “and when you had finally shared all of your knowledge of the Beyond, she lured you into a body, binding you to the Waking World.”

Mythal lifted her hand ever so slightly. Still, he could feel the wave of energy flaring up around her as she drew power from the Beyond to cast her spell. Blazing fire erupted from the corpse, cloaking the body of his former mistress in flames. The air wavered and filled with the smell of burnt flesh.

Another wave of Mythal’s hand and the blood began flowing towards the tiny fissures in the marble floor and sank into the stone. He breathed a sigh a of relief as the dark fluid vanished.

They watched in silence as the flames consumed the dead woman’s body and when the fire finally died down, it was as if his mistress had never even existent. For a moment, they heard nothing but the song of birds and the sound of whispering leaves from the forest outside Mythal’s palace.

The All-Mother let out a sigh of regret. “I told her that her pride would be her undoing.” Her gaze turned to him. “Or should I say her Pride?”

A shiver worked its way down his spine. Until this day, his mistress had called him Pride, her Solas, for he was the embodiment of her strength, the manifestation of her will. For a while, he had liked that name, until he came to realize that he was but a means to an end. Now he wished the name belonged to someone else.

He raised a hand to touch the skin on his cheeks. Though he could not feel it, he knew the lines of his vallaslin by heart. His fingers traced the curved markings while he thought about the day when his mistress had presented him to Mythal and her courtiers. Back then, he was still trying to get used to his body and was too confused by the powerplay unfolding before his eyes to understand it. It was an irony, really, how little he had known about elvhen politics, even after spending years and years in friendly conversation with one of Elvhenan's most powerful mages.

“This spirit of wisdom possesses more knowledge than any other I have ever encountered,” his mistress had said to Mythal. “I devote him to you, All-Mother, as a sign of my loyalty to you, and grace him with your vallaslin.”

At that moment, Mythal had had no other choice but to accept her gift. She would have been seen as cruel or unkind by her courtiers if she hadn’t. So the All-Mother watched as his mistress ingrained the vallaslin in his skin with magic. The pain had been almost unbearable but he had been too proud to show his agony in front of the assembled elvhen. Instead, he had bitten his lips until they were bloody and kept silent.

Maybe some of his mistress’ pride had rubbed off on him when she’d help him take on a physical form.

So I truly am Solas, he thought bitterly.

“There is something you must tell me,” Mythal said. “How did she convince you to enter this realm?”

He blinked, taken by surprise. “How do you know she did not bind me like she claimed?”

A soft chuckle escaped Mythal’s lips.

“All elvhen were like you once, Solas, exisiting freely within the Beyond,” she explained. “Only those with the will to change their form were able to enter this world and manifest themselves in a physical body. Many ages ago, I, myself, was what you might call a spirit of justice, and when I saw the many wrongs that happened in the Waking World, I could not resist to enter it to set things right. That is why I know that no spirit can be bound into a body without its consent. Otherwise, it could never hold on to a physical form long enough to survive the journey to the Waking world.“

She looked him over. “But you are a person. You have a purpose. This means you came to this world by will, not by force. So tell me, what made you come here?”

He sighed. “I was curious. She had told me so much about this world and its wonders and I was … excited by her enthusiasm. I wanted to walk among The People and learn everything they had to offer so I could pass their wisdom on to other spirits. But when I’d taken my body, I …”

His voice trailed off.

“When you had taken your body, you found that you could not return to your spirit form,” Mythal said, finishing the sentence for him.

“Yes.”

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. He had never admitted his failure so openly before. The pain was simply too much to bear.

His desire to learn had made him foolish. He had been so eager to gain wisdom that he did not see the woman who had summoned him for what she really was. He’d simply assumed that she was a kindred spirit, a seeker of truth and knowledge, just like him. Learning from her had excited him and he had trusted her to guide him into his body. But then his friend used his trust to turn him into her pet to parade him around the rest of The People. Only then he realized the terrible mistake he’d made and he had regretted it ever since.

“You are not the first spirit to make this mistake and you won’t be the last,” Mythal said. “When taking on our physical form, we gain a stronger sense of self and a power that is beyond any spirit. It allows us to shape the world around us. But we also lose our ability to become one with the Fade. We can only dream of the world we have lost and try to make a difference in this one.”

Another moment of silence passed. “She should have told you about the consequences,” Mythal said. “But I wonder why you haven’t turned your back on her after her betrayal. She may have lured you into this world, but she never truly commanded you. Still, you called her mistress.”

