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rataltouille · 3 years

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GEOMETRY OF THE HOLY MOON (1 AM): A SHORT STORY

GENRE: surrealism, literary fiction.

POV & TENSE: this little space is not enough for how wild the form is so i talk about this later!!

SETTING: a small desi village, 1924-25.

TONE: dreamy, unsettling, melancholic.

THEMES: faith vs reality, how people perceive others and how they perceive themselves, grief dealt the wrong way.

AESTHETICS: the splash of water on a quiet night, thick clouds obscuring the sky, rippling the moon’s reflection on the water. the intensity of a garden in spring, the emptiness of a dying town, the suffocation from being singled out. hands grazing lightly but never fully held. a lingering sadness behind your laugh. believing in things you shouldn't believe in. putting faith on a starless sky.

STAGE: completed first draft, 4085 words.

LOGLINE: a young boy, surrounded by loss, claims to talk to god. the story follows him and his conversations with this god, all while his village spies on him as he weaves his way around the two most crucial and lonely years of his life.

LITERAL LOGLINE: on today’s news let’s talk about a small backward town that hates sad little boys who worship god, even though the place is lowkey a cult!!

CHARACTERS:

THE SUMMER BOY: he’s around thirteen, and he’s very emotionally attached to his past. he lost his family at a young age to an unstable force, so he spends his time talking to himself. he’s a quiet, demure and sweet person, always willing to help others. he’s outwardly oblivious and sees only the good in people to a point where he doesn't understand when they’re trying to do him wrong. but! considering how the story [like a lot of my others] has themes of perception vs reality, it needs to be said that he isn't all that innocent. he’s rather impulsive and rash, never afraid of hurting himself [and thus accidentally harming others].

A GOD: is he real? do we even know if he’s an actual god? a very elusive figure despite having a lot of screentime. he’s a surprisingly humanised character and arguably the one with the most empathy. he has a soft spot for the boy and the two have a deep bond which is not common for a human and a god to have. you don’t get insight to what the other gods are like, but they’re implied to exist. this story has a very messy and hazy view towards religion and godhood and their nature towards humanity, and this vague figure, a dreamlike character, is proof enough of that.

THE VILLAGE: okay so in general these people suck. the village consists of, well, the village, but they’re very fluid in the way they appear in the story? as in for the most part they appear as a collective, a unit. one character, the summer boy’s “friend”, is somewhat separate considering he’s a pretty important character. it’s very hard describing this unit of a character but essentially they’re the main antagonistic force and they hate the protagonist for seemingly no reason.

WHAT GOES DOWN:

sometime around this time, the boy chances upon meeting his “god”, this being who lives up in the clouds and whom he talks with often, except you don't know if this god is real or not. that’s one of the recurring themes of this story: what’s real and what isn’t. it’s :) a fun time :) for sure :)

essentially Things Happen And It Only Gets Weirder. i cannot even try describing what happens because it’s all very spoilery but let’s just say that this is a very sad story but not even in a “this makes me cry” manner, but rather in a “this is so fucked up wtf why”. the prose of this is very, very hazy and thick, in a manner that’s both smooth and suffocating. there’s also a lot of moon and water imagery which we love. i love the atmosphere + the setting—colonial india— as it’s a subtle but key element to the plot.

FORM:

OKAY YES be prepared for the true colours of how unhinged i am. i apologize for the form brainrot.

POV: so in this story i really said “what if it had all three of the main povs... jk jk... unless 😳😳” and then proceeded to use all three povs. you’re probably wondering, how did i do that? WHY did i do that? and my answer to that is: 🙂

the first-person pov: the summer boy narrates in first person. his pov takes up about 40% of the story, and this is where we unlock family backstory + how he feels about the various forces playing into his life. he’s an extremely unreliable narrator and he knows it; his narration oscillates between very naive and very self-aware, and this effect is pretty disconcerting. the summer boy is kind of a walking contradiction and we love that conflict.

the second-person pov: a god narrates in second person. his pov takes around 20% of the story, and his scenes all involve his conversations with the boy. his pov is extremely detached, and suspends belief because he seems awfully made up. there’s an edge to the prose in his narration, where you know that something's off, but you can’t exactly pinpoint what.

the third-person pov: the villagers narrate, either as a collective, or as an individual figure, in third person. they take up the other 40% of the story, and there are so many different people and differing opinions with this, and every time we read a third person excerpt it’s a different person, and this is mostly used to add onto the different ways in which the boy is perceived. this is also where the structural part of the form gets really wacky.

STRUCTURE: if my story isn't told in vignettes is it my story though /j. gothm is told in vignettes, each one between 50 to 500 words. the first and second person bits are normal-ish vignettes, with straightforward narration. the third person vignettes, on the other hand, are super assorted. we have a lot of epistolaric sections— there’s a letter, a folk song [which was found around the summer boy], and most of the conversation is told as just plain dialogue without tags. there’s also a phone call transcript, and finally some normal chunks of prose. what am i doing wtf.

also to add onto this the story is told non-linearly. 😀 the only thing that keeps me from going insane is the fact that there are chronological tags before most vignettes [also the manner in which they're tagged differs from pov to pov. for example a few of the third person conversations are marked just as “sunday” or “thursday”, while the summer boy’s narration is marked with the full date and year]

in all this clownery i completely forgot to mention what the tense was [the way everything else was so complicated that i forgot tense was a thing lmao] and good news!! it’s the only sane thing about this story!! it’s told fully in present tense. thank everything.

AN EXCERPT:

okay i’m once again not sharing much because this will be submitted to litmags 🧞

[The boy is scrawny as always. He carries an air of diswant— even death had rejected him when the plague killed only his grandmother— but walks like he doesn’t notice. He smiles at them, jitters, and wipes his hand across his knees. Blood comes away in thin, translucent lines. He saves it on the kerchief he keeps tucked in his shirt, careful to dirty the cloth even more. The villagers scrunch their noses in disgust; who knew how old and rotten the kerchief was, or how long it had carried blood like the unwashed sword of a warrior?]

also by the way this excerpt is in square brackets because it is a third-person interjection in a vignette that is otherwise first-person [at this point...]

SPARE THOUGHTS:

this was inspired by a conversation i had with my grandfather, where he was telling me about how people used to sing songs to the skies, as a way of devotion to a specific god. he used the [loose translation of] the english word “yearning” to refer to the emotion the singers would invoke, and that sparked the concept of a disillusioned young boy who talks to the moon as a way to please the god he’s in love with. it’s a very softly disconcerting story and once again deals with the theme of “perception vs reality” which if you know me and my work, is the theme i’m forever obsessed with.

i really like how this turned out? the atmosphere is exactly how i wanted it to be, and there’s so much i have to add on as i edit and i’m really looking forward to that. this is also the only short story i’ve written where i knew which litmag i’d love for it to be published in? like i never write things with publishing in mind, but for some reason while writing this story it occurred to me that it would be a perfect fit for this specific magazine and i love that. anyway if you’ve made it through the post till here,,,, bless you and your braincells. and that’s all for today!!

#am writing #writeblr #wtwcommunity #atlastracking #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #tw death #tw plague #tw blood #the way this post gets increasingly incomprehensible...#love how my blog has just descended into pure chaos post-hiatus #geometry of the holy moon (1 am)#god complex #god complex intro

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madame-mclean · 4 years

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Hazel is 14 in HoO and 15 in ToA. Proof:

okay so i originally posted this and the corresponding research paper i wrote on reddit a while ago but i thought i’d post it here too. (also bc i accidentally posted my rough draft on reddit and have made some more recent edits since then).

If you don’t want to read the whole paper, which i added a screenshot of, here is the short version:

Okay so I did a reread of PJO and HoO (I never read TOA sorry) during quarantine and I noticed something about Hazel's age. She is described as being 13 in HoO, and the Riordan Fandom Wiki page still lists Hazel's age as 13 but when you actually think about it, you'd realize this isn't right.

So based on the SoN, we know Hazel dies sometime in the summer of 1942, and we know her birthday is Dec. 17, meaning she was about 13 and a half years-old at death. Also from SoN, we know she come back to life in September, nine months before the events in that book. Using this info, there are two ways to count her age: simply the passage of her birthday or by literally counting how many years and months old she is.

First method: Her birthday is about 3 months after she comes to life, making her 14 for HoO, and her birthday passes again by the time she appears in The Tyrant's Tomb (April), so she is 15 in this book.

Second method: Still 13 and a half when she comes back in September, making her new 'birthday' sometime in March. This passes by SoN, so she is still 14 by then, and it passes again just before her appearance in TOA, still making her 15.

This also makes her age difference with Frank either 1.5 years or 1.75 years, NOT 3 years.

(please don't judge the paper too hard, I'm good at gathering and collecting data but not so much putting my ideas into writing in a unique, thought provoking, and comprehensible way. Also I forgot how to format a research paper bc I haven't written one in so long, which is probably bad since I'm going to college in the fall. lol.)

don’t let this flop i worked really hard on it :(

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crabsxdragons · 4 years

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Seventeen High School Love Story

ps. this is another imagine from the depths of my drafts, also the seventeen family au will resume shortly because my neurology exam is coming up, i will keep you updated on when i will continue posting it, thank you for understanding

Seungcheol

You were helping a student who were being bullied, the kid was drenched from head to toe so you gave them your jacket. You have no idea that he was watching the scene unfold from afar. Then a couple days later, the bullies messed with you too, throwing water over you just after school. Seungcheol being the savior he is, came just in time to help you by giving you his jacket. He told the bullies not to mess with his girl. Which lead to a very long conversation and a confession as he walked you home that day.

Jeonghan

You were a new transfer student, and was assigned to sit next to him. Since you barely know each other, you were too shy to speak to him. He also seemed pretty reserved, so you never pushed him to talk to you. You actually thought that he hates you. Until he fell asleep in class one day, and you saved him by waking him up when the teacher calls out his name, also giving him the answer to the question that he was being asked. Then you both started becoming closer. Probably a bit too close to be considered “just friends”.

Joshua

He was the popular guy at school for having a really nice voice and being able to play the guitar. Everyone loved to watch him sing during lunch or free time. He’s also so kind and gentle to everyone, making him everyone’s crush. One day he overheard you singing alone in your empty classroom with your headphones on. He caught you by surprise when he suddenly clapped, complimenting your voice. Then, using his magic tricks, he whipped out his guitar of nowhere, asking you to sing with him.

Jun

You first became friends with Jun because he mistook you for someone else. Your friendship with him literally is the best. No days are spent without laughter, mainly because you both have a very specific sense of humor. You got so close to the point where when he’s too busy playing games on his phone during lunch, you’d shove food into his mouth, so he wouldn’t skip lunch. Or when you’re tired afterschool, he’d carry you on his back on the way home. But not without teasing you. Jun realizes that he likes you as more than just a friend, when someone else asked you out for a date, and it made him upset.

Soonyoung

You were in the same class with him for so long, but never really spoke to each other. Until one day, being the hyperactive guy he is, he accidentally ran into you in the hallways, making you drop a stack of books that you needed to bring to the teacher’s office. He apologized a million times and helped you carry them, finally getting the chance to talk to you. The short interaction was enough to have him interested in getting to know you. So he would invite you to have lunch with him and his friends because there’s just something that makes him want to spend more time with you.

Wonwoo

The first time you every talked to him was for a science project. You were absent when the project was announced and the teacher paired you with Wonwoo, who didn’t really mind. He was more on the quiet side, so it was a bit awkward at first. But during the two weeks that you worked on your project, you managed fo warm up with each other. Which is how you get to know him a bit more, especially on his love for books, and your shared love on games. Save to say that the two of you kept hanging out even after the project was finished.

Jihoon

You were a transfer student, and on the first week you found the piano room. You came there during lunch time because you love to play the piano and there’s no one around so you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Jihoon likes to go there alone too, and finds you taking over his “secret” place. He started leaning outside the door to listen to you play in secret, until one day you caught him peeking from the door. Leading to piano duets, and lots of conversations about each other’s passion.

Seokmin

He actually has a crush on you, but you’re not that close cause you both have your own group of friends. Sometimes when he throws a joke in class, his eyes would dart to you, to check if you’re laughing too. He’s pretty popular with the girls cause he’s nice and funny, but when it comes to you, he gets easily flustered. Which is why he’s afraid of striking up a conversation cause he doesn’t want to embarrass himself. That is until he gathered up the courage to ask you out, with a group of friends watching his every move just around the corner, ready to tease him.

Mingyu

No one in school does not know of him, Mingyu, the seemingly perfect student who somehow aced in all fields there is. From academics, to arts, and even sports. But he was mostly known for sports since he’s a part of the soccer team. Students would cheer for him during games and tournaments, some even watched him during practice. You had a few encounters with him before, mainly because you were a part of the health team responsible for the soccer team whenever they get minor injuries. And well if there is one thing that you knew best, is how clumsy he is. There is no game where he did not come to you for help. Which you soon find out was just an excuse to get close to you.

Minghao

When lunch time came around, you prefer spending it with a book you’re currently reading. You love poetry collections and sometimes wrote too. One day you accidentally left your poem book at the library, the ones that has little doodles and poems you wrote which was inspired by everything you see at school. One is about this guy you secretly had a crush for, you even sketched his face. Minghao, your crush, finds the book when he was the last one to leave the library. He learned who the owner of the book is and returned it to you, but making you promise that you’ll read the poems for him one day, on a date.

Seungkwan

You always have a crush on him, you think he’s so cool when he plays volleyball and win these competitions. You would watch every game, supporting your school’s team, although you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him. On one match, he accidentally hit the ball in the wrong way and it went towards you, who was sitting on the bleachers. So he apologized a million times, and approached you again at the end of the game. Asking you if he can make it up to you with ice cream. You could say that getting hit by a volley ball landed you a boyfriend.

Hansol

You were best friends even before you could spell the word best friends. So you know him better than you know the back of your hand. Both of you are pretty chill, always on the sidelines of every scene, watching and laughing at your friends. You even sit together in class, doodling on each other’s notes when you’re bored, sharing headphones during free time, copying each other’s homework. Everyone thought you were dating, and even complimented how good you look together. Both of you would laugh at them in response. You never realized you liked him too, until you overheard him talk to Seungkwan that he likes you. But he’s afraid of making things awkward and possibly ruining his friendship.

Chan

He was a transfer student who became the school’s talk because of his visuals and kindness. Everyone was talking about him. His name seemed familiar to you, but you can’t put the face to the name. Until you ran to him in the hallways when school is over and he immediately recognized you. You were the one who lent him crayons back in elementary school when he forgot his. He hasn’t forgotten about you after all these years. Imagine everyone’s surprise when he came looking for you in your class during lunch the next day.

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x-ia-n · 3 years

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━ you are.

➞ including: yuu nishinoya, gn!reader

overview: in which all he wants is to just confess to you.

word count: 1.4k

➼ haikyuu masterlist

↳ main masterlist

↦ this is an alternate version of [confession song], unrequited crushes but not quite

❛dedicated to jaine, the maya to my riley, the biggest noya simp ive met.❜

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

‘stupid tanaka,’ yuu thinks, getting him into this mess. how was he supposed to confess to you, anyway? he was just a libero in their volleyball team, and openly obsessed over one (1) girl before he met you. his desk at home is littered with drafts of love letters he’s written to you; a drawer is filled with completed ones, he just can’t choose which one to give you. ryuunosuke suggested that he bakes you a cake because ‘who doesn’t like cake?’ and like two peas in a pod, sharing one collective brain cell, he agreed.

that brings us to the present, as yuu desperately looks for the ingredients listed on a small piece of paper. he could always go to coach ukai’s shop, but he wants that as a last resort. it’s christmas eve, and he sure as hell is running out of time if he wants to give the homemade cake for you and your family on christmas.

as he looked through the supermarket aisle, he’s rehearsing what he should say to you. he’s tried to confess once or… three times before, all of which either got interrupted or turned out badly. the libero remembers when he tried to confess to you but yamaguchi accidentally hit you with a serve and caused you to get a nosebleed. ryuunosuke tried to calm him down before he went feral on his junior.

he paid for the ingredients with the money he saved up - which he had only for the sole purpose of confessing to you - and started heading home. he was mumbling under his breath, “hey, i really like you… no. i know this is probably out of nowhere but will you go on a date… no.”

it was four in the afternoon when he got home, and focused on making the perfect cake he could. this time for sure, he’d confess to you, and it would be right. yuu spent two hours making the cake, not including the time it took in the oven. for the first time in his life, he dedicated himself to something equally as much as he did in volleyball. he has to make it perfect, because if his words fail him, he needs that cake to do all the talking.

the cake turned out half-presentable. it wasn’t good to put into an instagram post, but it wasn’t that bad either. to be honest, he feels proud of himself for making something that didn’t collapse in on itself.

he carefully put it in a little box before running upstairs to fetch one of the letters and to make himself look presentable. it is currently eight in the evening, four hours after he initially started.

he let his hair down, remembering the comment you made on how you never saw him with it down, put on his cleanest looking collared shirt and dress pants, and a winter coat over it. ‘fuck,’ he thinks, rummaging through the drawer filled with letters. which one to give you? the one he spent the most time on or the one that had everything he wanted to say but his handwriting made them unreadable? does he just… go without giving you a letter and hope that his brain will come up with something?

it was only when he checked his phone did he remember that he was supposed to meet up with you two hours ago. you called him so many times, and the text messages you sent him ranged from excited to concern to pissed that he stood you up.

yuu grabbed the box and one of the letters, cradling them in his arms as he practically ran to the park you both agreed to meet at. to his dismay, you weren’t there. cursing at himself, he headed to your house, the cold winter air biting at his cheeks. of course he forgot a scarf and a cap, but those didn’t matter to him anymore. how long were you waiting in the cold? he knew that you get sick easily in the winter, yet he left you waiting outside in the snow, even though it was an accident.

as he walked up to your doorstep, anxiety ate up his initial excitement, making him feel like vomiting from the uneasiness. was confessing this hard?

he unwittingly raised his hand and the door flung open mid-knock. you were already standing in front of him, arms crossed, your face flushed red from the winter air. you greeted him monotonously. “yuu.”

“hi!” his heart jumped.

“i’m so so sorry for leaving you alone, i was making something. the time flew by, i didn’t notice-”

you interrupted him, “nishinoya, i was waiting. for two hours. it was freezing. you didn’t answer any of my calls.”

shit, he forgot how much it reminded you of the times when you were stood up by friends, and even by dates. he knew they all took a blow of you, especially when you need the reassurance that you are still wanted somehow. he could see the layers of clothing you stripped off just laying on the couch, and how you were waiting for the kettle to boil water for you to make a hot drink to warm yourself up.

despite you being mad at him, you silently invited him inside by just… leaving the door open when you walked in. it took him a moment to get it, though.

