#might just jot down fic ideas and dot points | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

musedblues · 4 years

Text

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.” Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe.

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head. A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw. "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may fanfiction #brian may imagine

151 notes · View notes

the-hilda-librarians-wife · 3 years

Text

Much Ado About Nothing

Summary: On Valentine’s Day, Johanna’s visit to the library takes longer than expected due to ... unforseeable circumstances.

Snowed in Valentine’s Day sketchbook AU

Notes: Okay this fic was written and revised at the quickest speed I could manage so it’s probably not the best, but in my defence I wasn’t even going to write it before I saw @kaminos-hangout-corner ‘s post about v day being cold like, three days ago, so it’s the best I could do :3. Happy Valentines, hope you enjoy it! (also please keep in mind I live in a place where snow is not a thing, so sorry if this is too inaccurate)

Read it on ao3 I Read last year’s Valentine’s sketchbook fic

The library’s closing time had long since passed by, yet the lights inside it were still lit, something that was becoming recurrently common these days. With it being a Sunday, the library’s doors were supposed to have been locked at five in the afternoon, but the librarian had found herself… otherwise engaged.

Johanna had walked in earlier that day, bringing a basket of cookies to give her and of course, bringing her lovely self. Even if she wanted to do so, Kaisa wouldn’t have had the heart to tell her to go away when the time had come for her to close the library, and she very much hadn’t wanted to.

Sometimes the kind woman came to doodle; on the occasion when Kaisa had mustered up enough bravery to ask her about it, back when the two of them barely spoke at all, Johanna had said she liked the peace and quiet of the library, as well as finding it an inspiring place. The librarian had had to agree, there was something about the place that inspired not only knowledge, but also imagination, but she didn’t dare say that it was probably the vestiges of magic in the air.

Other days, which Kaisa had to admit were her favourite, Johanna came simply to check out a book and she always made time to exchange a few words with the librarian; the baked goods were new, but Kaisa was definitely not about to complain.

Of course, she supposed she shouldn’t really be talking during her working hours, nor giving all her attention to one single library patron, but it wasn’t like anyone else but Johanna seemed to even want the librarian’s attention, and besides that they always kept their voices down so as not to disturb anyone. Seeing as the situation seemed completely unproblematic, Kaisa didn’t stress about it, and even felt flattered that Johanna had chosen to spend some more time with her on that date, since she certainly had better things to do. The problem came when, hours after the library had been closed, when they had already spent hours chatting alone in her break room and eating the cookies, Johanna looked at the clock and suddenly excused herself, saying that she needed leave.

“Do you want any help?” Kaisa asked after a couple of seconds of watching the woman struggle to push the library doors. It seemed like a very unusual occurrence, in Kaisa’s eyes. Big as they were, those doors had never given her much trouble, and she knew for a fact that Johanna was a strong woman. She still remembered the time she’d let a pile of books fall from her cart and Johanna had picked all of them up for her at once, which considering how lengthy and heavy the books had been, was no small feat.

“I think I do, actually.” Johanna adjusted her grip on the handle in a way that allowed Kaisa to grasp it too. For a moment, the librarian’s fingers brushed against Johanna’s hand, allowing her to feel how soft they were. Were she not in Kaisa’s presence, she would have huffed at herself for noticing such a small thing in the situation she was in; she really had it bad.

They attempted to open the door again, together that time, being unsuccessful once more. Kaisa’s brow creased. Granted, she hadn’t expected her limited strength to be of much help, but this shouldn’t be this hard either.

“Together on a three count?” Johanna suggested and Kaisa nodded. They both took a wider stance, and when Johanna reached the ‘three’, they dumped all their body weight into the door, but to no avail. They would have had more luck moving a boulder.

The two of them were heaving with the effort when they stopped, Kaisa going as far as leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees to rest.

“What on earth…” Kaisa breathed, before connecting the dots and immediately coming back to an upright position as if she had been startled. “Oh no.”

Johanna gasped when the librarian began running away to the closest window. She’d known it had been snowing, but she really hadn’t given this matter much thought. Spending her days inside the library, it wasn’t often that the weather became a hindrance to her, so it hadn’t even registered in her mind that it might become on that specific day.

“Tell me something.” Close as she was to the window, the tip of her nose nearly touching it, Kaisa’s words and breathing caused condensation to spread on the glass. “Was it already snowing when you got here?”

Approaching the window as well, Johanna grimaced at the amount of white flakes falling quickly to the ground outside. “It was, yes.”

“Damn it.” She whispered softly, trying to keep her cool while inside she was already cringing at having to deliver these news. “I’m sorry, Johanna, but it looks like you’re snowed in with me.”

_#_#_#_

If Kaisa had stopped to think properly, she would have noticed that she was stressing about the situation a lot more than Johanna herself was. This gave the artist conflicting feelings at best. She didn’t know what to think about how desperate Kaisa seemed to be to get rid of her.

For her part, the librarian couldn’t get out of her mind that she had ruined Johanna’s Valentine’s Day. Surely, for her to have asked to leave so suddenly earlier, it was because she had a date (or at least something that was worth her time more than keeping the lonely librarian company), and Kaisa told herself that if she hadn’t been so selfish and had stuck to the rules, asking her to leave the library at the time everyone else was supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. Now Johanna was stuck with her as company.

Johanna had asked if there wasn’t any other way out that she could use, even though seeing Kaisa’s distress was already enough of an answer. Kaisa had had to bite her tongue and say that no, there weren’t any other ways in or out, even though she could list other five just from the top of her head; the Witches Tower wasn’t exactly open for visitors, and Kaisa would prefer it if Johanna did not end up in the void of no return.

Together, they had tried forcing the door open a few more times, even though they both knew it would be no use. For the first time since she’d known her, Kaisa wished Johanna would stay away from her, if only for one second. If she got distracted for long enough, maybe she could figure out a spell to melt the snow outside. Or to blow the door away and blame it on a new variation of mutant book worms, whichever seemed more believable. No such luck, however, since Kaisa had worked herself into a fine state of panic, and worried for her, Johanna made sure to stay close.

Kaisa’s next grand idea was to call the Safety Patrol. They were the ones responsible for operating Trolberg’s snowplows, so hopefully they would be able to help them out quickly. There was a phone behind the circulation desk, and a sticky note with useful numbers glued on it. The librarian took a moment to thank her past self for jotting down the patrol’s contact number, even though she couldn’t imagine herself in any other situation in which she’d ask for their help. Still, it was good to know that at least at some point in her life she’d been competent.

Her fingertips tapped against the wood anxiously as the phone ringed three, four, five times before someone picked up.

“Safety Patrol, what is your emergency?” The voice on the other side was heavily accented, and Kaisa sent a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening in gratefulness that it wasn’t the leader of the patrol that had picked up. She wouldn’t trust that man to open a jar.

“Good evening, I need to have the snow removed from the library doors immediately.”

“The library? Sorry ma’am, it says here that the library is closed. There’s no one there anymore, so there are places that will be needing the snowplow with more urgency.”

Kaisa rolled her eyes, which caused her to look up at Johanna. The woman was looking somewhat uncomfortable, and Kaisa took it that it was because, as she had mentioned before the librarian picked up the phone to make that call, she didn’t want to bother the Safety Patrol. Though she had insisted that there was no need for such haste, Kaisa knew she was only trying to be kind, or maybe to make Kaisa herself feel like she wasn’t such bad company. But she wasn’t who Johanna wanted to be with at that moment, so she would do whatever it took for the woman to get what she really wished for.

“I am at the library.” She answered, irritation making her tone harsh like the cold outside.

“You are?” The woman on the other side didn’t sound suspicious, only surprised. “Why? Who are you?”

“I’m the librarian.”

There was a beat of silence as the officer understood the situation. “Oh. I see. Well, I’m afraid that doesn’t change many things, ma’am. This amount of snow caught us all by surprise, many places weren’t ready for it. So, you see, there are people snowed in without supplies, and people snowed in on risk areas. Of course, there are also the main roads which need to be cleaned up. You have a private office with water and some food, don’t you? We will solve your problem when we can, but it might take a while.”

“Listen to me.” Kaisa summoned up her most threatening tone, wishing she’d never allowed Erik’s administration to make that silly inspection in the library, or at least that she could threaten to turn whoever she was talking to into a toad. She highly doubted Johanna would appreciate it, though. “I need you to let me out right now. I don’t care if all you bring is a machete so you can break one of the windows, just-”

So absorbed she’d been in trying to sound convincingly intimidating, something Kaisa was most certainly not used to, she was startled when Johanna grabbed the phone right out of her hand.

“Good evening officer, sorry for the bother.” She was leaning on the circulation desk, propped up on her elbows and sounding remarkably calm. “We will wait, don’t worry about us. Good luck with all the snow tonight. Goodbye.”

The officer said something else, but after that Johanna put the phone back in its hook. When she met the librarian’s gaze, Kaisa felt as if a blow had been delivered to her chest. Johanna looked sad with her, and she couldn’t fathom why. If she was only trying to help…. than the problem must be that Kaisa had allowed this to happen in the first place. Kaisa looked down, not wanting to look at Johanna’s face and see the disappointment in her any longer. She didn’t mean to be the wrong person for her to spend Valentine’s day with, she thought as a blush covered her cheeks, making matters worse, but she could hardly apologize for that, could she?

“Kaisa.” Johanna sighed. “There’s no need for all of this, really. Just… just let me make a call, will you?”

“Of course.” The librarian got up from the chair and walked around the desk, switching places with Johanna. Meaning to give her privacy, she walked a little further away, but couldn’t help but hear the first words she said.

“Hi, sweetie.” Johanna said softly.”I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it for dinner tonight-”

A sudden wave of cold washed over her, and Kaisa wrapped her cape tighter around herself. This conversation really wasn’t something she wanted to hear.

Figuring a hot drink would serve her well, she went back to her office and put some water to boil in the kettle. Some black tea would serve her well, but Johanna looked like the sort of person who drank red berries tea. She didn’t even dare to pick the flavour for her, however, since she had no intention of adding one more screw up to the night.

Johanna joined her right as the water finished boiling. “I already told her I won’t make it tonight.” She said as Kaisa gestured for her to choose a tea bag, allowing the librarian to pour the water on her teacup. “So no worries. I hope.”

“Ah.” Kaisa ran her thumb on the porcelain of her cup. She wanted to take a sip so she would have an excuse not to say anything, but that would certainly cause her to burn her tongue. The atmosphere between them was one she didn’t like, even if she reluctantly had to admit that she’d been the one to create it; it was heavy with discomfort and with words left unsaid, but at least for that last part there was something she could do.

“Johanna, I am sorry.” She said finally, making the other woman look at her with an eyebrow lifted in confusion. “It’s my fault that you’re stuck here right now.”

Looking exasperated, Johanna shook her head. “Kaisa, truly, you don’t have to worry about it. It doesn’t really matter that much, she’ll be fine-”

“It does matter!” Kaisa didn’t know why she was arguing against herself, but she felt like she needed Johanna to be angry at her, because otherwise she’d be the one who would continue being angry with herself. “I should have paid more attention to the time and to the weather. But it was so nice to talk to you privately for a longer while that I… forgot. And now your date is ruined because of that!”

She was gripping the mug so tightly that if it were slightly more frail she’d worry that it might break. Biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to choke her, Kaisa looked out at the small window in her break room. The snow continued to fall stubbornly, caring not for any of them. Apologizing always sucked; whenever she had too much she wanted to say, it tended to come out all at once in ridiculous manifestations of emotion, leaving her feeling like a fool. At least it was done, and now all she did was wait for Johanna to say something.

“My date?’ Johanna half mumbled, half laughed after a second. “I don’t have a date.”

Kaisa whipped her gaze back to her. “Of course you do.” She said without even thinking about her words, an unusual thing for her to do. “You just called her, did you not? It’s Valentine’s day, who wouldn’t want to be with you?”

To her utter surprise, Johanna laughed, a bubbling sound that began in her chest until it spilled out of her, filling the room with its warmth. Kaisa didn’t even care that the laughter was at her expense; Johanna wasn’t sad anymore and that was what mattered most.

“Kaisa, that wasn’t my date. I was calling my daughter.”

The librarian blinked in surprise, hoping her hair hid the pink spreading on her face. “But… when you noticed the time, you said you needed to leave immediately.”

Johanna’s mug could barely hide her satisfied grin behind itself as she took her first taste of the reddish beverage. Now that she knew exactly what Kaisa’s panic had been about, and that it had nothing to do with wanting Johanna to go away, she was admittedly enjoying the situation way more that she thought she should.

“Yes, because my daughter has an inclination to chaos and would take my being late as an excuse to meddle around the kitchen and possibly set the house on fire.” Watching realization dawn in Kaisa’s face was like watching the sun rise, so deep the transformation was. “I just told her to order in to avoid accidents.”

Holding her steaming cup with her left hand, the librarian used her right one to cover her face. She really hoped there were no witches going through any of the secret passages at the moment that had heard that exchange. They would never let her live this down.

“Oh my goodness.” Her words were muffled by the heel of her hand, and in a show of compassion, Johanna held her giggles back. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted, that was honestly pitiful. I just wanted to make sure you could spend your Valentine’s day - well, Valentine’s evening, I suppose, with the person you wanted.”

Internally repremending herself, Kaisa didn’t dare look at Johanna; she hated how vulnerable and emotional she sounded, and it ought to have made the other woman uncomfortable. She brought her cup to her lips and immediately regretted it when Johanna spoke.

“Who’s to say I didn’t? I did come here to talk to you, didn’t I?”

The witch nearly spilled her tea all over the tiles. When she stared at Johanna, finding her looking right back at her, the woman only smiled calmly, as if the implications of what she’d said weren’t more than enough to shake Kaisa to her core. Still tranquil, she glanced at the book which was sitting on the counter of Kaisa’s kitchenette.

“Is this the book you told me you were reading?” She asked as she lifted up Much Ado About Nothing for the librarian to see. “When we were talking earlier?”

Realizing she still had her cheeks pouched with tea, Kaisa forced herself to gulp it down and nod. “It is. I have already read most of his plays but not this one, so I figured it was worth a shot.”

“We still have some time here, don’t we?” Once more, Kaisa nodded, fearing she looked like a stupid string marionette. “Would you read it to me? I find drawing while listening to stories very cosy.”

“That’s-” Kaisa’s lips slowly bloomed into a smile. “A wonderful idea.”

While the librarian sat down on one of the two chairs of the break room’s table, Johanna produced a sketchbook and a pencil from her pocket. Too distracted finding the place she’d stopped, Kaisa failed to notice most of the doodles in the drawing pad were of her. To that day it had never failed to surprise Johanna that she really believed she went all the way to the library just to doodle in peace.

“Would you like me to begin again so you can keep up with it better?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Johanna was already planning what she would draw. She’d sketched Kaisa so many times, admiring her from afar as she sat in one of the library’s tables, but the evening’s event had made her more confident that her feelings weren’t one sided. Surely a drawing was a more straightforward gift than a batch of cookies, she thought. “Just pick up where you left, it’s perfect.”

