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sc0tters · 1 year ago

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Addicted | Luke Hughes

summary: when Alex and Trevor decide to voice their feelings about you it causing Luke to reevaluate his own.

song: Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

request: yes/no

warnings: mention of underaged drinking, slight bit of swearing.

word count: 2.03k

authors note: this song has been calling my name since I put it on the playlist, and let me just saw that I’m not upset in the slightest. This picture of Luke made me laugh so much that I had to put it in. If you want to check out the rest of the celly you can do so here!

Luke had been in love with you for years.

Thoughts of you consumed his mind from the moment he woke up until the moment he went to sleep. His heart rate would increase and his palms would grow sweaty as he watched you run across campus before you’d tackle him into a bear hug even though you saw him the day before. Every time you were in a more revealing outfit he’d stumble on his words like he had never spoken English before. Every year it was like half of his brain cells never made it to the lake house as all he could do was watch in awe as you’d walk around in shorts and your bikini tops.

But it was fine because you felt the same way as Luke.

The first time you realised this was after a ballet recital of yours when you were six and somehow Ellen convinced all three of her sons to come and Luke said that your tutu was pretty on you.

It like your whole world combusted in that moment as your semi toothless grin joined the conversation “you think so pookie?”

“I know so sparky.” Luke was never one to shy away from complimenting you and it made you swear he only did it to screw with you. The way your cheeks turned crimson red as you’d chew as the inside of your cheeks trying to hold in the inevitable squeal of joy at the compliment.

All of the scales seemed to increase when you went off to college, your friendship grew stronger as you remained his number one supporter, your love for him grew deeper as his eyes never left you at parties because other girls were never what he wanted. Clearly since everyone else could see this you would should have as well, right?

Wrong.

Totally absolutely positively wrong.

His love for you could have been written in big pieces of card in front of your face and it might as well have been like you were reading another language because you wouldn’t have believed it. The same thing went for Luke, every guy you turned down never made him feel more confident. In fact it usually made him feel worse.

You had the most athletic players flirting with you, the start football and baseball players all weren’t good enough for you. So what was to say that some hockey player would be what you wanted?

Luke was usually a confident man, he got that from being around Jack that it became a learnt trait. Yet you seemed to make him feel like a normal kid again. There was no need for the title of being drafted, or for his family name. To you he was just Luke or your pookie and it slowly ate up at him.

Just like every other year July meant it was lake house time. It was the third day of the trip and it was hotter than ever, literally the sun was scorching and you were out soaking it all up. Your bikini was the smallest one in your closet and it avoid the tan lines your top string was undone as your stomach lay on your towel.

Luke had been enjoying the sight he really was, your feet occasionally bounced as you had your favourite songs blaring through your AirPods and it was a sight that made his mouth water.

But when Trevor and Alex walked back in from the porch and started talking about you it caused the youngest Hughes boys mood to turn for the worse.

Trevor shook his head as he grabbed a drink from the fridge “I don’t know how you haven’t made a move yet Hughesy,” he confessed as he cracked the cap of the bottle open.

Alex nodded in agreement “huh?” Luke furrowed his eyebrows as he knew that they were talking about you.

The Ducks player smiled “y/n is out of this world,” he pointed out as none of the older boys were stupid, you were a pretty girl and they all knew it.

Except Trevor was the only one who ever let you know about it, the constant flirting that came from his lips during this lake house trip. It seemed you being over the age of eighteen let you move away from the title of only being Luke’s friend.

Words of warning wanting to tell Trevor to fuck off were desperate to leave Luke’s mouth yet they couldn’t as you walked into the living room.

An oblivious smile formed on your face “what are y’all talking about?” You asked as you reached into the fridge to grab the container of cut up mango that you had made earlier that morning.

Trevor let his outstretched hand reach into the container as he took a piece “just about going for a ride on the boat later,” he lied as his eyes never left your mouth as some of the fruit juice dribbled down your chin landing on your bikini top “hope there is room for me on that boat,” there always was room for you but you were enjoying flirting with Trevor.

Sure you weren’t attracted to him like that but he certainly wasn’t harsh on your eyes “for you sparky? Always.” The nickname was one that you had picked up when you were five, you learnt what electric currents were when you found two wires in Quinn’s room and decided to place them together. The eldest Hughes couldn’t help but laugh when he walked in to see how your eyes lit up like you were in a candy store.

Luke scrunched his nose at the smile you sent the ducks player as you continued you eat your mango but when you pushed your hair behind your ears letting your chest now be on full display the Hughes boy could no longer take it “put this on,” he mumbled as he held out his baseball jersey.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked white fabric “okay?” You shrugged as you took the Tigers home jersey and slotted your arms into it.

But that didn’t seem to be enough for Luke as he came over to you and began to button the buttons up “Luke!” You groaned saying exactly what Alex and Trevor were thinking as they sent the boy a glare “perfect,” Luke smiled as he softly pulled your hair out of the jersey letting it lay flat behind your back.

His dagger eyes were sent to both Alex and Trevor the entire day, even on the boat when Quinn was teaching you to drive it and even when you were on Luke’s lap.

“Am I missing something?”

Your question pulled Luke out of his thoughts as he looked at you “what?” He asked as he let his fingers draw over your leg.

It irritated you as you could see that something seemed to be going on between Luke and the two older boys “you seem mad at them,” you sighed as your lips formed into a pout.

Sure it might have been childish to be upset but Luke usually told you everything “it’s nothing,” he shook his head causing your fingers to grip at your can of seltzer.

Yet your pokes didn’t go quiet like he’d hoped “Luke-” your soft words were only met with a glare “just drop it okay?” His complaint was only met with your wide eyes.

Thankfully at that time you were in need of a new drink. So you got up to get yourself a refill.

The boys watched in amusement as you walked back into the house “you really fucked that one up Lukey,” Trevor teased only adding to the boys anger.

Luke clenched his fist “you need to shut the fuck up dude!” He warned as he got up as he pointed his finger at the older boy.

It seemed like this was all bubbling up over today “just go ahead all to her,” Quinn’s voice was soft as he knew that you were on his brothers mind.

The youngest Hughes boy took a large gulp as he remembered that he had lashed out at you first.

Your head remained in the fridge as you looked at the different options for drinks.

The cool air on your face made you grow calm. It was soothing as you tried to not cry, you knew you were overreacting but all of Luke’s actions today seemed to weigh up on you in this never ending battle that you had created based on the feelings you felt towards the boy. Your thoughts were pulled away from your brain as the sound of the glass sliding door shut.

You turned around and was already faced with Luke “Jesus Christ!” You cursed as you clenched your chest.

Luke’s face softened as he looked at you “sorry,” he apologised as he crossed his arms.

He wanted to reach out to hug you “why are you so mad at them?” You asked as you watched the hockey player pick at the bracelet on his wrist.

All of the explanations that went through his mind all didn’t sound valid “it’s stupid,” that was the honest truth, he knew he was over reacting but that didn’t make it any less irritating to deal with.

You scoffed as you sat on the counter “that never stopped you from telling me,” you pointed out as most nights were spent with Luke in your bed laying his bed on your chest as you combed your fingers through his hair.

The way your lips were plump and your cheeks were tinted with a hint of red from the sun that had landed on in them made you look so very kissable.

But Luke remained stood where he was “they think you’re hot,” he explained with his voice barely a whisper as though he was ashamed to admit to it.

Your laugh made him feel better “do they now?” It was a clear stroke to your ego as you watched the boy grow embarrassed.

It shouldn’t have been nearly as amusing as it was “you thinking I’ve got a new best friend to get?” You joked causing him to furrow his eyebrows with annoyance.

Luke situated himself between your legs “‘ts not funny,” he mumbled as he rested his head on your shoulder.

A smile found its way onto your face “it’s pretty funny,” you nodded as you hooked your fingers under his jaw forcing him to look at you.

Your eyes were soft as they studied every feature on his face as though it was the first time you’d seen his face “it doesn’t matter if they think I’m hot,” you explained as you watched his face grow confused “only matter if it comes from a guy who hasn’t even said it.” You added as your tongue darted between your lips.

The hockey remained as clueless as ever when you let your thumb run along his jaw “who?” He was almost asking because he needed to finally hear that dose of reality of who it was that went through you mind in the way you went through his.

A moment of silence was heard so loud that a penny dropping wouldn’t even be noticed “looking right at him.” You confessed causing his eyes to widen.

It was like he was at a crossroads as the ball was now in his court. Truly nothing went through his mind as he was desperate to find the right course of action. The girl he had loved for all of these years, the girl he had longed for to be more than just friends, the girl was you and here you were with all of your cards out waiting for him.

Yet there he was frozen in time.

Again it seemed like it was your turn once more. So you leaned forward as you kissed him, it was brain meltingly perfect. Like that moment you do something that feels so good it makes your brain all hazy, like that.

Luke pulled away with his smile as his finger ran over your lips “what’s got you all smiley?” You asked as you cocked your head.

“I got the girl of my dreams.”

#luke hughes x reader #ambers 150 celly #luke hughes x you #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl oneshot #imagines #oneshots #amber writes fics

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dragonsdendoodles · 13 days ago

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Any and all of your ocs

Idk anything about them but they look really cool so I wanna learn about them!!

Speedrunning fun facts about all my main OCs because I’ve got four stories’ worth of them (plus a few others) and that’s a lot to go into actual detailed shit about every single one of them

These might be weird I’m sorry I’m literally writing the first thing that comes to mind and most of them are gonna be stupid

No Stone Unturned

Kylee initially had an emo hairstyle because I couldn’t figure out how to draw curly hair

Andromeda wrote her own magic system and has an IRL notebook dedicated to that magic system

Jay is the only character I have that I have ever drawn in his current state naked and fully uncensored (mostly for projected gender dysphoria reasons)

Lucy was the first character to be added to the initial cast when I decided the earliest draft of NSU needed a rewrite

Winter was involved in Jay’s fun fact but I’m 19 years old and too much of a coward to draw dicks

Kaitlin has half a page of my sketchbook dedicated to my inability to decide on a good hairstyle for her

Carson uses all pronouns and actively makes fun of you if you just default to “he” and nothing else

Mason used to be clinically insane but then I looked at that and said “if I make my main villain the villain because he’s insane that’s probably ableist” and that’s on self-awareness

No Stone Unturned: Fauna’s Epilogue (co-written by my friend Parker)

Fauna is Andromeda’s niece and the daughter of the two oldest human OCs I have. She is the closest any of the original gang will ever come to having children of their own

Neo is probably the only straight man I have ever written

Crystal injects herself with actual adrenaline to learn to control harpy mode. Jay, another harpy, is incredibly fucking pissed at himself for not figuring this out when eventually this works

Maddie is Winter’s niece from his dad’s second family (technically the first but we’re not doing Winter angst right now)

Leah’s a Twitch streamer

Adalaide’s mom has a crush on one of Fauna’s dads and refuses to let this go to the point he got a restraining order

Logan is a catboy. Canonically.

Aster had an on-and-off fling with Neo for a couple years that didn’t go anywhere because Neo doesn’t actually like men

Colton was inspired by JD from Heathers

The Jewels in His Crown

Pallas was not named after the actual Greek character, but after the version of that character in Joan Holub and Suzanne Williams’ The Goddess Girls

Kayda can turn into a big silver dragon. Yes that does mean what you think it means and yes Pallas is into it

Henry did all of the things he does for the story, including being abandoned and betrayed by his twin sister, at the ripe old age of thirteen

Joan was initially based on someone I know in real life who I had a massive falling out with that hadn’t been resolved when I wrote her

Lucimene was named by my boyfriend, whose favorite character in No Stone Unturned is Lucy

Aurora is here because I wanted Lucimene to be a lesbian

James has had multiple names and I still don’t know if I like his current one. Initially it was Patroclus

Muddy was initially an idea for a Dungeons and Dragons character

Luke was named after Luke Skywalker, because he also has a sister

Lorelei was named after my evident misspelling of Lorelai Gilmore from Gilmore Girls

Elementary (co-written by @pollux888)

Vincent figure skates and skateboards

Jackson’s name was initially going to be Apollo

Lily was based on one of my exes who yelled at me for being a trans gay man only to come out as a trans lesbian six months later

Gallace was initially based on Glaceon but currently shares a name with my Gallade in both Pokémon Go and Pokémon Legends Arceus

Alex’s hair as a Mii in Tomodachi Life is neon pink

Leo has a very similar powerset to Leo Valdez but was not named after him if you can believe it

Enoch was named after Enoch O’Connor from Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

Michael was named after Michael Mell from Be More Chill

Miscellaneous

Limbo was my first ever fursona

Omega was named by my mother who does not know what a/b/o is (to my knowledge) because “he’s the last velociraptor”

Petal and Omega are were both initially a closed species that I didn’t know was closed and had a mental breakdown learning this fact because when I was thirteen I thought the cops were going to arrest me for copyright infringement

Ocean is a manokit because I wanted them to be a shark but a furry game I cannot for the life of me remember the name of had manokits and I thought they were cooler

Requiem was created when I changed my username to dragonryder21 and decided I probably needed a dragon fursona to go with it

Lux taught my mother what neopronouns were

Currentcall (Warrior Cats) was renamed from Riverpelt/Riverstar to Currentpelt to Currentcall all by fanmade games on Scratch

Sombra (Minecraft) was named after King Sombra from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Greenjay (MPHFPC) doesn’t currently have a first name

My currently nameless MLP sona has always been a pegasus for as long as I can remember. I just like pegasi I guess

#dragon’s ocs #no stone unturned #nsu: fauna’s epilogue #the jewels in his crown #elementary

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beyondtheclose · 9 months ago

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Fic Stats Game!

Thank you for the tag @otpcutie! Sorry that's it's been almost a month literally more than six months oops since you tagged me. I was looking through my drafts and found this. apparently I wrote it last august and forgot to post it, so here it is! (lol). I have not read through this or checked the stats again so all of it could be incorrect now + hopefully i was having good thoughts about my fics at the time

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and least words.

Most hits: Everything, Slightly to the Left (23k, M) - this was my advent fic last year and the first time I didn't post a fic all at once, which definitely contributed to the higher number of hits. Ft. christmas, multiple universes, trans characters, and roommates to lovers.

Most kudos: let me fade into the air (6k, T) - this was actually the first fic I wrote for drarry (though not the first drarry fic I posted, I wrote it almost 6 months before I posted it) and is still one of the fics I'm most proud of. Ft. anxiety and (unnecessary) guilt, and established relationship.

Most comments: is again Everything, Slightly to the Left for the same reason as it has the most hits. Second most comment threads is (you) find me when the lights go down (1.8k, T) - my wireless fic this year!

Most bookmarks: this one is also one I've already talked about - let me fade into the air. I'm just going to take this opportunity again to say that I truly am proud of this fic for where I was in life and in my writing abilities when I wrote it. (Even if I maybe would make some different decisions with it now).

Most words: (Dis)obedience (30k, M) - I wrote this one during NaNoWriMo 2021 so it's probably also the fastest I've written that many words as well as being the most words. 30k still seems like so much for me to have written in one story, even if it's not that much in the grand scheme of things. This one is a Ella Enchanted-esque curse with trans draco and harry.

Least words: This would technically be my art for the reverse big bang last year, since it has 0 words. But excludig that would would be whirlpool (147 words) written for the drarry server drabble challenge.

Aug23: Thank you again for the tag moss! It was interesting revisiting my old fics! Sorry it took me so long to finally get to this. Feb24: I'm not going to tag anyone because, again, it has been more than half a year, but if anyone wants to do this consider yourself tagged!

#tag games

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hopefullynobodyhasthisname · 1 year ago

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Here, have some random, unasked for information about my (many) original stories :D

(Little note, my stories’ universe has seventeen different realms, so, if some stories have this -x- in-between them, just know that means they take place in a different realm)

The First Realm - main story, all others (technically) branched off it, has been in development for around six years and oh gods. If you looked at the original draft and how it is now, you would be so surprised that it’s the same thing. It is intensely complicated and even I, the one who created the thing, struggle to understand parts of it.

Legends of the Rose - connecting story to The First Realm, technically a prequel, giving backstory to certain events that are either mentioned or referenced during The First Realm, such as how the kingdoms came to be, what led to Fei (another name for the First Realm) becoming what it is now and also showing the founding of the Three Central Councils, plus much more.

Guardians of the Rose - connecting story to both The First Realm and Legends of the Rose, focusing entirely on the people known as the Guardians of the Rose, or just the Guardians for short. Takes place around the same time as all the stories from Legends of the Rose, showing the rise, reign and fall of the First Guardians.

-x-

Rain Showers - side story, one of the least developed, yet one of the oldest, around three years. Takes place in a different realm. Has a basic idea, plot, ending, and outline, yet the characters aren’t the best. Redesign season has long since passed, but is due to come back. Same with character rewriting. Has a sequel called Sun Showers, which takes place a year and a half later.

-x-

Friend - side/independent story, more developed than Rain Showers, not as much as Guardians of the Rose. Takes place in a completely different realm than both of those stories. Redesigned the main cast (five characters) a month or so ago. It was literally created because of a small scrap of paper taped on the bathroom wall that had ‘fren’ written on it. It is now one of my most treasured stories.

Running From CPS Is Harder Than It Seems - side/independent story, around the same amount of development as Rain Showers. Might take place in the same realm as Friend, might take place in a completely different one. Probably the former as the two realms are very similar and it seems like a waste.

-x-

Now the complicated ones. The following stories take place in the same realm, just at different times (it will be in chronological order). The realm is known as Mynxia, which isn’t exactly relevant but still.

The Veiled Lady of the Empire’s Court - connecting story, not that old, but not that long either. Only been around a few months since its creation. Focuses on an old legend of one of the monarchies in Mynxia, the Azalea Empire. The Veiled Lady was originally meant to be some kind of defender to the Empire, she is now more of an eldritch being that has many horror stories surrounding her. She is very real, however.