“stop apologizing already.” you said, handing him a cup of tea. you could see the snowflakes in his hair, and the redness in his cheeks, from what exactly, you couldn’t tell.

you nodded to the box he’s still cradling in his arms, and raised an eyebrow in question. the libero thrusted the box into your hands, his face turning redder by the second. before you could even open your mouth to say something, he says, “please read the cake!”

your confused face slowly morphed into one in disbelief when you opened the box lid and all you read were the words ‘i like you so much!’ in bright red icing. your heart was pounding in your ears as you struggled to form words.

this set the boy into panic mode as he started rambling on how much he likes you but he didn’t know how to confess, and how he fears that he might have thrown you off because he joins ryuunosuke in complimenting kiyoko. he sprinkled in some apologies about leaving you to wait in the cold despite him knowing how much you hate being exposed to cold air.

“yuu, shut up.” you say, your face red from his clumsy confessions.

‘this is it, you hate him, you’re going to reject him,’ he thinks. “please accept my feelings!” he took the box from your hands and set it on the coffee table and grabbed your hands in his.

“i may not be much, and i may be far from your dream guy, but please give me a chance!”

you look at him, his eyes burning with determination, then at your intertwined hands. “you… are an idiot.”

before he could react, you squeezed his hands gently. “i like you too, stupid. why’d you think i was willing to wait that long for you, all the time?”

he remembers you waiting for his practice to finish so you could walk home together, you missing the first fifteen minutes of a movie you were so excited for because he got caught up in the long line for popcorn, and so many more instances. “wait, what?”

he could yell and jump for joy right now. “i thought that someone like you would be too good for me.”

it took you all your self-control to not hit him right now. “for someone so confident, i can’t believe you’re so insecure. who wouldn’t like you?”

he then proceeded to bask in the compliments you give him, but all that truly registered in his mind is that you like him back.

yuu’s trademark grin spread across his face as he wrapped his arms around you. “ha-ha! you like me back!”

he pulled away from you just to cup your face in his hands and bring your face close to his. “thank you. i’m gonna work hard to treat you well!”

you smiled softly at him, leaning into his touch.

it is currently a quarter before nine in the evening when yuu finally confessed to you. he didn’t need to bring that letter, after all.

#nishinoya x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #nishinoya fluff #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu nishinoya #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x you #noya x y/n #noya fluff #fluff #hq!!#hq noya #hq nishinoya

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robotslenderman · 3 years

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Hi, absolutely loving radio silence!!! But just thought I'd something. I wonder how bias Wendy's view of robin is? Like is he as bad as she says? Or just bad in a more downplayed way and nossie are exaggerating? Like look at calebros in gerards words. When in reality, it's quite different. Also, what made you decide robin as your antagonist? He doesn't hate nossies cannonly. But this is a fanfic so it was your call and it was a good choice too. Really seems like a bad guy! It's a great portraya!

Honestly at this point my fic is more inspired by canon (yes, I know, just go with me XD) than based strictly on it. That's because I only skimmed the Nosferatu Clan Novel, didn't read the Ventrue novel (where Prince Isaac Goldwin appears, which I found out after I wrote the first draft and put a LOT of headcanon into Isaac which is almost certainly wrong... headcanon that the end of my story relies on in order to function), and accidentally based half of the story story on an assumption I ended up finding out was false.

Cut because this got long and I know not everyone reads Radio Silence, but Cock Robin, Wendy, and their relationship to each other addresses one of RS's biggest themes. Discussing this without spoiling their character arcs was actually damn hard lol.

TL;DR at the bottom

The assumption I got wrong -- "Cock Robin is a Justicar."

RS takes place during BJD after The Anarch Freefall and before Azhi Dahaka. And uh, somehow I completely and entirely forgot that Cock Robin quit his job as a Justicar to be an Archon instead, and this was mentioned in The Anarch Freefall.

Problem with that is if I fix it, it throws my entire plot and his role in it out the window, so I've had to completely ignore his resignation in order for the entire second half of the story to work, oops. If I went with canon, I'd honestly have to remove him from the novel entirely in exchange for another Justicar.

Which would be a shame because I explicitly wanted Cock Robin in it because he's a Nosferatu.

One of the big themes of Radio Silence is family and community. The Nosferatu are a family. They're a collection of smaller family units in one big extended family.

Cock Robin is a foil to Wendy. Wendy is very much stuck in the image of the Nosferatu as they tell themselves as -- that they're one big supportive family, that they're collectivists instead of individualists. Cock Robin, when he appears, is a depiction of a criticism of this. Where Wendy brushes the Nosferatu's biggest flaws under the carpet, Cock Robin drags them kicking and screaming into the light and says "this is not good enough, I demand better."

So how does this relate to Wendy's view on Cock Robin?

She's not so much wrong about him so much as:

Not aware of the full story

Not presenting the full story

These are both due to the same reason: she doesn't like to think about the worst parts of the Nosferatu culture.

I mentioned that Wendy brushes the Nosferatu's biggest flaws under the carpet. There is a hugeass one that Wendy actually withholds from the reader because it's such a bad flaw she doesn't even like to think about it, and this flaw is hinted at in the very first chapter, but she immediately glosses over it because it's so fucking bad she can't stand remembering it exists.

Wendy she loves her family. She loves her clan. But there are enormous flaws in Nosferatu culture that are there to stay, and won't stop happening because one fledgling (indeed, a lot of fledglings) has a problem with them.

Because Kindred are immortal, so old viewpoints don't die out. Instead of the new generation developing different norms, the new generation is eventually forced over time to accept these norms and eventually perpetuate them. Wendy adores her clan, so she just... uncomfortably acknowledges these flaws at best, and flat out ignores them at worst, because she doesn't know how to reconcile her love of her family with the at times horrific nature of the Nosferatu.

Cock Robin's canon story is that he was abandoned by his sire, so he didn't get to spend his chidlehood in a nice, big, warm, fuzzy, happily family like Wendy did, who had a doting sire and a supportive family. So he never had that conflict between the people he cared about and the fucking awful things they do to maintain and support the family.

Much like Wendy, Cock Robin knows that the flaws of the Nosferatu are not something that are ever going to be addressed or changed on a clan-wide scale. While Wendy accepts that they're there to stay whether she likes them or not, Cock Robin takes actions that says he'd rather burn the whole thing down and start over from scratch.

That is an interpretation of Cock Robin's issues with the Nosferatu as Wendy and many Nosferatu understand it.

But truthfully Wendy doesn't have the full story either. I mean, in a way she does, but she also doesn't because again, she doesn't like to think too deeply or look too closely at the Nosferatu's flaws, which means she doesn't come to certain obvious conclusions that anyone would if they thought about it for longer than three seconds. If she allowed herself to really face the flaws of the Nosferatu, it wouldn't be hard for her to put two and two together and form a theory as to why Cock Robin is the way he is.

So TLDR -- on the surface, Cock Robin is as bad as the Nosferatu say. But if you think about the Nosferatu from a certain perspective and are willing to examine their worst flaws... well, you'd probably supply him with the gasoline so he can burn it all down.

#Radio Silence #I've gotta get back to my assignment so will respond to other asks at another time

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xeunoais · 4 years

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You’re All I Need

(A/N: i know i haven’t been active for a while, i had a lot of stuff going on at the time but i think i’m officially back now. and i’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time and i finally got some inspiration to finish it, so here it is! enjoy!)

Summary: You have a really bad day and then Shawn comes home from the studio and make you feel better.

You sat there completely blank. Fingers resting on the keyboard and eyes staring at what was supposed to be a word document showing hours of work, instead, it was your desktop wallpaper.

You shut your eyes, swallowing the golf ball-sized lump in your throat and counted to three. When every breath didn't feel like a heavy truck pushing down onto your chest, you set aside all the work littered across the kitchen counter and shifted focus to stop yourself from screaming out of frustration. And the perfect way to do just that - cleaning.

Cleaning always made stressful moments feel less of a weight. When you were young, probably in like middle school, your mother found you in the middle of a full clean mode of your room.

Back then it was all because of Toby, your first-ever crush, who broke your heart by declaring his own crush to your best friend. And ever since then, cleaning was your go to for diffusing pressure building moments from life's road bumps.

After the first three plates, two bowls and several cutlery pieces, the urge to scream had subsided. Rinsing off the soapy water from the last remaining glass you went to put it on the drying rack when it slipped from your grasp smashing to several pieces; big and small, all over the kitchen floor.

Clutching the counter, you counted to three once again before carefully grabbing the pieces and throwing them in the trash. But, of course, nothing had been going right today. So when the corner of the glass cut your index finger, the desire to scream or even cry became completely non-existent. Instead, all that was left was a sense of numbness.

You weren't sure how long you had been sitting on the floor staring at your bloody finger, but you gathered it was a while given that Shawn had gotten home from the studio. He called out your name, stopping in his tracks as he saw you in the kitchen on the floor.

"Baby, what happened?” He asked, rushing over.

You didn't answer. He asked again, this time in a more calmer tone. But still, no response. He rushed out of the kitchen down the hallway.

And in the blink of an eye Shawn returned with the first-aid kit. He silently took care of the cut, but you could see in his eyes he was struggling with not pushing for answers. The only thing he knew was his girlfriend of two years was on the floor nursing a medium-sized cut on her finger, all while looking like she was about to break down at any second. You couldn't imagine how many thoughts he had running through his mind.

As Shawn left to put away the kit, you slowly brought yourself to your knees, recollecting what little composure you could after a miserable day. However, when your eyes glanced toward the right kitchen cabinet it blew up the last piece of composure left to collect.

"Honey, what are you doing?" Shawn asked, his voice sounding like an echo from miles away, even though he was standing right beside you. "I'm cleaning. I accidentally got blood on your cabinets.”

Shawn knelt down, "I can do it".

He tried taking away the wet towel dipped in cleaning product from your hands, but you clutched it tighter, scrubbing even harder against the door until your knuckles turned white.

"It's okay. I'll clean it later. Let's just go sit down on the couch, yeah.” He softly said, offering his hand to help you up.

The lump in your throat had doubled in size; feeling now more like a basketball, by the time you made it to the couch. Shawn sat opposite on the coffee table looking more worried than ever as you avoided his gaze and placed your head in your hands.

"Hey, look at me. Tell me what happened".

Shaking your head, Shawn reached for your hand and you could feel your lip tremble once contact was made. Looking up as your eyes met his own, your eyes glistened with tears. It was at that moment when you finally broke. You couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.

"It's just been a really shitty day. I lost all my work, hours of research gone. The heel on my favourite black heels broke as I was getting out of the car. I had the worst cup of coffee in my life. And before I broke a glass and cut my finger I got a notification reminding me it's our anniversary today which I completely forgot about, and I didn't even get you anything and now I feel like the worst girlfriend ever.”

Shawn pulled you into a hug, holding you close as you cried.

"You're far from a terrible girlfriend, and if it makes you feel any better I forgot a gift too.”

You looked up at him, completely falling in love with him all over again as he tried to make you feel better.

"Listen, we've still got a few hours left to turn this day around. So how about you go and take a nice, long hot bath. Then after changing into something more comfortable meet me back in the living room.”

You nodded, slowly making your way to the bathroom for a bath that helped soothe aching muscles and hopefully silencing a few more tears.

Venturing back into the living room, Shawn had moved the coffee table to the side, creating more space for a mountain of blankets and pillows which all pointed towards the TV.

"I see I won't be getting that back anytime soon.” Shawn smiled, taking in how his YOUTH hoodie shallowed you in the cutest way.

"It's my favorite, plus you did say to change into something more comfortable.”

"That I did.” He kissed your forehead, whispering.

"It looks better on you, anyway.” His voice along with the combination of bare skin and cool air sent a sonic wave of shivers throughout your body, which you choose to ignore, for now at least.

"What's all this?" You said, pointing to the scene in front.

He grinned, gently clapping his hands and leading you to the blanket and pillow sanctuary.

"I thought we could just relax and turn a bad day into something good. We can put your favorite movie on. And I ordered some takeout with a side of your favourite dessert, which should be here any minute".

"Shawn, you didn't-".

"Yes, I did. I know you've been stretching yourself thin lately, and I can tell you still feel guilty about forgetting our anniversary. But the only thing I need is you,” He moved a piece of hair from your eyes.

"Nothing else matters.”

"So you're not mad at me?” He smiled, thumb caressing your cheek.

"I have nothing to be mad about, so I want you to stop worrying. Because tonight is all about relaxing, junk food and lots of cuddles from your very handsome boyfriend".

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer. The kiss, like always, sparked a rainbow of fireworks. And there was nothing better than the way Shawn tasted or leaving each other breathless. Leaning your head against his chest, you exhaled, taking in the peace of having him hold you close.

The end

(A/N: I hope you enjoy this. feedback is highly appreciated! and btw i know its not much but i think its cute lol and i am currently working on something else at the moment, but i needed to get this out of the way first!)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes x y/n #shawnpeterraulmendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn #mendes #shawn x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #shawnblr #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes x you

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evilishei · 3 years

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Saw this from @itsthemoofacewriting. It honestly looks fun and what better way to start 2021 here in Tumblr? 😊

3... 2... 1... START!!!

1. ZoNa. Romance... with a hint of suggestiveness and a dash of nsfw.

2. The first one-shot in the Treading Uncharted Waters collection. It was NSFW, smut. Something I haven't tried to write ever since I started fanfiction writing. It was then I realized that: "Boy this stuff is HARD!" My respect for the authors who are able to write it flawlessly tripled, even quadrupled!

3. The Whimsical Kisses scribbles. It's like chose one prompt and there all done!

4. The Importance of Not Being Nosy and Behind Closed Doors from the Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven collection. I've enjoyed everything from it. Thinking of scenes, writing the scenes, the way the story just flowed out. It turned out to be really a fun piece.

5. Hop around. Most of the times, the scenes will just come to me at random. From that one scene, I work around to complete the whole story framework. Very rare it happens that the scene would be the actual start... if it does, I still hop around.

6. Yeah. For another fandom. It was the first story I've ever written and I honestly didn't like the way it turned out, planned to fix it and forgot all about it.

7. To just keep writing, regardless.

8. So far... none that I can remember?

9. No. I haven't done that yet.

10. So far the official count is 34. Not including those that are in my phone notes or wasn't officially titled "draft #".

11. Every single one of them. I can't choose really. I wrote them with everything I've got. Be it a scribble, drabble, a vignette or a one-shot.

12. I Don't Dance & Sweet Dreams by Anonymous Being and Mystery Pants by AshaRose. Everything I want in ZoNa is there. I can read them over and over again and still feel what I felt when I first read them.

13. There's this one review I've received this year that was really thoughtfully written. And I appreciate it so much. It made me feel really good that I still kept writing for my ship. I didn't know how much my stories can affect other shippers especially since my OTP is not one of the popular ones in the fandom. It gave me the drive to continue writing.

14. I wouldn't call it worst... though I'd give points for that reviewer for speaking his/her mind. To be honest, I don't really care what he/she thinks, I have writing style preferences and if it the style proves to be a bit uncomfortable for you... you're welcome not to read it.

Funny thing, the reviewer does not even ship my OTP.

15. Uhm... I don't think I want to touch that. I sincerely believe that each writer have their own take on their stories and I'm afraid if I try to write a a prequel or sequel, I might end up sullying their story. Hahaha!

16. Yes. That's what happens when fics for you OTP is scant.

17. Not the stories for my ship. Hahaha! Probably for a more novel-like story I would?

18. Nami.She's an easy character to write. And Usopp. They're both upfront with their thoughts and emotions.

19. I struggle with Zoro. And Luffy to be honest. Both are simple-minded. And the simplicity is what honestly gets me most of the times.

20. Yes. And miserably fail at them. That's how the WIPs reached 34.

21. Any Zona writer is automatically my favorite writer. I'm that biased.

22. Yeah. A lot. But I want a babyfic or a time travel trope.

23. Hmm... same sex relationship tropes probably, for now.

24. Let's see... 18 years if we count my writing hiatus in between 2003 up to now. Dear god I'm old.

25. A lot actually. Writers who wrote really superb stories, my favorite book authors... in the end everything is mixed up that I cannot pinpoint whose influence is in what.

26. Writer's block. And drained enthusiasm. Both gets you stuck in a place that's really hard to get out. And eventually leads to procrastination and forgotten WIPs that just keeps piling up.

27. The sudden, random idea that pops inside your head, making you jot it down the nearest available, writable surface.

28. When it's done and up in your blog or page. You get to stare at its entirety while thinking: "Damn I can't believe I finished this! I can't believe I wrote this!".

29. It's a fantasy fic. My OTP is a witch and a man cursed to become a familiar who met accidentally and ventured on a random adventure together, helping people and unwitttingly causing mayhem every where they go until they eventually end up in a kingdom where the familiar came from. The kingdom was in an uproar because one of their nobles who was supposed to marry another from a neighboring country, had disappeared three nights before his wedding day.

That's all I'm willing to share. Hahaha!

30. I honestly don't know. Hahaha! The OTP? Hahahaha!

#opening the year with a bang!#honestly this is fun #let's have a good ZoNa year fellow shippers!

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ev--writes · 4 years

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Master wip Intro Post (I’m so sorry lol)

I mentioned in my last post that I had notes for upwards of 15 projects in a ton of different formats (side note to myself:whyyyy). Ergo, I thought it would be helpful to do a short overview of all of them, as I’ll probably be doing update posts for all of these at some point.

Also: Thank you for 6 followers already??? I honestly didn’t think anyone would see my last post (especially as I had no idea how tags worked until after I posted it).

Novels

GRACE

“After the sudden death of her childhood best friend and crush Vicky, Robin is invited to spend the summer with her estranged father, his new husband, and her half-sister at their Maine cabin. As her relationships with her father’s family and a fellow vacationing teen Claire grow, her relationships with her remaining friends and mother back home begin to fracture.”

Oh boy does this book have a backstory.It’s a little complicated to get into right now (I’ll talk about it in my post for this wip), but I got the idea for the original version of this book in April 2016, and it’s been through three major overhauls since then. I’ve done enough planning to start drafting the newest version, but I’m waiting to get a few mostly-complete projects done before I jump in.

Attic (working title)

“The discovery of a dead body in the attic of Theo’s new house puts a damper on his fresh start. When a singular death becomes a series, Theo and his new friends decide to investigate and discover that the explanation isn’t able to be explained.”

This story also has a long history. I wrote this for NaNoWriMo 2017, overhauled it for NaNoWriMo 2019, and overhauled it again in the middle of that month. I’m currently stuck with a certain aspect, so I’ve put it to the side for the moment.

Pinewood Guild

“A group of scholarship students at an elite private boarding school obsess over the seemingly unexplainable death of a fellow student.”