After taking a deeper breath, the librarian began.

“I do not love nothing in the world so well as you - is that not strange?”

#lol people who follow my personal blog got a mini spoiler of what this fic would be about #fic: maan #my fic #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic

33 notes · View notes

iceshard1011 · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Deceit & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton Characters: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, The Dragon Witch (Sanders Sides) Additional Tags: Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, (forced) Shapeshifting, Arguing, panicking (but no panic attacks), Loss of Control, Minor Violence, Threats of Violence, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Fainting, Self-Doubt, I'm Bad At Summaries, and tagging Series: Part 1 of Ruby Wings Summary:

Deceit held up his hands. "Don't... move. Don't freak out."

Roman, frankly, had no idea what he was talking about.

Then he looked down and saw the huge dragon talons.

Roman, understandably, freaked out.

posting it on tumblr as well, for anyone who’s interested. the 9k word fic (god help me) is below :)

A vein of purple lit up the dark sky. It was accompanied by a series of thunderous booms that shook the landscape. The trees of the surrounding forest were bent to breaking point, their thick trunks groaning in the howling wind. Rain pelted down onto the long grass that waved vigorously underneath the angry storm clouds.

Atop the tallest hill the dark silhouette of a huge castle ominously contrasted with the backdrop behind it as lightning once more shot up the sky. Within the cobblestone walls, the sound of rain hammering against glass panes echoed through the empty halls. On the other side of closed, oak wood doors, a muffled roaring joined the thunderclaps.

A table was upturned, candles and ink pots thrown to the marble floor. A clawed hand swept stacks of books off a desk. Lightning illuminated the perpetrator's hulking form along with the pale face of the second party in the room, watching the tirade with widened eyes.

Wings arched from the aggressor's back. "Once more," they hissed through a gravelly voice, "would you care to tell me what you were doing in my domain?"

The prince of the castle rolled his eyes. "The side of the forest that's a little darker and dense than the rest?" He scoffed. "You don't have a 'domain'. I control the entirety of the Imagination. I'm in charge of it."

The intruder turned on him. She smiled, sharpened teeth peering through thin lips. Then she laughed, throwing her head back and shrieking at the ceiling above.

"Oh," she purred, calming to prowl forward and cup his chin beneath her taloned hand. "What am I still doing here, then?" Roman frowned at her as she pulled away, smirking toothily down at him. “If you control the Imagination and everything within it, why may I ask, am I still here?"

"I can dematerialise you whenever I want," Roman said. The winged witch bit her lip to prevent another burst of laughter.

"Careful, Your Majesty," she said, "you might summon more unwanted problems."

"I can!" Roman protested, stepping forward. The witch’s gaze lazily flickered to where he was gripping the hilt of his sword at his hip. "I can easily banish you."

"Why don't you?" She turned around, her tail sweeping through the shards of a broken mini statue strewn across the floor. "If it was so easy to escape me, do you not think that I would be gone by now?"

"I—" Roman started then paused.

"I'm part of the Imagination, prince," the half-dragon said. She picked up a sheet of paper from a stool, reading off the half-hearted, dot-pointed video ideas. She sneered at it, turning her dark gaze on Creativity. "I am part of you." He blanched as she began to stalk slowly back to him, the list of awful ideas clenched in her talons. Roman's back pressed against the wall behind him. He unsheathed his sword.The dragon witch paused just short of suffocating him. She gazed down at the prince's list, her lip curled in disgust. "Unless." She tore the paper in two, and then again, and again until those nights of staying up late to jot down anything that came to mind was nothing but pathetic scraps on the floor.

"They weren't useless," Roman said, but his protest was weak and the words felt like he was forcing sandpaper out through his throat. "I still have more ideas. I'm not... scared of you." The witch raised one eyebrow, her teeth flashing as she smirked down at the struggling prince.

"I still have more ideas," he was muttering, almost to himself now. "I'm not useless. I know I matter to Thomas." He looked up to glare at her. "I'm not affected by you."

The dragon witch didn't need to say anything this time. Instead, Roman's actions spoke for themselves when in the centre of the room, a black-clothed side rose up, looking intrigued and then mildly disturbed as he took in the mess of the room.

"Oh, darling," the witch crooned, looking back at Creativity. Roman stared, horrified at Deceit who looked back with a faint crease between his eyebrows. "That bad?" He glanced back up to the dragon witch. Her face was twisted with mock sympathy. "Lying that much?" Roman looked at the ground. The witch reached forward to rest a taloned hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you need to learn how to hold your tongue."

Roman's head shot back up, panic flaring in his eyes as he jerked away from her, but she had already snapped her talons together.

A dizzy spell overcame the prince and he staggered, dropping his sword as he reached to clutch his head. Before him, the dragon witch stepped back. "Perhaps a change of perspective would help."

If she said anything else, Roman didn't hear it because he was kneeling to the ground, an unbearably painful headache throbbing through his skull. A keening groan squeezed itself from his throat as he gripped his hair, wanting to pull it from his head. The ripping, hot pain spread from his head down to his back, like swords stabbing into his spine. He thumped to his side, his legs beginning to feel like his bones were popping through his skin. An agonised scream erupted from his mouth, tearing up through his throat like shards of glass. His lungs and chest started to burn as if they’d been lit aflame. He coughed like he'd inhaled smoke and whimpered, curling in on himself.

A pair of dress shoes might have been in front of him at this point, and maybe someone was speaking, but all Roman could do was squeeze his eyes shut and shudder as his whole body reverberated with pain.

Roman wasn't sure if it all had stopped or he'd just blacked out, but when he dared open his eyes, he wasn't in the castle's room anymore. In fact — where was he?

Outside. That much was clear, given the beaming medallion of a sun in the sky, shining down onto the soaked landscape below. The only remnants of the vicious storm was the dripping leaves of trees and the dew saturating the grass. Had Roman been out for an entire night? Or had it been day the entire time, masked by the dark thunderclouds and the storm had only cleared when the dragon witch had left?

Roman was lying among scattered pieces of rock. Rubble? It looked like the same material the walls were made of. Why would the castle be crumbling?

He lifted his head, in the process finding that it felt uncomfortably heavy and unbalanced, and twisted around to stare in horror at his half destroyed castle. The west-end tower looked completely obliterated, like a giant had stomped on it.

That's where I was, Roman realised with a jolt of horror. What had happened? Did the witch do this? It was doubtful. Had she left? After Deceit had risen up—

Deceit! Was he alright? He'd been in that section of the castle as well. He'd arrived when... Roman had started lying to the witch's face. God, if he was hurt and it was all Roman's fault—

He tried to stand but found it difficult — he was too top heavy and his legs were too weak and his back felt like he was wearing a bag full of boulders—

He toppled onto his side. An undignified yelp made Roman's head twist around. A few lumps of stone rubble away, Deceit was stumbling back over rolling rocks, cursing under his breath, but— something was very wrong.

He was... tiny, for one thing. Deceit had never seemed very tall to Roman, but now he was the size of a kitten! His proportions were all still in order, it just looked like he'd shrunk.

Roman moved to stand again, wanting to help, but he still felt weirdly unwieldy and out of place. His movement, however, made Deceit look up. The scaleless side of his face paled and he stood very still as he gazed up at Roman.

"Roman," Deceit said slowly. "Are you still... uh. All... there?"

Roman frowned. What's he going on about? He opened his mouth to ask but only a low, guttural growl rumbled out. He froze. What?

Deceit held up his hands. "Don't... move. Don't freak out."

Roman, frankly, had no idea what he was talking about.

Then he looked down and saw the huge dragon talons.

Roman, understandably, freaked out.

He lunged to his feet and teetered to the side with what should have been a yelp but sounded more like a giant cat's screech. Unbalanced as he was, when those talons backed up with him, he shrieked and made to lunge for the castle. He collided with it much quicker than he had expected, given it should have been a good distance away because it was so small—

More chunks of the building tumbled to the ground, rolling down the hill. The castle was small, too! Like Deceit! Except it wasn’t small and neither was Deceit and he was just big and TALONED AND—

"Roman!" He and his thoughts screeched to a halt. He looked down to see Deceit standing from the ground, kicking away rocks. He dusted down his dirtied clothes, scowling.

"I could have sworn that I told you not to panic," Deceit hissed, glaring up at him. Roman stared back, feeling successfully ridiculed. "And what did you just do?"

Roman bared his teeth (and it felt weirdly natural). That was hardly fair. Roman didn't see Deceit cursed as a dragon! Roman would like to see that happen to him as he tried not to freak out.

"Don't growl at me," Deceit snapped, then caught himself. He took a literal step back and blew out a long breath through slightly parted lips. "Okay. Alright." He looked up at Roman, his mismatched eyes narrowed. "We can shape shift," he said after a moment. "Can you switch back to normal?"

Roman blinked, almost ashamed to admit that it had taken him a moment to realise that Deceit was trying to help. Frankly too scared to move lest he somehow crush the other side underneath a huge talon, Roman closed his eyes and concentrated. Normally, shifting wouldn't require any concentration at all; a simple thought or willful hand wave could change his appearance.

Now, however, even as he focused on his usual appearance, picturing it in his brain and willing with all his might to change, he felt no different.

When he opened his eyes, he found he didn't look any different either.

His shoulders slouched— well, he thought they did, but instead he felt his back shift weirdly. Glancing back, he eyed the ruby-coloured wings that had drooped to the ground. He looked helplessly at Deceit.

The green-scaled side crossed his arms, brow furrowing further. For a moment, Roman almost thought he was non-verbally accusing Roman of not trying hard enough before he realised Deceit was just deep in thought once again.

"I couldn't sink out before," Deceit said. Roman blinked. "Why?"

Because I don't have control of the Imagination anymore, Roman thought glumly. He moved uneasily away from the wall of the half-destroyed castle and edged carefully over to Deceit, picking his way through the scattered lumps of stone. He crouched awkwardly in front of the other side, staring at him pleadingly. Deceit's hard eyes studied the prince's scaled, elongated snout.

"Your room leads into the Imagination, correct?" Deceit asked. Roman dipped his head in the best nod he could manage. "That means the Imagination leads out into your room." Roman nodded again. "So?" Deceit prompted. Roman frowned, confused. Deceit sighed. "The exit door would be... where?"

Oh! Roman perked up. He strode forward, passing Deceit to lead the way, but an abrupt tug on his back leg forced him to a stop. He glanced back and stared at the heavyset chain clamped to his back ankle. The linked metal trailed back to the base of the castle where it was buried into the stone ground of the castle courtyard. Circling back, Roman peered down at the chain and gave it an experimental tug. It clanked heavily but didn't come loose. He pulled it again, harder this time. The ground barely shifted, much less unearthed the entirety of the chain.

Deceit appeared at his feet, looking at the chain like it had personally offended him. He shared a glance with Roman, who vigorously yanked at the chain and looked down at him like what now? when nothing new happened.

Deceit nudged a shoed toe at the solid ground. Roman, mirroring, clawed experimentally at the set stone surrounding the buried chain. His talons scrapped roughly against the rock, ringing like nails on chalk, and he immediately stopped with a shudder. Deceit, grimacing from the sound, pressed a gloved hand to the side of his head.

Roman felt uneasy at his considering look when their gazes locked once again.

"Dragons can breathe fire, can they not?" Deceit said. Roman's stomach twisted. He only looked like a dragon. That didn't mean he knew how to function like one — nor did he want to learn! He wasn't a dragon! He didn't want to be a—

"Alright," Deceit said. "We won't try melting the chain." Roman wondered if his thoughts were so transparent that even as a dragon — wasn't a dragon! — Deceit was able to read his expressions.

Deceit heaved a quiet sigh. "Where's the door to your room?"

Roman blanched. He wasn't going to leave him here, was he? Deceit's eyebrows twitched upwards, framing his unimpressed and slightly annoyed expression. Roman thought that the half-snake definitely looked as if he could read his mind.

"I'm going to get the others," said Deceit. "I have little to no idea about what to do." It looked like it physically hurt when he added reluctantly, "They can probably... help."

Roman sat down, glaring at the chain linked around his ankle. Deceit crossed his arms, waiting for him to quit his sulking.

Finally, Roman growled and moved his gaze to Deceit. He nodded to the forest beyond them. Deceit followed his gaze.

"The forest?" Roman nodded. "Where in the forest?" Roman paused before lifting a talon and tentatively nudging Deceit to turn around, then pulled back and nodded to himself, satisfied. Deceit looked between Roman and the section of the forest he was now facing with a faintly frustrated expression. "Just... keep walking in this direction?" he guessed.

Roman thought about trying to grin but reconsidered when he figured a toothy twist of a smile (or whatever these grotesque jaws could muster) would probably not be encouraging. Deceit's gloved fists clenched. He muttered something under his breath before walking the direction Roman had pointed him in. Roman watched as he started to leave, feeling antsy as he tried to sit still.

He'll come back, he told himself, watching as the trees swallowed the side. He'll bring the other sides. You won't be stuck like this.

Janus... wasn't pissed. He was perfectly calm and composed. He wasn't baffled by the existence of the strange, half-dragon lady who had been in the middle of seemingly attacking Roman when Janus had been so overwhelmed with the sensation of lies that it had been impossible to ignore. He wasn't horrified that Thomas' Creativity was now a dragon and apparently stuck that way and chained like an animal. He certainly was not pissed that he was on his way to ask the light sides for help. The light sides, who, with their singular collective brain cell hated his guts and wouldn't listen to a single thing he'd say. He could not already hear Patton's uncomfortable laughter, or see Logan's unamused look, or feel Virgil's glare burning holes into the back of his head.

Janus wasn't a mess of mixed emotions.

Janus was handling the situation perfectly well.

Leaves crunched to his left. His head snapped around to glare at the bush that had rustled, as if daring something to lunge out at him. He— didn't quicken his pace. He wasn’t going to let this forest put him on edge. It was a lump of clustered trees; so what?

Still... He didn't like how dark the forest floor was, how the canopy far above blocked out all the sunlight. How sounds seemed to come from everywhere despite nothing behind visible. Somehow, he had a feeling the forest wasn't always like this.

He carefully stepped over a fallen log, eyeing the rotting wood. He frowned down at the mud that his foot quickly sunk into. A branch snap made him glance over his shoulder, staring into the dark trees.

He loved this.

Roman was doing his best trying to get used to this new, awful form.

He'd shape shifted before; he knew how to adjust to bodies that weren't his own. This, however, was different. He wasn't human. He was long and four-legged and he had a pair of extra limbs sprouting from his back. What he'd give to be able to wear his white tunic and red sash and be able to properly hold his sword in perfectly normal, human-looking hands.

He'd maneuvered his horrible body around into a loose curl, resting his snout on his talons. He stared idly down at the grass beneath him.