The Eternal Knight of Ancient Hollydale - connecting story, also not that old, also not that long. Created mere days ago, alongside the Veiled Lady’s new role/backstory. Hollydale is another monarchy of Mynxia, led (at the time of the story) by Countess Korra. The Eternal Knight, much like the Veiled Lady, is a kind of legend, less of a horror story, although it is somewhat horrific, and more of an example of humanity's greed, and the eventual consequences.

These next stories take place centuries later:

Along the Azalea - connecting story, no underlying plot, mostly just focusing on the relationships of the main characters (Kristen (although she is referred to as Kris during this), Time (but he is known as Mask), Krisi, Khan, Therios, and occasionally Jayne). Kristen, Krisi, Time, and Jayne are around ten to seventeen during this as it slowly moves through the years.

Witness the Wreckage - connecting story, definitely has plot, so much plot. The most gruesome story of all of these (by all of these, I mean all of these, even the stories from before). Takes place at least five years after Along the Azalea during the Abyssal War, which involved the Abyss Empire and the Azalea Empire. Many characters are vital to the plot, but the most important are Kristen, Time, Krisi, and occasionally Jayne. The Veiled Lady and the Eternal Knight are also involved, just not in the way you may think.

Weight of the World - connecting story to Witness the Wreckage, takes place around almost a year after the end of the war. Focuses on everyone trying to recover and move past all the trauma they were subjected to. Also some of them struggling to deal with their new situation left from severe injuries that they received during the war.

Ode to Fallen’s Requiem - technical main story, takes place a decade after Weight of the World. Kristen has adopted two children who she found on the side of the road (Ethan and Becca), Krisi is a lawyer in another realm (do not ask for context), Time is doing whatever, still working on that, Jayne is a doctor (and also an aunt), and that’s all I’ll say about this. It’s mostly just a lot of funny stuff and shenanigans with bits of angst/plot.

Kingdoms of Mynexia - side story to the end, completely different cast of five characters and mostly focuses on the other monarchies. Kind of an excuse to just world-build and stuff while also giving more backstory to the monarchies and their respective rulers. Such as Countess Kirin and how she became the monarch of Hollydale at such a young age, or Archidux January and how he maintained Stonehenge while also dealing with the loss of both his mother and best friend. There is also an underlying plot which leads to almost all the monarchies being overthrown.

Well, that’s it. I’ll probably write down some backstories later. Like for the Veiled Lady and the Eternal Knight. Archidux January maybe. Or some other character I haven’t mentioned. I don’t know. I don’t even know if someone’s reading this.

#original story #ocs #worldbuilding #so much worldbuilding #like dear gods #am I okay?#a lot of writing #very much writing #probably a bit confusing

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years ago

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Sweet Pea//Freeze Your Brain

Request: Can I request a song-fic with song Freeze Your Brain, with Sweet Pea/Reader, plot twist, reader is "JD" in it; for the plot maybe Sweet Pea's talking about how the Serpents are his family; sorta trying to help reader settle in to school

hey! first of all warning: death of a parent and abandonment. other than that, i hope you enjoy it! also, this has been sitting in my drafts for m o n t h s. like i wrote this last year at some point i think, so here ya go! sorry everything is taking so long.

“Oh.” Sweet Pea’s familiar voice makes you look up from the magazine stand you were staring at. You and Sweet Pea were in practically every singe class and you almost always sat next to each other meaning that you talked to him several times a day, practically every single day. From the conversations that you had had, you learned that he was a serpent, he was funny and he was cute as hell. “I see you’re familiarizing yourself with the local and only 7-11 we have.”

“Something like that.” You shrug and take a sip from your slush.

“Sooooo, what are you actually doing here?”

“It better than being at home? You?”

“Fangs wanted some Corn Nuts.” He replies and waves the packet in his hand.

“Oh.” You reply and go back to reading the front of the magazines.

“So, how are you finding Riverdale High?”

“Its okay.” You shrug. “I’ve been to ten high schools already so they’re kinda all starting to blur.”

“Oh. Do you think you’ll be staying here for a while?” He asks, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. Your eyes meet his and you send him a warm smile.

“Hopefully.” You nod. “It just depends on my dad. We have to move around a lot because of his work so there’s no point in ‘planting roots’ if you know what I mean?” You explain and he nods.

“Yeah, I get that. My mom was kinda the same before she left me. Instead of moving around she just moved in a lot of different ‘boyfriends’.”

“I’m sorry she left.”

“Its fine.” He shakes his head. “You know enough about me. Tell me about you. I’ve only had a so many conversations with you in class but I know nothing about you.”

“There’s not much to tell.” You reply and walk around to the drinks aisle. He follows closely behind you and picks up a bottle of soda. “My dad keeps two suitcases packed in the den no matter where we are so its really only a matter of when. Thats why I haven’t really bothered talking to people. I used to, but after the third school there’s really no point, don’t learn names or bother with faces. It easier that way.”

“That sucks.”

“Yep.”

“If it makes you feel any better I don’t like Riverdale High much. Its too preppy.”

“It is definitely the preppiest school I’ve ever been to.” You laugh softly and he smiles at you.

“I think you would have fit in at Southside High.” He says casually and you raise an eyebrow. “Thats the school the serpents went to before Riverdale. Southside High was closed down and we were transferred.” He explains.

“Oh.” You take another sip of your drink and move further down the aisle.

“Apparently we’ll ‘get a better education’ at Riverdale High. But you can’t get much of an education if you’re fighting people that hate you because you’re ‘invading their territory’.” He mocks and you laugh.

“Is the education the reason Southside High was closed?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It was deemed a health hazard due to toxic fumes from one of the chemistry labs but everyone knows that Mayor McCoy just needed an excuse to close it down.”

“Ah.”

“So, how do you cope with moving around all the time?”

“You promise you won’t laugh?” You ask and he nods.

“Cross my heart.” He replies. “Scouts honour.”

“I don’t believe you were in the scouts.”

“Fine. Serpents honour.”

“Every time I feel like the worlds falling down and that I’m going to start having a breakdown, I always got to 7-11.” You admit and he stares at you dumbfounded.

“7-11?” He asks and you nod.

“Its like a concrete oasis.” You add and he laughs loudly. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.” You roll your eyes and start to walk away.

“I’m sorry.” He runs after you. “I just wasn’t expecting that.” He catches up to you and you stop walking so you can glare at him. “Tell me about why you love 7-11.” He continues and you raise an eyebrow. “I’m being serious. Tell me.”

“Fine. But if you laugh I will kick you in the balls.”

“Okay?”

“7-11 never changes. Literally every single store is the same, from Las Vegas to Boston. Linoleum aisles that I just love to get lost in. And the slushes. Don’t get me started on the slushes. They are God-like.” You ramble and he smiles at you. “Are you laughing?” You ask in a threatening tone.

“No!” He says quickly. ‘Its cute.”

“Hmmm.” You narrow your eyes at him and drink some of your slush.

“I really do live for the sweet frozen rush.” You say to no one in particular.

“I feel the same way about the serpents...kind of.” He interrupts your moment of thinking. “They took me in when not even my own mom wanted me.”

“Your mom’s an idiot.”

“I know.” He nods his head and you smile softly at him.

“Care for a hit.” You offer him your slush and he takes it from you.

“Who needs cocaine when you can just have one of these?” He asks.

“Exactly.”

“Anyway, so the serpents. Its like having a really weird extended family. We look after each other, its even written in the rules. Although I dunno if anybody has actually written them down or if they’re just remembered. But they’re the best family I could wish for. Better than my actual family.” He trails off and stares out the window for a few seconds. He’s clearly thinking about something unpleasant, but it passes and he quickly turns his head to look at you. “What about yours? Does your mom know you eat all this crap?”

“Not anymore.”

“What?” He asks worriedly, his eyes widening.

“When my mom was alive, we sort of lived normally but now its just me and my dad.” You explain.

“Sorry.” He apologizes. “But its nice you still have your dad.”

“We’re a littles less formal...and normal.” You mutter the last part. “He isn’t really around much so I had to learn to be an adult quicker than a lot of kids do. I learned to cook pasta, and almost burned the house down the first time.” He interrupts you with a small laugh and you smile at him. “I pay rent and stuff. Turns out the world owes you nothing.”

“Not even a cent.” He finishes your sentence and you face him.

“Exactly.”

“You know if you wanna fit in at Riverdale High, you need to know what you’re doing after. You ask literally anyone that goes there and they’ll tell you their life plan for the next 10 years.”

“Hmmm, lets see. I could go to a college, but who knows where I’ll be by then.”

“You could marry a lawyer.” He suggests.

“Hm. Depends on what type. Are they gonna be like a medical lawyer or one of those ones that get given to criminals when they can’t afford one?”

“In the middle? He’s the best at his firm, but his firm isn’t the best.”

“I could work with that.” You nod and walk towards the candy section.

“But.”

“Ooooo. There’s a but? Now I’m intrigued.”

“The sky’s gonna hurt when it falls.”

“Damn.” You sigh and he sends you a sympathetic smile.

“You better start building some walls.”

“Already have.” You wave your half empty slush in front of his face and laughs.

“Do you have any more insightful information?”

“Nope. Wait, don’t talk to anyone but the serpents. Now I’m all out.” He says making you laugh.

“Do yourself a favour then.”

“Whats that?” He asks.

“Freeze your brain.” You hand him your slushie and he nods.

“I’ve got brain freeze!” He says after a few seconds.

“Get lost in the pain Sweet Pea.” You reply. “Just shut your eyes tight until you vanish from sight. Thats what I do.”

“Thats not healthy.” He replies and gives you your cup back.

“I know. But do you have any other solutions?” You ask and move further around the shop until you finally decide where to stop.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Exactly.”

“Fight pain with more pain.”

“Yep. Now you’re getting it.” You smile at him proudly. “Forget in six weeks you’ll be back on the road...and you’ll have to say goodbye to the only good thing you’ve had in your life for a long time.” You say sadly and look at Sweet Pea. He’s already looking at you, his gaze going from your eyes to your lips and back again. You lean in slowly, and he closes the gap, his hands resting on your waist. You pull back and smile at him softly. His expression mirrors yours and you both stare at each other for a few seconds before you turn away.

“On Monday do you want to sit with Serpents at lunch?” He asks and you hesitate for a moment while your filling your drink up. “Its not gonna hurt you to make some friends.

“You sure about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Try it.”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine #jordan connor #jordan connor imagine #jordan connor x you #freeze your brain #heathers

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

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Hi! I'm alive lol. Do you have a favourite thing you've written in the last 6 months? I want to catch up 😊

omg Hello!! I was actually just thinking about your blog, hope you’ve been well ! :)

This is a really good question! I feel like I’ve written so much stuff in the last six months, but something that’s really sticking out to me is a rewrite of a short story I wrote in high school. I don’t know if anyone remembers NYC in Your Apartment ?? but I wrote this story when I was in grade 12. It was my first “real” short story that wasn’t for a class, and I really didn’t understand what I was doing, understandably, since this was my first experimentation with the form. The final draft was very long, at about 5000 words, and I wrote it in literally 2 days! It was very exciting for me, but I wasn’t submitting back then, so that story just ended up getting put in a drawer in forgotten. Later that year, when I entered university, I began writing a LOT more short fiction, which leads to 2020 where I wrote a ton of stories, all the way up to now where I feel I actually have a handle on short fiction.

I needed a story to submit to a contest, but didn’t have anything, and also didn’t have time/the energy to draft anything brand new. Just for ~fun, I popped this story up and was shocked and impressed by how good the opening was. While the latter half of the story... was not as good (prose was fine, but I was writing it like a novel - the story was way too long and focusing on the wrong things), the beginning in my opinion is some of my best work somehow and I was ??? 17 ??? when I wrote it?? I knew I couldn’t just not do anything with that opening, so I decided to take the night to revise it. After my first pass, my sister @sarahkelsiwrites helped SO much in helping me further wrangle my vision (this story wouldn’t be where it is without her)!!!

We cut the entire story lmao and now it’s literally 1700 words and is, so good?? Not to hype myself up but to hype myself up -- I love this story! It’s exactly what it always meant to be, 17-year-old me just really didn’t understand how short fiction worked, and 19-year-old me came in and fixed it up. But really all the heavy lifting was done years ago and I’m just amazed at how much I like what’s there, since it is so old. I don’t know, I guess seeing that level of quality made me feel like... yes! I am a writer! I am actually good at this! The new story has a new title because I did a few things to the story, namely I have set it in Toronto, as it ALWAYS should have been I just didn’t write stories in Canada back then??? why?? so of course the title is no longer NYC in Your Apartment, haha. The new title is, Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, and I’m so so happy with it. The story, funnily, in its original form, was my only story with a happy ending and of course :) I made it sad :) I like it much better now! I’m hoping to find it a home -- I’m so proud of where it’s come!

I hope writing has been well for you! <3

#asks

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nikibogwater · 4 years ago

Text

A Shot in the Dark: Chapter 3 (Author’s Commentary)

(Read the fic here)

General Notes:

The final chapter! I don’t have too many general notes for this one (though the passage-specific notes below the cut stretch on for miles--there was just a lot going on in this chapter lol). But I will say that this is my favorite chapter of the three. It’s what the previous two have been building up to, and it really is the “heart” of the story, so to speak. That, and I finally got to make Glitter Wings Nari canon to The Immortal Bonds! (picture below the cut) I genuinely teared up a little bit while writing a couple of these scenes. I don’t know if that means they are very good, or that I was just absolutely exhausted after cranking out the first two chapters, but maybe you can be the judge. Friendly reminder to go listen to the song “Protector” by City Wolf if you are so inclined. It was a huge part of what inspired this story, and now that all three parts are published, I feel like it perfectly captures the theme and feel of A Shot in the Dark as a whole.

Passage-Specific Notes:

“...Please, Nari, I would not be doing my duty as Douxie’s...as your friend if I let you run thoughtlessly into this kind of danger.”

Another small line of dialogue that means a lot to me. I didn’t see Archie as making the instant connection with Nari that Douxie did. I think it took him a while to see her as anything more than “Douxie’s Ward.” He was always kind to her and took care of her, but I think it took him until now to realize that he had grown to really love her as part of the family. So the fact that he corrects himself here reflects that realization. I think under normal circumstances, the moment Archie finds out Douxie is in trouble/hurting, he would dive headfirst into hell without a second thought in order to help his boy. But because Nari is now also under his protection--and more importantly, now that she also has a special place in his heart--Archie has to force himself to slow down and come up with a plan that will keep BOTH of his kids safe.

The phone rang once--twice--six times. Then it went to voicemail.

Nari lowered it with a look of pure dejection as Claire’s pre-recorded voice cheerfully told them to leave their message after the beep.

I felt like calling Claire for backup was the most sensible thing they could do in this situation--but I also needed Nari and Archie to take on Project Rescue Douxie by themselves, in order to reinforce the family bond these three have. The moment when they all reunite at the end wouldn’t have had the emotional impact I was angling for if there had been others present. So I had to pull a tiny plot contrivance and make Claire unavailable. I didn’t feel the need to explain why she doesn’t answer her phone (people miss calls all the time) but my personal theory was that she was taking a nice relaxing shower and couldn’t pick up the phone. (look, I need SOMEBODY in this story to be having a nice time lol).

“By Ambrosia’s Gleam...” Archie breathed. A pair of dazzlingly beautiful wings reflected every light of the city back at him as Nari folded and unfolded them experimentally. They were unlike anything the cat had ever seen in his long life, vibrantly colored with rich shades of green and gold, glittering like morning dew, yet delicate as a newly budding flower.

Anybody remember last week, when I said the Most Self-Indulgent part was yet to come? This was it lol. I don’t remember when I started imagining Nari with sparkly butterfly wings, but back in early October, I drew this:

and I have been absolutely enamored with the idea ever since (but also it was a convenient way to get them to the warehouse without having to go through the ordeal of walking/taking a taxi/busting out the flying boat). So yeah. Nari’s Glitter Wings are canon to The Immortal Bonds series now. I have spoken.

He had no idea how long he had been enduring Rivan’s torture. It may have only been a few minutes, or it may have been a few years. Hell, he was getting to the point where it felt like this excruciating ache in his bones had been there his whole life. He tried not to sob as Rivan slowly pulled his magic back to himself, the agony abating for just a short moment of sweet relief. Douxie sucked in gulps of air, desperate to replenish the oxygen that had been ripped from his lungs by his own screaming.

First time really writing whump, so that was...something (I was exhausted after just the one paragraph lol). I tried to keep it as vague as I could because I don’t want anybody coming to my fic expressly for a graphic torture scene and nothing else (I don’t do the hurt-no-comfort thing, and I don’t want anybody to use my fics as such). But putting Douxie through a bit of hell does make the ending SO much sweeter. And if he hadn’t been experiencing pain, Archie and Nari probably would have taken longer to decide to come to his rescue. But there is still a part of me that detests every letter of that paragraph.

The small dragon let out a roar of fury and leapt at Rivan, his form twisting and expanding into that of an enormous black panther. The two crashed together in a flurry of red sparks and tearing claws.

Archie turning into a black panther and going to town on Rivan is also a bit of self-indulgence. I just really love big cats, and black panthers especially are beautiful, mysterious, and powerful creatures that just SCREAM Magic and Otherworldliness to me. (also I really want to draw Panther!Archie now).

He slammed against the concrete with a yowl of pain that tore Douxie’s heart into a thousand pieces, and dropped to the floor, where he lay quivering and heaving.

That line right up there 👆 is the most heart-wrenchingly painful thing I have ever forced myself to write. 😥

Nari grabbed Douxie by the shoulders and pulled him upright. One of her hands reached around him and pressed against his heart, and he felt her aura slam into his. Instinctively, his soul opened, and he let her magic pour into him, filling his veins with the warmth of a hundred suns, wrapping around and tangling with his own magic so tightly that he could barely tell whose was whose. Nari’s voice filled his head, drowning out every sound in his ears, every thought in his mind. My magic is yours. Use it. He threw both of his hands out and felt power unlike anything he had ever known surge into his palms and explode out of his fingertips.