“It was spiritual affinity that kept me by her side, though I never forgave her for luring me into taking a body,” he admitted. “I was perfectly happy as I was, back in the Beyond. But she was my friend and I thought I owed her for what she had given me.”

“I see,” Mythal said, her voice heavy with sadness. ��I’m sorry.”

“I do not deserve your sympathy,” he replied.

“And why is that?”

“Because I wish to burn the vallaslin off my face. Your vallaslin.” The words came out in a rush, like a tide that had been held back for far too long. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face. He imagined the lines of the blood writing burning brightly on his skin, just like the fire Mythal had cast to get rid of his mistress’s body. “I want to take it away and leave all memory of what was behind.”

“Well, take it off then,” Mythal said with a soft smile. “No one is stopping you.”

It took him a moment to understand what she truly meant. And when the realization finally hit him, he blinked in surprise yet again. He lowered his hands to look at Mythal. “But it would be an insult to you!”, he insisted. “The People would see it as a great offense if I rejected your patronage.”

The All-Mother laughed. “It was your mistress who offended me by thinking it would impress me that she tricked a trusting spirit into taking a body. It was her who offended me in wanting my patronage, not for the good of The People, but to rise in rank and to become one of the Evanuris. That is why I tempted you to kill her, you know. To right her wrongs.”

She reached out to him and touched his cheek gently. “Others might think you denied yourself to me, but I know that is not true. I wish you to act on your own accords and honor me with your deeds. Thus, you could never offend me, Solas, even if you tried.”

The way she said his name made him shiver. It sounded so different from the way his mistress had said it. As if Mythal was proud of him, not for being a particularly powerful spirit, but for freeing himself at last.

“Go on, now”, she said and gifted him with an encouraging smile. “Take off the vallaslin and leave your past behind.”

“But I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you help me?”

“Oh, no.” Mythal shook her head slightly. “You are perfectly capable of removing the blood writing on your own. It is one of the few benefits of possessing a physical body: You may shape it to your will. But beware that you will be the first of your kind, for no other elvhen had felt the desire to take the vallaslin away. It will be a wonder to behold.”

He looked at her for a moment, baffled by her confidence in him. How could she be so sure about his power when he himself doubted it so much?

Before he knew it, she took his hand into her own and squeezed them. “Do it,” she urged. “I know you can.”

Encouraged by her words, he slowly, very slowly, allowed himself to believe in his own strengths.

She let go and he stretched out his hands before him. With every fiber of his body, he opened up to the energy of the Fade, allowing it to fill him up like wine poured into a golden goblet. Sparks of light spread from his fingertips across his palm, a flash of blue and green and white, mingled together.

He brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes. In his mind, he pictured the fine lines of the vallaslin once more. He saw it burn, bright as day. Then he traced his fingers across his face, imagining the light from his hands spreading across his skin. He felt a soft tingle and then a sting on his forehead.

When he was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did I work?” he asked Mythal, and she beamed at him, proud like a mother.

“You left a scar,” she said softly, touching a small spot above his right eyebrow. “But yes, it worked.”

She was so close to him he could feel the warmth of her body, but he did not mind.

“I’d rather wear a scar on my face then any vallaslin,” he told her, “for I created it myself.”

“You will bring glory to The People,” she said. “I’m proud to call you kin.”

And then, the tears finally came.

He closed his arms around Mythal’s slender figure and buried his face against her shoulder. And while he wept, his body shaking, she remained silent and held him like a mother would.

After a while, he ran out of tears and became very still in her arms. A part of him waited for her to push him away, now that he had freed himself of his mistress’s influence completely. But instead, Mythal waited until he himself was ready to let go.

“What happens now?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“That is up to you. With your mistress gone, you are free to go wherever you please in the Waking world. Vir Dirthara might be a good place to start. I’m sure Ghil Dirthalen will be happy to offer you guidance.”

“I will consider it,” he said. “Thank you, All-Mother.”

“You may call me Mythal.”

He smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “I could never do that.”

They looked at each other for a moment. A bond had built between them and they both knew it. Their spirits were joined for as long as they might live and they were united in thankfulness for this rare gift.

“I should leave,” he said at last. “I have taken enough of your time.”

Mythal sighed. “I’m afraid you have,” she said. “There are other matters to attend to. But I hope you will return soon, my friend, and tell me what you have learned while we were apart.”

“I will. I promise.”

And with that, he made his way to the door. When he had entered the throne room, he had been a spirit, bound by the will of another. Now he had become something different. He was scared of what awaited him outside these halls, afraid of the world and the future and his own powers, but he would find a way for himself.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Mythal spoke in a low voice but her words carried all the way to the throne room’s door without fading.