Deceit hadn't come back yet. Roman wouldn't have blamed him if he'd found the red door to escape the Imagination and he'd left without a second thought.

He's been gone for ten minutes, Roman reminded himself in a voice that almost sounded like Logan. Be patient.

Movement in the corner of his eyes made him lift his head around to look to the forest edge. Deceit?

Among the treeline, a figure that looked like it could be a side shifted into view, parting from the dark trunks.

Roman lifted his head, warily eyeing the yellow and green armour the newcomer was wearing. Somehow, he immediately knew this wasn't any of Thomas' personality aspects. This... person felt different. Like looking at a cartoon and comparing it to the fabricated toy version. They seemed... off. Fake. Part of a simulation.

It took Roman possibly a little too long to figure that this was probably the dragon witch's doing.

He watched uneasily as the stranger moved from the forest and advanced toward him. Their outfit was honestly hideous; the shades of their jagged, messy armour clashed horrifically. Their face was twisted into an ugly scowl, scars rippling across pale skin, hatred etched into every crease. Another clue that this being was not of Roman’s fantasy world; even his conjured villains had never radiated such an unfavourable aura. Just looking at the advancing knight made Roman feel ugly and sick inside.

The thick chain clanked as Roman stood. He almost wanted to call out to the warrior, maybe to ask what they wanted, but he knew he'd get little passed a growl. God, he couldn’t wait to get his glorious voice back. He swore he'd never stop singing.

He eyed the weird wooden cylinder clutched in the knight's fist.

That doesn't look friendly, he noted.

Roman's concern steadily increased as the knight got closer and didn't show signs of stopping. He watched as the warrior reached the base of his talons and raised his gaze skyward to the dragon's snout. Roman stared back.

The knight raised the cylinder to his mouth. On instinct, Roman ducked, just as a small missile whizzed passed his right ear. He jerked away with a start. What the—

Something bounced off the scales of his neck. It didn't even hurt — it felt more like a fly bumping into him — but he studied the knight's weapon and realised with a start that it was a blowpipe. What kind of soldier brought a blowpipe to fight a dragon, Roman didn't know. He didn't exactly love the idea of one of those blow darts getting into one of his eyes, though.

The knight aimed and shot another dart, this one bouncing off the bridge of his snout.

Hastily, Roman scuttled back, glancing around at his options. Still feeling very much human and not at all feeling like the monster he currently was, Roman moved to the castle and without a second thought, clambered awkwardly atop one of the roofs. Curling himself around the intact tower, he frowned down at his attacker, mildly irked rather than feeling in any danger.

But then he looked into the fowl green eyes of the knight and his gut twisted, like it did whenever Thomas' praise would go to one of his friends rather than him, or Patton asked for Logan's help instead of his, or—

He gulped the best he could and leaned up, away from the knight, like he could pull himself from those feelings and thoughts.

But then the knight started forward once more, and Roman realised he wasn't going to be able to just idly avoid the armed stimulant.

After all, he was the dragon guarding an old castle. He knew all too well that facing the heroic knight come to slay him was part of the fantasy the witch had obviously created. (Why, he still wasn't sure.)

So, sending a mental bird to the dragon witch, he bared his teeth and glared down at the intruder, ready to tear them to pieces.

When Deceit rose up into the mindscape commons, comically covered in leaves, sticks and possibly a few specks of mud, Logan clearly saw both Patton and Virgil attempt to cover their amusement, even if he knew Patton would deny taking enjoyment seeing Deceit in such a mess.

Logan could admit that the scaled side's predicament was incredibly out-of-character. However, he did not smile like Patton, nor cover up a snort with a coughing fit, like Virgil. He may have possibly cleared his throat of any bubbles of amusement that may have risen up, though.

"Deceit," he addressed, not making a move to stand from the couch. "I presume there is a well-meant reason that you are here?"

"Apart from coming to bother us," Virgil said. Logan doubted Deceit would have allowed the light sides to see him so disheveled unless something arguably important was out of the ordinary. Deceit didn't answer immediately, looking like he was attempting to compose himself before he spoke. He pointedly ignored Virgil's jab.

"Your prince seems to have gotten himself into a... mildly alarming predicament," he said finally, his calculating gaze scanning between the three light sides.

"What's happened?" Patton asked with round eyes.

Virgil, ever the untrusting pessimist, scoffed. "Probably nothing," he said with a roll of his eyes. "He's just trying to mess with us."

Deceit's eyebrows twitched downward an inch. Logan studied the Dark Side thoughtfully. He wasn't smirking self-satisfactorily like he usually was when he arrived, even when being caught red-handed with impersonating one of the others. His fists weren't clenched, but neither were they clasped together like normal. This Deceit was less like the recently exposed Patton impostor being introduced to Thomas for the first time, and more like the frustrated winner of the mock courtroom trial who had just found that they would still be going to the wedding despite his best efforts: annoyed, on edge and maybe a little uncertain. Deceit didn't strike Logan as the type to act inferior for the sake of a trick. Logan frowned.

"What makes you say this?" he asked slowly, ignoring the narrow-eyed look Virgil shot his way.

Deceit opened his mouth, then paused, closing it again.

"He can’t even tell us," Virgil pointed out, glaring at the scaled side.

"Because, of course, it's so easy to explain," Deceit retorted in a voice that should have sounded as smooth as ever, but Logan caught the rough, gravelly undertone that promised patience running thin.

"It’s okay, kiddo," Patton said, smiling at Anxiety.

"Roman is— in trouble," Deceit settled on. "I came to get you for his help."

"Is he okay?" Patton cried.

"Calm down, Patton," Logan said. "Panicking will not aid the situation."

"Oh, please," Virgil growled. He stood from the staircase, reached toward the television and summoned Roman.

Except there was an empty whoomph where Creativity should have risen up. Logan narrowed his eyes, watching Deceit closely. The side notorious for lying didn't look smug or superior, even when he looked over at Virgil as if to check to see if he was now believed. Thomas' anxiety was staring at the empty spot in front of the television, looking uneasy and maybe a little paler than usual.

"Deceit?" Patton was prompting, anxiously wringing his hands together. "Where's Roman?"

"In the Imagination," Deceit said. "Something's wrong with it."

"Okay, well — we'll go there and find him and help him fix it." Patton looked to Logan and Virgil. "Right?"

Virgil didn't reply; he was fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie as he stared at the ground, his head ducked and eyes obscured by his hair.

"That seems optimal," Logan agreed. Patton bounced, momentarily distracted from the idea of Roman being in trouble due to Logan siding with him. "Virgil?" Logan coached carefully. "Are you in agreement with this?"

After a moment, Anxiety looked up, his dark eyes fixing on Deceit under a deeply furrowed brow. Deceit stared evenly back, looking uncharacteristically neutral and maybe a little gentle, like he was expecting and ready for the forthcoming rebuttal.

"Alright," said Virgil. "Let's go."

Roman tried not to feel squeamish as he knocked the bat-winged knight to the side, sending them flying to crash into the castle walls. They fell to the ground and didn't get up. Roman gulped, gingerly stepping over the bodies littering the courtyard and returned to his position, curled around the castle tower.

After killing the first knight that had attacked him, Roman had felt violently ill. He'd wondered in that moment if dragons could be sick and had quickly got his answer when he'd retreated to the back of the castle to pass up his last meal.

Roman had fought enemies in the Imagination before; he knew everything here was fake and fabricated and didn't hold any real world impact. He'd fought, captured and even killed villains and monsters in the Imagination but every time he had been himself — his normal self: just a regular-looking prince armed with his sword and maybe a plan or two. He'd never been terribly advantaged, and he’d liked that. It added to the thrill and challenge and adventure.

He'd also never been... the bad guy.

Roman highly doubted the dragon witch was thoughtful enough to create detailed backstories for these countless, strange knights she kept sending, so he wasn’t too worried about widowing or orphaning some poor conjured woman or child.

But he knew very well the situation she had cursed him into: rarely, if ever, were the castle-guarding dragons the sympathetic heroes who deserved and earned the happy endings. Even in his own worlds, that had never been a story aspect. Dragons symbolised greed and anger and evil.

The sun posted high in its blue abyss bore down on him, its warm rays heating his scales like cruel reminders. Roman shook his head as it burned onto his sensitive ear. He flickered it (and was thoroughly disturbed by the action of being able to move things like his ears) and then frowned at the small droplets of blood that splattered from the thin cut the first knight’s blow dart had inflicted. It stung, but no more than a paper cut.

His movement made him glance down at his shadow. His eyes traced the huge shape, running along the stretch of his snout, the curves of his horns, the lump of his folded wings.

Roman looked like a monster as much as he felt like one.

He closed his eyes, like ignoring the signs meant he could deny the awful truth.

The sound of clanking armour had become a sound Roman was too familiar with, so he knew he wasn’t mistaken when he heard the sound of another knight marching in his direction, ready to take on the big, bad, murderous dragon terrorising the kingdom.

He heaved a sigh and opened his eyes. He watched the knight tramp out from the treeline. This one was bigger than the others; more heavyset. Its armour was thicker, stronger. Roman could tell just by looking at it.

Looking at this knight didn’t make him feel sick or scared or upset like the other previous challengers had.

This one made him feel weak. Like his bones were brittle. Like he couldn’t hold his own weight. It made him feel strengthless. Fragile. Helpless.

This knight thought it could get to him like that? Like something as magnificent and terrifying and mighty as a dragon would be weak in front of a puny, insignificant human?

The knight made him feel weak.

And that made him angry.

Patton wasn't prone to anger. Even when upset or stressed or broken or in disagreement with the others, anger was never an emotion he indulged in. He didn't like how it roiled in his stomach and how it would boil out to scandal anyone in the vicinity.

Even so, Morality was struggling.

He didn't like this forest; how dark it was even if, according to Deceit, it was supposed to be daytime. How it felt like he was being watched from all angles. How bushes rustled and the tree trunks groaned. How the ground turned to slog at parts, like the forest had fused with a swamp.

He didn't like how unsettled Logan looked, like he felt the same way about their surroundings. It wasn't obvious, of course, but Patton noticed how he kept readjusting his tie despite not needing to worry about it being out of place. How his sharp eyes continued to subtly scan the trees, like he was searching for something.

He didn't like how distressed Virgil was. Patton knew he was anxious all the time, even if only mildly, but the signs that he was more aggravated than usual were there; the constant tugging on his sleeves, the darting of his eyes, the way he was jittery and hyper alert.

Patton supposed he was possibly glad about their Anxiety was still tame enough to be able to grumble and complain. He didn't like how most of the jabs were at Deceit, though. How he was muttering that it was Deceit's fault, or the way Deceit's patience was clearly starting to run dry, or how they were still in this forest and hadn't gotten out yet, or how they were here in the first place because Roman was in trouble but they didn't even know how because Deceit still hadn't told them anything—

"Patton?"

Morality looked up and ceased to wring his hands, realising he'd been fidgeting. Logan ducked his head to meet his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Patton nodded, smiling. "Of course I am!" he chirped brightly. Logan held his gaze. "I'll be... even better as soon as we get out of this forest," he added, a little more honestly. Logan, sensing the truth in his voice, nodded once and straightened.

"I'm in agreement,” he said. "How much further do you estimate, Deceit?"

Ahead, Deceit glanced back. His eyebrows twitched.

"Surely not too far," Patton said.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Virgil muttered.

"It wasn't hard to find the exit door," Deceit responded sharply. "Similarly, it won't be hard to find the edge of the forest."

"If you’re not lying about that then why are we taking so long?" Virgil snapped back.

"If you would like to lead the way, it would be my absolute pleasure to appoint you as leader," Deceit hissed scathingly. "Where to, O' Great One?"

"Awe, come on, guys," Patton started.

"You're the one who's already supposedly been this direction," Virgil growled. "You should know the way."

"I do," Deceit said.

"Let's not fight—" Patton reached half-heartedly for Virgil.

"How do we know you haven't been leading us in circles?" Virgil demanded, prowling forward. "Where's the proof that we can trust you?"

"Guys—" Patton tried.

"It would be ideal if we could remained focused on the—"

"Proof?" Deceit cut Logan off, turning on Virgil. "What—"

A low rumble shook the ground as it thundered through the forest.

The following moments of silence were tense and completely void of noise. No one breathed. The distant sound of crashing, like a building collapsing made the group look ahead, like they would be able to see through the trees to the source of the noise.

"What was that?" Patton whispered, hushed.

Deceit straightened, looking at them almost smugly. "Proof," he said, turning and advancing with new purpose.

"Why are we going towards the scary noise?" Patton asked. He looked between Logan and Virgil, wondering if they were going to follow Deceit.

"You want out of the forest?" Deceit said up ahead. Hesitantly, Patton shuffled after him. "Surely a dragon and a collapsing castle would not be stationed among the dense trees of a forest."

Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Why would there be a dragon?"

"Why would the castle be collapsing?" Logan gripped the edge of his glasses, like he'd be able to activate the ability to see the answer.

Patton found it strange how Deceit first looked away, his face beginning to close off before he froze and glanced back at Logan, an almost alarmed light illuminating in his eyes. It was like he was reacting to the two different questions separately.

"I..." Deceit frowned at the ground before picking up his pace, almost rushing off.

"Hey-!" Virgil yelped, caught off guard. The three of them hurried after the liar.

Deceit pushed past a pair of bushes and sunlight broke through behind him. Patton squinted against it as he emerged — finally! — from the trees. The bright light shot into his skull, making his head ache and he realised how truly dark and gloomy it had been within the forest. As his eyes slowly adjusted and his vision cleared, he blinked at the beautiful landscape before him. The grass was so green! And the kills were so big and round! And the big, crumbling stone castle looked like old Celtic ruins and the peaceful, gorgeous scene was only wrecked by the huge, red dragon snarling and storming around the courtyard.

Wait.

Patton yelped as the dragon's lashing tail smashed into the side of the castle walls. They caved like the impact was equivalent to a wave crashing into a sand pile. Patton ducked behind Logan, peering over his shoulder.

"That's not Roman," Virgil said. Patton followed his gaze to the armed person who was insane enough to be fighting the dragon.

Virgil's right, he realised. They were too heavyset, too broad-shouldered. Even the way he moved wasn't as fast nor graceful as seeing Roman in action. Plus, Roman used a sword, not a big hammer.

Logan stepped forward, looking closely at something in the distant castle’s direction. "The... bodies," he ventured haltingly, "what are they— what's their purpose?"

"What?" Patton cried. Then he saw it, too.

The entire field beside the castle was littered with limp bodies. The grass beneath them was an awful red-brown. Patton quickly averted his gaze, unashamed to be hiding his face like a three-year-old would during a scary movie.

"If—"

"He's not there," Logan said before Virgil could even begin to choke out a weak threat for Deceit. They all looked at him. "Roman doesn't wear armour."

"He doesn't?" Patton asked.

"'Ruins his aesthetic'," Virgil muttered without bite.

"Yes." Logan sighed. “So that suggests that Roman is not here."