So this ties into a headcanon of mine that, while Nari’s magic isn’t well-suited to direct combat, she is able to augment Douxie’s powers. But this scene is also probably the culmination of every relationship-building moment I have ever written for these two. I established in A Moment to Breathe that to let someone interact with your aura in this way--to basically channel their magic directly into you--requires a great deal of trust. Douxie let Nari heal him in that story, but that was after she had asked permission to pour her magic into him. Here, she doesn’t have time to ask--she just has to go for it, and Douxie’s trust and familiarity with her is so intense at this point, that his response is to immediately surrender completely to her power. Not only that, he is so familiar with her magic, that he is able to use it himself--he combines it with his own power and casts a spell that Nari is likely unable to use herself. I intended this moment to be a representation of the way family relationships can shape and empower you. You carry elements of the people you love with you wherever you go; their influence, their stories, their love for you--it all helps shape you into the person you are. And these things are often so deeply intertwined with your own personality, that it becomes impossible to fully separate them.

They had risked everything--the fate of the world, even--to save him. He should have scolded them. But instead, Douxie suddenly found himself overwhelmed with the ridiculous urge to cry.

This was the reason I wrote Douxie in Distress--and also one of the reasons I wrote A Shot in the Dark at all. I wanted him to experience being stripped of everything that made him powerful--useful-- and then witness his family risking literally everything for him. Not for his powers, not for what he can do for them, but because they love him. This poor, sweet boy gives and gives and gives, and the world has done nothing but take from him, and I have said “ENOUGH.” I wanted the serotonin of seeing him realize that he is valued and cherished for himself, and BY THUNDER I WAS GOING TO GET IT EVEN IF I HAD TO WRITE 9000+ WORDS FOR IT.

She pulled back a moment later, roughly drying her face on her sleeve, and untied the black hoodie around her waist. She draped it around Douxie’s shoulders with her magic, and he sighed contentedly as the warm fabric settled around him. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and closed the garment around himself gratefully, giving Nari a tired, heartfelt smile.

I didn’t realize it when I initially drafted the story, but Douxie’s hoodie is actually a really nice visual representation of how he and Nari pass the role of caretaker/protector back and forth. Douxie is wearing it for the first half of the story, when he is acting as Nari’s guardian/brother. Shortly after he lends it to her though, he’s captured by Rivan, and Nari takes on the role of protector in turn. But yeah, originally it was just “Them trading the hoodie back and forth is pointlessly cute and I wanna do it.” (Poor Archie has to be the Adult 100% of the time. He doesn’t get a break).

Most of Douxie’s mornings began with the harsh, clattering sound of his phone vibrating and whistling next to his ear. But that Sunday morning began with a deliciously warm silence. Douxie’s eyes blinked open slowly, finding sunlight lazily shining through the windows. He was lying on his side, with Archie’s soft, familiar body tucked against his chest. A gentle warmth against his back told Douxie that Nari was curled up beside him, wrapped in her own little cocoon of blankets, her back against his. The ache in his bones was gone. He was nestled safely in the warmth and love of his small family, the world outside and all that occurred within it nothing more than a distant echo.

Wrapping his arms around Archie and pressing his back more firmly against Nari’s, Douxie closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

This final scene wasn’t actually in my original outline--originally, the story ended with the three of them beginning the long trek home together. But I felt that the story needed just a little extra time to savor in the happy ending. And so, it came full circle--ending just like it began, with the dawning of a new morning. I noticed that I spend a lot of time in this story comparing the mornings of different characters/days. I think that might have been a subconscious expression of my belief that every morning is the beginning of a new opportunity--to strengthen bonds, to do good in the world, to just live for another day. Douxie’s Saturday morning started off a little rougher than he wanted--he woke up early and had to rush around to get ready for a long day out on the town. And wouldn’t you know it, his Saturday ended pretty badly too (though I think he’s probably just grateful he got to go home in one piece haha). This Sunday morning plays out in the exact opposite way. It’s quiet, peaceful, unhurried, and full of hope. Douxie’s been through hell and back, but he survived long enough to see another beginning. And I think that’s the beautiful cycle that all human life follows. There’s pain in life, darkness and hopelessness, but if you can hold on, strengthened by the love of the people you hold dear, you will always find a new beginning waiting for you on the other side of the valley.

...And that’s it. Thank you to everyone for reading my work. Seeing everyone who enjoyed it, hearing from you guys in the comments, knowing that I was able to give someone a good story--it really does mean the world to me. So again, thanks for joining me, and I hope our paths cross again soon. 🤗✨

#fanfiction #author's commentary #the magical siblings #and their therapy cat #a shot in the dark #thanks for reading <3

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dear-wormwoods · 4 years ago

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may I ask for a style fanfic rec list? 🥺🥺🥺

I have a couple of requests for this and I’ve been thinking about how to respond, because to be honest, I very rarely read fic these days. And by ‘these days’ I mean like, since 2014. I always have things I intend to read, but then time goes by and I don’t get around to it. So nothing I’m going to rec is new and you’ve probably already read them fkjds.

Anyway, sorry to be predictable by just being like “read Hollycomb’s fics” but...

The Scenic Route - 116k words, should be rated E for the final two chapters (I literally have no idea why it’s rated T on AO3, it was definitely M when I first read it on ff.net years ago)

Summary: The boys embark on a six day road trip to California before separating for college. Cartman is a pain in the ass, Kenny has no future, Butters is in crisis, and Kyle doesn't know how he'll say goodbye to Stan.

Why you should read it: The yearning. This fic is written entirely in Kyle’s POV, and Holly does such a brilliant job of getting into his head and really capturing that feeling of already mourning a friendship/relationship before it’s even over and kind of intentionally setting the bridge on fire to make what is (seemingly) inevitable hurry along, as if that will make it hurt less (it doesn’t). The first six chapters, the actual road trip portion of the fic (where the T rating actually does apply), are where it is at its strongest, and Kyle’s gradual descent into panicky, angry desperation is painfully real. I can’t stress enough how in character everyone is, each retaining recognizable mannerisms and dynamics from canon while still clearly being grown people entering adulthood. There’s a reason this fic is THE Style fic.

Leave the Pieces - 251k words, rated E (though that rating only represents a small portion of such a long fic)

Summary: Stan and Kyle meet as strangers in their mid-twenties, shocked to encounter someone else who can't remember the first ten years of his life. They form an instant connection, but only one person in South Park remembers them, and Kenny can't explain why they disappeared or why the rest of the town forgot them.

Why you should read it: It’s a lengthy epic with supernatural elements, a complicated plot that fits right into the show’s universe, and the kind of love that quite literally transcends time, space, and memory. I can’t explain it much further without giving away the plot, but this behemoth is gut wrenching and powerful. It is equal parts a story about Stan and Kyle finding each other as adults and falling in love despite not remembering who they are, or each other, and a deep exploration into Kenny’s character and his curse. Kenny is really the MVP of the story, despite it initially seeming like “just” a Style fic, and his relationship with Wendy is written beautifully and convincingly. One caveat, though: some parts of this fic... I’m not a fan of. I greatly dislike Cartman/Butters just as a concept, and there were times, particularly in the first half of the fic, where I almost quit reading because of their scenes. I also feel like this fic fell victim to fandom’s earlier tendency to mischaracterize Craig as borderline sociopathic (but in contrast, he’s absolutely perfect in Holly’s oneshot Other People’s Tupperware). However, I’m such a sucker for supernatural memory loss not being able to sever soul connections, and Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Wendy’s respective journeys more than make up for my reluctance to stomach Cartman/Butters or other comparatively minor issues. And honestly, everything does fall into place as the plot unfolds, so all I can say is... if you hit certain scenes and think ‘wtf IS this??’, just stick it out, the payoff is worth it, especially if you’re looking for high quality Kenny content.

Amalgamation - 78k words, rated T (but should be rated M imo, because there are sex scenes, though they aren’t very explicit, just intimate)

Summary: In 1862, Kyle's family is forced to move from New York to a tiny mining settlement at the foot of Pike's Peak in Colorado. Kyle is sixteen years old and miserable until he meets Stan, a fellow transplant who has been in town for three years. Their feelings for each other are shadowed by the town's haunted history, and for Kyle the local legends begin to feel more like real nightmares.

Why you should read it: I know ‘1860′s gold mining settlement AU’ doesn’t sound very fascinating, but it is. This is another one that’s written in Kyle’s POV and again Holly does a wonderful job of expressing his emotional turmoil, the guilt and shame he feels, his self-righteousness, and the depth of his love for Stan. Everyone is as they would be if the clock was turned back 150 years, made different by the time period and the demands of their circumstances but still obviously recognizable. The old-timey atmosphere and world-building are so seamless and never feels unrelatable. There are also supernatural/ghost/mystery themes in this one and the fear is palpable.

From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell - 170k words, rated E, includes major character death (aside from Kenny)

Summary: Ten years after the execution of Terrance and Phillip, the war with Canada has not ended. Stan and most of Kyle's friends are planning to join the army after high school graduation, bound to be drafted anyway. Kyle doesn't believe in the war, but he's not willing to let Stan go without him.

Why you should read it: This is.... a perfect fic, and I don’t say that lightly. It is quite possibly the ONLY perfect fic I have ever read, in any fandom. I can’t actually describe all the ways in which it’s perfect without giving the plot details away, but, God, if you commit to reading just one of the long-ass fics I’m reccing on this list, make it this one. Please. It honestly makes me mad that this one never got the same attention as like, The Scenic Route, or ‘Night School’ did, because it so deserves to be up there. Only Holly could take the concept of the fucking movie and turn it into a completely devastating, bittersweet, epic romance. There is no caveat here, no ‘I loved it except for this and this’, just thorough, soul-crushing perfection. Just... Kyle. God, Kyle. I can’t elaborate, my heart isn’t up to the task. This fic will haunt me for the rest of my life.

The Ascent of Stan - 32k words, rated E, though it is like 95% domestic fluff

Summary: Stan sells his small pest control company and Kyle thinks they should use some of the money to go to Hawaii, where he proceeds to grill Stan about the mid-life crisis that Stan claims he's not having while their kids frolic nearby.

Why you should read it: This one is everything a domestic fic should be. It basically just chronicles the events of a week-long vacation to Hawaii that nearly-40 Stan and Kyle take with their two kids. This one is written fully in Stan’s POV and it works so well... he’s exactly the kind of dad that I imagine he would be, doing his best to provide for and protect his family’s little bubble and resolving to be better than his father while quietly fighting the lingering shadow of his alcoholism and cynicism. There’s no real conflict in this one, just 30,000 words of a very typical family vacation: not exactly blissful, irritating at times, but ultimately the foundation for perfect memories.

Never Change - 115k words, rated E

Summary: Thirteen years after his high school girlfriend's pregnancy upended his life, Stan is still in South Park, working with his partner Bebe as a local cop. They're in the process of investigating a series of possibly connected murders when FBI agent Kyle Broflovski returns to town and informs his old friend Stan that this is his investigation now.

Why you should read it: This is equal parts a murder mystery and a romance. It features exactly the kind of Stan/Kyle situation I hate to think about - a decade-long estrangement of their own making that comes to an abrupt end due to extenuating circumstances. It hurts because of how likely it is to happen that way, and it works especially well in this fic because of Stan’s reluctance to embrace his own bisexuality until he’s nearly 30 and Kyle’s tendency to put up walls to protect himself. Also, Bebe features prominently in this fic, which is always a huge bonus.

Bonus Oneshot Rec:

The Reformation of Fart Boy - 7k words, unrated but probably T, just barely

Summary: Five times South Park has brought Kyle to the brink of sanity and Stan has brought him back.

Why you should read it: I love thinking about the ways in which canon-typical nonsense continues to impact the characters in the long term on a serious psychological level. Kyle has suffered a lot in canon and it’s obvious even in the show that it is gradually changing him and wearing him down, so I really love this fic for focusing on his responses to some of the more traumatic moments, as seen through Stan’s eyes.

I feel sort of guilty only reccing one author for right now, because there are other fics out there that I liked and am planning on revisiting, but this post is long enough as it is. Chances are you’ve already read some or all of these, but they’re my favorites. I reread all of them while making this list, and they still hit me hard after all these years.

#asks #south park #sp style #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #fic recs

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bardic-inspo · 4 years ago

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Fic Writer Interview

Thank you for the tag @deacons-wig!! :)

Tagging in turn: @pchberrytea, @diredigression, @gingerbreton, @tanaleth, @valkyriejack if you’d like! No pressure if you don’t! Name: Megh

Fandoms: I really only write for Fallout, but casually partake in other fandoms (like Crit Role, Mass Effect, DA).

Where you post: AO3, which you can find right here. I don’t post full fics on Tumblr, but do include links to them on AO3. Any WIP memes like WIP Wednesday or similar deals are posted on my Tumblr.

Most Popular One-shot: No Rest For the Wicked - a sort of pining thing about Deacon showing up to MacCready and Natasha’s place after the fall of the Institute and some sleepy encounters putting Deacon in close proximity with the pair he’s maybe sort of secretly in like with. Overtures of future polyamory and all that. Your gateway drug into my favorite OT3.

Most Popular Multichap: Bring the Gasoline - my multichapter, in-progress slow-burn MacCready x Sole Survivor fic. Here’s a summary for you:

“Six months, huh? How much fast talking did you do to get here?” “Enough to keep me alive.”

“Really? Cause you don’t act like that’s your goal half the time. Hell, you throw yourself at everything like you’re jumping off a cliff.”

Sole survivor Natasha Sokolova is burning through friends faster than she can make them. Robert Joseph MacCready needs all the caps he can get. Problem is, the smooth-talking woman with a pistol and a job offer turns out to be more trouble than he’s counting on. They’re a match made in hell, but their little partnership might be the only thing that can see them through it.

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Bring the Gasoline is my baby, but so far I think I’ve had the most fun writing No Rest for the Wicked. It was the first thing I posted, nobody really knew I was working on it, and there were zero expectations about it. It was something I wrote purely because I wanted to and no other reason. It was also a huge sigh of relief for me to even hint at what the endgame of Bring the Gasoline is like because I’d been hermit drafting for a year while keeping my trap shut about most of what happens.

Fic you were nervous to post: All of them, every single one. I was a bit nervous about In the Name of Love because it’s sort of an awkward situation. My goal was to balance the awkwardness with tenderness and show a sort of realistic moment where the OT3 have a little hiccup getting used to each other, but they’re helping each other through it. Not everybody’s cup of tea, but I do like how it turned out.

I was also super nervous about We Never Go Anywhere Nice because I’ve never done a gift fic before, and I was kind of trying to do a lot within one oneshot. Naturally, it turned out to be far longer than I initially envisioned, but I’m happy I tried my hand at it.

How do you choose your titles: Whatever strikes me. I try to do something thematic. For my BtG chapter titles, I try to play to themes or something a character says that sort of embodies the idea of that chapter. For my one shots, I’m okay going a little cheesier.

Do you outline: Yes, I do, but I’m sort of ass backwards about it. I have three different outlines going on within each other like some sort of 3D chess operation. I have a pre-outline, which is the outline before I draft the chapter, usually broad or tentative plans with some specifics but not a ton. Then I have my working copy, which is literally in brackets within the document I’m typing the chapter in, and then I delete it out as I progress pass those plot points. And then, when I’m doing revisions, I bullet point every single little detail into a document called “Actual Outline”. I do this specifically in between drafts as a way for me to find plot holes and fill gaps, or see where things maybe need to be changed. Sounds a little backwards, I know, but it has really, really helped my editing process. There’s color-coding for who’s POV it is, and a scene-by-scene breakdown.

Complete: I have two complete one shots, and a third completed three-chapter “one shot”. But, the series those are nested in is ongoing and has no definitive end. It’s just sort of as I feel like it right now.

In progress: Bring the Gasoline is the only major fic I have in progress. I do one shots as they sprout in my brain, but I don’t have any in progress right now. My main focus is getting edited ahead one chapter on BtG so posting comes a little easier in the future.

Coming soon/not yet started: BtG chapter five is about halfway through a new draft, though I’ll want a new draft of chapter six before posting it. I’m making steady headway there. I have a very smutty WIP in mind for the OT3 with a special focus on Nat/Deacon. The prompt is that the two of them are spending a weekend away together, but MacCready has left some specific instructions as to how he wants them to spend some of that time. Like I said, it’s smutty, but I also want it to be sort of emotionally smutty. I wanted to write the OT3s first time together before writing any other smutty one shots for them, but realistically, I need to finish BtG before that could really happen, because spoilers, so it’s this domino effect waiting game. Which...makes me want to just go ahead and write the smutty one shot anyway. So, maybe. We’ll see. 👀 I also have another idea (also smutty) that might be a one-shot or a scene in a future fic. Basically, Nat and Mac and trying to have some intimacy but Deacon is staying with them which makes things tricky. So they seize the opportunity when he’s stepped out for a sec...but, maybe he’s not gone so long as they were thinking.

Prompts?: I sometimes use prompts as a springboard of inspiration, but I’ve found I’m no good with requests. I have a hard time writing something that I’m not personally excited about.

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: I am really excited about the Gunners plotline for Bring the Gasoline. It’s my first real foray into canon divergence, and the arc I finished for NaNoWriMo last year, so it’s sort of near and dear to me. And it’s right around the corner - not so far as readers might think! 👀

This is so, so far away, but I also have tentative plans that are starting to have some framework for a multi-chapter fic on how the OT3 get together after Bring the Gasoline. I have a secret wish that this could be my NaNo project next year, but that would involve getting a lot done with BtG, so we’ll see.