He turned around to face her once more, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, All-Mother?”

Mythal’s face lit up as their eyes met. She reminded him of the moon rising over a mountain ridge in a dark and stormy night. It was in that moment that she earned his undying devotion, his eternal love, and gratitude.

“Despite any regret or pain or guilt you might feel,” she said with a glimmer in her golden eyes, “you should be proud of yourself. Always.”

....

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #solas #mythal #ancient elves #elvhen #elvhenan #vallaslin removal #hurt/comfort #in-arlathan-FF

3 notes · View notes

ifeelbetterer · 6 years ago

Note

Hello! I'm rereading Jane Eyre for he first time since i was 12, and was wondering - what are your thoughts on Bertha?

MY BUDDY MY PAL. I love you forever for sending me this ask. If I knew who you were (and also had the moneys), I would send you daffodils every day for the rest of your mortal life for sending me this ask. I have never been given the opportunity to do this immensely awesome thing I am about to do before. I am buzzing with excitement about the wonders you are about to encounter.

Because before I say what I personally think, I have just the BEST NEWS to give you and it is the highpoint of my literary life that I get to be the one to tell you this: there’s a book/miniseries* for you called Wide Sargasso Sea. It is SO EXCELLENT and I hope you repay me for guiding you in its direction by coming back and dropping me a line about it once you’ve consumed it. It’s Jane Eyre from Bertha’s pov. What happened was Jean Rhys, who obviously was tuned into future trends in fanfic like some kind of fandom divining rod, took this excellent fic trope of “this version is pov from THE OTHER ONE” and applied a lifetime of just masterful postcolonial thought/experience/emotion and made this goddamned masterpiece. They call it both a feminist and a postcolonial response to Jane Eyre (missing, of course, the fandom divining rod angle I am pushing hard here). It IS. It’s so good.

* excellent book, excellent miniseries. I am not bothered by how you choose to consume, but run to it as soon as you have finished your re-read of Jane.

God. I am so excited about you encountering Wide Sargasso Sea. Please PLEASE come back and talk to me about it someday. I know Jane Eyre is a handful and you might not get to it any time soon, but when you do. Please come back. If it is fifteen years from now, please come back and talk to me about it. I will be as excited about it then.

My thoughts about Bertha are directly tied to everything Rhys does with the character. She’ll expand Jane Eyre for you, not damage it. You will see whole worlds that Bronte never imagined unfold in the novel. Because there’s a lot to “abroad” that Bronte was only guessing at, circumscribed as she was by her era, her privilege, her race, and her gender. So when she says “oh Bertha was from the West Indies” she has only the most broad strokes of “abroad” in mind there. So Bertha needs someone more sympathetic to expand her, to give real flesh to a character that is more a function than a person in the original novel. And Jean Rhys does that.

There are, of course, other ways to read her. If you take as given that Bronte was incapable of understanding the realness of such a foreign person, you can see Bertha more as a reflection of Jane’s worst fears and her most extreme desires. Jane is, after all, the child who screamed in a red room once upon a time. She’s still the girl who responded to Helen’s death by curling around her corpse. This girl is, like Bronte herself, not a being who can be confined to the societal expectations of a proper lady. She expands. Jane is a little touched by the same magical “madness” that has seized her mirror locked up in the attic. Jane, who rebelled so hard when she was younger and then just crushed herself into the shape that school required her to be, that Jane also could very well set a house on fire. Jane is also the woman who walks out into the moors rather than compromise her agency for Rochester, who she actually legit loves. So I think there’s a way you can see Jane finding Bertha as a sign of the dangers of penning herself away like she already does, like women in general (at the time and even, I would argue, today) were expected to do. Bertha is what happens when you squeeze women into tiny little pigeon holes that they, as real living people, cannot be contained by. Bertha bursts her seams, so to speak, and Jane learns that this will happen to her too if she has to be contained in a neat little pigeon hole too.

So she walks out onto the moors and makes a new life for herself that is entirely, completely subject to her own will.

(Which is why I haaaaaate when adaptations of Jane Eyre cut the St. John bits. They’re SO PIVOTAL.)

So that’s how Bertha is more a function than a person in Bronte’s version. She’s a lesson Jane learns about oppression but she’s also not a real person that Jane is ever tempted to free from oppression. I count that more as an authorial sin than the character’s, but Jane SHOULD have freed Bertha. Like the unicorn in The Last Unicorn frees the harpy, Jane SHOULD have freed the fellow being who was like her and who she saw herself reflected in. If Jane is the character she is, she’s actually a better person than Bronte—small wonder, right? we all right our characters better than ourselves—and Jane would have saved Bertha.