"He's here," Deceit said, gaze fixed on the battle ahead of them. "He's likely the biggest mobile thing in a three square mile radius."

A beat of silence.

"By the situation being complicated," Virgil said slowly, "you meant to say that Thomas' creativity is now a giant... raging... dragon."

Three pairs of eyes locked onto Deceit. The scaled side looked between them, oddly sheepishly.

"No..?" he tried.

A blur of purple smashed into Deceit, knocking him to the grass.

"What did you DO?" Virgil roared, his fists twisting into Deceit's collar.

"Virgil!" Patton yelped in alarm.

Anxiety shook the other side, none-too-gently. "TALK!"

"Virgil," Logan interjected. "I doubt Deceit has the power to morph other sides this... drastically." Virgil scowled at him, inhaling to argue. "And if he does, do you really believe that he would morph Roman, leave, then come back with us — all for some pointless mockery?"

Virgil glared down at Deceit. "What were you planning?" he demanded.

"My plan was to get your help!" Deceit snapped back.

"Guys, don't fight!" Patton cried, hurrying forward. He put his hand on Virgil's shoulder and the anxious side stilled. He slowly eased off Deceit but he didn’t let up his fierce stare.

"Ah."

The four sides whirled around. From the trees stalked a tall woman. She wasn't a side; she had to have been a part of the Imagination. "The three perfect, loyal, little light sides." Her hideous black eyes scanned them. Patton's grip on Virgil's shoulder tightened. "So." From her back, a pair of huge leathery wings unfurled, sketching out. They blocked out the sun, shadowing the huddled group and their pale faces.

"Who's getting disemboweled first?"

This knight was so stupid! It wasn't stabby, like a lot of the others, and it wasn't fast or even really scared. It stood in the same spot and just let the dragon attack it.

But he still couldn't land a hit. His swipes were knocked to the side. His tail tip was squished. His snout was bruised. He ran his tongue over the empty slot where one of his teeth had been bashed out. It was that stupid hammer! Blood trailed from his gum.

He snarled and took another snap at the insufferable knight, and this time, it did something he didn't expect: it dodged.

For a moment, the dragon was almost baffled.

Then the hammer smashed into his temple. He didn't even roar. A crumpled, broken whimper pressed past his teeth as he staggered to the side. Stars danced in his unison, blacking around the edges.

When his eyesight cleared, he was at ground level. Stupid knight.

He blinked. At the treeline were more knights. He hadn't even had a chance to eat this one!

He froze with a start. With them...

Dragon Witch!

Roman sprang up with a startled yelp.

The others! What were they doing here? That witch had better stay away from them or he'd—

The hammer came back down on his head. Apparently by 'springing up' he'd only manage to lift his head an inch off the ground.

He snorted dirt from his nose and made to get up but... he couldn't move. His body felt so heavy...

He groaned and tried to at least tilt his head. Hammer Knight was peering at him. Roman tried to bare his teeth but his lip only barely twitched. He was almost glad, anyway; it was too animalistic of a gesture. He wasn't ready to address how he'd lost himself for a time fighting this knight. He needed to be changed back, and soon.

At the trees, the Dragon Witch reached forward. She didn't move much more, but Patton clutched his head and fell to his knees with a pained cry.

No! Roman jerked against the ground, trying oh so hard to get up. Stand up! MOVE, stupid, useless legs! At the base of his head, Hammer Knight raised his weapon high above his head. Roman eyed it, feeling his irregularly large heart pounding against the Earth.

This was the part where the knight won. Where the mighty hero slayed the evil dragon and returned to his home a hero. Where he remained a hero for only a short time before attention moved on, and he was overtaken with envy and greed and fear and the pressure to remain a strong, valiant prince would slowly crush him like his skull threatening to implode—

The hammer fell just short of his head.

Roman blinked as Hammer Knight fell after it.

Just behind where the knight had previously been standing, Deceit glared at him.

"Do you think you just lie around all day?" Deceit said, sounding a little unhinged. It didn't help that he looked a little insane, too. His hat was gone, allowing the mess of his hair to display. His wide, mismatched eyes scanned constantly across Roman's snout, like he couldn't decide where to look. He looked awful, to be frank. Roman kind of wanted to tell him, but at the same time he was glad he couldn't speak.

"Stand up!" Deceit hissed. Roman frowned at him and raised his wing as far as he could to demonstrate that he couldn't move—

Except the wing shot straight up into the air. Both Roman and Deceit froze, the former from shock, the latter possibly trying to decipher what that translated to from Dragon.

"Deceit!"

At the edge of the forest, the Dragon Witch had pinned Virgil to the ground. Logan was leaning against a nearby tree trunk, looking dazed. Patton was desperately patting the grass as he searched for his missing, cracked glasses.

Roman took one look at this stupid manifestation torturing his friends, and he was on his feet.

Beside him, Deceit staggered to the side. Roman reared back, flared his wings, lashed his tail, and roared. It felt strange, he had to admit — like yelling, but so much more powerful.

But at that moment, it didn't really matter what it felt like.

The Dragon Witch had momentarily pulled from Virgil, her wide, black eyes fixed on him.

Virgil coughed and rubbed at his bruised neck with a grimace.

Roman filled with red, hot anger. How dare she? Claim to be stronger than him? Lure the others into this mess? Attack his family?

It took Roman a moment to realise it was more than just anger, and his chest was actually warm, and it was spreading through to his throat.

He was glad the Light Side had worked it out before him; they'd already scrambled well out of the way seconds before a plume of fire billowed from Roman's open jaws to engulf the shocked Dragon Witch.

Roman leaned back and puffed out his chest proudly.

A squeaked, "Woah," made him look down. At his talons, Patton gaped up at him, awed.

Crouching carefully, Roman lowered his head as much as he could in order to look Morality in the eyes. Patton chuckled unevenly, but he reached forward and settled his hands on either side of Roman's still-too-big snout.

"Well, kiddo," he said. His smile was a strange mix between uneasy and sympathetic. "You've certainly had a bit of a glow-up since we last saw you."

Roman meant for his snort to only be gentle, but the gush of air that exploded from his nose still blew Patton's hair back and made him blink, frazzled. Oops. Sorry, Padre.

Still, the self-proclaimed father of the group laughed, for real this time, and patted the side of Roman's snout good-naturedly. God, how Roman wanted to be small enough for Patton to comfortably pat his back or ruffle his hair.

"Ideally, he won't have that 'glow up' much longer." Logan stepped up beside Patton. Behind his glasses, his eyes were narrowed and studying Roman, like he was scrutinizing every scale. Roman, feeling oddly ashamed, looked at the ground.

"Anyone got any bright ideas?" Roman's heart leapt. Virgil padded over to Patton and Logan his dark eyes trained cautiously on Roman and his joy was almost immediately squashed. He really wished everyone could stop being scared of him. He looked down at his talons.

Well, he supposed dejectedly. I guess I can't blame them.

A stone bonked him on the snout. Wrinkling it to rid the strange stinging itch, he looked back up.

"Try and cheer up, Princey," Virgil said, a second pebble already in his hand as he tossed it back and forth. "We'll work out how to get you back to your fabulous self in no time." That was probably when Roman found that dragons were capable of smiles.

A sudden shriek made them look back. The Dragon Witch was standing, shaking herself. Her clothes were in tatters, and parts of her skin may have been burnt. She looked more pissed than hurt, though.

"Uh," squeaked Patton. "Light her on fire!" he called up to Roman.

"She was just swallowed with flames," Deceit pointed out, "and of course, that did so much damage."

"Sarcasm is not going to help us," Virgil snapped.

"How many more must die while you doubt yourself, Roman?" the witch called, gesturing to the field of dead knights. Roman didn't follow her gaze, but his stomach clenched tightly.

"Roman." Hesitantly, he looked down. Logan's gaze was steady. "You've mentioned a 'Dragon Witch' before," he said slowly, like he was explaining the steps to a particularly hard equation. "What is she?"

Roman squinted at him, uncomprehending. A... dragon... witch?

"No," Logan said, like he could hear his thoughts. "She's certainly not like us — but she's more than just a fabrication of the Imagination. She's strong enough not to be affected by us, by you..." His eyes narrowed. "So, what is she?"

Roman had a feeling Logan already knew, and he was just trying to coax the answer from Roman.

But why? For one, he couldn’t speak.

"And how would you beat her?" Logan prompted, ignoring the baffled looks the others were giving him. Roman was equally as bewildered, albeit for a different reason.

Beat? he thought. How long does he think I've been trying to beat that?

The witch was stalking for them, her face twisted with fury and tail lashing. He had to protect the others from her. But how? If a column of fire couldn’t get rid of her then what—?

The Dragon Witch's first fireball exploded against him.

Virgil's heart was in his throat as Roman crashed thunderously to the ground.

True panic began to settle in when he didn’t get back up.

So when he was knocked to the ground to dodge another fireball, Virgil hardly felt the breath that whooshed out of his lungs. He gripped a handful of his shirt, trying to ground himself in order to get his breathing under control.

When he could manage a full breath, he allowed himself to focus on his surroundings. Faintly, his brain registered the pair of dress shoes in front of him. Janus glanced down at him.

"Are you going to laze around, too?" he demanded. A distant cry pulled his attention forward again. He reached out and twisted his arm. Virgil followed the direction of his gesture. His eyes widened when he saw the Dragon Witch staggering away from Logan. She was covering her own mouth, looking alarmed and that much more angry.

"You can control her?" Virgil stood, a little shakily.

"Barely," Janus said through gritted teeth.

"I thought she wasn’t like us," Virgil said.

Janus' breath strained and he couldn't answer before the Dragon Witch ripped her hand from her mouth and he collapsed to his hands and knees with a gasp. Virgil crouched beside him, putting his hand on Janus' shoulder.

"I think," Janus said, swallowing as he recovered from the shock of having his Silencing bested, "that from the way Logan was talking... she's a part of Roman."

"What?" Alarm spiked through Virgil’s veins. "A part of him? How?"

Janus shook his head, unable to answer Virgil stood, watching as the witch knocked Patton to the side with a snarl.

"You're all pathetic!" she roared. The words echoed as Virgil racked his brain for a solution. Loyal, little Light Sides. They had nothing to fight her with. While you doubt yourself... With her in control of the Imagination, they couldn't summon anything or sink out — not that Virgil would even consider abandoning the others. All pathetic...

Virgil swallowed an anxious breath. Fight or flight. He darted around Janus and scooped up a sword from a fallen knight.

Before the Dragon Witch could pounce on a dazed Patton, a long silver blade sliced into one of her wings.

She didn't scream, or cry out in pain, or collapse, or really any of the things Virgil was hoping for. But her attention was drawn from Patton as she slowly turned to face Virgil. That was good enough. He pointed the sword at her challengingly and hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he had no idea how to wield it. She lunged at him, her taloned hands outstretched. Virgil ducked but the witch’s tail whipped around, smacking him in the face. As his vision blurred with involuntary tears. He felt his grip on the sword hilt disappear rather abruptly. He threw his arms up instinctively, but it was still a shock when white hot pain flared up along his forearms.

He stumbled back, losing his balance and falling with a graceless thud.

The Dragon Witch pounced after him. She curled her fist into his hair, keeping his head back as she trailed with jawline with a precariously sharp talon.

"How about I pull your teeth out, one by one?" she hissed.

No.

Virgil frowned. He hadn't thought that, had he? The witch had paused, like she'd heard it too. Virgil took this time to kick her as hard as he could in the stomach. She reared off of him with a cough. As Virgil darted to his feet, movement made him turn to watch as Roman rose to his full height, glowering down at the witch.

You will not hurt them. He stalked forward. Behind him, the giant chain links clamped to his back ankle clanked as it reached it full length. With a loud creak and then a bang, the chain snapped off his leg.

Snarling, the Dragon Witch conjured a fireball and launched it at the dragon.

Virgil's cry of fear died in this throat when Roman simply lifted his chin. The orb of flames crashed into his neck, then fizzled and dissipated. His scales weren't burnt. He hadn't even winced.

You are not as strong as us. The Dragon Witch took an anxious step backwards as Roman persisted. As me.

"You're WEAK!" the witch shrieked, flaring her wings.

A growl rumbled from Roman's throat. I am Thomas' Creativity. I am inventive and adventurous and as strong as he needs me to be. And that, he leaned down, his snout larger than her entire body, and almost smirked, makes me stronger than you.

With a screech, the witch summoned a long spear. Nonplussed, Roman straightened. Before the witch could attack, he blew out a swirling column of fire that enveloped her with a shriek.

Virgil watched warily but as the cloud of embers and smoke faded, the witch didn't move, like she'd been frozen. Then, slowly, she fell apart. Quite literally. Her body turned grey and began to crumble until she was nothing but a small clump of dust, piled atop the emerald-green grass.

The ground vibrated, and Virgil looked up just as Roman crumpled to the ground.

Too bright.

Light beamed against Roman's eyelids. He frowned against it, feeling groggy and tired.

Still, his senses were on high alert, so the moment an image of the Dragon Witch flashed through his mind, his eyes shot open. He moved to sit, but pressure on his shoulders kept him pinned. The only thing keeping him from fighting against the force was the fact that the grip was gentle and decidedly talon-less.

What made him freak out, however, was the moment he realised that he was lying flat on his back; that his shoulders were squared and no longer rounded strangely; that his skin felt weirdly soft and sensitive, and the sensation of clothes pressing against him was almost uncomfortable.

He blinked, squinting up at the bespectacled face above him.

"Good afternoon," Logan said dryly with a hint of a smile.

Roman tried for a grin. He lifted his head — for how heavy and clumsy he'd felt as a dragon, moving now should have been easier — but his head throbbed painfully and he relaxed again with a grimace. Instead of settling against itchy grass or hard rocks, the back of his head pressed against something smooth and thick, enough to cushion the ground. Roman twisted his neck to glance at it and smiled faintly.

The carefully folded caplet that was serving as a makeshift pillow was not the strangest thing that encompassed Roman, he thought, as he realised his sense of fashion had apparently rapidly depleted along with the dragon scales. He frowned down at the long purple hoodie that looked as if it had been roughly thrown on top of him.

"Forming from dragon to side was not accompanied by clothes, it seems," Logan explained. Heat dusted Roman's cheeks. He unconsciously gripped the sleeve of Virgil's hoodie a little tighter. He looked around and relaxed as, one by one, he spotted his friends. Patton moved to crouch beside Logan, smiling with tired but happy eyes. Virgil remained standing, looking out-of-character without his violet hoodie over his shoulders, but when Roman caught his gaze, he smirked, albeit weakly.

"What did I say?" he said with a shrug. "Normal in no time." Roman grinned back.

Deceit stood awkwardly off to the side. He looked strange, too, without his signature article of clothing, but he hadn’t left yet, and that was enough for Roman.

Closing his eyes and concentrating, Roman waved his hand and felt their surroundings shift. Sinking out, however, did no kindness to his aching head, so when he rose up with the others in the mindscape commons, all properly clothed once again, he made an unsteady bee-line for the couch.