#megh fights the page #writing #writeblr #bring the gasoline #my writing #reclamations #fanfic

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fencecollapsed · 4 years ago

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for the fic meme: 1, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9

1. What's your personal favorite thing you wrote this year?

oh jeez I don't know... I'm gonna say a few, discounting current longfics cuz I can't form opinions on those until they're done hfnsf

Beat was the first thing I wrote this year, first of my half-infected!Paul series and I'm still really happy with it. it has this solid middle ground of slightly unsettling but sweet that's. pretty much exactly what I want my half-infected au to be. I like it a lot

The Face of a Friend is good too I think, I like the creepy imagery and body stuff and I think there's just. a good tone there. I'm proud of it

it's a recent one but I'm fond of Don't Wake Me, it turned out pretty much exactly how I wanted

and uh... not to acknowledge that I write smut on main but... Tenderly Bruised is one I'm pretty proud of (and also my most popular Hatchetfield oneshot which surprised me hfjskfjd). for the adults

3. Which of your fics was most different from what you usually write?

Let It In has been a big diversion from the kind of thing I usually write! I've never written something this long or large in scale before, and I've never collaborated on a fic before (it's very fun, I absolutely love it). it's definitely the biggest thing I've worked on, and I think it's been really good for me as a writer

6. What's your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

"'You can take it off, babe,' Emma tugged at his collar. 'I've already seen you.'

Paul sighed uneasily. 'I know. This is different, though, it's not… I don't want to kill the mood.'

Emma dipped her head sideways so she could look at him.

'You think a sweater isn't going to kill the mood?'

'I mean… I don't know.'

'You'll get hot.'

'You think so?'

Paul placed his palm flat on Emma's stomach and she squirmed at the cold.

'Okay, okay, point made!' She swatted his hand away. 'Fucking ice cube.'

'On the plus side, I'll be your personal AC in the summertime.'

'Romantic.'"

from Sweater. very beginning of the year but I'm just. very fond of it hfhsjf paulkins banter is really fun to write and this is one of my favorite exchanges I've written between them, I think it's funny and cute!

7. What's your favorite piece of description or narration?

"His jaw held tense, like someone with a toothache. His shoulders slumped, one seemingly lower than the other. His head looked crooked, hanging loose on his neck and tilting slightly to the left. His slumped posture on top of this gave the impression he'd had a spinal injury before this that hadn't healed. Or perhaps, the healing hadn't stuck. His arms hung down awkwardly, hands flexing loosely to an unheard rhythm. The same his legs bounced to, it seemed. The rhythm wasn't the strangest part, though - more how long he looked. His limbs seemed to stretch a little past the cuffs and hems of his fitted suit. He was tall. Uncomfortably tall. Min didn't know what height the tallest man in the world reached, but this man was definitely the tallest she'd seen. At least six and a half feet, and that was only eyeballing it.

If the infection was aliens wearing human skin, this one didn't seem to quite fit in his."

from chapter eight of I believe it all is coming to an end. I have a specific sort of uncanniness I want to capture with catalyst!Paul. this was the first description of him once he started to physically change and I'm very happy with it, I think it gets across exactly what I want it to and makes the scene creepy

8. Which fic this year was the most fun to write?

it's one of the shorter ones but Aren't You Handsome was a really fun one for me! the first draft was pretty much a stream of consciousness based on an old idea, I just opened a doc and let my brain go wrrrrrr and then went back to it the next day to clean up and edit a bit. I always like writing that way, it keeps me from overthinking too much and that's usually how I capture what I want to convey the best. I tend to be happiest with things that start as stream of consciousness

9. If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

rewrite Lovebirds, for sure. I'm not satisfied with it at all. I dove into making it a longer fic way too impulsively and didn't plan it enough, and there's not nearly enough focus on Paul and Emma the way I wanted there to be. the concepts that literally inspired the fic aren't nearly present enough and it frustrates me so much to think about. there are parts of it I still like but on the whole it's not something I'm proud of. I would go back and plan it out better, make it shorter, more focused and organized. more of Paul and Emma and more of the aftermath

#thank u sho!!#also i've got multiple answers for most of these so feel free to send repeats haha #i've written a lot more this year than i ever have and i'm not good at favorites i'm good at Highlights hdjskf so please gimme repeats #into the mailbox #takingback-thepenguin #this is a long post and i ramble too much thank u for tolerating me djdmsmfnd #long post #yes i linked all of them but lovebirds thats on purpose #fanfic #self promo #body horror #ask to tag

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tfrohock · 4 years ago

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When my brain is screaming ...

I remember driving home one day in January, and while I appeared calm on the outside, my brain was literally screaming. All around that thin white noise, my thoughts swirled around things I had to do, the events of January 6, the day at work. I couldn’t think or plan, worse still, I couldn’t write. It was like the sensory overload overwhelmed my ability to function. Each and every time I thought I’d be all right when …

… when the election was over …

… when January 6 was over …

… when the inauguration was over …

,,, when … when … when …

And when never came.

None of the coping techniques that I’d been taught through years and years of therapy were working. No matter what I did, I couldn’t slow down my runaway thoughts. I never had thoughts of self-harm, but I remember several instances of having a truly great day and then suddenly, I felt terribly depressed for absolutely no reason.

But there was a reason. I knew there had to be a chemical imbalance of some sort going on.

That was when I knew it was time to get help.

I called my doctor and set up an appointment with his PA, who is absolutely wonderful. She and I spent some time together, discussing my various issues. While I was there, I mentioned my back spasms, weakness in my upper arms, the fatigue, my inability to remember was so great that I was constantly putting memo reminders on my phone, how some days I felt like my body was curling in on itself and it took such a great effort to just get through the day.

She diagnosed me with anxiety/depression and prescribed a mild anti-anxiety medication. She believed the back spasms, weakness, and fatigue were all symptoms of anxiety, because women tend to experience tension in the shoulders and neck. Before we went to the expense of specialists, she wanted to know if I was okay with giving the medication a chance to work. She wanted me to ease into it with a half-pill for the first eight days and then move to a full dose.

More than willing to do things her way, I picked up my prescription later that day and waited until the weekend to start the meds. The relief was almost immediate. I got the first good night’s sleep that I’d had in ages and awakened the next day refreshed.

I was shocked to find just how debilitating the anxiety was and the effect it had on my physical health. The back spasms, weakness, fatigue, and memory issues … all symptoms of anxiety, and after a few weeks on medication, those symptoms are gone.

I feel calmer and more productive, both at my day job and at home. More than anything, my creativity has returned.

For the last four years, work on the Los Nefilim novels have saved my sanity, and the deadlines involved helped me immensely. I loved writing the books and the characters, and the deadlines gave me a focal point that enabled me to produce a work on time. It was only after I turned in the final draft of A Song with Teeth that I began to feel adrift.

I barely wrote during the last part of the summer and through the fall. I worked through research and by sketching in scenes, but I felt no real attachment to the new book or its characters. For a few weeks in December, I wondered if I’d lost the ability to write.

Now that the chemicals in my brain have stabilized, I’ve probably written more words in the past month than I have in the last six. It’s been positively amazing to me how much anxiety controlled my life up until that visit with my PA.

I’ve even started to dream again—something that had stopped for several months.

It’s strange sometimes how we adjust to feeling bad so that it feels “normal,” and we forget what it’s like to feel good.

I’m feeling more myself than I have in at least a year, maybe longer. I’m being to kind to myself, and I’m taking time to nurture myself. I’ve been dipping into the creative well by reading more fiction and watching more films.

I’ll be blogging more, and I’m looking at resurrecting my newsletter, making a commitment to writing at least one letter a month. I’ll be talking a lot about Los Nefilim over the coming weeks, especially about writing historical fantasy and A Song with Teeth.

In short: I’m back.

Watch for me …

#anxiety #depression

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Requested and written for @vfordii’s birthday which was...back in December. So...not quite six months late, but at least I had a good excuse XD I ended up writing a first draft before my hospital stay, and then had an EVEN BETTER IDEA while I was convalescing and then had to write a whole new “first” draft, which was at least supposed to cover some of the other draft and...THINGS GOT OUT OF HAND.

“Why, Kiki Seiran.” The drawl alone turns her veins to to ice water; it’s only the strength of her spine and the grit of her teeth that stems a shiver. Or a right hook; Kiki’s always been a bit mixed up with her fight-or-flight. It’s what makes a good ranger. “As I live and breathe.”

She’s tempted not to give him the satisfaction of being noticed-- he doesn’t deserve hers after the stunt he pulled-- but he’s perverse enough to find that sort of behavior encouraging, as if getting under a woman’s skin was some prelude to foreplay.

“Hisame Luigis.” Her teeth chomp down on the last syllable, strangling the hiss she wants to make it. A snake like him deserves to be greeted in kind, after all. “I wouldn’t expect to see you here.”

Not after the last time, she doesn’t say, because despite her personal feelings, her father didn’t raise her to start a fight-- just finish them. Which she already had, sending Hisame scurrying out of the shatterdome with his tail between his legs.

(Must be hard for him to sit in that helo, Mitsuhide rumbles, standing close as they watch it take off, sound muted by the thickness of the windows. She spared him a raised brow, and he grinned. The way his ass must be smarting.

He gets a laugh out of her. She hadn’t thought it possible, right then.

Spurned by both the drift and you, he clucks, shaking his head. He’ll need medical to give him an ointment or something.

She’d been embarrassed by the whole thing, by being made a woman instead of a ranger in front of all her colleagues, years more experienced than she, and she’d thought she’d never recover, never get over the humiliation, but--

Well, she’s never heard her partner be uncharitable before. Might as well enjoy it. Maybe they can give him something to get his head out of his ass too.

Nah. Mitsuhide turns back to the window, eyes fixed to where the helo hovers in the skyline. I think that’s a chronic condition.

Kiki coughs on a laugh. The foot in his mouth certainly is.)

The line in front of them shudders, then trudges forward, and Kiki braces herself. His personality might be as thrilling as the scum on the dome’s flight deck, but he’s a ranger, just like her, plucked from a PPDC family whose illustrious history is only outstripped by her own and maybe the Wisteria’s. She’ll have to face him-- quite literally-- at some point, and it might as well be now.

Besides, it’s been five years. People change. Hisame may not be his father, nor his brother, but he could at least be tolerable now.

She dares a glance behind her, and it’s the same infuriatingly handsome face that smirks back at her, only this time he fills out his flight suit better. He might be less boyish around the edges, but it looks like insufferable douche isn’t a stain that comes out in the wash.

White teeth flash at her from between smirking lips. “I was invited.”

She somehow manages not to balk, not to say, I didn’t realize we were scraping the barrel for the dregs.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here either,” he admits, insinuating his tray beside hers on the rail. “In the mess, I mean. I would have though General Seiran’s daughter would merit better fare than the grunts.”

The rim of her tray wobbles beneath her grip. These people would die for him, die with him, and he calls them grunts.

“What can I say,” she says, turning to him with a smile drawn thin, plate outstretched for dinner, “I can’t resist some good old shit on a shingle.”

She has the distinct pleasure of watching the color leave his smug little face as a healthy heaping of the caf’s beef stroganoff plops down on her plate. If only he hadn’t been so eager to dog her heels, he might have noticed just which line he got in.

“Yum yum,” she adds, because she’s never been a woman to shy from twisting the knife. “My favorite.”

“Ah, of course,” he manages faintly, handing over his own plate. “You have always struck me as a woman of...simple pleasures.”

“Simple pleasures,” she agrees, “and unmovable opinions. Enjoy your time in the dome, Luigis.”

She doesn’t add, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. He’s a smart boy-- he knows how to read between the lines.

“I don’t know how you eat that.” Zen eyes her stroganoff warily, nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t think the recipe has changed World War Two.”

She slides into the last available seat, so close she nearly elbows the jaeger mechanic next to her. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Mitsuhide hums on her other side, and she feels the rumble in her elbow, warm and pleasant. Kiki’s not a fan of eating at the designated meal times-- Zen’s the one that likes to see and be seen by the adoring masses, not her-- but being crushed in like sardines does have its perks, sometimes.

Zen opens his mouth-- to complain, she assumes, since he habitually gripes about the mushrooms being too fragrant for his taste-- but she sweeps in before he can get a word out with, “Luigis is here.”

His jaw drops. Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his milk.

“Hisame Luigis?”

As much as she would love to rag him, to say what other Luigis is there?-- it’s a valid question. With a general for a father and a ranger for a brother, any one of them had a better reason to be here than Hisame did. Too bad; teasing Zen was the best entertainment she could get in the dome.

“What does he think he’s doing here?” His arms fold tight over his chest. “Did he not get humiliated enough the last time?”

“Well, you know,” she drawls, scooping up a forkful of her dinner, “for some people it’s a kink.” While he’s sputtering, she adds, “He says he was invited.”

Mitsuhide frowns into his stoganoff. “Invited?”

“By who? My brother?” Zen shakes his head, emphatic. “Last time he was here, Izana was happy to see the back of him.”

She shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

“But who else could?” Mitsuhide sits back, thoughtful. “There’s not a lot of people who could go over a Marshal’s head, not even here.”

Kiki shovels a bite of beef into her mouth. “Garrack.”

They both sit back at that, uncomfortable. “But for what?” Mitsuhide presses, sounding strained. “He hasn’t piloted a jaeger outside of the simulations.”

“And they can’t be trying to put him in one.” Zen shoved peas around on his plate, mullish. “The neural handshake’s only meant for two, and with Hisame’s ego taking up the second chair, I don’t know how anyone else would fit.”

She can’t help but grin at that. “Maybe they’re making a three-pilot jaeger.”

“Wasn’t China working on something like that?” Zen’s expression turns speculative, distracted. “Something...Typhoon wasn’t it? Triplets were piloting it.”

“Crimson Typhoon,” she corrects, “based out of Hong Kong.”

“Right, and then Japan said they could seat seven.” He shakes his head. “Good thing nothing came of that. Sounds like a disaster from start to finish.”

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” she agrees.

“Maybe it’s a single ranger jaeger,” Mitsuhide says, and she nearly laughs until she realizes he’s serious.

“Single ranger?” she echoes, dubious. “Can’t be done.”

“Or they’d be tiny,” Zen scoffs, waving a hand. “There’s no way you could pilot a mech as big as Rex all by yourself.”

“Can’t be that then.” Kiki’s mouth quirks. “Hisame Luigis could never suffer being smaller than anyone else.”

Mitsuhide flushes a red so deep it looks painful, studiously applying himself to his dinner as if it might make make him less noticeable. Too bad being six-foot-fuckable and a head taller than half the folks in the mess didn’t lend itself to invisibility.

Zen grins, smelling blood on the water that for once isn’t his. “Right. We all know that’s for-- ah, fuck.”

Kiki takes in his wide eyes, his pinched mouth, and twists her chin over a shoulder. Her stomach knots just think that snake could be right behind her, knowing she still talks about him and inferring all sorts of idiotic encouragement from it, but--

But she only sees a bright red bob lingering over by the chafing dishes, sticking out like a buoy on a choppy sea.

She frowns. Shirayuki was usually cause for excitement, or at least Zen making an ass of himself trying to impress her. There should be a sudden, manic search for stories sedate enough to tell but funny enough to entertain, since the good doctor apparently labored under the misconception that Zen was intentionally witty, and didn’t just bumble into cleverness completely by accident, but today--

Today there’s a lean body that curves beside hers, a slim question next to Shirayuki’s bright exclamation. It’s The Asshole.

Or at least, that’s what Zen calls him. The jury’s still out for her.

“What’s he doing here?” Zen grumbles, churning rice across his plate.

Mitsuhide takes in a breath, measured, and says, “Waiting for you.”

Zen glowers, hunching over his dinner. “I know that. I mean, what’s he doing here with Shirayuki?”

Kiki glances over her shoulder, watching as The Asshole bends down, Shirayuki laying a hand on his shoulder as she yells something over the din, and doesn’t say, flirting.

She shrugs. “Seems like Shirayuki can handle him just fine.”

He glares. “I know that. She just shouldn’t be around a jackoff like him.”

Mitsuhide sets his jaw, and oh, she can read every word he won’t say like it was printed across his forehead: We don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a jackoff. He’d never say it-- and not just because Mitsuhide didn’t truck with words like jackoff and douchebag-- but because he knew to wait until Zen was listening. Which he wasn’t going to now, not with his hackles all raised because the Asshole was in the same room, daring to breathe the same air.

Kiki doesn’t have the same compunctions. “Do we even know if he’s a jackoff?”

Zen sputters, dropping his fork in consternation. “Of course we do! He acts like one every time I walk into the room.”

She glances at Mitsuhide, and his gaze is already darting away. If he isn’t going to point out Zen’s probably earned it, it’s definitely way above her paygrade.

“Every time! Calling me master and reminding me he’s at my beck and call and awaiting my leisure,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I bet he’s over there right now, telling her I’m getting high-handed or something. Like I’m keeping him here to jerk his chain.”

Kiki lifts a brow. “Aren’t you? Izana isn’t going to let him out of the dome until you--”

“I know what he thinks,” Zen snaps, “and it’s not happening. My brother is just going to have to get used to the idea.”

Her brows reach even higher. Izana Wisteria didn’t get to be the youngest Marshal in the history of the PPDC by being the first one to flinch.

Mitsuhide clears his throat, pointed. “And you plan to keep him waiting the whole time?”

Zen blinks. “What?”

“The Asshole,” Kiki clarifies when Mitsuhide balks. “While you’re playing your game of chicken with Izana, he’ll be waiting. Right here. In the dome. Making...friends.”

They all look toward the bright splash of red hovering at the edge of the mess, tray in hand. Shirayuki’s face lights when she sees them, hand half-raised--

And falls. Kiki doesn’t need to look to know what sort of face Zen is making, not when Shirayuki spins so suddenly away, hooking her hand around The Asshole’s arm and steering him away.

“I’m not drifting with him,” Zen says, shoving his tray away from him. “I’m not.”

“Good,” Kiki hums, mouth quirking at a corner. “Be a pity for him to leave when he’s getting along with Shirayuki so well.”