I actually think it’s a better ending. It makes Bertha a new Helen, not some kind of dire omen. Jane’s story is about her relationship with women, not Rochester. The aunt is the first person who matters, than Helen. Then there’s the bit about Rochester. But then we go back to women: Bertha and St. John’s sisters. And it makes more sense to me that a Jane who counted Helen’s death as not a freak of circumstance, but the fault of the conditions of the school.....THAT Jane should not sit idly by while a woman is killed by the conditions of where she lives. THAT Jane should free Bertha and THEN walk out onto the moors. Then there would be days of walking, of sleeping but not knowing if Bertha will come upon her in the night, of startling when she catches glimpses of Bertha out of the corner of her eye, of Bertha slowly creeping closer, of Bertha’s trauma and her rage finding outlets, of Jane finding herself in response to them and finding her own rage and her own trauma in watching someone else heal themself, etc.

Making St. John the end of the book is the coward’s way out.

#do i have to tag for jane eyre spoilers?#honestly this might be my favorite ask of all time #i have never been so excited to rec ANYTHING before #it's like finding someone who doesn't know about star trek but who loves sci fi and getting to be the one who tells them #such a good #what a weekend #Anonymous

21 notes · View notes

runningwolf62 · 6 years ago

Text

@wardencommanderrodimiss @pachelbelsheadcanon

The new chapter is here featuring emotional whiplash and allegiances finally.

On AO3

What happens next is a series of incidents so coincidental and yet so perfectly aligned Larry would be tempted to call it fate. He had headed to a book store to chill and he would swear he’d just gone in to look for a book for Nick or Edgey as a Christmas present. Nothing dramatic, he’d just been caught up on his word count for the day and he’d wanted to shop and treat himself and get things out of the way so he didn’t come out of December confused and lacking presents for anyone.

And while he was there he’d remembered his promise to himself to get Tallstar’s Revenge, after WolfDragon had recommended it. So there he was in the children’s section, looking through the Warrior cats section - which he had half a mind to sort because someone respected neither series nor numbers and honestly it was a disaster trying to find anything, was this supposed to be alphabetical, because he was not going to find Tallstar’s Revenge at all like this - when the book caught his eye.

The Magic Bottle.

A simple title really, but the art on the cover was beautiful. Larry abandoned the Warrior Cats books for a moment to pick up this one, whoever the cover artist was they were fantastic at their job because Larry was for sure curious now. He flipped it over to scan the back, and cracked it open.

Well it turned out Elise Deauxnim could both write and draw, and Larry was enthralled. God where had she been when he was a kid, this shit was fantastic. He ended up buying it and after asking a worker, maybe making an excuse of shopping for a niece (listen that was the simplified version of what Pearl was and if he liked the book this much he might tell Nick to get it for her for Christmas so you know, valid) he also got Tallstar’s Revenge.

Now Tallstar’s Revenge was great, especially by Warrior standards, but he kept coming back to The Magic Bottle, the art, the characters, the pacing, it was fantastic. It made him want to write kid’s books.

Why not? You’re a really good writer and it’s not like you’re unfamiliar with kid’s lit

Thanks!

But she’s super good and I wouldn’t even know where to begin!

Stripes stop selling yourself short you’re a fantastic writer

Stripes?

I’ve mentally called you that for years deal with it

I guess it beats Orange.

“Graypaw what have I told you about talking to basketballs”

What?

Okay I’m sending you that parody as soon as I find a link to it but you should go for it! You’re talented currently inspired also unemployed

Thanks

Hey, I meant now more than ever is your chance

So what should I do?

Google this author see what else she’s written and maybe write her some fan mail

“Hi I’m a twenty-something dude, huge fan”

Look Mr. smartass if you don’t want my help

I’m just worried I’ll come off as weird!

Then lie, say it was for a nephew or something and you were really impressed too and it made you want to try writing children’s lit, how did she get started

Think she’ll answer?

She might

Worth a try

Well I did read it so only fair I review it.

Atta boy, go get ‘em

Larry grins to himself and does exactly as Wolf suggested, googling Elise Deauxnim to find that she had a PO Box. With some help and a little more encouragement from Wolf, he sends off the letter. Then he tries to calm down by focusing on his NaNo, which is mostly just him writing oneshots and a chapter or two of the fic. He hasn’t brought in Godot yet because he’s not sure what the absolute hell is going on there and he doesn’t like thinking about that day in court. He keeps sending out his resume but after how he lost his last job he’s thinking it’s a good thing he has as much in savings as he does, and he’s thinking about emergency commissions.