He collapsed into it and ran a hand over his tired eyes, and a hand ran through his hair. He blinked lazily over at Patton.

"Someone's exhausted," Morality said with a smile. Roman hummed in response. Feeling as if he needed to double check he was back, in the mindscape, with everyone, Roman quickly scanned the room.

Logan was cleaning the mess of the floor. Roman vaguely wondered where all those leaves and twigs had come from. Virgil was crouched on the staircase, talking to a mildly surprised-looking Deceit. Anxiety's eyes were narrowed, but he wasn't showing any other signs that he was mad, like tense shoulders or clenched fists. He looked embarrassed, if anything, but Roman had no idea why.

They would have questions, Roman knew. When he woke up, they'd want to talk, and he wouldn't be able to dismiss them. He'd have to — Greek gods forbid — open up, because he'd gotten his family hurt and the least he could do for them was to offer an explanation.

But for now, they were okay, and so was he. Feeling it was safe to relax, Roman closed his eyes.

He was out like a light.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #i don't know what i'm doing #tw: (mild) violence #there's some fighting #a dragon shows up at some point #roman sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #the dragon witch #sympathetic everyone #oh except for the dragon witch #i'm really bad at this #character!thomas is mentioned #i'm sorry for the long post

7 notes · View notes

courier-sux · 4 years

Note

Not sure if I sent smth yet but 📓☄️ for August and Jackal

again sorry for the delay!!

📓 Write a typical diary/journal page by your OC! (or if you’d rather not, describe their journal. Do they keep one, why?)

August doesn’t keep a journal, but if he did, it would be very utilitarian. Writing isn’t something he does often, so his handwriting is somewhat messy, though more legible than Jackal’s. Anything inside it be useful information — maybe dotted by the occasional note about a task, conversation, or dream.

A journal page by him might look like this:

Traveled: Nellis AFB

Weather: Sunny (should write that in for every entry)

Met the “Boomers”. They tried to blow me up. Still don’t know how I feel about them, but it doesn’t matter as long as they agree to help the Legion.

Saw September again today. Said my goals were “selfish, idiotic, and damn near suicidal.” Condemnant quo non intellegunt.

Jackal’s journal has a worn leather cover, and she fills about three of them during her time in the Mojave. Just before she goes to bed, she records the events of the day — how detailed of an account it is depends on how tired she feels. Between her messy handwriting and tendency to rip out pages with notes on them, it’s a bit disorganized. The front is chronological, the center is for pressing flowers, and the pages in the back are reserved as a place to write down notes, information she recovers about herself, and anything about her friends that she finds important enough to jot down.

Here’s what Jackal was writing towards the end of Cactus Flower (made legible):

Reached Nelson today. Ranger (Milo) recognized me and Boone, said that there were hostages in town. Legion strung up some soldiers, still alive. Told us to mercy kill them and Boone got his back up. Don’t think Milo noticed — guess I’m just good at reading him. Would be easier if he didn’t wear those fucking sunglasses all the time. Usually no point in looking at his face if I wanna know what he’s thinking. Way he stands gives more away.

Anyways. I lied and told Milo we’d do it cause he was full of shit. Typical NCR. Rather take the easy way out than ever do something risky. Was planning on sniping as many reds as we could before taking the fight to them, but that plan went south when Boone had another panic attack — worst one I’ve seen so far. Scared me real bad.

I’m worried about him. If a legionary doesn’t get him first, his mind’s going to do him in instead. Wish that telling him would change his mind but he only seems to care when it threatens me. Note to self: don’t read too much into that, dumbass.

Talking seems to help when I can get him to do it. While back I asked him how he knew Carla was dead and he said he just knew. I think I get it now. Boone said he’ll talk to me about what happened tonight. Guess we’ll see if I’m right.

We got the soldiers out, made Milo eat his words. Cleaned out Nelson. Made camp between Nelson and Novac. Headed to Camp Searchlight tomorrow. Maybe I’ll feel a little less guilty about tricking the NCR if I keep doing stuff for them. Sorry dad.

☄️ Does your OC believe in fate and destiny or do they think it’s a load of garbage? Would they ever get this fortune told? What would a fortune-teller tell them about their future?

August believes that the ideas of fate and destiny are nonsense, but he does think that life in general has wronged him more than most people — whether it was meant to be or not is where it gets uncertain for him. He’d see getting his fortune told as a waste of time. When it comes to his future, a fortune-teller would have a hard time predicting it — he has the potential to do both a lot of good and a lot of bad.

Like August, Jackal thinks the idea of fate or destiny is completely ridiculous. She believes that everyone has control of their actions (to a certain extent), and blaming things on fate is a way to cope with your own failings. She would (and does in my tarot fic) get her fortune told, if only for her own amusement — she wouldn’t take it seriously. A fortune-teller might tell her that her road is long and difficult, but there’s a light at the end. She just needs to stick it out until she reaches it.

And speaking of fortunes, here’s a preview for part two of the Hanged Man: following Lonesome Road, Jackal’s tarot spread includes the Knight of Swords, the Nine of Wands, and Judgement.

20 OC Questions

#ty for your patience #ask memes #deliveries #oc: august #oc: jackal #fic: cactus flower #mitsybubbles

5 notes · View notes

spnfanficpond · 5 years

Text

March 2019 Pond LiveChat Recap

We had a great time chatting today with @bamby0304! Thank you so much, Amber, for joining us!!

We talked about Planners (writers who outline and plan out their stories) vs. Pantsers (writers who fly by the seat of their pants), and had some great questions and answers from everyone who joined! A rundown of the chat, as well as the usual general Pond news, is below the cut.

Michelle: I love attending writing panels at comic cons, and at one, the presenter said there are two kinds of writers, and that each type has their strong points. Planners have tighter storylines, but pansters tend to have stronger characters because they start with the characters and the story writes itself. (This is a broad generalization, so there are always exceptions to this rule.) As a pantser, it made me feel better about my writing, because I felt like CRAP because I can't outline for shit. Before hearing this, I thought, “My writing is crap and it’s always gonna be crap because I don’t outline and plan,” even though readers told me they liked my writing. Hearing that how I write is a valid process and there are successful writers like me really helped me to embrace it and feel better. We can always learn from each other, though, which is why we’re here!

Amber: I do find that sometimes diving in head first, with no thought, can result in a more interesting story. While most of my fics are planned, I do sometimes just get an idea and run with it. Having an outline can be a little restricting at times...

Q: Amber, how do you keep track of all your work in progress?

Amber: I have a doc that lists all my past, present and future fics which is very detailed. Everything is color-coded and alphabetized!

Q: For the pantsers, how do you end a story? I started writing my story as a series of one-shots that accidentally connected, and now I have a 15-chapter story that needs an ending....

Michelle: When I write, I always have an end goal in mind, like a road trip. I know where I want to go, but not necessarily which roads I’ll take to get there. Only once did I not do that, and it was just crack, with me just trying to stuff a lot of ridiculous crack into it, and it doesn’t have much of an ending, really. My advice for where you are, though, would be to sit down, close your eyes, and put yourself in every character's shoes. Think about how they feel about what's been happening, and disregard all of the other characters. Think about what they want and what they might do next. When you find the characters with the most interesting motivations and potential actions, there's the rest of your story.

Q: Amber, are you a planner in other aspects of your life, too?

Amber: I'm a planner with everything. My dad has a saying that's been drilled into me since birth: Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. He also says: Better safe than sorry. So I guess I've just always felt the need to be organised and prepared. I'm at least half an hour early to everything. My books and DVDs are in alphabetical order, my wardrobe is colour coordinated... I'm all about organisation

Q: Michelle, do you find that your end goal gets lost in the middle? Like, if you don’t plan the small stuff, do you take a left turn instead of right and end up losing your original plan?

Michelle: Oddly enough, I don’t. There have been times when the story made a left turn, and after a short while, I got blocked. Every time I get blocked, it's a sign I made a wrong turn. If I go back to the turn and start fresh, it always works out. In my recent NaNoWriMo fic, I was on day 3, and suddenly, I lost all urge to write it. Nothing was coming to me. It was all crap. I went back, threw out almost an entire day's worth of writing, and then forged ahead. It was nerve-wracking, because it put me behind on my daily word count for the month, but it worked.

Q: Amber, did you learn how to outline from someone, or are you self-taught?

Amber: At first I was a full time pantser. I was a shipper who just wanted Elena and Damon together, and I didn't care how they got there. Now, though, I think about pretty much every step I take... well, almost every step I take.

Q: Are your outlines in complete sentences or just points you want to make in each chapter?

Amber: Depends on the story. With Wolves just had dot points for chapters, but The Hart has a full doc of details. I would jot a few words down for With Wolves, because I also try to stick to a word count for each chapter so sometimes the idea would spread into multiple chapters

Q: Is sticking to a word count per chapter a thing that you do for yourself for pacing, or for your readers so they don't have long chapters?

Amber: Mostly for pacing. Most of my reader insert fics are 1.5k-2.5k words long. Except Her Saviours... that's 3.5-5k long. I like things to be uniform.

Q: I can't get past 1k would outlining help with that?

Amber: Outlining could help, sure. But you need ideas to outline, first.

Q: Do you have a writing schedule that you stick to, where it's your priority for that time to write, or do you just write when you can?

Amber: I started uni this week, so now it's more of a do-it-when-you-can kinda thing... but I like to write in the evenings. I make a cup of tea and sit myself down, and make myself write. Often I don't wanna... but I have a posting schedule to keep up with, so I don't have much of a choice.... I also put on SPN when writing that fandom. I specifically stick to the season that might go along with the plot of that fic. I can't write in silence.

Michelle: I can't write if there's anything AT ALL happening anywhere in the world that I might find remotely interesting. Silence, no music, no TV, nothing good on my dash, it's terrible. Literally, anything is more interesting than writing for me, until I get going.

Q: Do your stories ever break from your outline?

Amber: All the time! For instance, in Her Saviours (sorry about name dropping my fics, but I just like using examples) Sam is misbehaving big time. He keeps on doing things I don't want him to do, which moves the plot along faster that I'd like.

Q: How do you even start an outlining process?

Amber: it might be a slight OCD thing... because I'm organised with everything... but a lot of my planning is motivated by the fact that if I don't plan I'll lose interest in my stories and give up.

Followup Q: I want to try, but you made it sound a bit overwhelming.

Amber: It's really not overwhelming. You get the idea for a story and then you want to write... so jot that idea down. Then jot down other ideas that go with it. Set up a timeline. Dean wants pie Dean goes to get pie Dean meets girl at bakery They laugh, have fun He buys her pie Turns out it's magical pie that people get addicted to Dean has to decide whether he ganks witch (pie girl) or not. Just write simple stuff like that.

Q: Do Pantsers lose motivation easily?

Michelle: Sometimes. If I don’t know what I want to write next, it’s really easy to get distracted and not write. I need a writing schedule that I stick to. I used to have one, but I've filled it up with being tired from having a life.

@manawhaat: Yes and no. if I lose the motivation, it's because the story isn't there or i'm not having the right thoughts to help that story along. Like if I generally know what the fuck is going on in a story, I'm probably not writing it because I already know it. It's the ones that are a mystery or Mr. Toads Wild Ride that I end up writing bc I'm actively motivated to figure it out.

Q: Do you have a posting schedule? And if you do lose motivation, does that affect said schedule?

Michelle: I do not have a schedule. I have an order in my head of what I want to write next, but unless it's for a challenge, no due date to write it by.

Mana: I have never had a posting schedule because I am not the schedule type person and will 100% abort from the plan and not stick to it at all. Even signing up for challenges, I'm wary of time frames because I'm more likely to drop out if I can't figure my shit out within that time. I'd rather drop out of a challenge than pump out something that isn't really what I want to write or doesn't tell the story I need to tell.

Amber: I pace myself with posting. I give fics certain days (like today is Spanner in the Works day) and I post them weekly on said day. I choose the days by title most of the time... I like alliteration, so Spanner in the Works is posted on Sunday S + S.

Q: Are you really a pantser, or a planner in denial? Do you just not realize somethings you do are baby steps into becoming a full time planner?

Michelle: When it comes to writing, I've tried to plan, and I just can't. If I plan too thoroughly, then I feel like I've already written the story, and I lose motivation to write it out. But I'm more of a planner in life. I have a calendar and a routine that I follow, simply because there are days when I'm not cognitively aware enough to make actual decisions. If everything is muscle memory, I can run on auto pilot and not crash. To use the road trip analogy, when I go on an actual road trip, I figure out the route and all the bathroom breaks ahead of time. Completely different than when I’m writing.

Tips gleaned from writers at writing panels at comic cons:

As you're writing, keep an "outline" of your chapters with only a sentence or two describing each chapter. This helps you if you need to go back and reference something later, and helps you see the overall story arc.

Naming characters - Try to avoid naming characters with the same first initial. A reader's eyes will sometimes only hit the first letter of a name, so keeping track of character names helps. Write the alphabet on a piece of paper, and write down every name as you go along.

If you're stuck, or feel like your story is meandering, try to picture in your mind what the movie trailer for your story would look like. What makes this movie more interesting than similar movies? What is driving your story?

If you've got a good flow going, and then it suddenly dries up, go back to when you last felt confident, and move on from there. Something you did since then wasn't right, and you'll see it when you start again.

Thanks to everyone who was there! It was a great chat!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work! If you have sent in a nomination, but have not received a private message confirming we received it, we didn’t get it. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

SPNFanFicPond Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge - New prompts go up after every new episode, and there’s no deadline! Check out the prompts and rules at the link!

Say hi to February’s New Members!

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the chat room and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details! The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

In April, we’re going to chat with one of our Big Fish, @deanscarlett about writing in English when it’s not your first language! Hope to see you there!

#spnfanficpond live chat #chat room #let's chat #THE CHAT ROOM #pond chat

12 notes · View notes

porkchop-ao3 · 6 years

Text

I.C’s Suit Fitting

More OC fun! This fic features both Ice Cream Rick and Tailor Rick. No reader here, but she does come up in conversation ;3 Tailor is giving the lovely I.C a suit fitting! A nice little character study to help us get to know these guys even more.

So! SFW, just under 3k words, enjoy!

“This colour? Are you absolutely sure about that?”

It was going to be a long day, Tailor knew that much. What he did not know was why on earth Ice Cream Rick, of all people, had booked an appointment for a suit fitting with him. It wasn't as if he had the money or the taste to pull off one of his suits. Especially if the whole thing was going to be done in pastel yellow for Christ's sake.

“Yes. T-totally sure. She says she likes that colour on me.” I.C replied to the tailor's snarky question with an undeterred smile on his face.

“Well yes, I'm sure she does, but not in this volume.” Tailor scoffed, scowling down at his book of fabric samples. “An-and I don't even use this fabric for suits. It's far too thin, I use it for linings. A subtle hint of colour. Only an idiot would walk around wearing a suit in this colour.”