This is very much a baby idea, from April of this year. I was having a grand old time writing a different project Three Can Keep a Secret (which I’ll get to later), and I wanted to write another book about terrible people being horrible to each other. I don’t have very many plans for this book at the moment.

Blood in the Water

“Paul returns to his hometown for the first time since high school to attend the funeral of his brother when he starts to receive anonymous letters. What starts as innocent and quirky quickly turns dark and potentially deadly”

I got this idea in February of this year, as I wanted to write a novel with the letter format. I was supposed to start this project as my “I’m Leaving Highschool Emotional Support Book”, but I’m not sure if I’m going to actually do that.

The Lion Tattoo

“Jordan bonds with classmate Cade over their shared foster care status. As Jordan starts to spend more and more time with Cade, they see a darker side to the boy. When one of Cade’s adventures ends with them sent off to different foster homes, Jordan must turn their life around.”

This is a very old idea that I honestly forgot about. However, there’s still a lot I want to explore with this story, so I’ll probably get to it someday.

Anthologies

Sunny

“August ‘Sunny’ finally gets engaged to her long-time girlfriend Tatsu, sending her back to the beginnings of their relationship as camp counselors.”

This is a short set of vignettes I wrote as a birthday present to a friend. As it was just for shiggles, it’s not my most sophisticated story, but I’m okay with it. You can actually read this on my Wattpad if you’d like (I’ll add a link here when I figure out how to do that). I also adapted it as a short film because I was bored, if I’m being honest.

Hypocrite

This is my poetry collection! Some of these poems are based on real life experiences (for example, the poem I named the collection after was based on a friendship that exploded), and others are completely fiction. This might just be my favorite project I’m working on, if I’m being honest.

Short Story Collection

I can’t title this wip for the life of me, so the name is relatively self explanatory. I’ve written four stories for this so far, and I have three brewing in the notes app.

Safety Orange

“When an accident kills her father and sends her mother into a coma, Angie and her brother Oliver are sent to live with their Aunt Marie. Romance should be the last thing on her mind when a local barista Natalie catches her eye.”

This was my “Quarantine Emotional Support Book”. I had two simultaneous itches--to write something cute and fluffy, and to try out prose poetry. These two ideas birthed this story. I want to get a printed copy for me and my mom, but I don’t have any plans for it after that.

Three Can Keep a Secret

“Hattie, her girlfriend Regan, and her best friend Vincent return from a weekend camping trip to discover their town has been ravaged by the undead. Sophie and her brother Joseph are driven from the military’s safety by a tragic accident. Aspen discovers something wrong with her younger sister Paris that might prove more difficult to handle than the walking bodies around every corner.”

This was my other “Quarantine Emotional Support Book”, written for Camp NaNo 2020. It’s technically a short story collection, although I structured the stories with chapters. I also enjoyed the little flash pieces that appeared in-between each story. Like Safety Orange, I want to get a printed copy of this book, but I don’t think I’ll seek publication for it.

Screen

Horror Web Series

“Outcast sisters Heaven and Eden make a new friend--one that gives them special abilities. While Eden is more timid about her powers, Heaven is almost too excited and drags her sister along on her quest for revenge.”

This is another one of my projects that I just Cannot Title.The description makes it sound kind of lighthearted, but it’s one of the darkest ideas that I’ve come up with. Right now it’s outlined on my phone, and really all I need to do is dedicate a day to pounding it out.

Video Games

I’m Sorry This Happened

“Archer’s attempts to cheer up her girlfriend Helena accidentally awakens Sylvia, a playfully violent ghost who convinces the girls to get revenge on the two boys that caused her death almost half a century ago.”

This is a visual novel my sister and I are teaming up with to create. We’re still not sure whether we’re going to publish it, but nevertheless I’m having a grand old time writing it, and I guess that’s what really matters.

Swanhill Convenience

“A misfit crew of the local gas station convenience store have a strong customer base. When new employee Pearl becomes suspicious of the group, the whole town’s careful facade crumbles.”

This one needs...more time to brew. There’s a lot of basic details that I’m having trouble making solid decisions on (for example, whether the store is a coffee shop or a convenience store), so this will probably have to sit until I have an epiphany or something.

[I can’t put the working title here because it’s a blatant spoiler]

“You should not have gone into the forest. Now escape, however you can.”

I debated whether to put this on the list because it’s so hard to talk about without ruining the whole thing. It’s a puzzle solving game that I think has some really interesting lore that I can incorporate. I think that’s literally all I can say lol.

Wow, that post was LONG. Thank you for reading all the way through! Each of these projects will get dedicated post when I start working on them more frequently. Moral of the story: I have absolutely no self control when it comes to starting projects.

Note: Any photograph used that I did not take myself came from Unsplash.

See you around,

-Ev

#writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #wip wednesday #wip #intro post #wip intro #novel #visual novel #poetry #short story

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amandabe11man · 4 years

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a VERY LONG post about Hell on Wheels

YEAH i forgot about this post in my drafts... it’s been like a year since i finished the show now and i feel i’ve barfed everything out into this post (that i can think of), so here it goes (you’ll have to shield your eyes after the spoiler warning if you don’t wanna be spoiled btw. i can’t seem to be able to add a read more-link...) :

SO... i finished watching “hell on wheels” at last, pm half a year since i started. it’s funny because i was under the impression that i’d sOMEHOW be able to binge all five seasons within just one month (reason: i wanted to watch it before my free trial on HBO’s website went out). honestly, that wouldn’t have been possible because it was a LOT more emotionally draining than you’d think at first glance... after being gutpunched three times in a row in season 4, any reasonable human would need a little break.

anyway, it feels-- weird. i’ve never been big on following tv-shows so i haven’t been able to relate to that feeling ppl describe once they’ve finished a show they’ve become so attached to, except NOW i can relate. the show’s not groundbreaking, it’s not perfect, but i’ve had a lot of fun. what a ride it’s been...

looking back, i’d say HOW’s biggest weakness is its tendency to forget or ignore certain plot points. i guess that’s not too weird, with such an arsenal of characters, but still, i find that’s what bugged me the most, if anything bugged me at all. for example--

[SPOILERS for those who might wanna watch it after seeing me go on abt it, idk]:

first off, what REALLY grinds my gears is how ezra dutson’s plotline was handled. it was set up perfectly in the beginning; having him escape from the swede (who promised him that, and i quote: “i’ll find you, ezra! i always do”), the original plan was obviously for ezra and the swede to “reunite” some time in the future so that ezra could tell everyone that the swede killed his parents, thus tying up loose ends and giving some closure to that whole arc. some might say this would’ve been too predictable, but i would rather have that predictable storyline than having it just end unceremoniously like it did, with ezra dying ACCIDENTALLY and off-screen by sidney snow’s hand, simply as a way to further bohannon’s pain and set the stage for ruth’s final arc. this might’ve been fine, if the writers had made it so that ezra actually, y’know, TOLD SOMEONE WHY HE’S AN ORPHAN TO BEGIN WITH. but they didn’t even give the viewer that form of closure, instead just deciding to use him as a plot device for the other characters’ increased angst... bohannon and the others were never even made aware of ezra’s last name, and this is all what bugs the everliving SHIT outta me: the only ones who know, or will EVER know, ezra’s full story is the swede and the viewer, tho after season 4′s end, ezra is never mentioned or acknowledged again-- not by bohannon, and not even by the swede. ezra went from convenient character with a PURPOSE to “nameless” orphan forgotten by history. thanks, writers...

then there’s the whole deal with campbell coming to town to reinforce The Law™, which wasn’t a bad arc, mind you-- campbell and his goons were the most infuriating little shits for a while there-- but the thing is; didn’t campbell LIE to his men about the president giving him the position as governor? i might’ve misunderstood it, but i’m PRETTY sure the president didn’t give him THAT much of an upstanding role, but that campbell just went ahead and took that position anyway? if that was indeed the case, then that’s another plot hole, cause nobody finds out about campbell’s possible trickery to become the governor. nobody rats him out, despite literally no one in “his” town liking him all that much, so they’d have no reason to protect his “secret”. (correct me if i’m wrong on this one though. i might be misremembering things)

then there’s the other pretty infuriating issue of bad guys never getting called out for doing bad shit (unless it’s the swede, who gets all the blame, all the time), for example:

major dick bongbendix(???idk he had a silly name like that) is presented VERY MUCH as a bad guy in the beginning. y’know, just casually beheading natives on all his missions and collecting those heads and taking them to the bar like a fucking nutcase-- those little details. he also seemed to believe in racial biology, so yeah, definitely not a good guy. but by the end, he’s been watered down into some quirky guy who’s ALMOST on friendly terms with the main characters. yeah, uh-- seems everyone (writers included) collectively forgot the whole public display of cut-off heads he had going on...

aaron hatch: started off as a guy too proud for his- or his family’s own good when he shot the police officer, BLAMED IT ON HIS FUCKING SON and then just kinda let bohannon hang the kid even though it was pretty obvious hatch was just shifting the blame away from himself. THEN he reappears with some other mormons and causes a full-on shootout in the town (probably getting some people killed, i don’t remember), TAKES EZRA (also a mormon) HOSTAGE SO THAT BOHANNON WILL COME WITH THEM WILLINGLY and passive aggressively forces bohannon to marry his daughter who bohannon knocked up. somewhere along the line, hatch’s bad side is just thrown to the wind, and bohannon at one point describes him as “a good man”. yeah, ABOUT THAT--

sean and mickey mcginnes: unlike the ones mentioned above, these two started out as seemingly decent dudes, but ended up pm as secondary villains in the end. however, like the ones mentioned above, they hardly face any consequences for whatever crap it was they did in boston, OR the fact that they killed and fucking mutilated/dismembered a man in cold blood (a man who WAS gonna kill them, yes, but HE did it because he thought they had killed his friend, which wasn’t a farfetched idea since mickey DID brag about killing the dude even though he didn’t actually do it). sure, they face their OWN demons as time goes on, they get ostracized, and they start losing faith in each other as well, which ends up with mickey killing sean before the latter can confess(?) his/their crimes. so, while sean was spineless and a creep, at least he thought about finally owning up to what he’d done in the end, whereas mickey lives on to keep doing shady shit, killing people, and getting increasingly more corrupt. he does end up pursuing new goals in the end, but it’s obvious he’s not happy about it anymore. that’s-- really all the comeuppance he ever gets, and the only one who knows about his shady businesses are pm just bohannon, durant and eva (also, personal gripe here-- they seemed to not settle for “just” tarring and feathering the swede and publicly humiliating him, but i’m pretty sure i recall mickey telling bohannon they were thinking about having the swede killed too. keep in mind, this was BEFORE the swede truly lost it and started killing people left and right. apparently, being kind of a douche about taxes is bad enough to warrant being tortured and cast out by the entire community... i’m obviously biased here, but still-- the mcginnes bros’ double standards are amazing to behold)

now that i’ve aired some of that out-- here are some highlights, according to me:

unexpected friendships, like that between eva and durant. i’d say the swede finding that stray dog and fawning all over him qualifies into this category too

durant and campbell fighting in the mud before finally coming to an agreement -- just- durant and his competitors being petty as fuck, honestly. it’s hilarious

bohannon trying to get through to elam by reminiscing about their friendship, especially since bohannon isn’t one to show his feelings often OR get sappy -- in fact, EVERY time bohannon loses his stoic facade is a good moment. when he was gonna bury elam and he just broke down completely for the first time since we were introduced to him... that shit had me in tears as well, but man was it a great scene

jimmy two-squaws

every time the swede opens his mouth (yes, even when he’s spouting some lies and bullshit like that)

ruth’s character development. i admit i didn’t like her at all in the beginning, idk something just felt off about her, but man did she ever grow on me. just-- how everyone kinda relied on her eventually, even though she’s only like in her 20′s or something... she still became a pillar of the community. bless ya, ruth :’ı -- also, her essentially adopting ezra was Pure as heck. I Lov it

the fact that this was the 1800′s and the only backlash the (openly) LGBT characters faced for it was pm just “yeah they’re a bit confused maybe but they’re not hurting anyone”. maybe that’s not very realistic but WHO GIVES A SHIT AMIRITE

mr tao just being a sweet old man

chang’s sunglasses, straight out of Django Unchained

mr toole’s complete heel-turn from racist POS to someone who sticks by his word to turn himself around. that shit was impressive coming from him, tbh

bohannon just calmly running into a buffalo by the train tracks

mei posing as a grown man instead of a boy (which is what she looks and sounds like, oml)

another thing i realized is that bohannon is a classic gary stu. there’s just no getting around that fact after seeing him being revered by most everyone he meets, how he’s somehow the only person able to build the railroad(s) fast and efficiently, and even wooing the literal PRESIDENT and becoming close friends with him-- all this despite his Bold and Brash personality. of course, there’s more to bohannon than these gary stu-symptoms, but i felt someone should bring it up, for the lulz

#hell on wheels #amc

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aristidetwain · 4 years

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The Author’s Dossier: “Remembrance of the Judicator”

@doctornolonger and @rassilon-imprimatur have both used their Tumblr blogs to write fun and informative “spotter’s guides” to the miscellaneous references in their licensed Faction Paradox stories. And, though they are of course further removed from Who than the further adventures of everyone’s favorite time-traveling goth cult, the adventures of Lady Aesculapius are indubitably another spinoff existing on the edges of the extended Whoniverse, no matter what a certain Wiki maintains. Besides which, I thought, “this looks fun”.

So while there may not be as much to say here as there might in future entries (fingers crossed on the existence thereof!), here is, without further ado, the official author’s guide to Remembrance of the Judicator, my short story from the Forgotten Heroines of the 10,000 Dawns 2020 April Fools’ Day event, available for free here. Obviously, this detail-attentive reread will spoil what little there is to be spoiled in this tale, so you should probably read it first if you haven’t already.

Enjoy!

REMEMBRANCE of the JUDICATOR

We kick things off with a classic “Phrase of the Creature” sort of title. The Phrase even begins with the letter “R”! This isn’t anything new ([1], [2], [3]) to the Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids series, but I’d be lying if I said that classic Doctor Who’s famous use of such titles wasn’t on my mind when I chose this one; in fact, one of Who’s most famous “Phrase of the Creature” titles used “Remembrance” as its Phrase.

And you know what? Much as we might all admire 1988′s Remembrance of the Daleks, I think my plot justifies the use of the term “Remembrance” far better than Ben Aaronovitch’s. What are the Daleks remembering, exactly? Or is it that some other party is remembering them? If so, who and why?

So I hope you’re happy with finally having a “Remembrance of the X” story where what the X remembers actually plays a big part in the plot. Because to do this, I gave up on “Prisoner of the Jud…icator”.

“So on the bright side,” began Ashlyn Oswin, straining against her bonds, “we're not back with the talking cats.”

Starting ruthlessly in medias res: now there’s a trick that comes more from Duck comics than from Who. 1950′s and 1960′s stories, be they by Carl Barks or Vic Lockman, had a tendency to open with splash panels of the main characters in a ridiculous predicament and trying at half-hearted banter despite the situation, which would then spark a flashback to how they’d gotten there in the first place. Not that I employed a flashback.

Because who has time for flashbacks when you can instead reference a delightful bit of Ashlyn Oswin’s official James Wylder-sanctioned story? In fact, that Ashlyn spent some time in a dimension of talking cats was one of the things in her condensed character bio that came with the submission guidelines for the Forgotten Heroines Takeover event. The story, if anyone’s wondering, is The Days the Cats Spoke, from 2015.

When Ashlyn says “we” aren’t back with the talking cats, is she just referencing that story and using a rhetorical “we”? Or did the Forgotten Heroines run into the same talking cats again at some point between Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot and the opening of this story? You decide!

“Everybody wants to be a c...” Miranda began to hum sarcastically. “Hush, you can't sing that here,” barked a guard.

It would be wrong to characterize Disney’s The Aristocats (1970) as a guilty pleasure of mine, in that actually, I wear my Aristocat fandom proudly. The Disney movies of the 1970′s are, I find, generally very underrated. They made up for the lack of showy big-budget effects with stellar character animation, great voice performances — and the earwormiest of earwormy tunes!

Pictured below: me, setting out to write this story.

Anyway…

“No copyrighted music, are we clear?” “If you think I give a damn about that sort of thing, you have another thing coming,” the mysterious traveller in all of narrative space only known as the Tourist retorted, trying to take a daring stance.

The Collective of the Retconning Crocodiles’ policies regarding recognizable songs turns out to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who’s tried to upload a YouTube video lately. And significance the Tourist’s flippancy at the idea of caring in the slightest about copyright is, of course, immediately made obvious by a slight twist on that classic “mysterious traveller in all of Time and Space known only as the Doctor” line from the Doctor Who Target novelisations, and not-so-recently made hip again by Missy in World Enough and Time (2017).

In other words, as a first draft of Lady Aesc, the Tourist belongs to the same long tradition of riffs and remixes of the Doctor Who formula, divergent stories which are very much their own characters and their own stories, but who are also very conscious of being just different enough from old Theta Sigma that the BBC won’t mind. Copyright, to her, isn’t some scary taboo to be bandied about by scaly bullies, it’s an ongoing game of cat and mouse.

Could... specimens of... of whatever species she was... drown like regular people? Clearly they could trip like anyone else. Or get chained up by sentient crocodiles like anyone else. The real question was, could you drown in a Time Sewer?

Just what is the Tourist, aside from a lovable grimdark prat? “Not a Time Lord”, say any lawyers worth their salt; as much a Time Lord as I can get away with making her, I suspect is more like what the younger James Wylder who made her up originally envisioned. Just like Aesc herself, the finished version of the 10k Dawns riff on the aesthetics of the Great Houses, namely the Firmament, would end up striking a perfect balance of the new and the familiar.

But in the meantime, the Tourist’s crew can get confused about whether or not she has a respiratory bypass system, albeit not in so many words.

I had mentioned some time ago, via in-character blog comments, that the Crocodiles get about through, and reside in, repellant Time Sewers. A take-off on that whole “alligators in the sewers of New York” thing, don’t you know? But this was the first time I took my readers into them and elaborated at any length on how they work.

The Tourist and her merry crew had stepped out in search of the fluid leak that was so rudely interrupting their lackadaisical rampage through the slice of omniversal reality known as the 10,000 Dawns, and been immediately set upon by—

Wait, liquid from the Sewers clogs up the Black Pyramid’s systems, and their response is to go out to look for a leak? Well, I’m sorry. But then, how else could I work in a reference to the reason that a certain rip-off of the Tourist had for stepping out of his own Ship back in Dr. Who and the Daleks (1965)?

If Pathway had been here, there might have been some hope. Things seemed to get suddenly more serious when Pathway was around. Possibly because of the katana. But, alack, Pathway was not here, being busy following a probable wild-goose-chase for a Numbered connection in Dawn 789.