Until the letter arrives. He’s not sure he believes what he’s seeing but a photo sent to Wolf on discord proves that not only did Elise Deauxnim not think he was a creepy loser, she was encouraging him. She wanted to see some of his art and writing so she could tell him where he might find some agents interested in him.

DUDE

RIGHT I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW!

AGGHHHH!

That’s amazing!

AGGGHHH!

I told you you were an amazing author

OH GOD WHAT DO I SEND HER

Not the Warriors Fanfic

OBVIOUSLY

Look, take a deep breath, and like, think of a story

Doesn’t have to be great, just some kids story thing

Do some art with it

Oh god, dude that’s terrifying, every idea I had just vanished.

Alright, listen you don’t have to write the damn thing just the first three pages of something

Uh, what are kids into these days?

Great question

I’m super good at drawing cats, what do I do with that?

Write Warriors but gay

Don’t we call that Wings of Fire?

Shots fired

More seriously, what do I do with that?

Well you’re good with a very open world series with a set of rules that is easily adapted to a setting

And cat anatomy

So I’d take those elements and make it into something

That’s a horrifying Chimera.

…

You know, that could be a plot hook

What?

Well like kids love monsters right?

Write a series with a Chimera as the main character, it’s part lion

Dude, you’re a genius, I owe you my life, and the response of “no thanks I’ve seen it, I don’t want it” is probably valid

Well get to it writer-boy, you’ll do great

What he ends up with is a book series about various mythological monsters on an adventure, and an offer from Elise Deauxnim to be an apprentice under her. He says yes, of course. He moves out of his apartment and to a smaller and cheaper one closer to where she works.

It’s awkward at first, on both ends. He can tell he’s not what she expected but he tries. She helps him with his writing, telling him what his strengths are first and then slowly moving to where he needs some polishing. It’s still strained though.

The breakthrough comes one afternoon, when Larry’s phone alarm goes off. He reaches over, swipes it off, and then flips the sketchbook page he’s on to start drawing something else.

Elise, - she insist he call her Elise which is weird to him but she’s a firm but matronly woman and so he obeys – looks up at the sound.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers a quick sheepish grin but she only looks more confused.

“Did you force yourself to get a drawing complete in a certain amount of time? You know that won’t make it turn out well.”

“Oh, no,” Larry flips back to the previous drawing to show her that it’s far from complete, “I got art block so rather than sit here and think about how I had the perfect image if I could only draw it for the next hour I worked on something else for ten minutes.”

“You’re quite talented at drawing cats,” she remarks, and Larry grins.

“I’d hope after how long I’ve been drawing them.”

“So this ten minutes of drawing, does it help?”

“Kind of yeah,” Larry pulls his sketch book back to him, looking at the sketch of Cherrywing and Spiritstar, he should draw Maya and Mia sometime. Maybe- no probably not for Christmas but at some point he should. “It forces me to relax and focus on something else, and get the creative juices flowing while I work on something that’s just for me so there’s no pressure or anything. That’s why I can only do it for ten minutes or I’d never get any actual work done!”

“That’s very clever,” she’s focusing on him now and Larry can only shrug, it’s just something that’s worked for him.

“Are those your cats?”

Oh no.

“Uh no, they’re-” he scrambles for a moment, “they’re just cats.”

Elise looks at him with a look of doubt but doesn’t press, instead she turns her focus on the picture, her eyes softening as she looks at Spiritstar and Cherrywing sitting together, “you have a real talent for capturing the emotion of a scene, there’s something very peaceful and loving about it, even for a sketch.”

Larry blinks in surprise, “thank you!” That was very much what he had been going for and he was pleased that he had succeeded at such.

Elise smiles at him, “you have such a talent for landscapes too, the nature looks natural while still framing them.”

Larry rubs the back of his neck with a grin, “now you’re going to give me an ego,” he jokes but he hopes she understands how grateful he is.

By the way she looks at him she does.

Merry Christmas Nick!!

merry xmas

Hey Maya, Merry Christmas!

Message failed to send.

Figures.

Message failed to send.

You okay man?

I appreciate your concern Larry but yes, I am fine

If you need to call just let me know

Before you joke yes I’m single this Christmas

That’s a kind offer but I am with my sisters

THERE’S ANOTHER ONE?!?

Her daughter has a dog named Phoenix

Holy shit

Quite

Merry Christmas Stripes!