Zen glares at her, mouth pulling thin. “I’m not hungry. Enjoy yourselves.”

She’s supposed to be asleep. Or at least, that’s what the dome’s light pattern it trying to tell her; when she turns on her lights, it’s set to the soft night-time glow.

Shirayuki explained all that once, in her patient, bubbly way: bodies are supposed to use natural light to tell what time it is, and living in a bunker with no windows is one of those things that throws off its entire groove. The mood lighting is supposed to help, subtly dimming and brightening so their brains get the signal that it’s time to sleep or time to work.

Kiki flicks it off with a grimace. It’s a nuisance.

Darkness settles over her, the only light the painfully bright display on her alarm clock. 1:17. She lets out a huff, rolling onto her back. Definitely should be asleep.

Still, it won’t come. Hisame Luigis is here, sauntering around the dome when he has every reason to be a world away, annoying anyone else. Before today she would have said there wasn’t a single thing that could lure him to the site of his own humiliation, but now-- now she knows there is. And what it is--

Well, that’s enough to keep anyone up at night.

She sits up, swiveling to put feet on the floor. Something is happening; it’s one thing for Luigis to be here, gunning to relive all his old mistakes, but he’s not the only new face in the dome.

Her fingers clench around the edge of the mattress. Rex Tyrannous has been sitting in its box for years; Izana might say that getting it into the fray is a priority, but he never picked more than one or two recruits out of the graduating class to try, never seemed to be more than tacitly interested with how they did.

But now, now, he’s flown the whole coast to get this asshole to the dome. An asshole that doesn’t seem to want to be here any more than Zen does.

Kiki levers herself up, reaching for her clothes. Something is happening in the dome, something big.

And she knows better than to wait around to find out what.

There’s only ever been one place in the dome where she can clear her head. It’s too bad that someone’s had the same thought; as she approaches the door the the gym, Kiki can already hear the grunts of exertion coming from inside.

She swallows a sigh, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. It’s better when she has the mats to herself, when it’s just her and her thoughts and the burn of her muscles, not interrupted by the groaning of men who want to impress her--

Good thing this one doesn’t. As much as she wish he might.

Mitsuhide has his back toward the door, and she has the perfect view of the way his muscles coil as he brings his staff up, of the way they shift into sharp relief under his skin as he strikes down with an overhead blow. It’d brain anyone who didn’t block it, but with no partner he brings it up short just inches from the mat, muscle quivering with control.

It’s a sight Kiki never gets tired of. She’s half-tempted to leave her worries behind and just enjoy the show, but--

“You’re up late,” he says, breathless, rising out of his stance. Searching eyes turn toward her, his mouth down-turned with concern. “Everything all right?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs, tossing him a towel. “No Zen?”

He grunts, snatching the cloth with one hand. “He went to go talk with Izana earlier.”

Kiki grins, sauntering over to where the staves are propped against the wall. “Ah, so you sent him to bed?”

His mouth twitches at a corner, but he shakes his head, saying, all too serious, “He needed some time to cool off.”

She hefts a staff into her grip, testing it’s weight. “I’m assuming this is Asshole-related.”

Mitsuhide lets out a sigh, and they don’t need to be in the drift for her to know he means, what isn’t?

He’s already in his first stance when she steps in front of him, waiting for her to strike first. She should mix it up, try to wait him out, try to lure him into making a mistake early in the bout and riding the moral boost to victory, but--

Well, Kiki hates to disappoint.

Mitsuhide’s a big man, a practical giant, but he jumps over her sweep with a nimbleness that always stuns her. She may drift with him, living inside the corners of his mind, but she can never anticipate his speed. The way that man can move the incredible mass of his body verges on superhuman.

The butt of his staff taps her side, so soft that it’s only her pride that stings. “That’s one for me.”

She lets out a huff, shuffling back, out of his range. “The last one.”

He shrugs, but she can see the smile he tries to hide in his shoulder. “If that’s what you think.”

This time, she’s more cautious, circling the mats, advancing where he retreats. He’s more wary as well; dark eyes fixed to her, watching where she shifts her weight. He catches her first blow, and her second-- light taps, staves clacking together as soft as kisses-- but her third catches him on the thigh, and he laughs.

“One to one,” he tells her, stepping back. “Should have seen that one coming.”

She hums, mouth curving in a smirk. “You should have.”

The go back to their corners, and her body is humming with victory, alive as she watches him shift into stance, and she says, “So, do you know anything about him?”

Mitsuhide blinks, head tilting, and she clarifies, “The Asshole.”

“Ah,” he grunts, more from catching her first blow than surprise. “I can’t say I like him, but that assessment seems...unfair.”

She barks out a laugh, dodging his swing. “I don’t think Zen’s concerned about being fair.”

His mouth pulls thin, and she blocks a hit that leaves her arms vibrating. “Unearned, then.”

She nearly gets a hit on him, throwing off his staff and going for his side, but he steps back, right out of her range. “He doesn’t want to compromise.”

“This isn’t about compromise anymore, it’s about survival.” She ducks under his follow up, a swing that probably would have left a real shiner on her shoulder. Sloppy on his part; he’s usually so careful. “He doesn’t want to trust anyone.”

She dances out of the way of a jab. “No one does in a jaeger.”

“But all of us would try,” he presses, strangely emphatic as he blocks her strike.

“We would,” she agrees, testing his guard. “If I was down, you would drift with Zen--”

His guard drops, just slightly, and it’s like the heavens are parting since right there, right there is where she can tap him--

And she does, so hard he stumbles back, unprepared. She can only stare for a moment, watching him breath heavily, head hung.

“Don’t say that,” he manages after a long moment, voice too raw.

Her fingers tighten around the staff, and she shrugs. “It could happen.”

His eyes fix on her, too intense too dark. “It won’t.”

She knows better than to tell him it’s not their choice, that every time they go out it’s a roll of the dice whether a kaiju takes them under. It’s not what a man like him needs to hear, not when his last station was up in Anchorage, so near the rift.

“Besides,” he says, shoulders straightening as he composes himself. “I should be more worried about you drifting with Luigis if this knee of mine gives out.”

She frowns. “I’d rather be eaten by a kaiju.”

“Well, that would be the other choice,” he informs her brightly, sliding into his stance. “Two-to-one.”

“I know the score,” she snaps, sending a hit to his legs, a sweep he easily sidesteps. “That better not be the reason he’s here.”

Mitsuhide raises a brow. “Back up?”

She smirks. “That you’re getting old.”

“I’m younger than Izana!” he protests, trying to hook his staff around her knees. She jumps over it, missing the timing on the stomp to keep his bo on the floor.

“And he’s sitting behind a desk,” she replies, enjoying herself far too much. “Maybe it’s time for you to push some paper--”

“He has other reasons,” Mitsuhide grouses, retreating as she advances. “Not because he’s old.”

“They can’t be thinking he’ll drift with Zen,” she reasons, “even if this asshole doesn’t work out, he’ll never agree to it.”

Mitsuhide hums absently, fending off her advance, and she presses. “Right?”

“R-right,” he answers. “Zen really only wants one pilot--”

His staff takes her right in the side, and she’s not ready, stumbling to the ground. With a huff, she sits on her ass, shaking her head. “And it’s not any of us.”

“No,” Mitsuhide says with a grin, offering her a hand up. “It’s not.”

She takes it, levering up to her feet and brushing herself off.

“You know...” Mitsuhide’s face takes a wistful bent, almost thoughtful. “Way back, when Atri--”

Kiki perks. She’s been at the dome a long time, but Atri predates even her, here and gone before she’d even stepped foot on the tarmac.

His lips wrap tightly around his teeth, stopping the words he means to say. “Never mind. Two-two. Next is match point.”

She smirks. “I hope you don’t mind losing.”

He smiles, stepping back into his stance. “Not to you.”

When Izana had mentioned they were hiring on a therapist, Kiki had been skeptical, to say the least. He’d gone on to expound on the newest data, how rangers and support staff alike were suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress at higher and higher rates each year, how having an individual focused on the mental health of a dome had reduced the number of accidents in the hangar and fights in the mess, but--

It’d been clear: Garrack was the one twisting his arm on it, and Izana never got in a fight he couldn’t win.

Kiki’s been in the PPDC her whole life, even if it wasn’t in uniform, and among them, stoicism was less a personality trait and more a way of life. If you didn’t have your emotions on lockdown, if your mental vault didn’t have tighter security than Fort Knox, a drift could break you into pieces. It could break your partner into pieces. She’d seen it happen before, dozens of times.

Talking all that out nicely on a couch didn’t really fit with the aesthetic. Or so she’d thought, until she met Shirayuki.

“Thank you for coming,” the good doctor says brightly, taking tea Kiki offers. “I mean, for inviting me! I’m sorry, I’m just so used to, um...”

Kiki can’t help but smile as she takes her seat, cup warm in her hands. It’s not hard to see why Zen likes her so much, not when she’s flushed just from that little slip. “I understand.”

Relief blooms across her face. “Oh, good! It’s nice to not be drinking alone in my office, for once. I mean, tea! Drinking tea! Oh...”

Kiki smothers a snort with a sip of her tea. “I know what you mean. Though honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if I had to listen to Zen’s problems.”

Shirayuki looks as if she might protest, trying to come to the rescue of her patient, but she must catch her wry tone and the smile lurking at the corner of her lips, because she just stops. “From what I understand, you already do.”

Kiki stares. “You’re right. I should start insist on being paid.”

A laugh bursts from Shirayuki, so bright and earnest it surprises her. “I’d listen to him anyway, but--” she leans in, dropping to sotto voce-- “it does help, sometimes.”

She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her, but it’s worth it to see the way Shirayuki flushes, two bright spots on the apples of her cheeks. “Thank you for coming. There’s not a lot of women in the dome, and it’s nice to just...chat, sometimes.”

“I agree!” Shirayuki tells her eagerly. “There’s more women in K-science than on the deck, but still-- it’s nice to just have a cup of tea and not have to listen to Suzu talk about his numbers.”

Kiki raises a brow. “Suzu’s invited to your girls’ tea?”

“Well.” She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea. “We don’t really have girls-only outings. But if we did, he’d invite himself, and then talk exclusively about his algorithm. The only thing that gets him to stop is Yuzuri--” she coughs, flushed-- “anyway, this is far nicer.”

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t provide better tea service.” She nods at the offerings on the table: buttery crackers with hard cheese, and cookies so crunchy they’re more like hard tack than a treat. “I asked the kitchen if they could make scones, and I’m not sure the cook even knew what one was.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki sets down her cup with a clatter, wincing at the sound. “This is perfect, really. When you first asked me to come I was afraid that Zen had asked you to-- ah--”

She claps her hands to her cheeks, mortified. “Never mind. This has been a pleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Kiki smothers a grimace as she sets down her own mug. “You thought that Zen asked me to talk to you about--”

“Obi, yes.” She spins her cup slowly, as if looking for anything to keep her hands busy. “I know he doesn’t like him. He’s been...vocal about that.”

To put it lightly. “We don’t know anything about him. He’s concerned.”

“I understand that.” Her mouth curves in a wry, almost chagrined smile. “And I understand that being in the dome doesn’t really allow...typical professional-patient relations. But it would be nice if his concern at least took into account that I’m an adult who can make her own decisions.”

Kiki takes a sip of tea to cover her grimace. It’s a fair assessment; there are times where she’s sure Zen doesn’t even remember that his therapist has a doctorate in psychology, let alone is an authority in her field.

“Besides,” Shirayuki sighs, dunking a cookie in her tea. “You could say that about anyone. It’s just that you can say that about Obi especially.”

“You must know all about him,” Kiki presses, leaning in just the smallest amount. “Since you have access to everyone’s files.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki shakes her head, hair splaying over her shoulders. “I can’t access anyone’s files unless they consent to treatment. Or, at least, not unless I’m given an emergency override by the Marshal.”

“Oh. Huh.” She settles back in her chair, stymied. “Well, I suppose that makes me feel better.”

Shirayuki blinks, eyes wide. “You didn’t think that I had...?”

Read her file and formed her opinions already? It’s what Kiki would have done, coming into a situation as hostile as the good doctor. “You had to pick your patients somehow.”

Her cheeks flush, differently this time, two angry splotches that spread from jaw to temple. “Treatment is voluntary,” she reminds her firmly. “And even if I could read every record, I wouldn’t. Even with my patients, I prefer to have them tell me something in confidence rather than scrolling through a file. Trust--” she fixes Kiki with an earnest look-- “is the most important currency I can earn in my line of work.”

It’s a good sentiment, and an honest one, but Kiki hums, unconvinced. “But you’ve looked at Zen’s haven’t you?”

Her mouth pulls into a guilty grimace. “I-- I hadn’t, not at first. But when Izana told me he was bringing someone into the dome to drift with him, and that they were going to need to be reintegrated, I, um, well...”

Kiki raises a brow. “You looked.”

Her chin drops to her chest, chagrined. “I...did. I thought he might have...” She hesitates, finger once again rotating her cup on the saucer. “I thought it could have been Atri.”

Her hand tightens on her mug. Atri. The second time she’s heard that name this week. “Is that so.”

Shirayuki sighs. “We’ve been working for months, but Zen just...doesn’t choose to talk about it.”

Funny, how no one does around here.

“Which is fine!” she continues, breathless. “But if Izana was going to bring him back, then--”

Kiki nods. “Then you needed to know who he is.”

“Exactly.” Her shoulders drop in relief, the tension leaving her body on a breath. “I mean, especially if Izana was going to have me treat him--”

“Atri?” She blinks. “You thought he would want you to treat Atri?”

“Well, he, ah...” Shirayuki leans in, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “He asked for my help.”

“Izana.” She’s a broken record, just repeating everything the doctor says. “Izana asked you for help. Specifically.”

“I know.” Shirayuki shifts, just as uncomfortable with the thought. “He told me this was a-- a special case.”

A special case. “So he must have given you access to his file, then. If it’s so...special.”

“Well, yes.” She fiddles with her cup. “Parts of it, at least. But Obi doesn’t seem interested in therapy--” no, Kiki can’t help but think, just the therapist-- “and, ah, it felt...too intrusive to look.”

It probably wouldn’t have done her any favors making friends either, but Kiki knows that’s a thought best left on the hangar deck. “Parts of his file?”

“Oh, um, yes.” Her eyes dart around the room, as if she half suspects Izana would be lurking just around a cabinet. Fair, considering the thing that man knows. “He only had authorization to open up the vitals to me. Everything else was classified. Even his birthday!”

Classified. Kiki take a sip from her mug. “How interesting.”

“Kiki.” Her father’s voice is as comforting as a warm blanket and hot milk, just the thing she wants to hear at the end of a long day. “What a surprise. We just had our weekly chat--” she can hear him flipping through his datebook-- “not even two days ago.”

“I need to ask you something.” She tucks the phone deeper into her shoulder, turning her back to the group of young pilot-wannabes that swagger through the mess. She’d love to do this where there was more privacy, but it’s the only place with reception in the whole dome, unless she wants to explain to K-science what she’s doing. “A favor.”

“Please,” Father sighs, pained. “You know I don’t keep track of that. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Kiki bites down on her lip. It’s his job to take care of his rangers, to make sure there’s no kaiju to wipe out Seattle, and as much as he’d been her dad too-- there was only room to do one job well.

“There’s a file I need you to look at,” she says, voice pitched low, watching the idiots horse around at the window. Must be fresh off the deck if they’re that cocky this close to open water. “Personnel. I’ll send the information over to you.”

“Oh my,” he hums, far too amused. “Should I let Mitsuhide know you’re looking at another man?”

She only manages to half smother the grunt out of her throat. “Just let me know what you find, all right?”

“Of course, princess.” Her teeth grit down until he adds, “Good hunting.”

Izana’s mouth curves as she enters his office, amusement only growing as she drops into the chair across from him and glares across the wide expanse of his desk.

“Ranger Seiran,” he drawls, sitting back, fingers laced on is lap. “To what to I owe the pleasure?”

“Obi,” she says. “Who is he?”

His lips tip into a smirk. “The next co-pilot of Rex Tyrannous, once my brother gets over himself.”

“Don’t do that.” Her knuckles blanch where they clench her knees. “Not with me.”

“No.” He grows serious. “Not with you. But come now,” he raises a brow, “surely you can find out what you need on your own.”

She lets out a long breath, fingers twitching where they lay. To think, she had longed for a sibling, even knowing the Wisterias.

“Ah, I see,” he hums, all too pleased. “Your father couldn’t get you what you needed.” His teeth flash from behind his lips. “Now, now. If that’s the case, you can’t possibly think you’ll get anything out of me.”

“No,” she admits, grudging. “Not about that.”

That intrigues him. “Oh my, then what would bring you all the way here for a visit?”

“Hisame Luigis.”

All the humor drains from him, his back stiffening against the chair. “He hasn’t bothered you.”

It’s not a question, it’s a promise, and some part of her eases. “No, he hasn’t. Why is he here?”

Izana tilts his head, letting the thick shadows in his office obscure his expression. “That is need-to-know information, Ranger Seiran. “

“And I don’t need to know?” she demands, and even shadowed, she can see how his mouth pulls, pained. “After the last time, you don’t think I deserve to know?”

He stands, pacing to where a large painting sits on his wall. “It’s Confidential.”

She grits her teeth. “I see.”

As she stands, he inhales sharply, and she turns.

“Come now, Kiki,” he murmurs into the space between them. “You’re a clever girl. It’ll come to you, if you think about it.”

She lets out a long breath. “I don’t think we have time for that.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing for it to go to the source.

Not much may be known about this Mystery Asshole, but Kiki’s observant, and he’s been on her radar from the start. And if there’s one thing she’s noticed: he doesn’t like people.

Not that he’s rude; oh no, he only vents his spleen in Zen’s direction, which even she can admit is well-earned. But if he’s got a choice between a full mess and an empty gym, she knows exactly which one he’ll choose.