In James Wylder’s Prototype, another story in the Forgotten Heroines Takeover which ran before mine, but which I hadn’t read when I submitted Remembrance of the Judicator, we see Pathway squaring off against one of the Numbered whose designation is… 789. Here’s the scary thing: I swear this is a coincidence. Dawn 789 was just supposed to be a random Dawn and I had no idea quite what the “Numbered connection” really was.

(Or did Wylder add that detail to his draft in reference to my story, even though his story happens first and was released first? Who knows!)

“You've kept us alive, so clearly we're valuable to you.” “You're not talking to a Centro stooge, you know,” Ashlyn muttered with a glare in Shona's direction, which was rather impressive as they were tied back-to-back. “Maybe these guys aren't even capitalists.” “I should say not!” grunted the Crocodile, waving its spear closer to them. “We are in fact a Collective! The Collective of the Retconning Crocodiles!”

Shona, like many other characters in the 10,000 Dawns series, has spent a significant of time fighting against the tyranny of various versions of Centro Systems, a world-spanning megacorporation who, in a lot of the Dawns, acts as a world government for whom capitalism isn’t just an economic system, but an actual political philosophy.

The Crocs aren’t meant to be actual communists, of course — in their case, Collective is to be taken in the more sci-fi-oriented, “Hive” sense of the word. But the joke was too good to pass up. And anyway, whatever they are, they’re not capitalists either, even if they do try to make people sign contracts.

“Oh? Isn't this part of the 10,000 Dawns?” Miranda asked with a disappointed pout. “We were rather heading for the 10,000 Dawns here.” “Yeah, we had a whole thing going,” Ashlyn concurred.

The “heading for the 10,000 Dawns” made more sense back when I imagined that this would be the crew’s first adventure after escaping the draft universes, rather than the last before the finale.

Still, it all worked out: my story ran immediately after Alex Wakeford’s Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot, where some enemies whose tech has more than a little in common with the Crocodiles’ accidentally sent Ashlyn to a certain battlefield in what was clearly the bona fide Doctor Who universe. And of course, White Canvas (2018) established (if it still needed establishing) that this world isn’t part of the 10,000 Dawns, though it has had contact with them.

So maybe, just maybe, Miranda is actually talking about their having been on their way back to the Dawns from Earth-5556…

“I'm only a humble guard,” the Retconning Crocodile answered, “I'm sure I wouldn't know.”

Wholly meaningless reference to a beloved bit of Doctor Who dialogue? Or a hint that however the Time Sewers work, it’s similar to how Gallifrey in the Stasis Cube worked? Who knows! …Not me.

“Ugh! I know!” she cut it off moodily. “But don't say it in front of them!” She gestured at Shona and Ashlyn. “Miranda's like me, but they — they don't understand metafiction the way I do.”

Take it away, The Inexplicable Adventures of Bob:

“Behind those shades and that too-cool-for-school attitudes, you're just another intruder.” “I am far more than just another intruder,” answered the woman with the pyramid. “I'm the Tourist.”

The only direct allusion to Remembrance of the Daleks in this story, title aside.

(“You’re just another Time Lord!” “I am far more than just another Time Lord.”)

“Even if I had ever been human,” the Tourist answered through clenched teeth, “which by the way isn't admission one way or another—my method of travel would have turned me into something... more than human, one way or another, by now. Also, shut up, didn't you hear the reptiles?”

When Doctor Who decided to retcon, in 1969, that the Doctor was from an alien civilization that only coincidentally resembled humanity, perhaps the most intriguing piece of canon that was lost was the suggestion in The Evil of the Daleks (1966) that it was the Doctor’s travels through Time and Space which had made him “more than human”. At the end of the day, that is where the EDAs’ concept of biodata got started, too, I think.

“A little chaos between friends is a wonderful thing,” the Tourist boasted.

Not only is the Tourist a bit of a Doctor clone, she’s an unwieldily sturm-&-drang, “darker and edgier” Doctor clone. Sound familiar? Yep, the Tourist thus finds herself (nearly) quoting Sacha Dhawan’s Spy Master from Spyfall (2020).

“Not in the eyes of the Firmament it isn't,” the Head Crocodile boomed, thumping his staff against the marble floor for emphasis, and the four realized that it had retconned itself into having held a staff all along, just so it could do that. “Don't you see? They'll never allow your wanton interference to stand. Before day's end, I expect they'll press a massive Reset Button on the entire thing. The entire thing.”

I think it was the idea of Lupan Evezan (@drleevezan), in The Frost King’s Treasure (2019), that the Crocodiles would have technological gizmos at their disposal which have the names of, and the ability to effect, various popular tropes. A literal Red Herring which briefly makes anyone who looks at it think it’s a major clue in whatever mystery they’re trying to solve, that sort of thing. Case in point…

(Do the Firmament also call it a Reset Button, or were the Crocodiles just phrasing it in a way that would make sense to them? I’m not the person to ask.)

“Hold on, you're just quoting the Judicator's introduction paragraph in the original 10,000 Dawns webnovel, aren't you?” the Tourist interrupted, unimpressed.

And they are, too.

“No!” cried the Head Crocodile as all the other members of the Collective collapsed back into him.

See what I meant about the sci-fi sense of Collective? The Crocodiles are plural, but they aren’t really a set of actual individuals, or at least not all of the time. Someday I’ll write a story explaining this in more detail.

“To come to its conclusions,” the Tourist explained, talking down to Shona slightly (to her displeasure), “the Judicator draws from a sense of morality and from every record it can find of every law ever passed in history. So, if someone were to, say, go back in time and spam all legal records with an overwhelming number of new laws, stating that we specifically have to be let go under all circumstances — well — its hands would be tied, wouldn't it?”

This is an obvious, twofold loophole that jumped out to me when I first read 10,000 Dawns: feeding every legal system ever into a computer wouldn’t really get you the perfect jurist, would it? It’d first risk getting a blubbering wreck who can’t deal with the mountain of contradictions between the laws of 11th century China and mid-19th century Holland; and even if you get past that, it’s liable to be polluted with a bunch of useless, anachronistic laws. Nonsense like laws against being ugly in public would take up unnecessary but uncrunchable space in its databanks.

Still, I suppose the “but also it has to act moral” element mostly rights the logic. Our heroines are only able to exploit the loophole here because they have limitless time travel and because, as the heroines, they’re assumed to be in the right opposite the Crocodiles and thus favored by the Judicator.

“Ugh, enough soul-searching!” Miranda suddenly declared, and sprayed a portal onto the nearest wall. “I don't know how long it is before day's done. But in the meantime, let's have some adventures.”

#The Author's Dossier

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steve0discusses · 5 years

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Yugioh Ep 24 S3: Blimp’s Ultimate Form

So, I realized as I sat down to the blog today that I’ve been doing this for like...a year and half now? I think? So I figured...how many of these have I MADE? Cuz I thought...I MUST be getting close to the 100th recap pretty soon, and guys, the answer was shocking.

This is, in fact, the 121st recap (including Season 0). That is a LOT of content. I don’t think I have that many pages for my own webcomic (which basically only tells you how long and physically exhausting the drawing process is more than anything else). Along the way I realized I was a.) really bad at numbering episodes, and b.) reaaaaally bad at spelling Kaiba at the start of this series, really cringey how I used to spell everyone’s name, I can’t really look back there.

Anyway, in case you are curious, the 100th episode was the “Pharaoh turns Karibo into a rainbow for some reason” episode. So, unfortunately it wasn’t that extraordinary. I forgot to write down which episode was 69, which is a colossal failure on my part.

So that being said, this is the last episode of this arc! Honestly, this arc could’ve been a lot shorter because at this point the only resolution left is for Noah to be a decent person once in his life and for Kaiba Sr. to die (which he’s already done, so...mission already accomplished)

Noah recently came on the PA system to inform us that he accidentally decided to kill everyone (congrats, recently reformed Noah), and so he’s going to do the decent thing and let them know where the exit is without actually doing a damn thing to make a portal to get them to said exit.

Guess where the exit is?

I don’t know why the hell this show keeps going back to the local Dave and Busters where Tea got attacked on a dance machine.

At this moment, Gozaburo decided to turn into some sort of giant red ghost devil.

Yes. Exactly what it sounds like.

Apparently this was a thing he could just do this entire arc.

(read more after the cut)

The fact that Seto’s Dad can just morph into a giant red demon is like...not even a problem for anyone on this cast. He literally goes back to his side of the field and goes right back to playing cards. Cuz youknow. Cards.

It’s basically a "Anyone with a millennium item can shoot lasers but never actually does” but demon format. Gozaburo *could* turn into the hulk but like...why?

Meanwhile the rest of the cast are playing cards against the card monsters, that are really just 3D models that Gozaburo had on file. He could have used...literally anything to throw at these people and he went with cards. He could have just dropped a boat on them but...I dunno, maybe he didn’t know where the boat folder was.

Yugi trying really hard to not acknowledge the annoying as hell Joey face and give it any more attention than it already has.

Tea and Serenity scramble to the exit largely unscathed, dragging Tristan with them because he is too small to hold a card hologram and is too monkey to be at all useful back on the front lines.

And they just wake up. Just like that. Just like they woke up from a simple nap or something.

And voila, Tristan is no longer a monkey, his brain is back to normal, the writers were like “we really have to focus on Noah right now, please forgive us if we just pretend line all that brain damage Tristan went through, his brain being 5 DIFFERENT PEOPLE at the same time, having his brainwaves turned into an actual monkey, and then back again within the space of a few hours- just pretend he’s fine now.

It’s fine. Tristan’s fine.

Tristan wasn’t really...all that bright to begin with so...he’s fine.

And so, as our B team is getting back into the real world, Noah sees this little post-it note on the side of his computer that says “PS, Yugi is a main character and must be present for the finale although he will serve little purpose there” and so Noah pressed that intercom mic button to say:

And it’s at this point that Noah says “I’ll just make you a portal and warp you right there” and then I guess everyone standing around Noah kind of looked at eachother and was like “NOW you do that? NOW? AFTER the chase through the monster copy-paste factory?”

The show is desperately trying to convince me that Noah is now fully a good brother but ehhhhh he’s not. Like, I’ll be honest, they give him the best send off they could have possibly given to such an irredeemably evil character. Like, Seto himself is such a bag of pistachios that you really have to stretch Noah pretty far into evil territory to make Seto look like the good guy in comparison, and it sort of made me not really buy this whole Noah redemption arc.

It’s more like a prequel to a redemption arc that apparently won’t even happen in this series of Yugioh. He comes back at some point, and I only know that because I had to do a google image search of this kid for some reason and it was like ah, yeah, this is definitely a screen cap of a later, glossier looking Yugioh. But, for now, I’d say that Noah’s arc isn’t so much about him coming closer to his family or turning towards the ‘light’, as Pharaoh put it last episode. It’s more about Noah finally letting go of his Father, which should have been the arc of Seto Kaiba.

Instead, Seto did absolutely nothing to let go of his Dad, to the point that Seto is now fighting a computer that just kind of looks like his Dad during a missile strike aimed at Seto’s own face, and Seto did not stop till he won, because of his own damn pride.

Like I think I mentioned this in the last recap, but if they wanted to have Seto show any changes in this arc (which he hasn’t done) then he should have walked away. Instead, he’s very clearly still using his past trauma to fuel the obsessive reasons why he’s playing cards in the present.

Oh, and PS, Yugi’s here, I don’t know why he is, but it does make for some good scenery shots for the commercials so you know, why not.

Gozaburo decides it’s about time to turn into a 50 ft rage monster, and he pushes them to a ledge. Ah, dangerous ledge trope, it’s been a while.

And, finally, as was hinted basically since S1, Yugi gets Seto to jump directly off a ledge of a very tall structure. It finally happened.

Don’t think about it.

And into a portal? That gets them to the exit? Like y’all...this is a kid’s show and all so I shouldn’t question any very convenient plot devices but like...what?

Anyways, they’re fine now, don’t worry about it.

And so, now for a brother pow-wow between Mokuba, who is either still very, very much in Stockholm Syndrome Territory or maybe just doesn’t know that Noah dropped a rocket on his face while Moki was AFK.

And so Noah walks off into the fog cloud because he is the only person on this entire show who would rather die than share a brain (and you know Moki would’ve been down. Moki/Noah as the next Yugi/Pharaoh could’ve been a great thing but youknow, also very much way too complicated for this already complicated show).

It was very melodramatic.

And TBH, I will miss Noah a little bit, he had a fun, insane sort of snobby sass, but I can understand why they might not want to keep even more villains around on this show that is already like...dozens of villains, just so many villains.

Anyway, remember that they woke up in a lab and not in a blimp, so they still have to like...get off this damn boat.

Lol nearly forgot this was an anime. Glad Noah got a magic girl moment before he kicked it.

Also, I’m pretty sure it was shirtless Noah in this glowing yellow farmer’s tan that got this episode flagged for Adult Content when it was still in my drafts folder. Tumblr’s bot got super excited to shut this one way down lol.

And then what follows is like one of the best animated loops in Yugioh. One so good that you bet your ass I clipped it to view for my own leisure.

Mokuba, sensing he’s slowing down for no reason makes the mistake of telling his brother “I’m not going to make it” and so, as an unsuspecting Duke Devlin reaches out and says “grab my hand,” Kaiba does...THIS

when the entire time Kaiba was strong enough and had enough jumps to do THIS

Like he could have easily picked up Mokuba but youknow, any chance to throw a kid at Duke Devlin’s face shoe-first, I guess.

Maybe this is why Moki wears a puffy vest?

And so it was here, as the flames encroach on my wonderful blimp baby that I was getting ready to say goodbye, but guess what, she ain’t dead because...of a completely insane reason we’ll get to in a bit.

Oh, and PS Kaiba’s Dad is a flame monster now. Because of...technology?

It’s probably supposed to be metaphorical flames but youknow, apparently Kaiba had the foresight that someone at some point would become a flame demon and try to devour his entire blimp, and so he made a feature you can add onto what ever blimp you decide to buy from him just so you can outrun fire people attacks.

And it turns out Blimp was the real Magical Girl all along.

Blimp lore is getting pretty wild y’all.

Imagine playing cards on it now...

And then everyone collectively decided that Noah WASN’T DEAD. It was very unhealthy! Thanks 4Kids!

The irony about this exchange is that it is Bakura who is the one who’s uploaded to a flash drive, not Noah--Bakura is on a flash drive around Yugi’s neck but they have never discussed this. Like I’m pretty sure no one even has still picked up that Bakura died and that’s going to be the thing I look forward to the most next episode. If they even address it. Which they might not.

And so, Kaiba looks at the wreckage and the rocket parts that he now has to explain to the UN (and probably not for the first time) and he says:

And thus ends the Kaiba’s Kojima-esque War Crimes arc.

Oh man, next time we get to go back to Marik.

Man oh man.

I don’t even REMEMBER what was going on in that arc guys. It’s been like...man.

I might have to read my own blog to refresh myself haha, I honestly have forgotten a lot of details.

Anyway, in memory of when the blimp still looked like a blimp, I guess this is the last time I can ever post this song:

youtube

And here’s a link to read these recaps from the beginning in chrono-order

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blueinkblot · 5 years

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Open-Hearted

@write-it-motherfuckers Okay! This is the draft I turned in for my writing class, and while I think it could be a lot better I didn’t want to keep you waiting too much longer.

I should have known things would go badly when my childhood “coven” reconvened over winter break.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” I said, pulling at Eliot’s hand. “Ceels even said she found a real grimoire by a real witch.”

“With the way things were,” Eliot said, digging her heels into the decaying rug in the O’Connor’s back room, “who even knows if she’s a real witch?”

“You could say the same about us,” Celia said, walking into the room with a decaying book in one hand that was at least eight inches thick. She carried a silver platter of lemon cookies in the other. “Just three twenty-something hipsters playing around with things they don’t understand.”

Really, we weren’t a coven. There were three of us: myself, with a main skill set involving little magicks like lighting lights or clearing dust; my friend Celia, whose magick focused on intuition and the mind; and our mutual friend Eliot, whose magick was physical (healing, speed, and reflexes). The three of us had parted ways after graduating high school and gone off to college.

“Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting stronger,” Eliot said, flexing her left arm. “The guys in the shop are starting to actually seem impressed with how much I can lift by myself.”

“Yeah, well, don’t show off or anything,” Celia pouted. “Sit down and let’s get started.”

She let the grimoire fall onto the steamer trunk that sat in the middle of the small room, and a cloud of dust shot out from between the pages.

“Smells old,” Eliot said through a cough, flapping a hand in front of her face to clear the air.

“Clara,” I murmured, pointing a finger at the dust. As quickly as I could have snapped my fingers the dust was gone.

“Oooh, look at you, Rhi,” Celia said. “Is that new?”

“Improved,” I said, pointing a finger at her. “I can now clean my room… slightly faster than I used to be able to.”

Silence fell over the room, and Celia took a cookie off of the plate she was holding. I reached for the book, only for her to put the plate down onto the steamer trunk so that her arm was blocking me from touching the book.

“Rhiannon Grace Adler, have a cookie or two before we get into the occult,” she said in a faux-Southern drawl as she often did.

“Yes, mom,” I said, taking two and getting powdered sugar all over my black pants.

“Okay, now that we’ve all had a little sustenance we can get into the fun stuff,” Celia said, dusting her hands off and flinging crumbs to the floor before sitting down in the wicker chair behind her. She undid the two brass latches on the grimoire with careful fingers and opened to the first page.

“This being the collection of magyck - magick spelled M-A-G-Y-C-K, guys - gathered by one Prudence Goode in the year 1721.”

Eliot and I ooohed at this.

“Okay, find something good for us to try,” I said, watching Celia scrutinize the first page. She skimmed through a dozen pages and then paused, tapping her finger against the page.

“Here’s a good one, Teleportation of the Body and Mind.”

“Do me! Do me! Do me!” I said, bouncing in my seat.

Celia gave me a withering look. “No thanks, you’re my friend. And I have a boyfriend.”

I snorted at her and Eliot nearly fell off of the settee she was sitting on in laughter.

“Shut up, you know what I meant,” I pouted.

“Yes, I did,” she said with a warm smile. “Mistress Eliot, are you ready?”

“Yes.” Eliot wiggled on her seat and sat up straight.

“Mistress Rhiannon, are you ready?”

“If you insist,” I said, faux-annoyed.

“And I’m ready. Rhi, you wanna be the guinea pig?”

“Yup!” I jumped up from my seat and stood next to the trunk. “Shoot me off to Canada!”

“Canada’s too far,” Celia whined. “I’ll send you, like, next door. Freak the Neils out.”

She and Eliot joined hands, and they peered at the book on the side table.