Merry Christmas Wolfman!

Larry has to say, having your mentor frame and hang your finished and signed piece because she likes it so much is like having your parents hang art on the fridge but somehow a thousand times better.

They spend the winter working, her on her story and on helping Larry grow as an artist and writer and working on her own story.

Larry helps where he can with that, mostly by trying not to bother her when she looks busy but she does ask him to do some illustrations for her, citing his abilities with landscapes. He accepts and pours his heart and soul into it.

SHE’S GOING TO HATE IT

NO SHE WON’T JUST GIVE IT TO HER

AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH

Dude

Fine! Fine!

You’ve got this, you’re a really good artist and you’ve said she’s proud of you

As she should be

So you’ve got this

Thanks man

Go get it writer-boy

You gonna buy my book Wolfman

Of course

Larry can’t help but smile at that.

But you’ve got to publish it first

Rude.

Larry tucks his phone into his pocket and hands the portfolio over to Elise. She accepts them with a smile and begins to flip through them, seeming oblivious to Larry’s nervous shuffling. She pauses at one and studies while Larry does his best to not explode or start nervously babbling.

“These are beautiful,” she remarks and Larry can feel his shoulders sag in relief, “you’ve done fantastic work.”

“Thank you, I went to the park a lot to try and get all the details right.”

“It shows,” she continues to leaf through them, Larry feels more confident so he begins to point to details he feels proud of or wants to make sure she notices.

“These are just the illustrations my book needed if you’ll allow me to use them.”

“I, uh, yes!” Larry stares at her eyes about to jump out of his skull, wait until he tells Nick! He’s successful now, look at him!

Elise laughs fondly and hands them back, “hold on to these and let me talk to my agent but that’s exactly the kind of work I couldn’t find anywhere else, your watercolor style is just what I needed.”

Larry is going to cry and just manages to thank her long enough for him to slip out and tell Wolf everything.

I’m proud of you Stripes

I’m proud of me! I feel like I’m really making myself a new person!

He’s tempted to also tell Nick but he decides to wait. To drop the book on Nick’s desk at his office. That’s how he’ll do it.

Okay so get this

Yeah?

Apparently my last name “can’t be taken seriously by publishers”.

And I thought elementary school kids were hurtful.

Oh my god

So she’s going to have me use her last name.

WHAT

Her publisher loves the idea too.

Makes me look like family.

Which sells or something?

Hey I’ll take it, I’m getting paid.

So what name should I keep an eye out for

Larry pauses, they’ve never told each other their real names, years of being Wolf and Stripes and now occasionally Writer boy and Wolfman on top of having internet safety drilled into them has always stopped them.

Look for Laurice Deauxnim.

As your number one fan I want a signed copy at some point

“Larry,” he looks up from his typing craze at the sound of his name, he’s made a lot of progress on this chapter and with Elise’s help he’s hoping to get it done and sent to publishers by May. That’s his new year’s resolution, getting published this year.

Elise pauses her typing and he hears her sigh. He looks up to her, her face is set and determined but when she looks to him he thinks he sees regret.

“Larry, I’m afraid a situation has come up and I know it’s very last minute but unless you want to come to a monastery with me I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the next week or so without me.”

“What?” Larry feels a surge of panic not unlike the time he discovered he hadn’t saved in an hour, “a monastery? Why are you- where are you going?”

“Hazakura Temple,” she replies with a pause, Larry has never heard of it but he pulls it up on google quick enough. A teaser for an upcoming edition of the “Oh! Cult” Magazine pops up with some lovely images. Looks cold but interesting.

“Sure I’ll come. I’ve had art block for the past week maybe trying to do some temple scenes will help!”

Elise pauses and smiles kindly, “if you really want to…”

“I need some winter scene practice too,” Larry is not looking forward to wandering around the cold but Elise was going there for some reason, maybe he’ll find a muse there as well.

He flicks his finger over the picture hanging on the wall, the one that still made him smile to see there, “and I’ll give you a winter scene to compliment the summer one.”

Whatever hesitation Elise seems to be having vanishes as she laughs softly, “alright. Make sure to dress warm.”

And in honor of @pachelbelsheadcanon‘s fantastic art, here’s a list of the allegiances.