Which is how she finds him, back pressed to the bench, lifting with no spot in the middle of a deserted gym.

Her mouth pulls thin. Only an idiot would risk it, but then again-- it’s not like anyone would offer to help him, not when they could end up on the bad side of at least one Wisteria. These rangers might all talk tough about facing kaiju in the raging Pacific, but one harsh word from Zen and they’re all chicken shit.

With a grunt, she slides in above his head, hands out and ready. “You’re some mystery,” she says, ignoring the way he gapes at her, “aren’t you?”

His jaw snaps shut, mouth pulling into a grimace. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”

She lifts a brow. “You’re a ranger, but no one in the whole dome’s ever heard of you.”

He does a single rep, racking the barbel with not a single sign of strain. “I hung up my flight suit a long time ago.”

“There’s people here who can list every pilot since Mark 1,” she scoffs, “time isn’t the issue.”

“I didn’t distinguish myself,” he explains, wry, rolling up the bench, grabbing the towel from behind him. “One run wonder, you know.”

She crosses her arms, watching as he towels off the rigid bristle of his hair. “Your file’s so confidential not even generals can access it.”

“Ah, well.” He cocks a brow from under his towel, mouth rucked up in a grin. “Did someone make daddy try?”

It’s not until her knuckles crack, harsh like gunfire in the empty room, that she realizes she’s clenched her fists at all. The Asshole only gets more smug. “Maybe I just value my privacy.”

“You lost that by coming back here,” she tells him, tight, as he stands, unfurling half a head taller than her. Still, she didn’t get on the flight deck by being cowed by a few inches. “Not just anyone gets offered a seat in Rex Tyrannous.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” He slings the towel around his neck, turning toward the door. “As soon as the prince deigns to let me in his head, we can all go home.”

Kiki is a Seiran, a name that commands respect in every dome in the Pacific. Conversations end when she says they end, and no one has ever put their back to her.

But this Asshole just starts to walk away, like she isn’t a general’s daughter, like her mother didn’t save a whole city, like she’s some rookie straight out of the academy.

“Hey.” She grips his arm hard, fingers wrapped like talons. “I’m still--”

There’s no warning; one minute she’s got a hand on him and the next she’s on the ground, jaw radiating pain like the heart of a jaeger. She lifts a hand to it, and oh, that is gonna leave one hell of a bruise.

“Fuck.” Obi stares down at her, those strange gold eyes wide and jaw slack, horror etched in every line of his face. “Jesus.”

She gets to her feet, knees wobbling beneath her. Asshole didn’t kid around when he laid one on you, that’s for sure.

“Hell,” he hisses, hands hovering around her, like he can’t decide whether to help her or ignore her. “Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t even--”

Okay, that’s enough.

She’s smaller than him, lighter built, but she knows how to pack enough wallop to send him stumbling back. Her knuckles sting-- he’s got a hard head for a boy with such delicate cheekbones-- but it’s worth it to see his face ruck up in confusion, to see him cradling his own jaw.

“All right,” he laughs after a long moment, shaking himself out. “That’s fair.”

“It is,” she agrees, stepping up to him. “But it was my fault. Let’s try this over. I’m Kiki Seiran.”

She thrust out a hand, and he just stares, like he think it might bite him. Fair enough; her other one is still red from where she hit him.

“Right.” His own hand envelops her own, giving it a good firm squeeze. “I’m Obi.”

#obiyuki #mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #this is really starting to become an ensemble piece and I'm just gonna roll with it #though obviously there's gonna be some obiyuki pinning this whole beast together #and some side mitsukiki #i got another chapter coming up in a few weeks #which is gonna get a lot more into the drifting side of things #but uh...enjoy the slow build to that point i guess #now with kiki being salty about life

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Queen of Hearts (Manila x Naomi) - Ashley

A/N: Naomi is bored, bored of robbing on the road and carrying out her contract killings. Manila is afraid, afraid of upsetting the hold that she rules over. What happens when a heartless assassin is hired to kill the Queen with the biggest heart going?

So I’m back with my extremely literal take on everyone calling Naomi an assassin after she eliminated Manila - this has literally been years in the making so I hope yous like it (it was originally a planned but never written Malec fic). I have a whole bunch of inspirations for this fic from Barbie to Skyrim I can’t even think of them all. Thanks so so much to S for beta-ing. xoxoxo Ashley

“This contract better be worthwhile,” Naomi examined her nails for dirt - above everyone else in the Brotherhood like always.

In her mind, she was always above them, above everyone in Azolla. She had made a name for herself and the Brotherhood knew now only to contact her under special request - she would not stoop to their measly dealings with hidden mistresses or disapproving parents.

The Scarlet Blade was notorious around the hold; she was clean, she was sharp and she left you to bleed. If it weren’t for the dead body lying on the floor, you’d have thought she’d never been there. She was heartless and she did a good job at being so. Days of stopping passing carriages with a dagger and a demand had passed her - boredom teased her with every contract, with every kill, waiting for something more, something bigger, something to intrigue her. She looked around the room, never investing her time in Astrid and her games, never investing in anywhere she went, always wishing she was somewhere else instead.

“It is, my child,” Astrid sat across her.

Where Naomi should have felt a pang of warmth at the woman’s address, all she felt was ice. Family was a thing of the past, not to be touched, not to be toyed with, compartmentalised in a tiny fragment of her brain that didn’t know how to spell the word belonging.

She remembered her first meeting with the Brotherhood, with Astrid. The day she realised that dark underground caverns of murder and money burrowed underneath the blooming hills and castles of Azolla. The day she realised that she was much better suited making crime with the secret networks then living her life in poverty on the streets, envying the wealth that poured into the upper class like a rich bottle of merlot. The day her whole world was destroyed and a new one formed where she would not be shooed or pitied by anyone - and her name would be on everyone’s lips.

“There is to be an uprising. The people of Azolla are upset at the cowardice monarchy. The blood of the poor and the innocent was spilt in the battle against Angeria whilst the Queen tried to make peace with gift baskets and alliances, lying tucked in at night with her windows locked. She now plans to marry the King of the enemy land rather than to fight them, now the people wish to fight her.”

Naomi cocked her head - she was listening.

“Her head is on the chopping board and people are paying good money to see it roll.”

“What’s in this for me?”

“It’s a challenge. I know no one other than the Scarlet Blade who could execute such a plan. These other children wouldn’t be able to kill our divine ruler - they show much too flight, much too emotion. I need someone who likes that challenge, someone I can trust, I need you.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand. Double if you do it on her wedding day.”

“Hmm,” she examined the other hand.

“Your name will be known even further. You will be a hero to the normal folk and a villain to the high and mighty who make people like us fight their battles for them. The Scarlet Blade will live longer than yourself Naomi, ushered on everyone’s lips for centuries to come.”

“Don’t humour me, Astrid,” she snapped a gaze at the woman - her long lashes and fierce gaze enough to kill without the dagger she played with, pressing it sharply between each of her long fingers, deep cuts into the wood of the table every time she impaled.

“I know you’ve been bored, child,” Astrid tried to get a sense of emotion from the girl, hoping that somewhere deep inside her beautiful body a chord was being struck. “I know how you’ve missed playing this game of cat and mouse.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” she half-heartedly took the papers from Astrid’s hand as though they were the scraps of the daily announcements rather than the plans to assassinate their Queen, pointing a slender finger towards her ready to be pricked, marking up their contract bound by blood.

***

Manila’s heart raced as she sat in her carriage, looking out at the green grass and cobbled brick of Azolla, praying that she was doing the right thing for her people.

As a child, she had dreamed of falling in love - of someone to play cards with, someone to pick flowers for. But, alas, her duty as Queen came first. She had lived a sheltered life and even the thought of killing the insects that ate the castle roses made her flinch - she knew she had been criticised, that people wanted her to build an army to fight Angeria, that they blamed her for the deaths of her people - yet she couldn’t possibly send her people away with the sole purpose being to fight, to kill. So she did what she did best and lead with her heart, throwing away her dreams of love to marry the King of the neighbouring hold, to make sure that her people were protected from the soldiers who stormed their houses.

It wasn’t that the King was unattractive. Although older than herself, Manila didn’t see fault with the way his grey hair slicked back to his head, his dark eyes welcoming and illustrious. That image of a connection, of someone holding her hand, just played in the back of her mind as she pictured her new married life - choosing a political arrangement confined in the walls of her castle over a blooming romance that leapt and danced across the farming fields.

She thought of her father, of the man she had watched keep peace among the hold, the burdens that weighed heavy on Manila’s back resting lightly in his hand like a feather. He was beloved and mighty - a friendly giant, humble and strong - he was everything she wanted to be for the people. Ever since the attack, she cried to his portrait each night, too scared to look out of her window at the sleeping hold, wishing she had been able to rule like him, blaming herself for the loss of so many. But deep down she knew that he too wouldn’t have wanted to fight, wouldn’t have wanted to draft their people to kill - that he would be watching when she married Sutan and became the strong ruler that he had been.

***

It was safe to say that this contract was like no other Naomi had completed for the Brotherhood before. Usually, her killings were quick and easy - an arrow fired from the balcony of an inn, a knife in the back whilst asleep - she had never had to get close to a target before, never had to conjure patience. Ever since that fateful day she had never been one for talking, for being in other people’s company - she had quickly learnt that the only person she needed to rely on was herself - now feeling more concerned about having to work at the castle in order to be in attendance of the wedding than the actual assassination.

It wouldn’t be long, Astrid had promised her. Just till they trust you - Astrid told her all about the guards with their sacred oaths and sharp spears, how she would raise less suspicion had she made herself familiar with them beforehand - she didn’t want to think yet about how she would escape that one.

So there she was, the Scarlet Blade, the infamous criminal of Azolla, a cold-hearted killer dressed in a servants robes, waiting on her new master, her new target.

Living alone in the outskirts of the hold, Naomi had isolated herself from the rest of the people. Taught about the cruelness of the world at a young age, she didn’t have friends, didn’t trust others - always quiet, planning, plotting, one jump ahead of the hurdles - keeping in her four mossy walls, only leaving her abode masked as her criminal persona. Yes, she had always had Astrid and the Brotherhood, they accepted her silence and looked over her unfriendly ways but alas it wasn’t Naomi they knew, it was the Scarlet Blade. Because no one really knew Naomi. She didn’t even know herself.

She hadn’t known what to expect of the castle, but it wasn’t this. If people were said to look beyond them with rose-tinted lenses, then Naomi’s were blood red.

Red roses barred the grass - jagged thorns warding off the non-gentile.

The marble floor clicked under her shoes - something heavy weighing her down.

She heard the faint whispers as she was escorted through, her brain already running through four, five, six ways she could escape.

Then the Queen stood before her.

A streak of white seeped through her hair, the rest the colour of fresh coals before they burned.

Naomi wondered if the rest of the hold knew about it - that silent scream of white.

It was meek. And powerful.

She stood fierce. Yet humble.

A strange sensation lingered somewhere inside Naomi’s mind that she couldn’t yet realise.

Adorned in the robes of wealth with a crown of jewels, her skin gleamed, the flowing river just meeting that first beam of sunlight in the early hours. She was female beauty - an angel stole away from the sky and left missing home in the hold - but she was real, normal, a portrait in front of Naomi that had come to life and vaulted right out of the wooden frame.

The river outside stopped in its flow - lying steady for half a second - before returning to its battle against the rock bed.

Naomi curtsied to the queen, a strand of her thick, untamed and treated locks slipping out of place before her.

She pushed it back with automatism - a natural reflex to hide the vulnerable.

“Your new lady in waiting,” Naomi’s guide gestured towards her, “Miss Naomi,”

“Naomi,” Manila looked upon her - a lifetime of wonder in her eyes, for someone who had always been able to read others better than she could a poem, Naomi found herself unable to tell what the Queen was thinking. A huge divide of wood and brick and stone between them. “The mother of Ruth. She bears the name of pleasantness until the death of her husband and sons where she returns as Mara, meaning bitterness.”

Her outer layer was struck by the words, of the change. But it didn’t go any further - Naomi wasn’t pleasantness or bitterness - she felt nothing afterwards, she was nothing afterwards.

“I’m not familiar with the tales from your books, your highness,” Naomi looked to the woman.

“Oh,” Manila paused, feeling some form of emotion at Naomi’s words. Embarrassment? Privilege? Pity? Naomi couldn’t decipher it and almost prayed a silent prayer that things such as were behind herself.

Manila looked onward at Naomi, examining her face is if she were about to be killed and the only thing that could save her was giving the most accurate description of Naomi’s eyes, her hair, her nose, her lips.

Well, she was - but a test there was lack of.

“I was going to begin her formal training, your highness.”

“Yes, I ought to go rest before we recoup schedule,” the Queen regained her composure, falling out of her fantasyland straight back to her duties. She turned a dark eye to Naomi, “I am glad to have made your acquaintance.”

The attendee’s mouth widened a little, a pane of frustration slicing through his throat as the Queen turned on her heel and waltzed away. She had taken an interest in the new servant and Naomi showed no pleasure over it - maybe this contract wouldn’t have been as much as a challenge as she had anticipated.

***

“Naomi.”

She stopped mid-walk as she removed a tray for the Queen’s quarters.

She’d found three, four, five ways to escape by the time Manila spoke once more.

“I would like your word on my portrait,” Manila stared at the girl, dark eyes like the richest of chocolates melting her body.

“My word?” Naomi looked around for another worker, someone to verify the Queen’s words for her.

She found a 6th way she could escape.

“Yes. Something’s not quite right with it and I know the rest of the staff will tell me just how perfect it is,” she looked Naomi up and down again, leaving her no more than a puddle on the floor. “Although you try, you lack the heirs and graces everyone else does around me. I have noticed you, you are not phased by my title,”

“I believe everyone should be equal,” Naomi looked at the girl, memories fighting in the back of her mind to come forward and be felt like they deserved, tied back by aeons of repression.

“As they are, just as you are honest,” Manila motioned Naomi towards her, the painting standing in front of them.

“It’s not you,” Naomi responded bluntly, speaking her mind in a raw and unfiltered way that others lacked around the Queen. “You rule with your heart,”

Manila’s mouth opened slightly at her words, closing again, an unreadable look across her porcelain face.

“This woman,” Naomi pointed a sharp nail towards it, “she has no heart.”

“I need to seem strong.”

“A painting will not change what people think,” Naomi muttered, the thought of the contract re-entering her mind after managing to somehow slip away. “And it will not change what you think of yourself.”

“Perhaps you could paint a real portrait?” Manila lent a gaze her way - two smokeless coals leaping out of stone.

“I am here to wash your plates and polish your floors, your highness.”

And to kill you, she added internally, the word having no higher significance than to wash or to polish. A job. “What makes you assume that I can paint?”

“Your discipline,” she responded instantly.

“My discipline is best used for other practices nowadays, your highness.”

“You can paint,” Manila smiled to herself, shaking her head ever so slightly as she looked towards the floor.

“I ought to take your tray,” Naomi glanced towards it, feeling the heat rise inside of her at the conversation, at the almost accusatory tone in the Queen’s words. Something uncomfortable that her lack of social skills failed to decipher.

“As you must,” the Queen raised her head to meet Naomi’s eye line.

She held the stare for one, two, three seconds.

Then released it like a butterfly from its cage.

Naomi fluttered away as fast as she could.

***

Sitting in the castle garden with her soon to be husband, Manila found her focus to be on anything but the conversation at hand.

In the divine books, marriage was akin to giving up your life for the other, becoming one flesh. Although Manila saw how she was giving her life away by marrying the neighbouring King, she knew it was for the people of Azolla, not for him. He could have all the land, all the rivers, all the flowers and even the sun if they agreed not to spill blood in her hold again, and if this meant giving her life away then she figured so be it.

Her father had told her once that ‘duty means doing the things your heart may well regret’ and she was hearing these words lull through her head at that moment.

He was not in any such way a bad person, he simply wanted the best for his people in the same way Manila did - with the variance lying instead in their approaches. He was gentle with her, affectionate. He was intelligent, adaptable to her needs. Yet the need for someone who challenged Manila, someone who could shake her by the shoulders and tell her the truth played even deeper in her mind, fighting for breath under the vast cloud that was her duty.

A daydreamer by nature, she allowed her thoughts to carry themselves away up hills and mountains until they reached the sky, falling back down with the weight of a thousand knight’s armour. She got lost in the colours of the outside world; the clear blue of the stream, the pure red of the rose, the specks of gold that traced the sky. So lost in her distant surroundings that she would fail to realise those near to her.

It was safe to say that Manila was too help up in her own mind when she spilt her wine on Naomi.

“Oh, my apologies,” Manila’s eyes widened as she saw the stains of scarlet splashed over the young woman’s server uniform - grasping a napkin to try and dab at the stain the best she could.

“It’s fine,” Naomi looked down on her, taking in the Queen’s concerned reaction. Ever since their interaction over the painting, Naomi had tried to keep a low profile around the Queen; hoping to fade into the background and no longer stand out for her unfathomed behaviour. Yet there she was, wearing the Queen’s drink on her body as though it were a set of lavish jewels.

“She is right, my lady, this is no grand issue,” Sutan drawled in his always relaxed tone.

Manila ignored him: “I shall buy you a new one.”

“You, personally?” Naomi raised a brow, finding humour in the visual image of the Queen picking coins out of a purse and purchasing clothes in the market.

A flinch escaped from Manila’s body before she regained her composure.

“Are you suggesting I cannot walk the streets of my own hold.”

“If that is the conclusion you came to your highness,” Naomi shrugged a shoulder, lifting her tray and strutting away with her usual air of superiority that not another sole person in the hold had over the Queen.

***

“Take me into the hold.”

Naomi turned to see Queen at the servers exit, her usual regal ensemble swapped for a simple cotton dress and hooded cape.

There was no denying she was strong and commanding - no matter how she saw herself.

“I have finished my day at work,” Naomi avoided eye contact and continued her strut down the path.