“Guess it’s time to remember my Latin,” Eliot said. “On three?”

She counted herself and Celia off, and they read through the chant three times as the instructions, well, instructed.

“Feel anything?” Celia asked, opening one of her eyes and looking up at me.

“…I feel kind of tingly.”

“Keep going,” Eliot said, nodding towards the book.

They resumed the chant, and they were halfway through the second repetition before I was tossed in the air.

I was about ten feet in the air when I reappeared and had only a moment to panic before gravity decided that it was once again interested in me. I landed on my front, my breath knocked out of me, and groaned as I tried to take stock of myself. Fortunately, it seemed I had my arms and legs. Unfortunately, it seemed I didn’t know where I was.

The floor beneath my hands was cold and hard, and though I couldn’t see it I would have bet money that I had fallen onto a stone floor.

So the spell worked, I thought, but where am I?

“Who’s there?” A male voice called, and I felt a cool shiver run down my spine. The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and finally I saw the light of a lamp bobbing towards me. As the figures got closer, I could see a woman a few inches shorter than me holding the lantern and, beside her, a tall man draped in a long, dark cloak. His face looked pale in the yellow lamplight, but I was sure it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.

“It would seem we have a guest,” he said, heels clicking against the floor as they moved towards me. I scrambled to my feet before they reached me.

“I’m sorry for trespassing,” I said, holding up my hands. “I didn't mean to disturb you, I’ll just leave - ”

I reached for the door and pulled it open, only for a flash of lightning and peal of thunder to make me jump back in surprise.

“This is not suitable weather for traveling,” the man said. “Please, stay.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“I insist,” the man said, inclining his head.

I finally nodded and shut the solid wooden door.

“How did you get here?” The man asked, looking down towards me.

“Magic,” I confessed. “Bad, accidental magic out of an old grimoire my friend found.”

“Magic?” His brow furrowed. “I haven’t seen magic in a long time.”

“How long?”

“It must have been… oh, 270 years?”

I felt the warmth drain from my face. “What?!”

He caught my expression and laughed. “I forgot to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula, and I welcome you to my home.”

I leapt away from him. “Dracula.” My chest felt tight and my mind was racing. “You’re a vampire.”

“Indeed.” He looked over, his expression cool but surprised. “How did you know that?”

For a moment I struggled to come up with an answer. “Where I come from, there are a lot of stories about you.”

He turned to me, holding out a hand. “Madame - ”

“Don’t get any closer.” The middle finger of the hand I was holding up between me and him lit on fire.

He sighed impatiently. “Mâdâlena, please show our guest to the lavender room near my chambers.”

The woman who’d been carrying the torch before returned and gestured for me to follow her. She had greying dark brown hair that was wound into a bun that was slowly falling apart, and she wiped her hands off on an apron.

“This way miss,” she said in a soft, even voice.

The room was quiet - tapestries hung from the walls that deadened the sound and there were heavy draperies that hung around the tall, four-postered bed.

“I’ll find a nightgown for you to wear, and when I return I’ll light a fire.”

“Thank you,” I called as she turned and left the room.

I sat down on the bed, surprised when it didn’t give like a mattress might but instead crackled as though I were sitting on Rice Krispies.

When Mâdâlena returned, she had not only what she’d promised but a strange, wooden device in the shape of a ’t’. As I watched, she beckoned for me to stand up, then used the device to pull at strings strung through the side of the bed. She moved to the fireplace and soon a fire was warming the room.

“I found this,” she said. “It may be a bit long, but hopefully it will fit you.”

I took the gown and marveled at the detailing around the neck. “Thank you, again,” I said, hating the way my voice shook.

She nodded once then pulled a brass pan from the end of the bed. “I will fill the bed warmer and then I will go,” she said. “Do not hesitate to call if you need anything more.”

I watched her scoop some of the glowing embers into the pan, then slide the pan under the sheets. “Simply remove it when the sheets become warm.”

The way she was instructing me about these unfamiliar tools and the formal tone of her voice caused tears to spring to my eyes.

“Thank you.”

She nodded one more time, then turned and left, this time for good.

“God I’m such an idiot,” I said, feeling my throat tie into a knot as I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’m never going to get home.”

Then it was just like the dam burst. The guilt over how Celia and Eliot must be feeling plus the hopelessness of being stuck in Transylvania in the year who-knows-when plus the gut-wrenching fear of being holed up in the domicile of the most famous vampire on the planet - vampires, whom I never would have guessed were real just this morning - who could suck me dry at any moment. Especially now that it was nighttime and I was starting to feel sleepy. Tears ran down my cheeks and I tried to keep the sobbing to the minimum - who knows what the master of the house could hear - but I could only do so much.

I changed into the nightgown and immediately felt myself break out in goosebumps. Despite the fire, there was still a draft coming from somewhere in the room. Eventually, as Mâdâlena suggested, I pulled the bed warmer out of the sheets and placed it near the fire. Then I pulled back the sheets, slid in, and tried to convince myself to fall asleep.

Apparently I did fall asleep, because at some point in the darkest point of the night I was startled out of a dream by the prickly feeling of my magic. I sat up, gasping and clutching the sheets like a lifeline.

There, outlined by the soft torchlight of the hall, was Dracula. I could see two faint red pinpricks in the dark that moved just slightly before he turned and left the room, the door shutting behind him.

In the morning I redressed in my modern clothes and found a note on my dresser asking me to return to the hall in which I’d landed. As often happened in unfamiliar places, I didn’t sleep well that night. My back ached, and I was still slightly grumpy from not having slept well.

In the hall there now was a long, glossy wooden table laid out with shining silver plates of food. I stopped in the entryway to the hall, and the count looked my way before standing.

“I apologize for spooking you last night,” the count said, not even blinking. “It’s… been so long since I last had guests.”

“This is so much food,” I murmured. “I can’t possibly even eat a fraction of it.”

I took spoonfuls of the plates of food that I recognized - potatoes, greens, and a dark meat I didn’t recognize - before pouring a gravy over the whole plate. My throat grew tight as I pulled the chair out and sat down.

He’s going to wait until you’re full and sleepy, and then he’s going to jump you.

I felt my stomach twist in anxiety.

I looked up from the food and felt myself begin to shake as I noticed the count’s eyes on my. I raised another bite to my mouth, and then I felt something inside me snap.

The fork clattered back to the plate and I felt my chest constrict as I let out a sob.

I buried my head in my hands as I felt warm tears streak down my cheeks. A hand touched my shoulder and I gasped, flinching away from the touch.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Please, I don’t want to die!”

It felt like the room was crumpling around me, and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.

I heard a soft “oh,” no more that an exhalation of breath, and then the sound of the count’s shoes against the floor.

Just breathe, I thought to myself. Five things I can see…

I peeked through my fingers as I tried to regain control of my breathing and noticed that the count stood ramrod-straight a few paces away.

Finally I could sit up and just try to breathe. I wiped the tears away and took a few more gulping breaths of air.

“I, um, apologize for panicking,” I said, unable to meet the count’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were going to bite me.”

“It is a natural conclusion,” he answered, expression solemn. “Though I must admit, I was worried you would curse me if I tried anything.”

I couldn’t help the smile that grew on my face. “That’s kind of funny, but I don’t know that much magic. All I can do right now is - ”

I lifted a hand. Dust flew into the air as I vanished it, and the lights grew a little brighter.

“Little things.”

“If you wish to learn more,” the count said, “I believe I know a sorcerer who used to come by every so often.”

“What happened to him?”

“The townspeople. I’m afraid I am the only supernatural creature left here - the rest were driven out.”

“Where does your friend live?” I asked.

“Siberia, I believe.”

“Siberia?!”

“And quite isolated, too.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” I bit my lip. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to learn from him. Maybe he can help me get home.” The count looks crestfallen for just a moment, but then straightened up once more. “I will send him a letter this evening.”

“How’s it going to get to him in Siberia?”

He said nothing, only raising his arm. Down from the high, shadowed ceilings of the castle swooped a bird, and when it landed a glossy black raven stood on his arm.

“Meet Noapte.”

“Hey,” I breathed, reaching a hand out. Noapte cawed but didn’t snap at me as I petted his head. I met the count’s gaze. “You’re going to send a note by raven?”

“Yes.”

“And how long should it take for your friend to arrive?”

“I suppose…. About a month?”

I nearly choked. “A month?”

“He’ll have to travel in secret.” The count’s tone revealed that he was surprised that I was surprised.

“My goodness.”

“Come, I’ll show you the study.”

As in the hall the ceiling was higher than expected, but instead of the lingering chill the room seemed to be radiating warmth. Bookcases stretched towards the ceiling like trees, and titles embossed on some of the spines glittered in the low light like sunlight off of water.

The count moved further into the room, and I forgot my nerves in a moment of breathless awe. While he moved over towards the large desk sitting towards the back of the room, I hurried over to the shelves.

The first book I pulled out was in a beautiful, clean hand, and it took a moment of staring before I realized it was in Latin.

“The Scientia Rerum,” he said. “You know Latin?”

“It’s been a while,” I said, smiling down at the pages. “But I can pick things out here and there.”

As badly as I wanted to run my fingers over the illuminated letters and the brilliant illustrations, I knew I’d be crushed if I did anything to ruin the books.

“Concerning the - adjunctum? Oh, that’s properties - properties of all things relating to the Earth.” I looked up from the pages. “This is alchemy, then?”

“It certainly sounds like it,” the count said, head bowed in focus as he wrote with precise, deft strokes.

“Have you ever tried anything from any of your books?”

“Once or twice.” He finished a phrase with an exact tap on the page.

“It would be fascinating to try and see if any of the combinations the alchemists detail could actually work,” I said, running my fingers against the ragged edge of the page.

“And how would you do that?”

“Set up some equipment, run the reaction, and note the result.” I met his gaze and shrugged. “It’s not too different from what I’ve done in the laboratory.”

“You study?”

“Biochemistry.” I shrugged again. Did I usually shrug this much? “I, uh… it has to do with the human body. Figuring out its deepest secrets.”

“Try the red book on the fifth shelf there,” the count advised, pointing with the end of his quill.

I put the book back in its place and reached for the book he’d noted. Opening it - it too was in Latin - but there was a drawing of the full body with notes around it.

I flicked through some of the pages and then closed the book. “This is… amazing. Thank you.”

He’s pouring something from a small spoon onto the now rolled-up note. The count removed a ring and pressed it into the - oh, that was wax - before meeting my gaze.

“Is that a seal?”

“It is my family’s crest.”

I walked over to the desk and watched as he wiggled the ring out of the wax. There, in the red wax, was the image of a dragon curled around a sword.

I walked over to a chair in the room and sat down to read the book, tucking my legs underneath me. After a few pages of semi-understood Latin, the count stood up and called Noapte. He held out the note to the bird, who took it, then left the room.

When he returns he pauses just inside the doorway. “I never asked your name, and for that I apologize.”

I try to hold back an impending smile. “I’m Rhiannon - uhm, Adler,” I said, “but my friends call me Rhi.”

He inclined his head. “Adler… that is German, yes?”

“Yes. But I’m not from Germany, I’m from… elsewhere.”

The count gave me a curious look but didn’t press.

“In Romanian, that would be vulturul.”

“Really?” I watch him for a second. “Would you teach me some Romanian? I feel uneasy not knowing any on my own.”

He considered me for a second, then nodded.

A couple of weeks later I was headed out to the market with Mâdâlena to fetch a few things. While I wasn’t by any means proficient at Romanian, I could pick a few words out here and there.

“Try this.” Mâdâlena swung a heavy cloak around my shoulders, and then fastened the clasp at my throat.

I hummed as I felt myself grow warm. “Oh, that’s much better. Thank you.” I looked down at the clasp. “Dragons?”

“The master’s sigil.” She picked up the basket she had set down to help me. “Now come, we should get things done.”

I could hear the sounds of the marketplace not long after we left the castle. Mâdâlena carried on as was her routine, but I paused at the edge of the bridge over the chasm that divided the castle from the rest of the town and looked back at the castle. The count was looking out from one of the upper windows, and I just looked for a moment before turning and following Mâdâlena.

The first few stalls entailed me following Mâdâlena as she scrutinized the produce the townspeople were offering, speaking in fluid Romanian as she bartered and purchased. Then, finally, we came to a stall selling fabric.

I sort of spaced out when Mâdâlena started talking to the vendor, and wandered to the edge of the stall.

As she wrapped things up, I noticed a group of men looking my way and pointing at the clasp on the cloak.

“Mâdâlena,” I murmured, “what are those men saying?”

She didn’t look over at them but instead began to listen. “They’re talking about how you’re wearing the master’s sigil. And…” She listened for a moment longer. “We should head back to the castle. I do not like how they are speaking about you.”

She collected the fabric and handed it to me. We turned on our heels and walked back the way we came.

Once we reached the entry hall of the castle Mâdâlena put her hands on my shoulders. “They said something about ‘I thought we drove the last of the monsters from the village’ and then another man said something about raiding the castle.”

I covered my mouth with a hand. “Mâdâlena - ”

“It’s not something you should worry about. I will tell the master.”

“That’s not going to make me worry about it any less,” I muttered as she walked away.

Three days later Peytr, the count’s sorcerer acquaintance, arrived at the castle.

“I hear you’ve had some magic trouble,” he said.

“My friends teleported me a long way from home thanks to a mishap,” I answered.

“Now, I don’t know how much Vlad has told you - ”

“Vlad?”

“The count.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t know how much he’s told you, but I can’t help by reversing the spell, only by helping you trace out the remainders of the spell and try to reverse it. I can help you improve your magic in a similar way.”

“Please,” I said. “I haven’t been taught very much - apparently there were rumors that an ancestor of mine had magic, but it hasn’t manifested in a few generations. My mother wasn’t surprised that I had magic, though.”

Peytr inclined his head. “Good. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

He held out both of his hands and I placed mine in them. He cocked his head to one side as though he was listening to a faint sound, and then he straightened up after a long moment.

“A simple transportation spell,” he pronounced, “though how you were sent this far from home, I’m not sure…”

“Can it be reversed?”

“Oh, most certainly. I say “simple”, but your friends’ magic is strong enough that returning home should be like following a well-worn path. We may, however, have to bolster your magic ability.”

That was the start of the growth of my magic skills. Peytr was of the opinion that, not only should I strengthen what magic I intrinsically had, but I should also develop my defensive and offensive magic.

And so we did. Somewhat like fencing, he started with exercises and drills, and then worked until we could wordlessly spar.

“Vlad,” Peytr said one day, “how would you feel about fighting Rhiannon?”

If a vampire could pale, he did just then. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I fear I would hurt her."

Peytr and I shared a look.

I flicked a finger towards the count. He jerked, frowning down at his left side as though someone had poked him. I did it again, and finally he looked up to see my poorly-hidden grin.

“Miss Adler,” he protested, but I sent a breeze his way.

“Have it your way,” he murmured, and sped towards me.

I raised my hands in front of me, willing the air to harden around me as a defense. I felt the shock against my magic as the count ran into it. He gave me a curious glance before trying something else. I pressed my hand out and blocked him once more before I felt Peytr’s magic sneaking towards me. I blocked it, and that was when Vlad knocked me over.

“What happened?”

“Peytr distracted me,” I said, sending a half-assed glare his way. He simply smirked back.

“I apologize for knocking you over,” he said, extending a hand. I took it and got back to my feet.

“Overall, I still think that was quite successful, Rhiannon, don’t you?”

“Oh, of course,” I said, pulling my gaze away from Vlad. “But I still feel like I can do more.”

And so that was how my days went. Magic training, a midday meal, and then more language lessons with the count.

One day, as I was making notes on the alchemy text Vlad had given me to read, he entered the room and began work of his own at the other end of the desk.

“Meu vulturul, would you pass me the folio next to you?”

Without thinking about it, I picked up the folio he was referring to and then processed what he’d said. “Sorry, what?”

“What?”

“What did you say?”

“Oh.” He averted his gaze. “I called you ‘my eagle.’”

“Like my last name, I remember now.” I extend the folio towards him.

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s kind of cute.” I looked up at him. “No, I don’t mind.”

After a moment he smiled and returned to his work.

A few weeks later, after a routine hunting trip, Vlad found me in the study.

The expression on his face was almost dour. “I have something I must tell you.”

I was startled into silence with his tone. “Is everything alright?” I asked, moving over to him and taking his hands.

He chuckled and broke into a grin. “Yes, vulturul meu.” He placed his hands on either side of my face and I marveled, as I always did, at how cold his hands were. “I love you.”

I froze stock-still, eyes shooting open.

Vlad watched with narrowed eyebrows, then dropped his gaze and his hands. He went to turn away and I realized what had happened.

“Wait,” I said before he could move away too quickly. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned back, his eyes hopeful.

“I love you too, I just… I never thought you’d say it.”

He returned to me in the blink of an eye, and I flinched back at the rush of air that followed. “I keep forgetting you can do that.”

Taking my face in his hands again, he pressed a soft kiss to my hairline. “Would you come help me get my armor on?”

“I’m surprised a vampire needs armor,” I said, grinning mischievously. “Lead the way.”

When Vlad opened the door to the armory room, I was surprised for only a moment that there were a collection of swords and various weapons hanging on the stone walls.

“Oh, look at your collection,” I said, turning slowly to look at everything.

“I think I’m going to take this one,” he said, pulling down a large, medieval-looking sword. Holding the sheath in one hand, he pulled the sword out by about six inches to reveal a sharp, shiny blade.

“Hold this.” He held it out and I braced myself as I held it by the belt, only to find that it was slightly lighter than I expected.

He slipped into the legs of the armor and then what would have been the top of a pair of pants.

“Now the part for which I requested your help,” he said, giving me a grin over his shoulder.

He held up the torso of the armor, and I held up a finger. I quickly strapped the sword around my own hips - for no other reason than I would probably never get to hold a sword like this ever again - and then took the armor piece from him. Once he’d slid into the top, he looked down and considered the sword.

“Sorry, I put it there so I could use both of my hands,” I explained, hands going to undo the buckle. Vlad took both of my hands and kissed my knuckles.

“It suits you,” he said. “I’ll teach you when I return.”

He strapped the sword on, then slid his hands into the gauntlets. I attached them to the rest of the armor, then picked up his helmet.

I followed him down to the main hall, and outside in the rain one of the stablehands held his mount’s reins in the air.

“A kiss for luck?” He asked, tucking the helmet under an arm.

“I’ll oblige,” I said, placing my hands on either side of his face and pulling him down so I could kiss him.

He gave me a starry-eyed look before sliding the helmet on and heading outside.

I watched until he was no more than a speck in the distance, then turned to head into the main hall for an evening meal.

Since Vlad’s departure an uneasy feeling had settled into my gut and refused to leave. I tried to carry on with normal procedure - working on developing my magic with Petyr and translating the alchemy books - but my attention was divided the whole time.