I.C cocked a brow, glancing down at the suit Tailor had decided on that day. Emerald green shot with magenta, the colour shifted in the light. He would question it, but he couldn't be bothered to listen to the hour long lecture that would no doubt follow.

“If it's too thin, source me a fabric that's suitable. But I'm having this colour. It matches a dress she has…” I.C insisted scratching at his goatee as he looked down at the fabric once again. He thought it would look pretty cool, paired with a powder blue shirt.

“Oh, bloody hell, you're going to be matching? Christ.” Tailor sighed, turning on his heel and pulling out a second book from his shelf, containing more fabric samples. “If you insist on going with yellow, may I suggest something to break up the colour? Stripes, perhaps. That might just work with the correct accessories. Very Dick Van Dyke.”

“Huh?”

“You've seen Mary Poppins, haven't you? The scene with the chalk pavement drawing? Oh, never mind. Just make sure you find yourself a nice pair of white brogues and a cane.” Tailor muttered somewhat sarcastically, slamming the heavy book down on the desk and flicking through it until he found what he was looking for. “This. With plain white trousers.” Tailor suggested.

This fabric was mostly white, but had yellow stripes of varying widths running along it. I.C pursed his lips as he looked at it.

“Alright. I will trust you on this. And what about the lining, you mentioned lining?” He nodded, looking back up at Tailor who gave a long suffering sigh and pointed towards the original choice.

“If you must have that particular fabric somewhere, then I suppose it would be fine to line it with that.” Tailor said, bringing a smile to I.C's face. “And what are you wearing it with? Would you like a shirt as well or are you just springing for the suit and trousers this time?”

“Just the suit and pants. I'm not- well, I have a shirt in mind.”

“Don't tell me it's a pink polka-dot eyesore, or-or something along those lines.” Tailor grumbled, jotting something down in a notebook – not dissimilar to the one I.C owned for his ideas, he thought – on a page with 'Mr. Whippy’ written across the top. I.C still didn't understand what that was about.

“No. It's a p-pale blue, plain one with white buttons.” He said defensively, though he wouldn't admit that he did in fact own a pink polka-dot shirt as well.

“Hm, not terrible.” Tailor nodded thoughtfully. “I'll allow it.” He added.

“Oh, thank goodness.” I.C rolled his eyes in mild annoyance.

“So what's the occasion for this? And you'd better not say a funeral because I'll throw you out of here.” Tailor asked, closing up the fabric books and carrying them back over to the shelf where they belonged. He slid them into their specific places carefully.

“No.” I.C frowned. “It's our anniversary. Six months.”

“You know, that's not really an anniversary that counts for anything, I'd at least wait a year before splashing out on a Sanchez suit. Not th-that I'm trying to talk myself out of a paying customer, but for the record, I don't do 'mates rates’. You'll be paying full price whether you're dating my assistant or not.” Tailor informed him dryly, and I.C tutted and rolled his eyes.

“I wasn't expecting that, w-we're hardly good friends anyway.”

“How you wound me.” Tailor whined dramatically shortly before dropping all emotion from his face. “Get up on there, would you? I-I-I'm ready to take your measurements.” He continued, pointing towards the low pedestal in the middle of the room.

The same pedestal that I.C's girlfriend to be had been creaming her knickers on during her own dress measuring earlier that year… Tailor had been tempted to mention it, but then again, he wasn't completely heartless.

Tailor brought a tape measure and his notebook over to I.C, who'd stepped up onto the pedestal and was standing rather awkwardly.

“You can relax, you know. I-if you're all stiff my measurements will be off.” Tailor said, slipping off his own suit jacket and hanging it off the back of a nearby chair.

“I'm-I'm perfectly relaxed, I've just never been fitted for anything before. I don't know how to stand.” I.C admitted a little sheepishly, watching Tailor come over to him uncoiling his rolled up tape measure.

“You don't say.” He mused, looking I.C up and down analytically, considering where to start. “Well, just stand naturally. Don't hold your breath, just be… hmm.” He suddenly narrowed his eyes.

“What?” I.C frowned.

“Those won't do. Take your trousers off, please.”

“What?” I.C questioned, his tone incredulous.

“Those trousers are too baggy, I won't be able to get an accurate inseam measurement, it'll be easier if you just remove them. Keep the shoes on, however.” He explained, looking up at I.C with his signature bored expression, holding out his hand. He was waiting.

I.C sighed and started to unbuckle his belt, fumbling as he did. If he was awkward before, he sure as hell was a lot worse now.

“If you're worried I'm going to laugh at how small it is, I assure you I'm a complete professional. I'll only tell my closest friends about it.” He added dryly, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. I.C realised he'd never seen anything so close to a smile on his face before.

With a huff, he dropped his drawers – however awkward that might be with his shoes still on – and handed them to the other Rick, who walked across the room to hang them up neatly on a nearby clothes rack.

“That's better. Now, like I said, just relax and stand naturally. This should be quick and painless.” He said, returning to I.C and holding the tape measure between his two hands. “We'll do the chest measurement first. Again, don't hold your breath.”

Tailor stepped in front of the other Rick and briefly wrapped his arms around him, under his arms, and brought the tape measure around his torso. He took a few seconds to ensure it was level all the way around and adjusted it so that it was snug, but not too tight. Then he released him and turned to jot down the figure in his notebook, sitting on a portable table just behind him. He then walked around to I.C's back and stretched the tape out across the tops of his shoulders.

“So,” he started, simply to make conversation. “Where are you taking her for the anniversary?”

“Hm? Oh. I'm- well, I'm- I think…” I.C stammered, fidgeting a little. Tailor's eyes slid from the tape measure up to the back of his head curiously. “Honestly? I don't know.” He finally admitted with a disappointed sigh.

“You don't know?” Tailor repeated, moving to make a note of the next measurement before going over to his side, taking I.C's wrist in his hand and positioning his arm just right. He took the measurement from the top of his shoulder and down to where the jacket sleeve would fall.

“No. I-I-I'm actually kind of shitting myself at this point. I wanted to take her out somewhere real fancy, expensive, jus-just go all out, you know? But all the places I can think of are fully booked. Th-they have waiting lists!” I.C lamented.

“Oh, well that's no problem. The owner of Park Chinois is a client of mine. I could get you in. That's if it's in your budget, this is a very high end restaurant we're talking about.” Tailor told him, surprising even himself; he wasn't sure where the offer had come from.

By the look on his face when I.C slowly turned to stare at Tailor, neither did he. His eyes were comically large and his mouth was hanging wide open.

“You'll catch flies.” Tailor commented briefly.

“Are you fucking serious?” I.C exclaimed, his voice much higher in pitch than usual. Tailor chuckled to himself, but there was an edge of regret in its tone.

“Hmm. I could do it. I'd have to offer them a discount on their next purchase, but they're putty in my hands; they'll do it. That's if that's really what you want to do, has your girlfriend told you she'd like a slap up meal?” Tailor asked, noting down another measurement before pausing, crossing his arms and looking up at the other man.

“Well, no. I just thought that'd be the best thing- the most romantic thing-”

“Yes, taking out a second mortgage to pay for a meal and a suit. How very romantic.” Tailor rolled his eyes and immediately I.C was scowling at him.

“Listen, I don't know who you think you are – or who I am for that matter – but I can afford to splurge every once in a while. I might not drive a- a Bentley or whatever the fuck, but don't forget I own a business. A pretty successful business, actually.”

“Alright! Must've touched a nerve. I am sorry you feel that way about your money situation, I didn't realise you were so sensitive.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I.C grumbled, half tempted to storm out. But that'd only give him more ammunition.

“I suppose I can fuck off along with the offer of getting you that table for two?” Tailor's eyelids lowered, his face deadpan. I.C kept his mouth shut. They were quiet for a while, and finally Tailor returned to taking measurements.

“Do you think she'll like it?” I.C asked, his voice timid. “You spend a lot of time with her, maybe you know a different side of her. Help me out here.”

“Hmm, well, what do you usually do on your dates?” Tailor questioned.

“Well, a bunch of things. Lately she's been showing me around London. I suppose it's her way of returning the favour of what I do for her; I like to take her to different planets, and we'll just sit up on the hood of the truck and eat ice cream together, talking and enjoying the scenery. Then other times we'll go out to small towns or villages, find a l-little family run coffee shop or restaurant and eat there. We'll go on walks, sh-she likes nature reserves. Sometimes we'll just book out a hotel room somewhere and spend a weekend just- well, I live with Beth and the kids, she lives with her family, so it's a good chance to get some alone time.” I.C explained, staring off into space.

“First of all, gross. Second of all, all of that sounds pretty low-budget and quaint, I suppose. Does she honestly strike you as the type to want to go out to dinner somewhere like Park Chinois?” Tailor proposed, taking the outseam measurement of his leg. I.C was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Tailor let him mull it over as he scribbled in his notebook.

“Hmm, maybe not. I don't know, I just want her t-to be happy, I want to let her know how much I appreciate her and- and I guess I don't know the right way of doing it.” He finally said, sighing heavily and chewing on his bottom lip.

“Perhaps, I don't know, speaking to her may help? Just a-”

“Watch where you're putting your hands!” I.C suddenly hissed, jolting away from Tailor who was kneeling on the edge of the pedestal. He stared up at the other Rick with a blank expression, completely unaffected by his outburst.

“Inseam. I'm measuring your bloody inseam, trust me, I don't want to touch your shrivelled up mole-rat, thank you very much. I'll leave that to my assistant.” Tailor quipped, trying again now that I.C was a little more prepared. “Anyway. I suggest you speak to her and ask her what she'd like to do. Then you can't go far wrong.”

“I wanted to surprise her.”

“You don't make things easy for yourself, do you? I'm going to measure your seat, which is basically your arse, so don't think I'm copping a feel, okay?” Tailor said absentmindedly, wrapping the tape measure around him. “In that case, I have no advice to give, you're on your own. However, the offer is there, if you'd like me to pull some strings.”

“Y-y-you'd seriously do that for me?” I.C questioned, looking at Tailor in a light he'd never seen him. He couldn't help but feel touched, underneath all of the surprise and disbelief.

Tailor looked up to meet his eyes and promptly scowled, huffing out a breath before spinning on his heel and scribbling in his notebook again. He was rough with his pen this time, clearly irritated.

“I'm not doing anything for you.” He muttered, much quieter than he'd normally speak. “Anyway, I'm done. You can get dressed now.”

I.C stared at him for a while, cogs turning in his head. His stomach churned with something deeply unpleasant and his heart rate picked up. He shakily stepped down from the pedestal and rushed over to where his pants were hanging up, suddenly feeling far too exposed in front of Tailor. He dressed quickly, chewing on his bottom lip until it was swollen and sore.

A number of unwelcome images were flitting through his mind; Tailor and his own girlfriend spending time together in this very room, alone. Long hours, late into the night. The few times they'd all been together he'd noticed the way Tailor looked at her, he'd thought nothing of it at first but he really looked at her; intense, holding her eye contact for far longer than necessary. And then there were the subtle touches, how he'd sometimes touch her hair to neaten out flyaways, or place a hand on the small of her back when they were talking. On a number of their dates, I.C had turned up to her house and he had been there, apparently helping her get ready. So he'd seen her undressed, hadn't he? Must've done, at the very least for her dress fitting with him all those months ago. She was beautiful, of course, any man would…

He let the thought fall flat and frowned to himself.

“Rick.” He started, his back to the other man. He heard him hum in acknowledgement. “Do you- uhh, well, are you-” He kept stalling on his words, he could not for the life of him get them out.

“Spit it out, I have another client arriving soon.”

“You're doing it for her, aren't you? You'll book us the table and give the owner a discount on your work for her sake.” I.C pointed out, turning around to look at him. Tailor raised his head to meet his gaze, eyes slightly widened.

“Who else? She's been a real help to me these past few-”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Came his follow up question, shutting Tailor up instantly.

The room was silent for a while, the two men simply staring each other in the eye.

“Yes. I'm in love with her, com-completely head over heels.” Tailor started, straightening up and rolling his eyes, totally breaking eye contact as he disinterestedly continued with what he was doing; rolling up his tape measure. “That's why I'm going through all this hassle; so she can go on a bloody date with you – Christ, what're you thinking? Get out of here. Morty will take your partial payment as you leave, I-I-I expect the rest when you come for your fitting once the suit is done. I'll make any necessary adjustments then.”

I.C was hit with a whole host of emotions, one after the other, and he didn't have time to work them out. Instead, he simply found himself nodding like a dumbass and scurrying towards the door. Before he left, he turned and cleared his throat before gearing himself up for what he was about to say.

“In- in that case. Would you- I'd appreciate it if you did, ahh, speak to the owner about that table. She deserves to be spoiled for just one night, doesn't she?”

“I will do my best and let you know by the end of the week.” Tailor replied without looking up, he was back at his desk, doing what appeared to be busywork.

“Thank you, Rick. You know, this is really going to-”

“It's nothing. Anything for the love of my life, do take care of her, won't you?”

I.C could hear the smirk in his voice and clenched his teeth, embarrassment rising hot below his skin. He left before he had the chance to say anything else.

Asshole.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #oc ricks #tailor rick #ice cream rick #fanfiction #my ocs

27 notes · View notes

howlljenkins · 6 years

Text

Where We Go From Here

Nick x June centric multi-chapter fic: June and Nick finally make their escape from Gilead with Hannah in tow but things don’t go quite to plan. In the months that follow June is forced to confront the fact that she is no longer the same person she was pre-Gilead. Rated M.

Chapter 3: The Path Forward

Spring comes.

I take Holly for walks in the evenings. It's my favorite time of day, when the shadows are long and light falls rich and golden through the new leaves. Flowers are beginning to bloom and the air is tinged with sweetness as it rustles through the trees.

Sometimes Hannah join us. She chatters about school, the upcoming science fair, a friend’s birthday party. Lately she’s been begging for a dog. I tell her we don’t have enough space but my resolve is waning. Some days she is sullen and silent and I can tell she is back there, wearing a pink cloak and answering to a different name. On those days I take her hand and squeeze it. Most times she squeezes back.

Occasionally Nick will meet us at the big park on the corner of Edmands and Grove Street, halfway between our apartment and the garage where he’s picked up a few shifts in addition to his work at the Consulate.

Read on AO3

“I missed working with my hands,” he explains when I ask him why he’d want more work when the Consulate keeps him plenty busy already.

I muse without thinking. “You always were good with your hands.”

He smirks and I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

On days when Luke gets out of work early enough to join us, all five of us end up at the park together. When this happens Nick and Luke talk sports while I supervise Hannah on the swings, Holly nestled in her stroller beside me. Occasionally, I glance over my shoulder at them and I can’t help but compare them.