“Then I shall just have to follow you home if you will not take me to the market,” Manila smirked, it was as if she had known Naomi a lifetime sometimes, what would convince her, what would make her roll her eyes. “Please, I want to be closer to my people.”

“You can go alone,” Naomi uttered but paused in her step, waiting on the Queen’s words.

“I want to have a little time to be free before I am wed, I know no other than you who would take me to the market as if I were just ordinary townsfolk. I don’t want to be fussed over.”

Her words chipped away at Naomi’s exterior.

Before I am wed.

Before you are dead.

She didn’t know what made her agree. The repressed longing to be back in the hustle and bustle of the ordinary life that was once hers? The guilt of knowing the Queen’s blood would be on her hands? The desire to see how the Queen would cope in real life? She could not explain why, so pushed it back away. Naomi’s decisions never came with a logical process, or if they did she was unaware of what it was, placing chess pieces randomly across the board without even knowing the rules.

“Take off your rings.”

***

“Just keep looking straight ahead of you, people will shift out of your way,” Naomi’s patience started to thin as the Queen stumbled into her seventh victim of the day. Her words were, however, lost - Manila simply couldn’t help herself from gazing all around her; stopping to pick flowers, running her hands along the stone walls.

Naomi was a trap ready to go off, her pulse pumping louder and louder through her chest as they got closer to the market, her body showing all the symptoms that her brain fought to hold back.

She watched the glee on Manila’s face as the children tumbled across the streets playing tag, the downcast disposition she held as she watched a pickpocket steal a purse of coins from an elderly woman, racing to the woman’s aid and giving her all the value she carried.

A child in a sweet shop, Manila ooh’d and aah’d her way around the market, grabbing Naomi’s wrist ever so gently as she pulled her towards stall after stall, too engrossed in whichever item she was admiring to notice Naomi’s bowed head and inability to form eye contact with the vendors, the fizzle of her usual nature.

“These playing cards are beautiful,” Manila admired the pack in her hands, shuffling through them slowly and gently. “My father and I used to love card games,” she smiled, grateful for the happy times in her grief rather than bitter about their end.

“15 coins,” the vendor cast a suspicious glance towards the Queen.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t have any money,” Manila apologised before placing them back on the table and forging a smile than Naomi could see through as though it were a pane of glass.

“We’ll take them,” Naomi piped up and looked up at the vendor, her lips moving before her thoughts could process what she was doing, her hands lacking autonomy as they took the coins from her purse.

“Daughter of Raven?” the vendor extended her hand to Naomi’s chin, who flinched away as though she was being pricked with a thorn.

Naomi simply stared, her face still as her insides progressively collapsed.

Soon she was pulled into an embrace; “We have thought about you over these years, child. Thought of your safety and where you have been.”

Naomi transformed into a child before the Queen’s eyes, closing her eyes and nuzzling her head into the woman’s shoulder.

“These parts,” she pulled away and gestured to the stalls around her, regaining some of her usual composure, “hold too many memories.”

Manila could have sworn she saw the girl blink back a tear.

“I understand, though you cannot hide forever. The hold deserves to see you and you deserve to be seen,” the woman touched Naomi’s heart with an almost motherly connection; “They may not be with us, but you can keep them alive in here and you can keep them alive through your art, your beautiful paintings.”

But my heart is already gone, Naomi thought to herself. Why couldn’t she feel that it was no longer there? Frustration dwindled over her skin because it was now too late. Too late to feel the feelings she had pushed away, too late to turn her life around, too late to save her family. She still stared blankly, too much to comprehend.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Manila placed a hand on her server’s back, fearing she had been pushed too far.

“Take the cards,” the woman placed them in Manila’s palm and clasped her fingers before turning to Naomi, “I hope to see you again.”

And with that Naomi was running.

Running away from her old life.

Running away from the one she was living now.

Running from the feelings she couldn’t feel.

Running from the pain she could only inflict.

Running through cobbles and bridges and grass and soil.

Running until she was sat by the stream, one slight movement and her whole body would have been engorged.

Running away from the vendor.

Running away from Manila.

Except she couldn’t outrun everything.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” Manila spoke softly to Naomi as she manoeuvred herself next to her, placing an arm around her hunched shoulders, not giving a second thought to the mud staining her dress and cape. “I know how you feel,”

At first, she didn’t think Naomi would respond, but then she felt her back start to stiffen: “No, you don’t.”

Manila didn’t even make it past “I” before she was cut off in her response. Naomi knew there was no way Manila knew what she was feeling, for she didn’t even feel it herself.

“You don’t”

She watched as the stone walls around Naomi’s pain were rebuilt, higher and thicker.

“Maybe we need to be more like each other,” an ironic smirk slipped from Manila’s lips and dived into the stream before them. “I feel too much, I let my heart get in the way of doing what is right, completing my duty. You place every other order above your heart.”

“You do not need to be more like me,” Naomi responded bluntly and honestly. Naomi’s mind struggled to comprehend, it was as though someone was tricking the Queen into thinking she was someone she was not, more than a common criminal and killer, someone with worth.

“You judge yourself too harshly,” Manila placed a hand on her server’s wrist.

“As do you,” her body pricked at the touch, “You are strong. You do not need to push away your heart.”

Manila paused, inhaled, looked at the cards in her hands: “I do when I marry.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t marry.”

She didn’t intend to say it. She didn’t even realise she was thinking it, but she must have been.

The Scarlet Blade never flinched as she took life. It took force to pierce a body, it wasn’t the same as vegetables or meat. But the day her family died taught Naomi that no matter how pure, or how innocent you are, death always wins. So she felt no sorrow, no guilt as she did it. She washed the blood from her hands and moved on to the next contract, it never reappeared.

At that moment she was no longer the Scarlet Blade, just Naomi, the girl who used to run around the market picking flowers to draw - and even though it was too much for her mind to piece together, too much to fully realise it, she knew she meant it.

She didn’t want the Queen to marry.

For she didn’t want to kill her.

“I am marrying Sutan,” she responded as though she was telling herself as well as Naomi, the reality of her life snapping back into frame like a portrait of the perfect ruler. “I must return to the castle.”

With that she was gone, leaving Naomi as no more than a disorientated bundle of a woman, dirt slowly seeping into her nails.

***

“I’ve bought you a gift.”

Naomi stopped dead in her tracks, scanning the room for anyone: Sutan, the other servers. It was of no shock that the room was vacant.

“I do not need your pity,” she stared the Queen down, trying to analyse her motive, going straight to a place of defence.

“It’s not of pity but of thanks,” Manila took a step closer. If she wanted to then Naomi could sweep a strand of her dark hair out of her face, or run a finger across her pale cheek. “A thank you for keeping me grounded and closer to our people.”

She was expecting a shirt to replace the red-stained one, taking the box from the Queen’s hands dutifully, yet she was mistaken.

Brushes, the kind woven of a horse’s mane, smooth in a way that made you want to run them over your palm. Pots of colour, vast and rich. Mauves, crimsons and rubies that couldn’t be compared to anything in the real world.

“I cannot accept,” Naomi pushed the box into the Queen’s arm hastily as if it were plagued.

“You can’t hide inside there forever,” Manila shook a head and pointed a finger towards Naomi, towards her heart, her face a crumpled tissue trying to hide it’s hurt. “In order to move on, you must embrace what you have pushed away inside. I see a lot of myself in you and I know you are hurt but at some moment in time you must realise that this is no way to live.”

Naomi went to speak but was broken, for it was Manila’s turn to stand ground.

“And if you cannot accept that, then I guess I cannot try anymore.”

***

The next day Naomi returned to the castle with a dagger in her hand and a mask in her mind.

Her head in circles of confusion, if one thing was clear to her it was that she couldn’t murder the queen on her wedding day, that she couldn’t go on in this state any longer, even if she need only wait a few more days. She would have to do it now, or she wouldn’t be able to do it all. It needed to stop; the things that attacked her every cell, the things that might just turn into feelings, they needed to stop. And in her mind, the only way to stop them was to get rid of the person who was causing them.

She figured that once she’d done it, she could go back to the way she was before. She could sleep at night without the face of Manila a painting on the ceiling, without the cries of her family loud in her ears.

Her footsteps were heavy as she made her way down the familiar rabbit warren of corridors to the Queen’s quarters - Naomi was past being stealthy, she was compelled to the room, her mind separate from the usual carefulness and precision she had. The Scarlet Blade was known to leave with no trace but blood, but now it was as if Naomi was leaving a trail of red footprints that spelt ‘Come get me.’

Even in the dark with none of the other servers around, she knew the way like the veins that swelled from her skin, her hand on the door handle before making any conscious decision to enter the room.

Naomi was almost surprised to see the Queen laying asleep under her covers even though she was the sole purpose of being there.

Killing her the sole purpose of being there.

What else had she expected? A guard ready to throw her in a cell? An empty bed?

She had no reason to be shocked at the beautiful face that almost glowed in the dim light from the window.

Yet she was just the same.

She took a step, two, three. Pausing, waiting.

In usual business she would have already been fleeing the scene by now, a bloody dagger strewn across the room.

She took a breath, another, and another.

Is she dreaming? Naomi asked herself as she watched the Queen turn her body. Is she in the clouds singing and dancing? Is she in the garden playing cards with someone who truly loves her? Or is she simply living her ordinary life? The role she was destined to be and the duty to which she was bound.

She lifted the dagger from her side, higher and higher.

She found it almost ludicrous that the rest of the people didn’t get to see her in real life, how they would never know the pure black of her hair, the benign curve of her waist.

She dropped the dagger back to her side without hesitation - as though it were her mother, her father, her sister at the other side of it, throwing it into the coals on the Queen’s half.

Her forehead felt soft as she bent down and bestowed a soft kiss to it.

Naomi wasn’t sure if the Queen simply looked like one of the angels from her books or if she really was one, sent to her to show her how to live.

For the first time in years, she knew as she walked out of the room that she had made the right choice. She may have even dared to say she felt it. Because nothing felt more correct.

“Wait,” her voice spoke, the angel who had saved her life.

Naomi turned. She knew she was done but it did not matter. Her body stayed frozen, an ice sculpture melting as the heat of the Queen drew closer.

Manila’s hand touched her hair, pushing it away from her face like she had longed to do to the Queen as they sat by the water.

Her kiss felt familiar to Naomi, despite the years she spent without the touch of another, it felt like walking back to the market to her family, placing a new drawing on the counter for them. She was painting in her mind, using all the colours from the beloved cloak in the stories.

“Thank you,” Naomi choked the word, earning a heavy embrace from the Queen.

“I should be thanking you,” Manila responded, her lips once again meeting those of her lady in waiting, a plentiful well of healing that she longed to drink from.

A mash of two bodies colliding in the darkness that blurred together so heavily they could almost be one.

“My duty,” the Queen pulled away, the gaze of her father’s portrait staring down on her. She turned away, steadying herself on a wooden bedknob: “You must go my ever delight. I hope you understand what I must do.”

Naomi understood wholly, for she had a duty so strong her insides almost crumbled inside of her, leaving the Queen of her heart one last embrace before walking away into the night to her new world.

***

“You are bound by blood,” Astrid slammed a clenched fist on the table before them, Naomi’s eyes drawing to the slits in it that she had made previously.

“I am not the same person I was before,” she pleaded with the woman whom she had once seen as her guardian, the woman that had taught her the ways of the underground life she lived.

“I didn’t expect this of you, child,” her face rung with frustration, all of her plans being ripped apart in her head. “Do you know how serious this is? What money we have been given for this.”

“You can find another-”

“It is not that simple. This is not some barmaid mistress or gentleman’s plaything, this is the Queen of our hold. I’m sorry my child, but I cannot allow you to go forth knowing these plans.”

Naomi watched as Astrid picked up the chalice before her; “You give me no choice, my child.”

Then the darkness swallowed her whole.

***

Manila looked at the portrait of her father longingly, his words playing in the back of her head on a looped ribbon. ‘Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret.’

There she stood, all the servers in the house pressing down the fabric of her gown, flattening the lace of her veil, telling her how radiant she looked. But as she looked at the portrait, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the embrace she had been given some nights before, longing for the company of a particular server.

If Naomi were here she would tell her that some of the flowers in her bouquet were crooked or that the paint on her lips had splashed onto her front tooth.

But she was not there.

She cast a glance to the window, the people of Azolla waiting at the gates to watch her carriage pass. She knew she would give up anything to make sure they were safe, yet that didn’t make the pain of doing so sting any less.

“Are you ready, your highness?” A page entered the door and pulled Manila’s head away from the sky. “Your groom awaits at the hall.”

Taking one last look at her father, she took a gulp of air, straightened her back and lifted her chin, saying goodbye not only to him but to the woman she had pushed away for him - ready to take her head out of the books she gospelled and start a new chapter of her own.

The Queen left the room with a skip in her step and a playing card in her shoe, never one to pass on a token of luck.

***

Naomi awoke to a drip of condensation hitting her forehead, her hands and feet numb from the cold.

Her first thought was Manila, a deep stab to her heart when the wave of realisation hit her that the Queen may no longer be alive.

The memories started to flood back to her, Astrid with her chalice, the binding by blood. I should be dead, she thought to herself as she examined her surroundings. Adrenaline shot up her spine as she began to flee up the shaft above her, her mind fighting to remember the mazes of the underground crime lairs inhabited by Astrid and her guilds of thieves and assassins.

Every rock she tripped up, she kept going, running faster until she reached the cold iron bars that separated her from the world above, the padlock securing her fate bolted tightly.

She searched her shoe for a lockpick - nothing. Racing back down the tunnel for some straw, a splinter of wood, anything she could twist inside to let her reach the Queen.

But no such instrument was in sight.

She cried in frustration, holding out a handshake of hope for anyone or anything to come and help her, her body collapsing against the mortar of the tunnel, almost giving in and surrendering her body to the elements around herself.

With that she heard a slight crumble in the silence of the cavern, turning to see a growing crack in the stone beside her.

Throwing her whole weight against it, she cried out in pain as her shoulder clicked in and out of its socket, the stone around her crumbling more and more to open a thin passage.

Sending a silent prayer to the criminals before her who always worked with a contingency, she bent her back as far as she could, pushing her body through the gap, catching her skin on the jagged stone that surrounded the opening, the adrenaline running through her once more. Her brain thinking only of Manila, her body high on feelings, real feelings.

Scrambling through the passage before her, her eyes were fighting to stay open as she adjusted to the light above her, making out the green of the moss on a grate in the distance.

***

Manila almost tripped as she made her way down the ruby aisle, even on her wedding day her thoughts were playing amiss in a land far from her own.

Even so, she regained her composure not with the regality and grace she was born with but with the traits she had built over her years as ruler, the traits that changed and moulded around the people she met, the people she looked after.

Sutan was a picture in a storybook, his sleek grey hair parted in the middle of his head, his eyes a familiar friend admiring who would soon become his wife.

Manila took the hand he reached to her, feeling the warmth that radiated from it.

Part of her wished it were cold.

His smile shone with impulse and a clear sense of joy from being stood above those they were closest to, everyone’s eyes focused directly on them.

But Manila’s eyes were elsewhere as she scanned the crowd for a familiar nest of dark hair, piercing eyes and a set of dark and thick lips.

“Blessings and merry meet,” the Bishop started their vows as a lull of quiet fell over the room.

***

“What day is it?” Naomi grabbed the first person she laid sight on, watching as the man’s eyes widened at her rugged appearance.

“S-Saturday,” he stuttered, “Do you need some help?”

But she was already away as he got to the ‘t’, dodging villagers at either side as she made her way to the stables she had often visited as a child, the streets she hadn’t visited in years all returning in her memory during her state of desperateness.

Within a few minutes, she had leapt over the wooden gate, evading the calls of the stableboy who tried to stop her path.

She galloped through the fields and over the troughs, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip, trying her hardest not to be thrown from the steed below her.

Hair trailing behind her, she soon set her sights on the royal hall, the carriages in the dirt becoming visible to her, the royal carriage clear and centre, the red heart painted on the side of it a bright, flashing danger sign to Naomi.

Running to the closest window, her eyes set straight on Manila, pausing for a second to admire her beauty before remembering what she was there to do. For she couldn’t see Astrid - but had no doubt in her mind that she was there.

Spotting an entrance to the side of the hall, Naomi recognised one of the servers from her time at the castle.

“I must be let in,” she gave her a pleading look, her heart jumping right out of her chest and falling down the sleeve of her shirt.

“But you are filthy,” the girl’s eyes scanned Naomi’s body, “and bloody!”

With one fell swoop, Naomi pushed the girl aside and made her way through the side door, diving behind a satin curtain adoring the doorway, breathing a sigh of relief that the guests were too captivated with the wedding to notice her entrance.

Peeking an eye from the curtain that is when she saw her; bow in hand, an arrow drawn, feet propped on the raptors of the roof like an eagle.

Blood surged through Naomi’s body as she saw Astrid start to pull back her arrow, narrowing her target.

***

“Swear you now, on this sacred blade, that there is no reason known to you that this union should not proceed,” the bishop bellowed throughout the hall, producing a dagger in his hands.

Manila could think of a thousand reasons not to proceed, but only was tugging on her mind at that moment.

“Naomi,” she cried out in puzzlement as she saw her server hurtle towards her, knocking her body clean off her feet before Manila could comprehend what was happening.

Two thuds followed; one of Manila falling backwards and one of an arrow planting through the heart of her lover.

Screams filled the room but Manila remained silent in her shock, scooping up the woman below her and cradling her body close.

Naomi looked up to the face of her Queen, her angel, fighting to keep her eyes open and see her for just a little while longer.

“Don’t cry,” she stifled, her throat burning with pain.

In those few moments, Naomi felt enough to make up for years of feeling nothing at all.

“Why?” Manila furrowed her brow, placing a hand on the other woman’s cheek, tracing her lips with her finger, letting tears fall on her face like rain.