The unsettled feeling didn’t go away once I settled in to bed at the end of a week of Vlad being away and tried to focus on the latest book I was reading. I knew something was wrong - the feeling was tinged with the tingly sensation I got from my magic - but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was wrong.

My suspicions were confirmed when the door to my chambers was kicked open. The door slammed into the wall nearest the doorway, and several men entered my chambers. One started speaking in Romanian, and thanks to Peytr’s instruction I cast a spell that allowed me to understand them, and them me.

“ - you will tell us where the devil is.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man who’d been speaking narrowed his eyes at me. “The count, woman! Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sliding from the bed and folding my arms around myself. “In fact, I’d wager he had set out to find you.”

The man grit his teeth. Behind him the other men adjusted their grip on their weapons, and I felt a chill creep up my spine.

The man shook his head. “It doesn’t matter - we can’t harm him anyways. But you… you we can hurt.”

My hand was up between him and me before I knew what was happening, and his sword stroke bounced off of the defensive spell I’d cast. He fell away, and I continued to block other strikes as the other men rushed forward.

My arms were beginning to shake as I was pushed towards the center of the room, and a flash of movement near the doorway caught my eye. My defenses lapsed for only a second as I glimpsed Vlad in the doorway, and hope bloomed in the pit of my stomach.

And then I went cold. I looked up to see the triumphant face of one of the attackers, and looked down to see the blade of his sword sticking through my gut. There was a sucking noise as he pulled it free, and I heard a shout before I was falling once again.

I awoke with a start to the sound of steady beeping. I reached over to turn off what I thought was my alarm clock, only for somebody to chuckle at my weak gestures. “I’m afraid you can’t turn the ECG machine off, dear.”

“Oh.” That explained why everything was so blindingly white - I was in the hospital.

“But, since you’re awake, you’ve got a couple of visitors.”

She opened the door and Celia and Eliot dashed to my bedside.

“I’ll give you all a moment,” the nurse said, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

“Where did you go?” Eliot asked.

“Transylvania,” I told them, taking one of each of their hands. “And not just that, but you sent me back to the 1500s.”

“What?!” Celia asked.

“It wasn’t all bad. I got to meet Dracula.”

Both of their jaws dropped.

“And then I was stabbed in the stomach just before I got back here.”

“That’s what the nurse said,” Celia said. “They said you’re lucky that they were able to stitch up the wounds you got.”

“And my parents?”

Celia shook her head. “All of us were worried - you just vanished. And now you’re back - hell, I think your mom’s kicking herself that she can’t do magic.”

“I get it, I get the same way when I feel like I don’t have a handle on a situation,” I said. “But really, I’m okay.”

“Says the woman with a gaping stab wound in the middle of her gut,” Eliot snarked.

I shook my head. “I can’t just leave things like this.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of traveling after a major injury. Besides the fact that the place you want to go is halfway around the world.”

“You don’t get it,” I said. “I have to go back.”

“Maybe we don’t,” Eliot said, “but we can’t just stand by if you might hurt yourself.”

“I was the one who was sent back, and in case you’ve forgotten he’s a vampire.” I shifted in the bed, feeling extremely exposed in the hospital gown. “I should go - alone.”

“Rhi, you have no idea how bad we feel for doing that to you,” Celia said, her voice pleading. “You’re right - we risked losing you once, and now that you’re back we don’t want to risk that again.”

“I just don’t want to burden you with going to Romania with me - ”

“Burden? Our fuckup made you disappear for four months, then when you did return you were in a coma for another month or so,” Eliot said. “Please. Just for our satisfaction.”

“I was in a coma?” I felt a chill roll down my spine.

“You were unconscious when you came back,” Celia said, covering my hand with hers. “We got you to the hospital as fast as we could.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I see why you were so concerned.”

Celia and Eliot relayed the plan back to our parents, and somehow got them to agree to the harebrained scheme. I suspect it was because we were using completely mundane methods of getting there, instead of trying to blast ourselves to the middle of Europe.

I started the journey purely anxious, but as we got closer and closer I only got more excited. Then, when we were making our way into Transylvania, I felt my heart leap at the sight of more of the countryside.

The feeling of the cobbles under my feet as we crossed the bridge was comforting.

“Uh, Rhi?” Celia asked, peering over the edge of the bridge, “was this chasm this big when you were last here?”

I nodded. “C’mon, I can’t wait any longer,” I said, hurrying to the door. When Eliot and Celia reached me, the three of us heard a scream from inside the castle.

“Are we sure we want to be going in here?” Eliot asked, looking at me.

“I’ll go in,” I said. “You guys stay here, and I’ll come get you if it’s worth going in.”

The whimpers and screams lead me down an unlit hallway, and I finally heard the man cry out once more before there was a thumping noise.

“If you are here to kill me, you have only moments before I destroy you where you stand.”

“Lux.”

As Vlad stood and turned around, the lights brightened and I stood stock-still.

“Rhiannon.”

In the blink of an eye he was in front of me, holding me close.

“Hello,” I murmured into his chest.

“Meu vulturul, you survived.”

“Apparently, I did.”

He held me at arms’ length, his hands on my shoulders. “How?”

“I was sent back to modern day when I got stabbed, then I woke up in the hospital with the stab wound closed up.”

“And you returned.”

“I felt terrible about leaving you like that. I had to end the story.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Oh! And I brought friends.”

“Are these the friends who found the grimoire?”

“The very same.”

We walked to the front door together, ((arms linked around one another)). Eliot was shifting from foot to foot and Celia was pacing back and forth.

“Rhi! Thank goodness, we almost thought you were - ” Her gaze travelled upward as she looked up at Vlad, jaw agape. “Hello." “Vlad, this is Eliot and Celia. Ceels, Eliot - Vlad.”

Neither one of my friends spoke for a moment, then Celia extended her hand. “Nice to meet you finally,” she said, firmly shaking his hand.

“Celia’s the one who found the grimoire,” I said, meeting Vlad’s gaze and raising my eyebrows. "So all of this trouble is her fault.”

“Well - I, uh - ”

Vlad took her hand gently. “Thank you. Without that blunder I might not have met Rhiannon.”

Celia flushed.

“And then this is Eliot,” I said, gesturing to her with my free hand, “the one who got me to see past my bullshit and allow them to come with me.”

Vlad fixed me with a look. “You were going to try to make the journey by yourself?”

I rolled my eyes and huffed. “I wanted to.”

He turned his gaze to Eliot. “Then I thank you for curbing her stupidity.”

“Hey!”

“Shall I show you around?”

So he did, and when we left the castle I found myself thankful that this was how it all ended - my adventure completed, and the people I cared about most chattering away happily.

“Rhi,” Celia said, beckoning. “C’mon, we’re going for a walk.”

And so the four of us set off on a new adventure.

#my writing

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exceedinglyregular · 6 years

Note

Prompt: Fun fact- Andrew can sing and often writes songs in his downtime. Fun fact- he is also hopelessly in love with one Steven Lim. After Steven moves to LA, Andrew is broken. His songs get sadder and the small collection of people who knows this are worried for him. Cue some help from Ryan Bergara, who also writes songs and sings- this time for Shane Madej, who he is moping after. The two help each other write songs, make a name for themselves, and find happiness in those they love.

I decided to interpret your prompt in a slightly weird different way. I apologise for my weird brain.

Also sorry about the tardiness, coming up with original lyrics is a lot tougher than I anticipated. Plus the story kept literally growing on me even though I wanted to keep it short and sweet.

(ao3 link for those who prefer: here)

Title: To the Tune of Your Heart

“What. The. Hell.” Andrew’s head immediately snaps around to look at Adam, those words don’t sound right coming out of his soft-spoken friend’s mouth. He’s flipping through Andrew’s notebook with a look of disbelief on his face. “Okay, some of these are downright depressing. Are you okay?”

“Not all the songs are from my perspective,” Andrew replies nonchalantly. He continues setting up the lights they needed for filming. Adam looks up, annoyed. Andrew sighs. “I’m okay. There I answered your question, now help me with this.” Adam obliges.

…

so i’m a liar, sue mei did what i had toyou never wanted to hurt mebut i did it for you

now you’re happy, without meam i the fool?i should be angrybut i’m happy for you

…

Ryan stares at his reflection in his phone’s blank screen, waiting… Yeah, seems like he forgot, no surprise there. Groaning, Ryan drops his phone on the pillow next to his head, and rolls over to where his laptop is. He lifts the lid and sighs. It’s looking like another solo brainstorm session.

Ryan clicks around aimlessly and accidentally opens a draft of a song he’s writing: ‘For You’. It’s incomplete, much like his life. Ryan cringes at his own thought. It’s been years but he’s still not over it.

Shane has a girlfriend now, and he’s happy. In fact, he’s so happy that he’s probably on a date with her right now, completely forgetting that he agreed to help Ryan out with coming up with ideas for their next videos. Ryan swears he’s not bitter, he swears he’s happy for Shane.

…

it’s not the samein two different citieswho can i blame?i just stood there and watched you leave

spinning round and roundwaiting for your calli’m still holding onnothing else matters more

if this is all there isthen i’m sorry to saythis is where it all endsthere’s no other way

…

This isn’t working. Andrew smacks his face onto the dining table, this is the fifth batch already. Adam has since been long gone, went home to get ready for work. Andrew lifts his head slightly, only to bring it back down onto the table. Hard. He repeats it several times, hoping the pain would give him some clarity of mind.

As fledgling YouTubers, the cards were already stacked against them. But now with his own ineptitude, Andrew’s certain he’s gonna delete the entire subscriber-base that he and Adam had worked so hard to build. Andrew groans, it’s loud and dragged out, and interrupted by a knock on his front door.

It’s probably Adam, having forgotten his jacket or keys or something. Andrew doesn’t care. He shuffles over to open the door, ready to make a snippy remark about Adam’s poor memory. But the words he planned dies in his throat as he realizes who’s standing there. It’s not Adam.

“Ryan?”

The man waves tiredly, a wry smile on his lips. Then his eyes suddenly grow comically large as he points at Andrew’s forehead.

“You’re bleeding!”

Andrew lifts his hand to touch his forehead and sure enough, it pulls back with a thick, bright red liquid covering his fingers.

“So I am,” Andrew states matter-of-factly, completely unperturbed.

…

i got a problemyeah, i got a problem with youdon’t pretend you don’t knowwhat’s the matter with you?

all i wanted to bewas just your friendand that would be the end of itbut you had to goand ruin everythingwith your stupid beautiful facewhat the hell

i got a problem with youi got a bone to pickdon’t pretend you don’t knowwhat i want from you

…

With Andrew all patched up, Ryan can finally relax. He tosses the towel he used into the sink, there is an obscene amount of red on the towel, the sink, and everywhere in between.

Andrew leaves the bathroom without so much as a ‘thank you’, eliciting an eye-roll from Ryan, even though no one is around to witness it. He follows his friend out to the dimly lit dining room.

“What are those?” Ryan points at the weird lumps on the table.

“They’re SUPPOSED to be giant cinnamon rolls.” Andrew sighs, and runs a hand down his face in dramatic fashion, decidedly avoiding the bandage on his forehead.

“Oh yeah, I see it now. I thought they looked like baked poop emojis… no offense!” Ryan gingerly prods the rolls, wondering if they would collapse on themselves as he did that. Andrew for the most part didn’t look angry, just tired.

“None taken. They did turn out pretty shitty.” Ryan bites back a laugh. “So what brings you here tonight?”

“Oh, the usual: boredom, loneliness, heartbreak,” Ryan replies, faux-cheerily. Andrew raises an eyebrow before giving a sympathetic smile.

“Yikes. Sounds bad.” Ryan simply shrugs in response, there isn’t much to be said about his situation, Andrew already knows most of the details. And reciprocally, Andrew had shared his own problems with Ryan. Critically, the one involving a certain someone whose name begins with the letter ’s’ and ends with the letter ‘Lim’.

It’s the main reason Ryan came over in the first place, none of his other friends can relate to his plight to the same degree that Andrew does. Granted, it’s still ways off from complete understanding but it’s better than nothing.

“How’s the side-business going?” Ryan asks as he flips through the notebook that was lying on an otherwise empty chair.

Andrew doesn’t answer verbally, only giving Ryan a weary thumbs-down. Scanning line after smudgy line, an idea suddenly dawns on Ryan.

“What if I helped you out? I may know jackshit about baking, but songwriting… I do know a thing or two.”

Andrew looks hesitant, he scratches at his beard absentmindedly. He’s the sort who would refuse to admit he needs help even when he’s completely and utterly at wit’s end. Closing his eyes, he sighs, tension leaving his body. Ryan knows he’s giving in.

“Okay, but I’m helping you too.”

“Deal.”

…

normally i can be cooland keep it togetherbut when i’m around youi can’t control myself

boy, oh boyyou just had to do me like thisjust one smile from youoh, and i melt away

…

“Do I really have to?” Andrew mumbles, he’s not exactly thrilled with this idea.

He and Ryan are in his living room, everything has been set up to film him performing one of his songs. They spent the past few weeks working on Andrew’s songs, some old, some new, but all Steven-related.

“Just trust me… even if you don’t post this online, you’ll be glad to have something to look back at,” Ryan assures him, while adjusting the lens on the camera to get the focus right.

Andrew pokes at one of the keys on the piano, the sound that it creates is shaky and uncertain, which is exactly how Andrew is feeling. Not many people know about this side of him. He’s always been too scared to sing in front of an audience, performing one of his original compositions is ever further out of the question.

What if he’s not good? What if people hate his voice? Or his lyrics? Ryan said he didn’t have to publish this online but… he can’t stop his mind from wandering into those dark thoughts. Worse still, what if HE hates it? What if he hates his own singing? His own voice?

A weight finds it way onto Andrew’s shoulder, pressing down so suddenly that Andrew jumps up, knocking his knees against the piano. Ouch.

“Hey, hey… relax. You got this.” Ryan’s smiling assuringly, he squeezes Andrew’s shoulder lightly. “You got an amazing voice, believe me… I’m actually jealous.” This line gets some laughter from Andrew, who shakes his head disbelievingly.

“Alright, here goes nothing…”

…

something’s differentmaybe it’s just mebut when you talkall i’m hearing isblah, blah, blah…

has the curse finally been broken?please let it bei’ve had enoughi did my time

…

“Nope, no way. ‘Bergara guitarrar’ is not happening.” Ryan is shaking his head so violently his glasses almost fly off. Shane merely laughs at his objection.

“I mean you don’t actually have to do it just because the hashtag is trending. I’m not going to force you to…” Shane trails off, a trying-to-look-innocent smile on his face. Ryan swears he can see the effort Shane is putting into trying to pop out a halo, and it annoys the hell out of him.

“What the fuck, Shane?! The entire reason you started the hashtag is to pressure me into doing it!” Ryan angrily snatches the bowl of popcorn out of Shane’s hands and stuffs his face with a handful. If he didn’t, he might end up saying something he’d regret.

“You got me there.” The playful energy in Shane deflates, as does his posture. Normally, this action puts a hole in Ryan’s heart but today it sits steeled, unpunctured. He needs to stay strong for this.

Ryan sets the bowl down on the table, one set of fingers clawing away at the popcorn, the other swiping across the trackpad on his laptop. The webpage is scrolling, slowly, but his eyes aren’t focused on the words. He doesn’t have the energy to read.

When he broke up with Shane years ago, he convinced the both of them that it’s because it wasn’t working. That Ryan didn’t feel the same way towards his boyfriend like he did before. But all of it was a lie. The real reason he ended the relationship was for Shane’s sake, the other man was still too uncomfortable with his own sexuality. Shane merely pushed onwards to please him, Ryan was certain of it.

He had initially though that Shane was just being awkward in a new relationship but as the months dragged on, it became abundantly clear that the whole experience was setting Shane on the edge. And that wasn’t what Ryan wanted for him, he didn’t want Shane to force himself to confront his bisexuality when he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want Shane to be miserable just so Ryan can date him, that’s a fucked-up relationship. Hence the break up.

It had initially devastated Shane but Ryan could see the tension in him dissolving over the next few days. Despite the uphill battle, they did eventually manage to return to being just friends. Ryan is certain that never in a million years will he regret his decision, but part of him still wishes that they can get back together. And that part has been getting louder and more insistent over time. Right now, however, all he wants is for Shane to go away.

Too bad the universe hates him, as Shane maneuvers around the dining table just to face him. He flips the chair around and sits backwards on it, leaning forward against the backrest. Ryan doesn’t look up from the screen but imagines Shane resting his head on his crossed arms.

“Ryan,” Shane pleads, sounding more tired than Ryan has ever heard him. “I just think it’s a waste to not showcase that talent of yours.” Ryan doesn’t buy it.

“Bull. Shit. You want to embarrass me.” His patience is running thin but Shane doubles down on his objective, much to Ryan’s chagrin. He leans in and lowers the lid on Ryan’s laptop, looking him straight in the eye. When Ryan refuses to maintain visual contact, Shane seizes the bowl and Ryan instinctually glares at him.

“I don’t. Serious! I’m not saying this simply because you’re my friend, but you got a gift! You should unleash it onto the world!” Ryan waves a hand, physically dismissing Shane’s compliment with certain irritation. He has a point, those words are almost identical to the ones he told Andrew last week, but he refuses to let Shane win.

“Yeah, yeah… still not happening.” Ryan raises the lid of his laptop back up, he cracks his knuckles and begin typing away. “Can we just focus on the research?

Shane sighs heavily, nodding reluctantly. He has given up, for now… Ryan knows him better than to think that he has seen the end of this.

…

back to the startjust a stranger to you nowno matter what i doyou won’t turn around

finally got to know youthen you just had to leave mebehind with all these memoriesoh, what am i to do?

…

The videos were a huge hit, just like Ryan said they would be. Andrew absentmindedly taps his fingers on his knees, watching the numbers on his phone’s screen climb. People are still very much into it, he’s uploaded three songs now and with each one receiving more praises than the last, they aren’t looking much like a fluke.

Andrew locks his phone and tosses it onto the pillow next to him. He should be happy about the success he’s found with his music. The reactions he got were well beyond his wildest imagination. The channel tripled in subscribers, and the videos individually garnered more views than all their previous ones combined. All good news. Except that one no-news.

There’s still no word from Steven, they did still message each other sporadically since Steven moved to Los Angeles to chase his dreams of starring on the silver screen. But ever since the first song went online, it’s been radio silent, and the lack of anything at all is beginning to kill Andrew from the inside. Maybe he’s on a shoot and hasn’t seen it, Adam had supplied so helpfully but they both knew that the chances of that was slimmer than Jim.