SpiritClan

Leader

Spiritstar – a cream she-cat with darker paws and face

Deputy

Darkleaf – a dark brown tom

Medicine Cat

Cherrywing – a cream she-cat with darker striped paws and face

Apprentice: Splashpaw

Warriors

Firebirdstorm – a bright orange tabby with spikey fur

Orangestripe – an orange tabby tom with scruffy fur

Beetlelight – a brown tabby tom with a white chin

Apprentices

Splashpaw – a white she-cat with brown paws and face

Demon’s Group

Demon – a dark gray tom with thick fur, especially on his chest, formerly Sharppaw of SpiritClan

Viper – a gray she-cat with cold blue eyes, formerly a rogue

Timber – a brown tabby tom with messy fur

Bird – a calico she-cat with mostly dark red patches

Wolf – large thick furred gray tom

#Ace Attorney #Thank you now I get to rewatch Bridge to Turnabout and probably cry #Larry Writes Warrior Cats

7 notes · View notes

the-salty-digest · 7 years ago

Text

“Every Heart A Doorway”, or: What if all possible fantasylands existed, and you could travel to them? (hint: you're going to die)

Title: Every Heart A Doorway (novelette, 2016 winner of the Nebula Award for Best Novella) Author: Seanan McGuire Review by: Captain Clo Verdict: imaginative worldbuilding, unimaginative plot, stilted writing in random places.

I've first hear about this book around the time it was nominated for the Nebula Award, since the book also features an asexual female protagonist and a transexual male side character. That said, simply having LGBT characters does not a good book make, and for all that this novelette is definitely enjoyable, it didn't convince me. But if you:

are looking for a fairytale-styled fantasy with an asexual protagonist (which is, let's face it, extremely rare)

like the idea of a trans boy as love interest/charming prince

don't mind purple prose terribly much

this book is for you.

In my opinion, the best thing about this novelette is definitely the worldbuilding. The plot is based on the existence of a number of "fantasylands" or "parallel universes", accessible through magical doors that only open for specific people (generally children, but not necessarily) at specific times. The core concept is the same as a journey through fairyland, with children spirited away to worlds that fall on two of four "directions": Wicked or Virtue, Nonsense or Logic. The children pass years of subjective life in these worlds – whereas in the mundane world, only months or even days pass – and they stay willingly, as they feel that these worlds are perfect for them; or at least, those who manage to come back feel that these places resonated with some aspect of their selves so perfectly, that adjusting back to life in the mundane world is completely impossible. (It's implied that those who don't fit in those worlds end up dead. Told you you're going to die.)

That's where the setting of the story, the Eleanor West's Home For Wayward Children, comes into play. The Home is a boarding school for children and teens who have come back from such worlds so deeply changed, they can't – or don't want to – live a normal life anymore. Their only desire is to go back, but all of them were either kicked out (fairies are cruel like that, after all) or came back and lost their door. On a certain level, the Home reminded me of an asylum. At first is unclear whether these worlds are real or fabrications of the children's minds, and a lot of their behaviours, in real life, would be considered signs of a deteriorating mental health. The protagonist, for example, went to an Underworld where people were forced to act as statues – without moving, eating, drinking or sleeping – and she learned that act so well, once she returned to the real world she claims she can eat and drink very little without problem. Her meals consist of fruit juice and a few fruits, and it's easy to see in this a sign (a metaphor?) of anorexia. Most of the children in the boarding school have similar "disorders", but in the end, their experiences are real, and so are the worlds they went to.

The descriptions of the worlds and how the children fit in them are all pretty interesting. There are worlds more obviously based on faitytales – with Goblin Kings and quests – and some based on classics such as Frankenstein and Dracula. Every world explains the idiosyncrasies of the children who came back from them. In their own vision, they came back as a truer version of themselves; according to their parents, they came back wrong. And so they send them to the Home to be fixed. On the one hand, the children are changed in ways that make them unable to live normally; all of them are obsessed with the idea of going back, and all of them hate who they were before. They can't empathize with the parents who were left in anguish for months, and then had their children back, but so changed as to seem mentally ill. At the same time, however, all the parents who get a description are fundamentally bad parents. For example, Kade's parents can't accept his trans identity, which emerged once he came back, and want him to act like the "girl he was before". The protagonist's parents dig through her luggage and change all her chosen clothes for boarding school – all in black and white exclusively – with the more colourful ones she used to wear. Other parents are described as outright abusers. But, at the same time, what some of these children went through in those worlds they love so much IS abuse. The protagonist, Nancy, can't aceept the simple fact that the world she went to was "High Wicked" – the creatures, or fairies if you want, that dwelled there abused her, forcing her to act as a living statue; she even knows that those who could not perform as well as her were killed, but she thinks nothing of it. She is, simply put, broken, and in mad love with the King of that world.