Luke is taller, Nick leaner. Luke’s eyes are a warm, light brown where Nick’s are so dark they’re almost black. Luke’s face is an open book, meanwhile Nick has made an art form of obscuring what he’s thinking. In many way they are exact opposites. Yet they get along surprisingly well, ribbing each other about their various teams’ win-loss records as if they’ve known one another for years. Meanwhile, I can’t seem to hold a normal conversation with either of them.

Maybe I need to start watching sports.

One night in the middle of April all five of us are at the park. Luke is pushing Hannah on the swings. Nick hoists Holly out of her stroller and walks with her to a pink flowering tree so she can see the blooms up close. She reaches for the flowers and he kisses her cheek. As I watch them, two dark heads bent together something twinges in my chest. It feels equally like longing, sadness, and joy. Before Gilead, I don’t remember feeling so many emotions at once. I was either happy or I was sad. Angry or excited. Never both, and never all four at the same time. I miss knowing what I am feeling.

A few days later I’m searching the fridge for the orange juice when Luke walks into the kitchen, leans against the doorway, and says, “I think we should get divorced.” He says it like a point of fact, the way someone might say “We’re out of milk” or “It’s raining, bring an umbrella.”

Slowly, I shut the refrigerator door and turn to him, my brain unwilling or unable to process what has just been said. I shake my head. “Is this about Nick?”

“It’s not about Nick. It’s us. Me and you. You’re not happy, June.”

“Of course I’m happy.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not-”

Anger flares in my chest. I slam a hand on the counter. “Don’t.” My whole body is shaking. “Don't tell me how I feel.”

Luke’s calm facade crumbles and suddenly heartbreak is written into every inch of his face. An open book, indeed. “Then tell me I’m wrong. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong and I’ll never bring it up again, I swear.”

I glare at him. Of course you’re wrong. Of course I am happy. And if I’m not now, I can be. I will be! We’ll be okay. Everything will go back to the way it was before.

But I can’t do it. I can’t lie to him. The anger leaves me as swiftly as it appeared, collapsing in on itself like a dying star. “I don't even know what happy feels like anymore.”

Luke nods, his eyes red. “Don't you want to find out?” he says softly.

For the first time since in a long time I feel like I am seeing him clearly. In that moment I know he is not trying to hurt me. Just the opposite; he is trying to help me in the only way he knows how.

He is trying to set me free.

The next morning Luke leaves for a work trip. He’ll be gone for three days. He planned things perfectly so that I would have time to consider things without his presence muddying my emotions.

I pretend to be asleep as he moves around the room gathering his things. Just before he leaves he stoops down and kisses me on the cheek. Then he’s gone.

That day I sit at my desk, the documents I’m supposed to be editing untouched as I stare blankly out the window. For months I have buried my head in the sand, pretended that things were fine when they weren’t. I thought if I pretended long enough it would become true. That’s what they say right? Fake it til you make it? But I was fooling myself and now that reality has caught up to me I am unprepared to face it.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Startled, I look up. Ellen, one of my coworkers stands beside my desk, hands wrapped around a large mug of tea. Tall and thin with long silver hair that she wear pulled back into an elegant chignon at the base of her neck, I imagine her being a dancer in the Bolshoi Ballet in her younger day. Despite the fact that they look nothing alike, there’s something about her that reminds me of my mother. A sureness of self, perhaps. One gets that feeling that she knows exactly who she is and what her purpose is in the world.

Perhaps this is why I tell her: “My husband thinks we should get divorced.”

If she is taken aback by a coworker sharing such private information she doesn’t let on. Her expression doesn’t change, her steady grey eyes considering me without judgement. Then again, she already knows far more about me that I do about her. Everyone in the office knows my background, that I was a Handmaid, that my younger daughter was born in Gilead, fathered by a man who is not my husband.

“I take if you’re not a fan of the idea?”

I twist the simple gold band on my ring finger. Luke got it for me while I was still in the hospital, to replace the one they confiscated at the Red Center. I still haven’t gotten used to the weight of it.

What I mean to say: Of course not.

What I actually say: “I don’t know.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what to do obviously. But I will say that no one could go through what you did without coming out the other side a changed person. That’s not something to be ashamed of; it’s something to be proud of. It means you’re a survivor.”

I smile at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you would make an excellent therapist?”

She laughs. “I should hope so. I was one. For 20 years actually.”

“Any chance you’re taking new clients?” I’m only half joking.

“Unfortunately, I’m not licensed to practice in Canada.” She considers me thoughtfully. “You know what, though, I have a good friend who has a practice downtown. Let me give you her number. If you ever want someone to talk to, I can promise you that she is an excellent listener.”

That night I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the telephone number Ellen scribbled down for me. I stare at it so long the numbers start to blur before my eyes. Then I pick up the phone and dial.

Ellen’s friend is not what I expected. I had imagined someone like her: older, elegant, wearing an outfit straight out of an Ann Taylor magazine. Zoe is not that. She is young, for one. She must be straight out of grad school. Her dark, curly hair is lobbed off at the chin and she wears large wire framed glasses and a flustered expression as she hurries into her office clutching a coffee mug and dabbing at a large stain on the front of her polka dot sweater with a handful of paper towels.

“I’m so sorry, June. I just ran outside to get a coffee, which, of course, I immediately spilled all over myself.” She throws the soiled paper towels into a wastebasket under her desk and falls into the armchair across from the couch where I am perched. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she smiles. “So. What brings you in today?”

I tell her everything.

Ellen wasn’t lying; Zoe is an excellent listener. She doesn’t interrupt once as I speak, only nodding at appropriate times and occasionally jotting something down on a small notepad. When I finally finish she sets down her notebook and waits a minute to make sure I am really done before speaking.

“Well, June, it sounds like you have two options. You can either continue on down the path you're on. Or… you can try something new.”

“I’m afraid.” I don’t realize until I say it how true this is. After everything I went through in Gilead I finally have control of my life again and the freedom is immense... and terrifying. What if I choose the wrong thing? What if I steer my life, Holly and Hannah’s lives, in the wrong direction?

“You had to take so many risks to get yourself and your daughters out of Gilead,” Zoe says. “Now that you are all safe, it’s only natural that you don’t want to rock the boat. Here’s the thing though: life is full of storms. The seas get rough now matter what we do. All we can do is put ourselves in the best position to weather them.”

“I just want to do what’s best for my daughters.”

“As long as your children are safe and know that they are loved I think what would be best for them would be for their mom to be happy.”

I bite my lip.“And if I don’t know what would make me happy?”

“Then I think that’s what you need to find out.”

There are other things she says but this is what sticks with me in the days, months, and years that follow.

The day Luke returns from his trip, I am waiting for him at the kitchen table. He can tell from my expression that I have something to say. Setting his bags down, he sinks slowly into the chair opposite me. He listens silently as I speak. I tell him that while I love him and always will, I am not the woman he fell in love with, I am someone else, someone I don’t fully understand. I tell him that if I am ever to feel normal again I need to figure out who I am now, today. I tell him that I can’t do this as his wife. In the end, I simply tell him that I’m sorry.

He stands then, walks over to me, and pulls me to my feet. “You brought Hannah back to me. You brought yourself back. You have nothing to apologize for. Do you understand?” The ferocity in his voice catches me off guard.

A raw lump forms in my throat. Swallowing it down, I force myself to nod. Luke opens his arms and I fall into them the way I have a thousand times before, only this time it feels different because this time it’s goodbye.

“We will always be a family,” he murmurs into my hair. “And I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

In the end I don't go far. Although Luke offered to let me keep the apartment the space has always reflected more of him than me. Besides, I want a fresh start.

I find an apartment in a building only a few blocks away. It’s a bit smaller but it’s equidistant to Hannah’s school and has a daycare on the ground floor for Holly. They also have a gym. I take up kickboxing. Sometimes it just feels good to punch something.

I still take Holly for walks in the evenings. At least once a week the five of us still end up at the park together. Luke and Nick still talk sports, though I have given up on trying to join in.

Things are awkward at first but it gets easier. Luke was right; we are still a family. The pieces are all there, just rearranged into a new pattern.

Slowly the tightness that has lived in my chest for so long begins to loosen. The pressure I’ve felt ever since I woke up in the hospital to act the part of Old June recedes. I begin to feel like I can breathe again.

I throw myself into turning the new apartment into a home. I paint Hannah’s room lavender, her favorite color. I drag Moira to the flea markets that spring up around the city on the weekends to shop for furniture, a table, chairs. I snag a dining room set for $60, a rocking chair for Holly’s room, some cute picture frames.

Nick comes over a couple of times a week to spend time with Holly. Despite working two jobs he never looks haggard, he is always calm, though I often wonder what emotions he is hiding beneath that unreadable facade.

At first I worried how Hannah will react to his increased presence but she, though wary at first, is quick to come around. Soon Nick is one of her favorite people. This is largely due to that he is an excellent cook while I struggle not to set fire to her dinosaur chicken nuggets.

We fall into a new rhythm. Nick cooks dinner then I clean up while he plays with the girls. There’s something about this after dinner time that loosens the walls he’s built up around himself. Maybe it’s the beer he has with dinner, or the full bellies, or the summer heat chipping away at his defenses. Whatever it is, I learn more about him during these lazy summer evenings than I have in the almost three years of knowing him.

I learn that his grandmother taught him to cook when she used to watch him after school. I learn that his favorite color is blue and that he swam and ran track in high school. I learn that he used to draw but he was never any good at it, and that, although he hadn’t gone to college, if he had he would have studied history. He is especially interested in the classics. Alexander the Great, Pompey and Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra.

“You should read about Boudica,” I say.

“Who was she?”

“According to most sources she was the Queen of a celtic tribe who led a revolt against Roman rule. I worked on a book about her at my old job. She was kind of a badass.”

He catches my eyes, a small smile dancing around the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

I learn about Josh, his older brother, the boy from the photograph in his apartment above the garage.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table with Holly in his lap while I scrub lasagna residue from a pan.

“He was five years older than me. He was good at everything. Made the varsity baseball team as a freshman. I thought the sun shone out his ass. Wanted to be just like him.”

“What happened to him?”

“He joined the army after graduation. Did three tours in Iraq. When he came home he was different. Quieter. He got a job at the mill with my dad. When the mill shut down he couldn’t find anything else. I don’t know when it started but he got hooked on some bad shit. Died of an overdose the year before Congress fell.”

Turning off the faucet, I turn toward him. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He raises an eyebrow. “He would have liked you. He had a thing for stubborn women.”

“Hey.” I chuck my sudsy washcloth at him.

He smiles and tosses the cloth back to me. Dropping it into the sink, I walk over to his chair and crouch down beside him. I kiss Holly’s forehead, then look up at him. “We’ll tell her about him.”

He swallows thickly and nods. He doesn’t say it but I read the thanks in his gaze.

That night when I walk him to the door and rise up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight.”

His hand finds mine, his thumb slides across my palm, his brow is furrowed as though the lines that criss cross my skin are a map he can’t decipher. Such a small touch, yet it sets my entire body aflame. I can barely breathe. I should pull away but I don’t and neither does he. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can the elevator at the end of the hall slides open and Moira steps out. We leap apart as caught in a compromising situation.

“What was that about?” Moira asks once he’s gone.

I turn away, busying myself with straightening the pile shoes by the door. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean what do I mean? That boy has basically been living here the past few weeks and I have been in saunas less steamy than the look he gave you just now.”

I straighten and shrug. “He’s Holly’s dad. He’s just over here to spend time with her.”

“Girl, you can tell yourself whatever you want but we both know she is not the only one he wants to spend time with.”

Despite my denials, I find myself looking forward to Nick’s visits, missing him as soon as he leaves. I prolong moments of physical contact, drawing out the touch of our hands as he places Holly on my lap, the brush of an arm as we each pass other in the hall though it’s plenty wide for both of us.

It’s not enough.

Towards the end of the summer I order a new crib for Holly. Her old one was a donation from the refugee center and while it’s perfectly safe I’ve been wanting to get her a new one for a while. The day the crib arrives the girls are staying at Moira’s so I drag the giant box down the hall into the nursery and set to work.

Three hours later, the room is a disaster zone of wooden parts and loose screws and I am no closer to completing the crib then when I started. “Fuck this,” I mutter. Snatching up my phone from the floor, I punch in Nick’s number.

He picks on the third ring. Before he can speak I say, “I have a favor to ask but before you say anything I need you to know that I am a strong, capable, and independent woman.”

I can hear the amusement in his voice as he says, “Alright.”

“Good. Because I could really use your help setting up Holly’s new crib.”

He arrives twenty minutes later and I lead him down the hall to the nursery. He freezes in the doorway as he takes in the what my hours of work have accomplished. “It looks like an Ikea exploded in here.”

“I know, I know. Just please tell me you can fix it.”

It takes him forty-five minutes to disassemble the monster I’ve made and rebuild it into to a mirror image of the crib displayed on the outside of the box.

I walk around it in amazement, trailing my hand along the railing. “Next you’re going to tell me you can walk on water.”

Smiling, Nick wanders over to the bureau where Holly’s favorite plushie is propped up against the wall.

“That’s Mr. Bunny,” I say as he picks up the green rabbit. “Holly can’t go to sleep without him.”

Nick fingers a large rip in one of the bunny’s ears. The beloved rabbit is missing an eye, his fur is missing in patches, and stuffing has started to leak out of a small tear in his side. “He’s had a rough time of it.”

I walk over to him and take the rabbit from his hands. “Yeah, well, sometimes love puts you through the wringer.”

We look up at the same time and our eyes lock. My heart thuds in my chest. His pupils are dark with longing.

“Nick,” I say.

Funny how a single syllable can hold so much. My restraint, which has held out for so long, cracks like ice beneath a heavy boot. Suddenly I need his hands on me. We move at the same time, reaching for each other, and then he’s there, his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, tugging me closer, closer, closer still.

Our clothes create a Hansel and Gretel trail back to the bedroom. By the time we fall into the bed we’re both naked. I cling to him as he enters me. After so long the sweet fullness feels like coming home. We move together, a perfect union. After so many months, we don’t last long. I come and a moment later so does he. Afterward I rest my head on his chest, our hands laced together on his stomach.

“I don’t want to freak you out,” I murmur. “But I think I might be in love with you.”

He frowns. “Well, this is awkward.”

Raising my head, I slap his chest. “Nick!”

Grinning, he kisses my forehead. “I love you, too.”

I laugh. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He kisses me again. I am drunk with happiness. I roll on top of him, straddling his waist. Bending over I kiss his lips. I love you. His nose. I love you.His eyelids. I love you.

He says it back in the way he kisses me, the way his hands grip my waist, gentle yet urgent, in the tenderness with which he brushes a lock of hair out of my face, gazing up at me as though I’m the brightest star in the sky.

Then his hand slips between us and even silent words give way to gasps.

#nick x june #tht #tht fic #the handmaid's tale #nick blaine #june osborne #*

30 notes · View notes

anogete · 6 years

Note

Hi! First things first, love your stories. Not just for the smut, but how beautifully you craft the storyline and write the characters to be so realistic. To be on that level of storytelling is a privilege to read and gives me inspiration to write and be that good one day. Sorry for the fan girling but I do have a serious question...how do you plan out your fics? Chapter by chapter or just dot points or write and see what the hell you come up with?