When Andrew first met Steven, he immediately changed his mind on the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing. It sounds incredibly cheesy but it’s like a fog had been lifted and rays of sun came piercing through the walls he spent years putting up. The boy was sunny, passionate, bubbly, kind, friendly, and oh so beautiful. Still is. Andrew was caught so completely off his guard that even Adam immediately noticed, and that guy lives in his own little world.

If only Andrew wasn’t so shy and reserved. The entire first month that they worked together, Andrew said nothing to him outside of the occasional instructions on where to point the camera. Their entire relationship was professional and strictly business, despite Andrew’s numerous attempts at opening up. When Steven questioned his standoffish behavior one fine day, all Andrew could return was a seizure-like spluttering noise and some brain-dead mumbling. It was an embarrassing time for everyone involved. Adam often voiced his desire to have been elsewhere when that went down.

Yet somehow, Andrew managed to convince Steven that he doesn’t hate him, and convinced himself that Steven meant more to him than just a for-hire cameraman that they found on Craigslist. The latter was easy, because it was so true. The two had so easily became friends, even closer than he and Adam was. And on the deeper, darker end, Andrew was certain he has fallen for Steven. How could he not? The man would show up on Andrew’s doorstep with his favorite pizza when he made an offhand remark about being peckish. At midnight. The extent that Steven would go just to make Andrew happy was so great that… there are no words for it. Andrew couldn’t imagine life without Steven, it was undoubtedly the best time of his life.

Then it all came to a screeching halt when Steven broke the news that he would be moving to LA after receiving an offer from an agency. He was finally going to fulfill his dreams of becoming an actor. But it just had to happen just as Andrew had finally gathered up the nerves to confess his feelings to Steven. All those words he spent countless nights preparing fell off to the side as he pulled Steven in for a congratulatory hug. Everything went downhill from there. Even now, almost an entire year later, Andrew can still recall the very words he wanted to say.

He needs to get out of here, he needs some fresh air to clear his mind. Andrew picks up his phone and grabs a jacket off the side table that he’s certain belongs to Adam. Keys. Wallet. Socks. And slip into shoes. Ready to leave, he pulls open the door and immediately freezes. At the bottom of the steps is a human-like figure. The stranger looks up and… that’s not a stranger, at least not in the literal sense. Then again, these days, Steven had become so distant that he’s basically one foot into foreign territory.

Andrew’s throat tightens, he wasn’t expecting this and it’s clear from Steven’s expression that he wasn’t expecting Andrew to open the door when he did. The two men remain frozen for several beats too long, neither were sure of what to do. Steven’s the first to break the silence.

“H-heading out?” Steven asks shakily, as if he were freezing. Granted, it can be objectively considered cold but this is nothing for Boston. Then it hits Andrew that had Steven had probably came straight from LA, the difference in temperature is probably something he hadn’t immediately gotten used to.

“Yeah…” Andrew replies stupidly, uncertain on what exactly to say in a situation like this.

“I’ll come back some other time-” Steven starts turning away and Andrew’s heart seizes for a split second.

“Wait!” Andrew yells and Steven freezes mid-step like a scared animal. “Actually, I was hoping you could… come with? I’m just going out for a breather.” The fear on Steven’s face melts away into relief, his eyes are uncharacteristically reflective.

Andrew sprints down the steps so quickly that he couldn’t stop himself from lightly colliding into Steven, who pulls back hastily as if that slight bit of physical contact had burned his skin. The unspoken tension between them is growing thicker by the second… but Andrew knows one place that can fix this. If it doesn’t work, nothing else will.

“Little Joys?”

“That’d be nice.”

…

look at me and tell me there’s not a thingthat you see that’s pulling you in nowor maybe… there is

look at me and tell me you want thisone, two, three, leaning closer infinally… kiss me

…

Shane’s not talking to him. Ryan knew it was a bad idea from the very start. Sure, it got over a million views… but at what cost? This was so not worth it.

Ryan’s reading over the lyrics again, trying to find what could have possibly triggered such behavior in Shane. He even got Andrew, who helped write it, to look through. They both came up blank. But Ryan hasn’t stopped reading the words on his screen, trying desperately to understand what happened. This is so frustrating.

The front door slams, oh good, Shane’s home. Ryan hops off his bed and walks out to the hallway, looking to confront his friend, hoping that he’s ready to talk. But Ryan stops when his eyes land on Shane, he mentally backtracks but it’s too late for him to physically backtrack. Shane is storming down the hall, heading straight towards Ryan like a homing missile, he stops when he’s merely two steps away.

“Are you fucking with me?” Shane asks curtly, the look on his face a perfect marriage of anger and hurt. Ryan opens his mouth and leaves his jaw hanging, unsure if it’s a genuine question that he’s expected to answer. After a few more seconds of uneasy silence, Shane grunts, fierce. “Answer me, Ryan!”

“I-I… What are you talking about?” Ryan is stunned by the outrage he’s facing, he knows Shane is talking about the song but he doesn’t know what part exactly.

“THE SONG!!” Shane yells at the absolute top of his voice. The volume sends a shiver down Ryan’s spine. “Why are you fucking with me like this?!” The eye contact is bordering on lethal, and it lasted almost an entire minute before Shane breaks it and looks down. His entire body is shaking.

“I know I shouldn’t have pressured you into doing it, Ryan, and I’m really sorry, but… but-” It takes Ryan far too long to register what’s happening before his very eyes. Shane is breaking down, crying, choking on the tears he’s spilling. That’s what the shaking was. Ryan’s heart is breaking into pieces, his ribcage tightens as he forgets how to breathe. Then Shane delivers the final twist of the knife. “You know I still love you, why would you do this to me?”

The world goes quiet. There are no sounds apart from the rushing of blood in Ryan’s ears. Time stands still. The waves of emotion retreats, the winds stop. It’s the calm before the storm. Then it hits Ryan all at once like a freight train. He’s tripping over his thoughts… Shane still loved him? He didn’t trust his ears to have heard it correctly. When he finally recovers, he pushes his need to clarify.

“Y-you still love me?”

“Yes, I do and yet you…” Shane stops to steady his breathing, his chest shuddering as he does so. “You g-gave me hope and then immediately take it away. What kind of sick joke-”

“It’s not! I love you, I really do!” It’s Ryan’s turn to cry now, the years worth of bottled emotions come rushing out. “I didn’t want to break up with you but I just… I-” Shane cuts him off with a kiss. It’s desperate, it’s resolute, it’s familiar… Like listening to an old favorite song that you haven’t heard in years.

A sudden thought hits Ryan on the side of his head and he quickly pulls back. “Shit, what about your girlfriend?!”

“My wha- Irene?” Shane’s tone is incredulous, as if he cannot even grasp the concept that Ryan could possibly think that. “There’s nothing going on between us, never was… never will be.”

Ryan heaves a huge sigh of relief. Shane looks onto him with the warmest smile on his face, and the happiest look in his eyes. They lean in and kiss again, this time softer and more gentle. It’s an apology, it’s an affirmation, it’s an ‘I-miss-you’.

They have a lot to catch up on.

…

when did everything becomeoh so messybetween you and me

if we could turn time backwould you pick meover the city of dreams

…

A mere two blocks away from Andrew’s place, Little Joys Ice-Cream Parlor is one of he and Steven’s favorite hangouts. The amount of time they had spent there was staggering, they were on first-names basis with all the employees there.

When they step through the doors of the establishment, several heads turn to look, mostly the employees. There’s a mixture of smiles and nods as a form of greeting their regular customers. There are few patrons around, typical of a weekday afternoon. Andrew and Steven immediately head for the booth in the corner without so much as a second thought, it’s their usual spot.

Normally customers are supposed to go up and get their food themselves but as regulars, Andrew and Steven gets a little VIP privilege. One of the employees, Jennie, was wiping down a table earlier but seeing the duo take their seats, she happily skips over to their table.

“Hey! It’s been a while.” Jennie greets with a giggle, the soaked cleaning cloth in her right hand is dripping a puddle on the floor right next to her but she doesn’t seem to notice. “What would you boys like? The usual?”

Andrew’s not in the mood to think about exactly which flavors he wants, so he simply nods at her question. It seems that Steven’s the same way as he mirrors his action. Jennie strangely doesn’t notice that something is amiss with their behavior and accepts their orders and merrily makes her way towards the main counter.

They wait in silence for their orders to arrive, neither ready to speak. Normally they would be sitting so close that their shoulders touched, despite the fact that the booth can easily sit six people comfortably. But this isn’t normally, and right now there’s just enough space in between for Adam to comfortably third-wheel them.

But even at this distance, Andrew can still feel the tenseness radiating off Steven’s body. His own body is stiff, aching, and uncomfortable, despite the plush cushioning of the seats. He desperately wants to shuffle in closer, put his hand on Steven’s knee, lean his head on his shoulder, and make things okay again. Before he can do any of that, Steven breaks the silence.

“Are they-” His voice creaks and he forces a cough to clear his throat. Andrew watches as a million different emotions flash across Steven’s face, but he doesn’t recognize any of them. Steven rests his elbows on the table, hands clenched together. He presses his hands against his lips in a frown, sighing. Then finally he leans back and lets his arms fall at his sides, he doesn’t look at Andrew when he asks.

“The songs… are they about me?” A lump forms in Andrew’s throat but not before his heart found its way into his mouth. He wants to answer but his tongue is tied up, scared. What if this is it? What if Steven’s here to denounce their friendship? Andrew tries to reason, why would Steven fly all the way here just to tell Andrew that he never wants to see him ever again? That doesn’t make sense.

“Please tell me they’re about me. They have to be! I… I really like you and-” The urgent pleading tone that Steven has taken on forces Andrew to look at him. There are tears running down his cheeks and Andrew’s stomach drops, feeling guilty for inflicting this on his friend.

Of course, Steven feels that way about him, of course! Andrew wasn’t blind to it, so why was he so scared? He tries hard to push aside the dizzying feelings to try and confess, but his thoughts are jumbled and his mind is fuzzy. He just can’t find the right words for the moment. Unfortunately, Steven misconstrues his silence for something else entirely.

“Oh my god, of course they’re not. I’m so stupid, I flew all the way here on a stupid hunch. What was I thi-” Andrew brings a hand up to cup the side of Steven’s face, and Steven immediately shuts up. Pinky trailing Steven’s jaw, Andrew takes in a breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to do. When words don’t work, actions will. Steven’s eyes are wide with wonder and he opens his mouth to no doubt ask what’s going on, but Andrew cuts him off with a kiss.

The kiss is slow and tender, as if Steven is something fragile that Andrew’s holding between his lips. He had dreamt of this moment so many times but nothing can prepare him for the real thing. And even though the kiss lasted only seconds, when they break away, the tips of Andrew’s ears are searing hot. His breathing is shallow and his cheeks are warm.

Steven looks lost, like he’s still processing the last few seconds. Andrew can almost see the 'buffering’ spinner in his eyes. When he finally catches up, he’s smiling like the ball of sunshine that Andrew knows and loves. The serenity of the moment gets interrupted by Jennie’s untimely return with the ice-creams.

“Aww!” She just can’t help herself, can she? With her usual grace, she sets down their orders on the table. “Don’t mind me, you two lovebirds carry on.” She cheekily winks at them and saunters off.

Andrew shifts his eyes back to Steven and he’s in a shade of red that rivals a freshly-picked cherry tomato. The entire scene is just too much for Andrew and he just laughs, completely enamored by the man in front of him.

“You still haven’t answered me…” Steven pokes Andrew in the side with his finger. Andrew ignores him and proceeds to take a huge spoonful of his multiflavored desert. When Steven pokes him again, he simply raises an eyebrow and makes a noncommittal noise, earning him a third poke.

Conceding, Steven picks up his own spoon and scoops a little bit of each flavor from his bowl, mixing them up. Just as he is bringing the spoon to his mouth, he stops to take a look at Andrew’s bowl and makes a face, one that Andrew is all too familiar with.

“For the last time, Steven, red velvet is not simply adding food colouring!” Andrew mock-scolds, flipping Steven off. “Stop judging.”

Now they’re both laughing and everything in the world is right as rain, once again.

…

is this love?i don’t knowbut all i ever wanted is in front of me nowi’m stuckwhat do i do?i want to tell you that i love you but i don’t know how

i was stupid to let you goso crazily stupidi am crazy about you, y'knowso stupidly crazy

but i know better nowdon’t want us to be aparti just wanna sing it out loudto the tune of your heart!

Closing Notes:

This was supposed to be short. Yeah, didn’t happen… I have no self-control. Also, I’m realising I’m really into certain tropes.

#ST06 #standrew #standrew prompts #standrew fic #shyan #shyan fic #shyan prompts #ao3 fic

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huntertales · 6 years

Text

Let’s Write a Different Ending.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Prophet!Reader

Word Count: 4,343. // Episode Setting: The Monster at the End of This Book.

Summary: What if the “Supernatural” book series wasn’t written by Chuck Shurley? Instead, by a young woman named Y/N Y/L/N? She finds herself living out her most recent story—about the end of the world, an archangel whose sworn to protect her is moonlighting as a trickster and two fictional characters by the name of Sam and Dean are about to drag her straight into it. (Semi-rewrite from episode 4.18 The Monster at the End of This Book to—?)

Full Masterlist | My Other SPN Rewrite

Note: Is this a possible semi-rewrite of the show for my Sam girls???? Yes, it is! And no...This is not like my regular rewrite where I do it episode by episode, this is more like I’m taking Chuck’s entire plot line and writing it as the reader up until the season five finale. Along the way I’m gonna try to focus on a Sam/Reader element ‘cause my boy needs some love.

And before you fret...this is a side project. My original rewrite will always come first. Plus I’m still figuring out the details of what I want to do, but updates for this are gonna be really scarce. I don't know how many parts this will be or how many episodes I will cover, but it'll be part by part. Updates are probably gonna be scarce until I finish season six. More importantly, if you guys like this and want to see more, please let me know. I hope you guys enjoy possibly a new series!

Chapter One: It Started With a Knock.

Carver Edlund: it was a name nobody would be probably familiar with if you asked a stranger on the street who he was. To Sam and Dean, he was a man who knew too much. A thief who made a buck and gained an underground cult following from a book series he wrote called "Supernatural." Twenty four books detailing the lives of two hunters who traveled across the country in their 1967 Chevy Impala, saving people from monsters and seeking revenge on the yellowed eyed demon who killed their parents. Each action, every little personal aspect of their lives—from their upbringing, to every internal thought—was all in paperback for the world to read.

The brothers made the horrifying discovering when they were working a case in town, the first stop on the list of places to check out was some run-down looking comic store. The guy behind the counter mistook their questioning as a game of "LARPing" and failed miserably in attempting to remember the main character's names, only for the younger Winchester to correct him after the third time. That's when they discovered the first book in the bargain bin, a hidden gem abandoned with other comics no one bothered to read. The cover alone looked like a seedy romance novel someone might find on their middle middle-aged mother's nightstand. Sam and Dean found every copy they could find and examine each word.

Sam tried to figure out who this Carver Edlund was, but he was shady as the characters he wrote about. There wasn't a single paper trail or photograph of him in an attempt for either of the boys to recognize his face to figure out who he was. Best guess the guy was using a pen name to keep his identity. All they knew that the books started rolling out in early of'05, the year Sam left a life behind after tragedy hit. His girlfriend Jess, the only woman he was weeks away from asking to marry him, was killed in the same gruesome manner as his mother. The finale of the "Supernatural" series ended in of Dean being torn to bits by Lilith and Sam alone, just like reality they were forced to live in.

Sam and Dean doubted it ended here. There was someone behind this name, a person the boys were itching to have a “formal” chat with to figure out how he knew so much about them. The boys decided to start with the most obvious place to track down the author’s real name, the publishing company that printed the crap. A lovely young woman held the possible trail to finding out who it was, only it came with a test when Sam and Dean claimed to be journalists wanting to write an article about the books.

The publisher wouldn’t give up any sort of information so easily. She grilled them with all sorts of questions each of the boys got correct, but only seemed satisfied they were the real deal as she sat in her office chair, watching with a close eye as Sam unbuttoned his flannel and under shirt slightly to reveal the anti-possession tattoo on his chest. She had one of her own, right on her bare ass to show the boys. But the view that made Dean’s day wasn’t the only parting gift she gave the boys. She might not have known the true identity of the person who wrote the books, she had a current address the boys could visit. All though she warned them—authors were temperamental people.

“He’s very private.” She warned them. “Like Salinger.”

You lifted your hands away from the keyboard when you attempted the second draft of the newest edition to a series that ended months ago. But it didn’t mean the adventures that ran through your head would stop. It flowed vividly as it did after the first dream you had them and sat down to write the first page of the "Supernatural" series. You read the words back to yourself as another part of the newest story printed, waiting for your approval to join the rest of the story you were working on.

Writing was a tedious process. Some people could whip out a beginning line to sink the reader in, others thought to start in the middle and figure out the rest later. Your process was a jumbled mess. You wrote down fragments until everything connected itself together into a perfect story you were happy with. However, the newest story you were working on was a bit...different.

You sat in your office, a small room containing a desk pushed up against the window to enjoy a spacious backyard and the rainy days when you felt the most inspired. Behind was you as book shelf taller than you, crammed with novels your family collected over the years along with bound and unpublished books that haven’t seen the light of day. You reached out to grab the second cup of coffee you made for yourself and the still warm papers from the printer. Skimming the words, you snickered into the ceramic mug at what the hell you were attempting to write late last night.

You took pride in being a creative person since early childhood. Maybe it came with having both of your parents being successful writers and having a hunger for all sorts of adventures you tried to seek in reading endless books. Ever since you could hold a pen and form proper sentences you were writing down all your crazy stories. You were a daydreamer, with a wild imagination to match. Never did you think any of it would be good enough material to be published.

It was the summer before you were supposed to start your freshman year of college when you had a dream that felt so real. Normally you forgot the dream you had the night before the second you woke up. But this one stuck like glue. All day your mind wouldn’t stop replaying what you dreamed about, thinking about these characters you named Sam and Dean. For a week you had dreams that felt so vivid about them, the first adventure of many to come. Over the years you had some that were pleasant and quite enjoyable to form into words. Other ones made you wake up in a cold sweat, terrified from the horrendous things your brain could think of all on your own. You showed the first fifteen pages you had wrote nonstop in the span of three days to your parents—who suggested you to go for it. Write a novel and see where it took you.

It took you farther than you ever expected. You made the decision to publish the name under a pen name of Carver Edlund, You were afraid nobody would take an eighteen year old with no prior experience seriously. You sent the books off to every publishing company you could think of and waited for nothing but rejection letters. Almost all of them were a fail, until you got your lucky break with an Indie company that loved your work. She gushed over the first "Supernatural" book and how good it was, so good that she was reading for the second time after finishing it all in just a day. The work was so good, she desperately pleaded for more. You agreed to work on more stories, if you were granted complete and total privacy. She agreed.