Unfortunately, the plot of the novelette itself isn't about any of that; it's about a string of vicious murders that start when Nancy joins the school. It's a pretty standard murder story, with a pretty easy-to-spot culprit. I guess you could say that their motivations are more proof of how broken these children are, but... I just spent a page talking about the worldbuilding, and the plot paragraph is over already.

I don't comment on a book's writing style unless I find it egregious in some sense. The prose of this novelette made me roll my eyes in some places – random, odd places, not throughout the entire book, which ruined the reading experience. Those purple prose spots jarred my willing suspension of disbelief, and made me think of old-school fiction when goth style was all the rage (no offense to those who were into the rage... I was too). Take the description of Nancy:

"She wore black – black jeans, black ankle boots with tiny black buttons marching like soldiers from toe to calf – and she wore white – a loose tank top, the faux pearls bands around her wrists – and she had a ribbon the color of pomegranate seeds tied around the base of her ponytail. Her hair was bone-white streaked with runnels of black, like oil spilled on a marble floor, and her eyes were pale as ice."

I can't, for the life of me, figure out if the author is pulling my leg here. I haven't read something that screams "edgy teen Mary Sue-self" this hard since My Immortal. Also there is something simply ridiculous in how stereotypically goth the entire concept of the Underworld Nancy went to is – with the fascinating Lord and Lady of the Dead playing wicked games with their subjects, everyone forced to wear black or white, the pomegranate seeds, and the fashion style inspired specifically by Waterhouse. The 17-year-old goth me is cackling. Some other characters are as equally quirky, with elaborate descriptions of their clothes and hair and hairstyle and eye colour... it does set the atmosphere, but it's also very close to being a mash-up of several teenage "fascinations" for the hell of it. It adds colour, I enjoyed it, but underneath it all, the plot and the style are lacking.

The prose itself is too elaborate at times, adding explanations that are simply obvious, seemingly just for the joy of adding elaborate words – the very definition of purple prose, if you ask me. Take these examples:

"Nancy brought up the rear. Stillness and speed were diametrically opposed. But she did the best she could, and they reached the attic door at roughly the same time." [Was this even necessary? "They walked to the door" wasn't enough?]

"But the shaking continued as her traitorous body betrayed her, trembling like a leaf in a hard wind." [Added appeal of too many alliterations: "traitorous body betrayed trembling". Wow. That's way too much. And use of two sets of synonims in one sentence?]

"[She] whimpered behind the gag that covered her mouth, eyes rolling wildly as she looked for a way out. She wasn't finding one." [You don't say.]

"[Loriel said], but the heat was gone; her accusations had been met with reality, and they didn't have anyplace else to go." [Am I the only one thinking of a stereotypical high school drama were the mean girl is put in her place?]

Also, the author has a fascination for the Oklahoma accent that I really don't get. I mean, it's okay if you like it, that's not the problem. The problem arises when said accent is described in slash fanfiction style:

"What'n the fuck are you doing in here again, Sumi?" he demanded, Oklahoma accent thick as peanut butter spread across a slice of toast."

"His drawl grew thicker, dripping from his words like sweet and tempting honey."

LADY. STOP. PLS. Well, at least you could argue that Kade is treated exactly the same as a fascinating cis male would be in fanfic...

Another note I want to put out there is how Nancy's asexuality is brought up in the narration. I can't put my finger on what exactly didn't work for me about it, but the two instances in which it was discussed seemed to me like two other parts in which the flow of narration was stilted. In particular, this:

"This was always the difficult part, back when she'd been at her old school: explaining that "asexual" and "aromantic" were different things. She liked holding hands and trading kisses. She'd had several boyfriends in elementary school, just like most of the other girls, and she had always found those practice relationships completely satisfying. It wasn't until puberty had come along and changed the rules that she'd started pulling away in confusion and disinterest."

This part is definitely too didactic, giving the reader a lecture on what asexuality is. Although I can understand the need to do so, I think it interrupts the flow of the story. The use of the terms "asexual" and "aromantic" don't help either, since they're not much used in common parlance and they sound almost like medical tems. Of course they aren't, but the use of "ace" would have been better, maybe (it poses the problem of how many readers might know what ace means, of course). Conversely, Kade's gender identity fits the narration much better. In bits and pieces, the reader learns how his experience in the fairyland he ended up in helped him to discover his identity, and how the discovery had him kicked out of that world. His gender identity is integrated with his backstory, and it works much better.

#every heart a doorway #seanan mcguire #lgbt books #lgbt characters #booklr #clo's reviews

13 notes · View notes