“It was my duty,” Naomi almost smiled, feeling nothing but glee knowing that Manila could go on to be the best Queen the hold hadn’t seen, not that she wasn’t already. She had carried out her duty in order to let Manila carry hers, and nothing else could have felt more fitting.

Sutan tried to pull her back but Manila would not move, tending Naomi as though she were a China doll.

“Please don’t go,” Manila looked into her lover’s dark eyes, knowing that it was already too late.

“Don’t worry about me,” Naomi spit her last words with blood in the most heartfelt manner she had ever known, “I will get to see them.”

Manila understood thereupon, nodding in agreement. “I shall miss you dearly,” she gripped Naomi’s hand tight with all the life she had in her, a thick strand of her dark hair starting to whiten before Naomi’s eyes.

Naomi’s brain started to clear, everything all falling into place, everything having its own meaning, her early years, her years of living as a criminal and the most recent times of her life with Manila all threading together neatly in its own parcel. She had feelings and she had meaning.

“Go rule with your heart for me, my Queen.”

#rpdr fanfiction #manila luzon #naomi smalls #manila x naomi #lesbian au #angst #assassin au #royalty au #rare pair #as3 #period piece #opposites attract #ashley #tw major character death #tw murder #tw bloodshed #tw sociopathic traits #concrit welcome #submission

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nothingeverlost · 5 years ago

Note

Loved the little glimpse into the Golden Cricket co-stars!verse. Any chance we'll see more of that? (No pressure, just curious and hopeful. :)

The first part of this has been in my drafts folder for literally years. Very early costars verse. Gold’s realized he has feelings but hasn’t done anything.

“They finally got the machine working again.” Archie carried two cups of coffee with him, one almost white with milk, the other black. He hadn’t gotten to a point yet where it was comfortable to just walk of to his coworker, but coffee seemed like a good excuse.

“Thanks.” Garrett Gold looked faintly surprised at the offer. It made Archie wonder if the fact that he was usually sitting alone was choice, or if no one ever asked. Archie knew that his own reticence came from nerves; Gold was a first rate actor, and it was actually surprising that he’d committed to doing a tv show, and a brand new one at that. There were rumors that it had something to do with his custody battle for his son, but Archie tried not to listen to rumors. Gold and Dorothy Lucas had worked together in the past, perhaps that was the reason he’d agreed.

“I brought some sugars with me, but I didn’t think I’d noticed you adding any.” Archie tossed the packets onto the table, sitting down without asking.

“Just the cream. Too many years of bad black coffee on jobs, I’ve learned to use dairy to hide the bitterness.”

“I find the bitterness helps keep me awake as much as the caffeine.” He preferred something strong to something watered down.

“According to some I have enough bitterness of my own.” Gold took a sip of his coffee.

“Maybe they’re confusing you with Adam.” He knew enough about Gold’s reputation to know that some considered him thorny off the set, but everyone agreed that he was professional during filming. They certainly had never had a problem working together in the past six months. “Speaking of Adam I was wondering if we could talk over The Scene?”

“What about it?” He didn’t ask, of course. They’d all gotten their scripts the night before. After weeks of near misses Friday was going to be the day that Adam caught his younger brother in bed with a man.

“Do you mind if we walk? I need to take a snack to Pongo.”

“Nilla wafers again?” Gold raised an eyebrow. Archie hadn’t realized he’d been paying that much attention.

“I did a commercial for them last year, and they sent me home with some. Pongo got into one of the boxes and since then it’s his favorite treat.” They headed for the trailers; the dog run the crew had built was just past them. Archie was glad that Pongo had enough room to run around, and even better there were enough people that stopped in to play with him during their breaks; Pongo had become something of an unoffical mascot and show pet. Even the director’s granddaughter, Ruby, stopped by after school occasionally to take him for a walk.

“Hey boy.” He was a little surprised that Gold followed him into the dog walk, and that Pongo headed straight for him, sitting and holding up one paw.

“That’s a good boy.” Gold shook Pongo’s hand and patted the top of his head. “You’ll have to look to your master for a treat, though.”

“You like dogs?”

“We always had one, when I was a boy. Mutts rescued from the pound. I got one for my son, when he was a wee lad, but my wife didn’t approve and we had to find a new home.” Gold looked down at the dog and rubbed his head more slowly. “Bae was heartbroken.”

“I can imagine.” It was the first time Archie had heard Gold mention his ex. It was rare for him to talk about his son as well. “Have you thought about getting one again?”

“I don’t have a yard. It wouldn’t be fair.” Gold waved a hand dismissively.

“My script is in my trailer.” Archie locked the gate behind them, leaving Pongo standing wagging his tail before he ran off to find a bone. His trailer was the closest to the dog run. he wasn’t a star, not like Gold. His roles in movies were tiny or made for tv, but he had a little more recognition than he did a few years ago. Enough to get a dog run written into his contract.

“Is there something in particular that worries you about the scene?”

“Not worries. There’s just a lot of subtext, a lot of ways we could take this.” It wasn’t the first time they’d talked about their character’s motivations and relationships, but half a season into the show and this was something different. Something much more personal, especially for him. He’d come out himself a couple of years ago, in support of a friend, though his sexuality hadn’t ever been that hard to figure out. Now it was his character’s turn. “Do you think Adam had any idea?”

“He wasn’t exactly around when Aaron was a teen, and they’re only starting to figure each other out.” Their own age difference was only five years, but their characters were twice that. While character backstories were always vague to allow for future plots it was well known that Adam had been married four times. The first time Aaron would have still been a kid.

“I know the script says shock, but that could mean a lot of things.” He was trying to figure out Garrett Gold just as much as Adam Dixon. More, perhaps.

“Well it is his office,” Gold said dryly.

“Better than Adam walking into Aaron’s bedroom.” Archie could feel his cheeks flushing a little. He’d never done many love scenes, but just a few days ago had a pretty involved one. He’d spent half the day almost naked.

“That would be annoyingly cliche.” Gold’s eyes narrowed, his body tensing. Archie felt his stomach flutter.

“You’re okay with this, aren’t you? Aaron and Tristan’s story?” He was glad that Michael was easy to work with, making days like Monday easier with his jokes.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I trust Lucas to make sure it’s done well.” Their show was hardly the first with a gay couple, though they were still rare.

“You seem bothered by something.” He wouldn’t mind a reassurance that he was wrong. There was something about Garrett that made him want friendship beyond simply sharing the set as costars.

“I think Adam would feel...”

“Garrett.” Archie couldn’t believe he was pushing this; normally he would let it go. He needed to know.

“Aaron and Tristan’s romance doesn’t bother me. Fan’s are already responding and if things go well you could find yourself with an Emmy nom. I...” Gold pressed his lips together.

“I don’t care about what the fans think.”

“We all care about what the fans think, dearie."

“Not right now. I want to know what you think. Please?”

“I caught my wife in bed with another man once. More than once. I hated her and despised him, but I wasn’t jealous. I don’t remember ever feeling jealous of another man until I saw you kissing Michael.” Gold turned away from him, shifting his weight as if he was about to bolt.

“It’s just work. This isn’t.” A thousand butterflies hummed in his stomach, worse than his first audition. he ignored them all.

“This?” Gold asked, slowly turning back to face him.

“Yeah.” Archie cupped his cheek gently, moving slowly. Giving him time to move, or to stay. Their first kiss was gentle and warm, lips pressed together. Their second was decidedly more hungry.

#Anonymous #golden cricket #verse: costars #my fic #this ask is probably 5 years old

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rotzaprachim · 6 years ago

Text

марсианка (KOS The Martian AU)

This started with me thinking SPACE PIRATE NIKOLAI, and then not wanting to have to google a bunch of Star Wars shit to write that AU, and then remembering Mark Watney Space Pirate, and then writing that convo out, and then this whole mess grew from that one scene, and it’s almost 2000 words. So: Space Pirate Zoya.

I know nothing about space or space agencies. I apologise so much.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714387 - AO3 link

----

He talks to her in Russian, over the coms. English is the main language of communication with Earth; it’s what she leaves her logs in, it’s what she got her climatology doctorate in even if, for the most elemental things, she looks out at the night sky and thinks, כוכב, kochav, before she hears the English. نجم, звезда, those come easily, too. And তারকা, she reminds herself. Najim, zvezda, tārakā. You play such games with your mind to keep from losing your grasp on earth, all the way up here.

Russian, though, it’s what her aunt spoke to her in, after she saved her life, in a tiny flat in a smoggy bloc of Petah Tikvah. The current pulls her home.

“Nazyalenskaya,” he drawls over the fritzy connection system, “I want to kill Rietveld.”

She quirks a smile at that; everyone has wanted to kill Rietveld. She would give a lot to want to kill Rietveld right now.

“I think you can spare him another day. If only for all the Van Halen tapes he left behind. And the ridiculous quantity of Indonesian rap.”

“I’m never going to forget about that.”

“Hmmmm, I’d be careful about talking, considering the number of romance novels I’ve found on the system, downloaded by one N. Lantsov.”

“In the face of oblivion,” she tells the crew of the Терешко́ва, “the only course of action left is to science the shit out of this.”

How does it feel to be the dying goddess of your own planet?

Sometimes, that’s what she feels like, when she pulls water from Rocket fuel. No one around to hear her swear.

It may be on Mars, but growing potatoes in a literal field of shit pulls her from that revery, into some kind of ancestral, rain-soaked Russian field.

She wonders, absentmindedly and only half-jokingly, if she’s gonna be here long enough that attempting to distil some vodka for the pain would be worth it.

No. She’ll pull herself out of this on pure spite alone, if she has to. It’s gotten her out of other tough places. She’ll pull herself out of this mess, and above a dust clogged atmosphere to the sky above, and all the way home. She’ll buy a cheap- no, an expensive one, it’s what Earth owes her- an expensive bottle of wine from a corner store and uncork it with her eyes out to the sea and she’ll drink life down to the dregs.

I am not going to die here.

Look at the stars she tells herself, and try not to feel the fear.

The first English poem she memorised through to the end. Sarah Williams, the full version, not the one chopped to a fridge-magnet length quote. Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, -- I would know him when we meet. Considering that in its entirety it’s about a scientist comprehending his own imminent mortality, it is perhaps not the best choice of reading material. You may tell the German college that their honour comes too./But they must not waste repentance on the grizzled savant’s fate; Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”

She was a girl, once, and she wanted to get away and leave her old life in flames behind her, and she did. She ran and ran and ran, past national borders and past agencies with long acronyms and past the fiery bounds of earth herself. She ran until, quite literally, she could go no further, until she was a woman in a duct-taped house in a place no thing can live, like some kind of mid 21st century Slavic witch.

“Not only am I the best meterologist on earth, I’m the best fucking botanist on this planet. Best surgeon, best cook, best-” she isn’t one to lighten the mood, usually, but what else is there- “best lover.”

She points up, through the palm branches of the sukkah’s roof and to the night sky above.

“You can see Mars, right there? See, you can see me. It’s not that far away.”

Lada doesn’t seem convinced.

“You might not come back-”

“You think a few million kilometers is gonna stop me from getting back to my best research partner? Huh. Thought you knew me better than that.”

“A few million?”

“Closer than the nearest bus stop.”

“It’s gonna be years.”

“And so? I’ll expect you to be a proper scientist, when I get back. Or a proper poet, or painter, or chicken farmer.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“There’s nothing that can stop me.”

“Nazyalenskaya,” he asks, and in her name is the universe. “How are you?” is not the question to ask a lone crew member stranded literally on Mars. “We got a letter from your family. Gonna patch it through to you.”

“What do you suppose the requirements for building a sukkah on Mars are?”

Not that there’s much of a rule book for this kind of thing, but it’s something she thinks about. Humans, they look at the void and the unlivable planet, and they make it theirs. Genya’s calculations for the direction to face Mecca. The whole crew’s World Cup fervor. The solid week she and Rietveld spent in a subtle face off with the rest of the crew about using the big screen to keep up with Eurovision. The constant, unending, awkwardness of Ghafa and Rietveld, though both were far too professional to act on it.

“Red wire to the green and-”

“Lotta fucking duct tape, I know.”

Repairing the rover- that’s a lot of fun. She never really learned how to fix cars, back home. But it gives her something to do, something active, besides staring at potato plants.

She opens another one of her precious rovers for the parts. A weather probe. Says a silent prayer for the death of science.

It’s a long way to Schiaparelli crater. Zoya’s hated road trips for as long as she can remember, both in the environmentalist, fume-hating way, and also in the traffic-hating kind of way. So, she tells herself. Channel that spite into doing what scares you.

“Nazyalenskaya,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about the international implications of what you’re trying to do.”

“Mhmm” she says

“First off, I’d like to thank you for being possibly the most diplomatically complicated climatologist alive. Got Roscosmos, ISRO, and the ISA all breathing down my necks.”

“Good. Use it. Play ‘em against each other. This is either the biggest propaganda win or worst failure of their fucking lives.”

“The other thing is law on Mars. There’s an international treaty saying no country can claim anything that’s not on earth. By another treaty, if you’re not in any country’s territory, maritime law applies. So, Mars is international waters.”

Treaties, red tape, diplomatic stuff- that was never her job. Her job was making sure that six other people could breathe in space. Maintaining, linking the systems of the Hab to be survivable.

The storms, though, that was why she was really there. Or at least, that’s what pulled her from earth. The kinds of weather this galaxy had, beyond the limits of earth.

(Once upon a time, Mars had a viable atmosphere. Once upon a time. She looks out at the orange hellscape and wonders: will this be us?)

And then a storm had been her death. She was just biding her time until it happened.

Pessimism. What else was left?

“So?”

“So, Nazyalenskaya, the Hab’s a tripartite effort. ESA, Roscosmos, CNSA. Non-military, but you know as well as I do there’s enough earth-based bitching about who owns it. The second you walk outside, though, you’re in international waters. Soon-”

“No-”

“Soon you’re gonna leave it for the Schiaparelli crater, and you’re gonna commandeer the Ares lV lander. No one on earth gave you explicit permission to do this, and they can’t until you’re back with us on Терешко́ва .”

She realises where this is going. “Fucking hell, Lantsov, not more with the-”

“So you’re going to be taking a craft into international waters without permission, which by definition makes you a pirate. “

Even she cracks a smile.

“DOCTOR ZOYA NAZYALENSKAYA, SPACE PIRATE!”

She can feel the excitement down the line.

“I better get an eye patch at the end of all this.”

“Nothing less for the best meteorologist on the planet.”

“A ship. Commandeered Spanish galleon.”

“Of course.”

“Crate full of gold bullion.”

“I promise you. I think the rest of the crew’s been planning their first meal back on earth for the last year.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re not the ones living off potatoes and protein bars.” She’d found a few secreted-away bottles of kecap manis and a jar of sambal oelek in Rietveld’s luggage, which- completely against regulations for cargo by weight, but it’s inadvertently the best thing he’s ever done for her. At least when she eats her dwindling space rations, she can burn her fucking tongue off, due to Rietveld’s stubborn Dutch insistance to never listen to any rules, ever.

“Yes, but. We’ve heard all the drafts of the epic-length poem Yul-Bataar’s written to herald you with on your return.”

“Almost makes me want to die alone on Mars.”

“Hush up. We’ve already had to watch your funeral once. I even wrote a speech.”

“I better get a recording of that when I get back,” she says. “You better have cried. You better have wept over the untimely demise of Earth’s best meteorologist.”

“You better believe it was a speech for the ages. Wait, i can find a draft and read it-”

“Save it. I want to savour my death, after I know I’m gonna live.”

“This is next level Slav gallows humour. How many people get to watch their own funerals?”

Zoya Nazyalenskaya does not giggle, but the thought of all those puffed-up world leaders saying things about her importance, her intelligence, her beauty. (Will men see anything else?) Shedding a few tears about a brown, Jewish, Russo-Bengali meteorologist who’d they’d barely cared to listen to in her life, but here, dead, she’s the ultimate pawn in their games. . . .

It might make her laugh. Slightly.

And then she thinks about Aunt Liliyana and Lada sitting shiva for her in that flat in Haifa. The first thing she’d bought with her earnings after the ESA had taken her on was a nicer flat for the two of them, in walking distance to the sea.

“Lantsov,” she says, although it feels like exposing some part of herself she doesn’t want to recognise. “Lantsov, keep talking. Please.”

“Of course. What about?” “The crew’s first meal. Back on earth. What is it?”

“Zenik said red-velvet waffles with, quote, “a fuckton of whipped cream. An entire can of whipped cream.” Andreyev like a good Moldovan says it’s gotta be sarmale, and I swore Rietveld lives off coffee and the destruction of his enemies but I know he’s got a thing for nasi goreng and. . ..”

This is a dumbass long-shot solution that will probably get them all killed.

It takes a certain kind of long-shot nihilistic self-destruction to enter the airless murder void in the first place, but this is. ..

“The only thing that might work.”

Bo nods and then glares at him to shut up.

The ship’s got a big whiteboard, and Bo’s hands move almost as fast as his mouth does as he sketches, scribbles, draws, talks. They’ve got a direct, illegal, verboten, unknown, lifesaving link through to the CNSA, and as Kuwei’s the only native Mandarin speaker aboard, he’s the main one doing the talking. He’s a chemist, though, - Ghafa’s the pilot, Zhabin’s the chief navigator, and it’s a controlled frenzy of different langauges and disciplines as the crew hashes out the most wild rescue plan in human history.

“How do we know-”

“He’s the best astrodynamacist alive. Also, my dad, but-”

He, Zhabin, Ghafa and Rietveld all independently run the calculations.

Да, Да, हाँ, Ja.

“Who’s ready to go against the explicit instructions of five space agencies to bring the best space pirate alive back home?”

It was never even a choice.

“Zoya,” he says, over the link. “We’ll get you home.”

#zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoyalai #grishaverse #grishaverse modern au #the martian au #the martian #zoyalai fic #my writings #grishaverse fics #gen

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