You placed the cup back down on your desk in favor for a pen, deciding to edit the part you were working on last night. You felt a tinge of embarrassment from what the kind of nonsense your mind was able to come up with. It was always the day after you decided to edit. A fresh perspective to edit the mistakes you might have made and correct words that might flow better. However, it didn’t take much effort to slip back into the fictional world you thought you created.

“Sam and Dean exited the Impala and stepped onto the sidewalk. Dean took out the ripped piece of paper with the address scribbled down and read it one more time, wanting to make sure it was correct. All though he wasn’t sure what kind of house a man who wrote the lives was to look like, what they saw wasn’t what they...perceived. A small two-story house laid in front of them didn’t look like it belonged to a person they never met. It looked like every other one on this street, a white picket fence and a flourishing garden blooming this early spring. The boys knew looks could be deceiving. They wanted to make sure this was the residence of the man who knew personal details about themselves, things nobody should know.

The boys waited not a second longer. They approached the front door with trepidation. Did they really want to learn the secrets that lay beyond that door? The brothers traded soulful looks, answering the question without speaking a word. With determination, Dean pushed the doorbell with forceful...determination."

You furrowed your brow when you noticed you accidentally repeated the same word twice. You clicked on your pen and scratched out the word for something better. Before the tip of the pen could even touch the paper, you found yourself looking over your shoulder when the doorbell rang. Your dog, who had been peacefully resting at your feet, raised his head in curiosity. You rolled your eyes when he followed the behavior by a series of loud barks. You shushed the German Shepherd, mumbling for Winchester to calm down as rubbed a hand across his fur. You weren’t expecting any visitors today. And it’d been ages since you ordered any packages. You pushed yourself up to your feet, deciding to answer it anyway.

You heard a set of nail tap across the wooden floors, Winchester followed behind you to join you in the adventure of who was bugging you this early afternoon. You lived in a safe neighborhood, it was the reason why you moved here in the first place. Plus the rent was cheap. You unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door a crack to see who stood on your porch, two men you’d never seen before.

You noticed their hands were empty—no bible, no useless products to sell you. It meant the “No soliciting” sign worked. But the “Beware of Dog” didn’t ward off strangers who weren't’ here with a good explanation. You were a single woman living on your own and two men that looked to be twice your size were visiting you. Nobody could be too cautious these days with all those sickos running around. Winchester peeked his head out from behind you to see who it was.

“Excuse me, we don’t mean to bother you, but…” The man standing closest to you greets you with an expression that makes it look like he’s having a bad day. He trailed off momentarily when he saw Winchester peek his head out, the dog staring at him. The stranger continued on by asking you a question that made your welcoming smile drop slightly. “We’re looking for a Carver Edlund.”

“Never heard of the guy.” You lied straight through your teeth, shrugging your shoulders. You gave the two strangers another smile, this time, more sympathetic. “You got the wrong house.” “We’re looking for the man who wrote the ‘Supernatural’ books.” You turned your head to the second man, who’s taller, but much more nicer looking. “We know he wrote them under a fake name. But we didn’t get his real one, just his address. We were told he lives here.”

“We really need to talk to him.” The man standing next to you said, urgency in his voice. You could tell he was trying to be polite. Your swallowed slightly as you wrapped your fingers around the door frame. It seemed he could read your hesitance. “Let me guess, he’s your boyfriend. He probably likes his privacy. But this is important. Is he home, by chance? It’ll just take five minutes. That’s all.”

“Why do you want to meet him so badly?” You questioned the both of them.

“We’re...We’re really big fans.” The taller one said. You narrowed your eyes slightly when both of them share a look before directing their attention back to you. “You see, my brother and I are journalists and we were hoping to have an interview with him, see who the real man is behind these books. Shed some light on the series to gain more attention. That’s all.”

You looked at the two of them for a moment, wondering if what you were hearing was true. You had never had something like this happen before. Most journalists, all three of them, contacted you through email to try and get a personal interview with you. You never had someone show up on your front door, trying to figure out the true identity behind a book series that paid your way through college, something that started out from a vivid dream. Your body relaxed as you let out a sigh, deciding if they were big fans, you’d let him in on a secret.

“Well, since you guys went all this trouble...Hi,” You opened the door slightly wider and leaned yourself against it, your lips stretching into a smile when you spoke the truth you had been trying to hide for over four years. “The name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I’m the author of the ‘Supernatural’ books.”

"Wait, you? You’re the sucker who wrote all those books?” Your face scrunched up slightly when the man standing closest to you changed his attitude. He suddenly broke out into a smile, acting as if you told him a funny joke. You slowly nodded your head and gave him a dirty look. If he was here to make fun of your work, you’d be more than happy to tell him to shove his arrogance where the sun didn’t shine. It seemed that wasn’t the case. He sobered up when he realized you were telling the truth, he was in the right place, and he was speaking to the author. “Well, nice to meet you. Let me tell you who we are. I’m Dean. This is Sam.” He pointed a finger to the taller man stan is next to him. “The Dean and Sam you've been writing about.”

You stared at the two men standing on your porch, trying to process what they just said as the ends of your lips slowly stretched into a smile. You didn't know what you should laugh first at. The fact that these two men went through all the trouble of tracking down your publisher that you hadn't talked to in almost five months for an address to figure out who the real writer of a barely popular book series. Or they were crazy, pretending to be fictional characters you made up. You didn’t even bother wasting your breath to give a response. You stepped back and slammed the door right on their face. You reached up a hand to lock the door, but before you could, you heard the doorbell go off again.

You contemplated for a moment if you wanted to do the right thing and ignore them. Worst case scenario if they got rowdy you'd call the cops and get their asses hauled off. However, you found yourself suddenly overcome with anger when you heard them switch from the doorbell to furiously pounding on your front door. You rolled your eyes, you decided to confront the two very delusional men who needed a dose of reality.

“Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do. It's, uh, it's always nice to hear from the fans. But how about you be like everyone else and drop me an email or something. Not show up on my doorstep like a bunch of freaks. The reason why I wrote under a fake name was so I could keep my privacy. And I’d like to keep it that way.” You spoke in a serious tone, informing them they needed to get out of here. “For your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life.”

Your left the two men with the words of advice they should take as you swung the door shut to end this conversation once and for all. Instead the one who called himself Dean thought it was a good idea to reach out a hand and slam it against the door, using his strength to keep it open.

“See, here's the thing, sweetheart. We have a life.” He said. You scoffed loudly at his words that sounded like a lie from how they were acting. You attempted once more to shut the door and lock it, but he was quicker than you. He inched himself closer so his fingers wrapped around the edge of the wood. “You've been using it to write your books.”

“Right.” You mumbled, chuckling at the tough guy act this idiot was putting on. You didn’t try and make Winchester calm down when he prowled closer to the two strangers. He let out a low, threatening growl when he sensed a changed in the atmosphere. “You have five seconds to get your hand off my door and off my property before I call the cops.”

It seemed “Dean” would take his chances with your threat. He pushed his way into your house, making you stumble slightly into the place as Winchester jumped in between the both of you, making the men suddenly stop dead in their tracks before they could do anything else. The dog began to bark incessantly and growl at the strangers when he thought one of them might try and do something stupid.

“Look, we’re not here to hurt you.” The one who thought he was Sam reassured you. Your face scrunched up from his words that sounded the least bit comforting. Their actions spoke louder, and it screamed they were a bunch of lunatics. “We just want to know how you’re doing it.”

“Doing what?” You asked them. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Are you a hunter?” The other man questioned you.

“What? Are you high or something? Get out of my house. Now” You ordered, as if you had any sort of authority to do such a thing. It took all of your control to keep your voice steady as your heart pounded roughly against your ribcage. The two men didn’t listen, they just stared at you, waiting for an answer. "I'm a writer. That's it."

“Then how do you know so much about demons and tulpas and changelings?” Dean threw out a few fictional monsters you wrote about in your series. You backed away slowly, wondering how to stop this situation before it could escalate to the nightmares a single woman had while living on her own. Murdered, robbery...other things that made a shiver run down your spine just form the thought.

“I read a lot of science fiction and horror books. H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King all that stuff. That’s where most it came from. And I did research, too. I wanted it to be realistic as possible.” You admitted. You thought the answers would be enough, but the one who thought of himself as Dean wouldn’t back down so easily. “Look, is this some kind of weird ‘Misery’ thing because I killed off Dean?”

“It’s not a ‘Misery’ thing. Believe me, we are not fans.” He said, shaking his head at the accusation. You didn’t believe one word he spoke. The man looked down at your dog when he heard it stop barking but showing no signs of backing down. Because it thought his owner was in danger. He quickly realized barging in like this made a wrong impression. They didn’t think a twenty something year old woman wrote their lives. The man changed his tone of voice, into more of a calm one. “Look, we aren’t here to break your legs. We just wanna talk. That’s it. Five minutes. And then we’ll be out of your hair for good.”

You didn’t feel the least bit reassured by his promise, but as a sign of good faith, or stupidity on your part, you stepped forward and shushed Winchester to keep quiet. You ushered him to back down and reassured that everything was fine. You stared at the two men in front of you, wondering if they were going to keep to their word.

“Fine. Who are you?” You asked them. “Really?”

“I’m Sam. This is Dean.” The taller man must have thought you were stupid when they tried to keep pulling this little act.

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself back up to your feet, trying your hardest not to lose your patience with them. “For the last time, Sam and Dean are fictional characters.” You told them in a quiet, strained voice from what was going on. “I made them up! They're not real!”

The two men thought they could change your mind with some proof. You didn’t know why, but you found yourself following outside to their car—which was a 1967 Chevy Impala, color black and in mint condition, kept a single scratch on it. You’d never seen one in person, but she was a sight for sore eyes. Winchester trailed behind you to the outside and sat himself down on the sidewalk after you told him to. He was quiet, but he remained diligent, waiting for one of them men to try something.

The one who called himself Dean wanted you to take a look at the inside of their trunk, the words were a bit more creepier than he expected. You crossed your arms over your chest, expecting it to be empty and for one of them to shove you inside before locking you in there. When the trunk opened up, it wasn’t empty and you remained where you stood, but what you saw was even more horrifying. You inhaled a deep breath as you felt your eyes jumping around at all the stuff they had in there, an arsenal for a mad man.

“Are those real guns?” You asked in a meek tone.

“Yup.” The one who thought of himself as Dean said. You swallowed when he pointed out all the things you mentioned in the book. “This is real rock salt, these are real fake IDs.”

“Well, I got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans. That’s,” You scratched the back of your neck as you felt yourself choosing the flight option in this situation. You nervously chuckled and began to slowly back away, hoping you might be able to dash inside the house and call the cops before things got too far. They were crazy, you thought. Obsessed. “That’s awesome. So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house.” You turned so fast on the back of your heels, you had a shot at running for your life. But before you could take a single step to safety, you heard the one who was pretending to be Dean spoke up. “Y/N, stop.” He called out to you, and for some reason, you listened to him.

“You lay one finger on me and I’ll start screaming.” You warned them as you turned back around to face the two men. You gave them a deadly glare as Winchester pushed himself back up on all four legs and came back over to you. "What the hell do you want?"

“How much do you know?” The taller one, Sam, questioned you with all sorts of things that you had written about in the secrecy of your own office. “Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking seals?”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” You mumbled, shaking your head from what he was asking you. You looked at the two men in front of you with a confused expression from what was going on, all of a sudden you had a few questions of your own. “How do you know about that?”

“The question is,” This supposed Dean asked, “how do you?”

You furrowed your brow slightly, "'Cause I wrote it."

“You kept writing?” Sam, or so he called himself, wondered.

“Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out. Nobody's ever seen them except for me.” You said, telling them as you pointed a thumb over your shoulder and to your house. You suddenly felt a nudge against your leg, the dog was growing funny all of a sudden when he let out a low whine. You rolled your eyes and gave him a command, speaking his name for the first time in front of the boys. “Winchester, sit.”

"You named your dog Winchester?" You nodded your head, knowing this was the conversation that you would make up the lie that it was about how your dad was a big fan of guns and you named the dog after him. The man decided to formally introduce himself. "Well, nice that's a mighty fine coincidence. Cause you see, like I said...I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam."

You looked up from your dog after you began to subconsciously ran a hand through his fur to try and calm him down. You felt your face fall in surprise from what they told you. "Last names were never in the books. I never told anybody that. I never even wrote it down. Nobody knows I even wrote those books. People only think I named my dog after a freaking gun. You mumbled. You suddenly felt yourself hit with a dizzy spell from the things that were slowly connecting in your head. You stared at the two men in front of you, the ones you had wrote God knows how many books on and years of dreams about. Alive and in the flesh. “Sam and Dean Winchester...Well, nice to meet you.”

[Next Part]

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artgraveyard · 7 years

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akumatized marinette design + story figured i might as well post this now because i forgot to yesterday (or 2 days ago)

this is an angsty akumatized marinette au with a bad(ish) ending based on how you interpret it i just wanted to draw the spider bun but i came up with a whole backstory as well because why not? once again, i'm not a writer so sorry if my ideas are all over the place

few ideas i had in mind for this story about miraculous users getting akumatized/akumatizing in general: -the akuma is instinctively drawn towards very high sources of magic, even if hawkmoth intended them to go somewhere else -akuma victims are usually twisted forms of themselves but are still the same person. hawkmoth suggests them to do things, and can use pain to control them, but with an infected miraculous it is much harder to control the victim and he isn't strong enough to hurt them remotely if the miraculous ranks above his -other stuff i'll reveal as i go along

the events leading up to marinettes akumatization go something like this: (didnt really wanna come up with anything that sounds too shallow) -maybe like marinette's dad falls into a coma -sabine and marinette being forced to work overtime to make up for it -marinette getting yelled at by her mom because she sneaks out a lot to do ladybug stuff the stress from all this causes her to get akumatized. hawkmoth feels a familiar energy when he akumatizes marinette but can't quite place it

marinette turns into widow (wanted red widow but turns out thats actually a thing) her powers include: -arms on her waist that help her crawl around on walls and jump really far -talking to spiders telepathically -creating webs from her fingers -venomous bite

i looked it up and black widow bites aren't even fatal most of the time so i've been living in fear for nothing this is a human sized venom injection so obviously itll be deadlier

rest of the story in point form will put it under readmore because it looks like its gonna get long

-plagg starts to act very depressed and adrien transforms into chat when he refuses to speak -he fights widow and recognizes her as marinette because her mom saw her and phoned alya to send out a warning over the ladyblog -plagg starts talking into adriens mind when stalling for ladybug to get in isnt working -meanwhile widow and hawkmoth are constantly arguing because his control over her is very weak and she can't control her temper -widow manages to string up chat and bites through his armour to inject venom into his arm and tells him she won't give him the antivenom unless he takes off the miraculous (because its magically stopping her from just taking it or something, thats why lady wifi couldnt just take the earrings off ladybug) -hawkmoth and widow get into a big argument over the venom injecting because it might kill him before ladybug arrives and widow doesn't want that (akuma and miraculous merging is causing some kind of magical interference with her memories so she doesnt remember she is ladybug) -chat manages to escape from the web while theyre distracted and makes his way to some alley where he collapses behind a dumpster -plagg tells him he has to cataclysm the venom out of his bloodstream before its too late because ladybug won't be able to fix it or anything ever again -chat destroys his arm which was too damaged to save and destroys all of the venom -plagg and adrien manage to get to a hospital which is luckily 2 blocks away, adrien collapses in the lobby due to high fever and bloodloss -few days pass while adrien is stabilized in the hospital -plagg tells him his father came to visit and was muttering "i did this" (surprise, gabes hawkmoth in this) -plagg also tells him that tikki is gone forever, and marinette is ladybug since it doesn't matter anymore -he finds out there was a big battle and a whole tower got destroyed (or whatever the hell hawkmoths lair is in)

2 days ago -widow hears about adrien agreste being found with only one arm and puts 2 and 2 together (and so did gabe) -the shock of realizing chat was adrien causes hawkmoth to lose all control over her and she starts to get her memories back but she still can't control her anger -she heads to hawkmoths lair which she found using her spiders and beats him up -during the fight hawkmoth finally realizes why akumatizing marinette felt so familiar and realizes she is ladybug -hawkmoth escapes but loses the will to go on since the creation miraculous is gone -hawkmoth's tragic backstory is revealed: he accidentally akumatized his wife's miraculous many years ago (because the akumas are drawn to magic) and turned her into a giant bird monster he keeps locked under his lair. he thought using the combined powers of the ring and earrings would allow him to fix it but what's the point because he just killed creation. -hawkgabe walks into the birdcage and birdmom (who went crazy from being locked away for all these years) breaks through the bars and eats him -adrien escapes the hospital and transforms into chat -widow and chat team up to destroy the birdmom who just escaped and is trying to destroy paris after combining with the butterfly and peacock miraculouses and adriens parents (golden sun, anyone?) -adrien realizes what hes fighting but has no choice after widow almost dies trying to protect him -why do i use apostrophes in some words that have them but not all of them -fu shows up after the battle is over and collects the butterfly and peacock miraculouses -plagg tells adrien that the only way to get tikki back is for marinette to die and that she will be back eventually. hes gone thousands of years without seeing her so what's a few more -tom wakes up from his coma and hes like wtf -mariwidow decides to live like a hermit on the outskirts of paris in case anything ever threatens it again -she cant risk her temper rising and accidentally hurting civilians -her family and chat visit her on occasion -chat carries around a lot of antivenom -the end

notes: so basically the idea i had was that once an akuma touches a miraculous it gets infected and they permanently become an akuma unless you somehow manage to break the infected miraculous (which would throw the universe out of balance, plus theyre pretty indestructable) marinette is pretty much stuck in her dumb costume and calls herself the widow but once she's out of hawkmoths influence she acts the same way as usual but with a more dangerous anger problem. gabe walking into the birdcage in his state was pretty much a suicide so that he doesnt infect adriens miraculous too. people eventually realize that adrien is chat because of the one arm thing but they assume ladybug died in the fight with hawkmoth or something (alternatively plagg can give chat some kinda fake magic arm while transformed) adrien ends up with -1 arm. -2 parents, +1 spider gf the first draft of this story i did didn't have hawkmoth as gabriel, and it pretty much went like adrien rejects marinette widow kills chat realizes its adrien then she kills hawkmoth, but i heard someone say 2017 is be nice to adrien year and i figured why not do the opposite. just killing him wouldn't be too much suffering so instead he kills his parents once again, theyre aged up a bit to like late teens

#miraculous ladybug #widow #adrien agreste #akuma marinette #marinette dupain-chang #hawkmoth #gabriel agreste #plagg #artgraveyard

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