Thank you, @famousluminarypeanut !

So, how do I plan out fics? Hmmm... Well, most of my projects start out the same way: I have an idea of the overarching plot of the fic (very general) or maybe I just have this scene in my head that I have to get out. With Seventy-One, I had that scene when they first meet in the lounge in my head--very early morning, dark outside, quiet building, Bucky slips in and they have coffee together in silence. With Out of the Woods I had the idea that I wanted to have Bucky capture Darcy right after the events of WS and go on some grand theft auto escape from HYDRA and the authorities. Either way, I usually start writing without a plan other than the initial idea. I open up a blank document and get to typing. I tend to break my chapters every 10-20 pages because that is what I like as a reader. I find I write to cater to myself as far as length and content goes, so hopefully, that works for my readers as well. Anyway, I start writing and just break up the chapters by the page numbers as natural breaks happen in the text.

I’m pretty driven by scenes that I see in my head. As I’m writing, I’m thinking ahead to what would/could happen next. I think about it throughout the day, so I’ll jot it down in a notes app on my phone or (if I can’t type because I’m in the car) I’ll dictate ideas for scenes or even strings of dialogue on a voice memo app so I don’t forget these little nuggets when I sit down to write. Sometimes those notes make it into my writing and other times they don’t or they get heavily modified.

It always seems to happen that around chapter 7 or 8, the bigger story starts to gel in my head. This is probably because my writing tends to focus on building a relationship. I like to start out without a prior meaningful relationship. By this, I mean that I like the characters I’m focusing on to meet at the beginning of the fic or to not know each other very well until the beginning of the fic. I like to build the beginnings of the relationship myself instead of assuming an established friendship. Again, this is another personal preference of mine as a reader that carries over to my writing since I write to please myself. Anyway, it takes a few chapters to establish the relationship and build it up to the point where I have more freedom to throw in the drama. That’s probably the biggest reason why it takes time for the larger storyline to gel in my head. So, between chapters 6-9, I’ll start plotting out the rest because things are coming together and I know where I want to go (even if I usually don’t know the final scene or exactly how it will end). I keep a little bullet list at the bottom of the file I’m working in. I’ll do a very basic outline--maybe three or four bullet points (usually one or two sentences per point) per chapter of what I want to accomplish. That doesn’t always work out and bullet points get push up or pushed back to other chapters. Sometimes they even get rearranged. I let it happen and don’t try to force anything.

It’s around this time that I start getting more comfortable with the fic and am able to post to followers about when to expect the fic to be posted. I don’t post any of my fics until the first draft is completed, but by the time I’m halfway in, I have a pretty good idea of how much longer I need to get the story told and how many days that will take me with my schedule. I’ll use those bullet points to write the final chapters of the fic (I normally don’t exceed 20 chapters). I try to send the first half to my betas while I’m working on the second half. Getting their feedback at that point allows me to redirect things if something isn’t working. It also prevents them from having a long-ass fic to beta in like two days.

I’ll write even if I only have twenty minutes. I’ll write at home at my coffee table or in my book nook. I’ll write in the middle of a busy Starbucks. I’ll write in the library on my lunch break. I’ll write anywhere I can. I even write on my cell phone at night while I’m in bed. Google Docs is my friend. To block out interruptions, I’ll put on music that has the same tone I want to portray in the fic/chapter or I’ll put on ASMR videos on YouTube. These are just videos of people making repetitive noises (crinkling paper, scratching a table, tapping on a candle, etc), and I find them soothing and great ambient background noise that won’t distract me from writing. When I start a writing session, I’ll go back 1 to 3 pages and read what I wrote before I stopped. Then I’ll pick up from that point and go until I feel like I need to stop or until I run out of time. I have a 9 to 5 job, so I spend most of my weekends writing (I can write two chapters a day or about 10,000 words if I’m inspired and free of responsibilities). My company is generous with vacation days, so sometimes I take days off work just to write.

I usually read my first draft chapters once or twice before sending them to my betas. When I get the chapters back, I’ll fix the small things my betas noted immediately. Then I’ll read the chapters again as I fix the larger things they noted. At this point, all the chapters are written and most of them are beta’d and I’m ready to start posting them on AO3. I’ll read each chapter the day before I intend to post it and then I’ll read it one final time right before I the post button.

This is way more info than you asked for. Sorry about that. Either way, I hoped this helps. I think every writer is different. It took me years to figure out my rhythm and what works best for me. It might not work for you, but hopefully it gives you some ideas on things to try. Getting better at writing takes practice and practice and practice. I’m still learning. I’m still trying to be better and try new things. Regardless of all that, though, I think writing fanfic is about having fun and doing what you want to do. So, that’s my advice. Have fun. Write what you love.

And now I’ll shut the eff up.

9 notes · View notes

coquelicoq · 4 years

Note

top 10 ways of making yunmeng bros reconcile. plz my crops are dying.

mmkay well as i’ve said before obviously all the ideas here and here are gold and i couldn’t possibly choose only 10 of them, so have 10 others that i have curated just for you, anon.

first of all, through soup all things are possible, so jot that down.

fraternal hanahaki! (i haven't seen this done, but here, have your slightest look easily will unclose me, a fic with a different coughing-up-flowers reconciliation concept that i also very much love, kind of a cross between hanahaki and an honesty curse?)

jc may not be capable of admitting that he wants wwx back in his life, but he is capable of recognizing that angering lwj brings him great satisfaction, and one way to do this is to start laying claim to wwx as a yunmeng disciple just to reduce the time he can spend in gusu with lwj. if it has the side effect of making wwx feel loved and bringing them closer together, that's definitely unintended and NOT why jc is doing it, as he'll tell anyone. but who’s to say? perhaps he might forget to correct wwx’s assumptions. he’s a busy man, he can’t remember to do everything.

their spiritual tools conspire to go on strike until jc and wwx meet a list of demands. chief among them are "use your words" and "hug it out." whenever either of them tries to fly his sword anywhere, it redirects him to wherever the other one is and then won't unsheathe itself again until they have a conversation. also i think zidian would start conditioning jc to hate himself less by giving him a little electric shock every time he thinks something disparaging. chenqing would act as a compass that only ever points in the direction of lotus pier. eventually they would have to agree to make up just because they really can’t work like this. not for any other reason, obviously! (but once they’ve made up it doesn’t really matter what the reason was.)

wwx has some kind of condition that requires regular spiritual energy transfusions, and jc is the only match because he has wwx's old core. this one is very easy to pair with "high fever" or "Empathy" or "deathbed confessions (but then they don't die)!"

nhs commissions a play about their brotherhood that becomes popular all across the land. jc and wwx each go to see it every time it's traveling through wherever they happen to be. one night they run into each other at a performance, and even though they're both in disguise, their eyes meet across the crowded room and they know. ooh or maybe they both yell out at the same time about an inaccuracy and then everyone realizes they're both there in the flesh and they're peer pressured into some sort of jerry-springeresque verbal fisticuffs that turn out to be very cathartic?

jl guilts them into going to couples therapy, which is just them telling their problems to nhs, who sits there going "i don't know! i really don't know anything! why would you ask my worthless opinion??" interspersed with comments that sound stupid but serve to subtly lead them to some emotional breakthroughs.

wwx finds something jc did out of love for him while he was dead. options: memorial tablet; old tear-stained letters; well-funded orphanage in yunmeng called Shmei Shmuxian's Home for Orphans Who Are Afraid of Dogs, etc. tbh wwx would probably need all three, plus jl continuously dropping hints like "gee i wonder why jiujiu held onto chenqing all that time" and "golly it sure is strange that jiujiu never got any more dogs," before he would start to connect the dots.

they have to go undercover as brothers who love each other to solve a nighthunt case (don't ask me why, i don't know, but it's probably a very flimsy reason that they both agree to anyway because they're secretly desperate to spend time together).

animal transformation. either jc gets transformed into a dog in front of wwx and is very touched by how wwx is taking care of him despite his terror, or wwx gets transformed into a dog without jc's knowledge and jc finds him in lotus pier and probably hugs him a bunch and says stuff like "i'd love to keep you, but i made a promise to someone not to get any dogs, and i'm still hoping he'll want to come back someday"??

pouring one out for your crops, anon. i hope this helps.

#i mean really what it comes down to is that the wwx-jc relationship is both Mutual Pining and Enemies to Brothers #so a lot of resolutions to romantic mutual pining will work for them too (just minus kissing etc.)#as long as you also work in the added element of all their complicated history of hurting and lying to each other #i think the main mutual pining resolution type that i can't get to work for them is jealousy. because neither of them feel like #they're entitled enough to each other to be allowed to express or act on any jealousy (even though jc in particular IS very jealous #of both wn and lwj for their places in wwx's life)#anyway there are like 100 quality yunmeng bro reconciliation concepts and i love them all #remember the one where jc doesn't want to get married so he makes wwx his heir? that's a great one #the untamed #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #they're brothers. they are BROTHERS #asks #anon #links #linked to

2K notes · View notes

inexchangeforyoursoul · 7 years

Text

... look. There’s no guarantee that I’ll ever finish the next chapter, which is... about halfway done, maybe. As for the whole thing? It will never survive till the end. I just know it- my attention span is shit, as soon as I hyperfocus on another thing it’s adios, amigos. Also, I don’t write a lot and my style is rather convoluted, sorry about the consequences- you are already experiencing them. Anyway, I’ve never jotted down any of... these types of ideas, ever. So there’s that, too.

Either way, here lay the specifics: series is One Piece; the basic setup is an unfortunate body swap; this is a self insert fic with an insert that borders an OC- little is specified about the female insert’s looks, but a lot about her personality. This might change, but let’s stick to the topic. If -and let me emphasize IF- I get into this far enough, it will be, like, OCxCanon, with Law as a target. But since I have logorrhea and such, we’ll never get there.

I also like to stick to Gen, sfw, and also canon while randomly entering other territories on a whim. I also have really dumb jokes.

If I get as far as 2 chapters, I’ll scrape together a title for an AO3 upload and put a link here (which is now a thing... here’s the link), until then you’ll have to tolerate my blog’s looks. The combination of Ctrl and +/- are your friend. Anywho, without further ado...

„I imagine... this is pretty high on your list of 'worst decisions ever made'.” is all she can muster in a voice that has an unfamiliar tinge of a higher pitch while looking down at an extended arm that is definitely not hers. As in, things she wasn't born with.

“I...” he starts, trying to rationalize the situation, but cuts the sentence off right there. The face, which used to be her playing field, looks just as stern and vaguely embarrassed as his would, and is quickly losing color, then gaining more than usual. A slim hand halfheartedly twitches into motion to reverse the mistake, to no avail- another digs into now longer hair in disbelief.

His devil fruit was, naturally, left with his body- a body which now she resides in. So if they want to regain their... privacy should be the word, well...

She looks back at her “new” hands- this doesn't feel all that different. Apart from her head not hurting from hitting it into a shelf yesterday, that is- instead, there is an easy to ignore stinging in her left wrist and side which might as well be from straining or a fall. As far as powers are concerned, though... she has no idea where to even begin if she wanted to give them a try. She's not even sure how Law ended up swapping them in the first place; after the first few hours of acquaintance it's clear that it takes little talent to push the man's thinly veiled buttons; playing dumb is beyond effective, even if it's sarcasm, -to which he is no stranger to in the first place, so what even is his deal?- but no matter what happened, he always kept his head straight. At least he did in this almost-week of acquaintance. He didn't drink as far as she knows, either, nor had an especially bad day, so... what was it that pushed him over the brink?

The handful of eye witnesses are also frozen in shock.

“Holy shit,” is all that Usopp breathes as the 'yes, that just happened' sinks in. Chopper keeps slurping from his straw, even though his cup of milkshake has been empty for the past ten seconds. If the legends are to be trusted, they've experienced the consequences firsthand, and are also connecting the one, big, problematic dot in the picture based on it. Shachi and Penguin, who have presumably witnessed the effects more often, seem to be taking it better. Seem to.

“Well... thiiis is awkward,” states the latter.

“And will remain so until it's... fixed,” adds Shachi, scratching his nose. “... does this mean we have, like, two captains now?” he asks a second later, wondering.

“Well... I ain't no captain of yours.” The statement in the de facto voice of their actual captain ups the awkwardness by multiple levels.

Grimacing, Penguin looks at Law, who has been staring at a nondescript wood grain on deck and is holding his head as he's likely trying to figure out something to deal with the problem; then shifts his attention to his captain's body and her in it, where he's greeted with a shrug. “As nice as it would be to have a cute captain, I guess we better hurry and do something as soon as possible.” He summarizes. Shachi hums.

„Shucks, thanks~” The uncharacteristic tone makes the boys rather squeamish at this point while Law is reconsidering his life choices. The girl continues unfazed, though: “As for the fix, it's not that I couldn't... try. What's the worst that could happen, right?” Unsettling visions of many kind flash in front of everyone's eyes; before the occupant of her body could say anything, she states her own conclusion: “Ripping out some vital organ and killing us both in an instant is what it is.” She scratches her beard- this is a thing she has now. Which is actually pretty cool, because sometimes she muses over growing one, just for the hell of it- but then keep shaving for the rest of her life whenever she doesn't want it around? No, thank you. Now she gets to experience it free of charge, if this can be said about the situation.

Also, she's so... tall. She could get used to this, yes... feeling it. A lot.

“Is what it is,” he speaks up finally, ignoring the amused half-smile that's slowly spreading over the girl called Kat's new face; “You'll need to go through some training before we even attempt this, or anything else, on a living target. Until that...” he takes a hard-to-identify look at himself, “we'll... have to get by as we can.”

“No need to overthink it, alright. Should be fine.” she assures him. “The longer I think about it, the more enjoyable this adventure seems, actually.” She couldn't hide her grin if she wanted to. And even if she could... that glint in her eye? Whatever she's thinking of, it's a No and earns a suspicious look on Law's part.

“No funny business with my body.” As the imagination if the boys is taking an obvious and immediate turn towards uncharted, wild, wild territories, he feels the need to clarify. Really now, if these hooligans had popcorn lying around, they'd be munching on it as if watching some especially exciting play unfold. “You will stay put; as in, right here. On board of one of the ships. Meanwhile I will stay put as best as I can while managing my crew, too, got it?”

“Yes, yes, geez,” she says, rolling her eyes. Her place is right over there, down the coast past the docks, within plain sight, but whatever. He's lucky that right after the weekend there's a holiday, so she's free to play along for roughly six days despite having had other plans.

He doesn't look convinced. Well then.

“I will not promise to stick to your diet, training plan, music taste, or... whatever your daily routine is, okay?” she continues, counting out the items on her hands- those tattooed to hell-and-back hands. Steering her attention back on topic, she straightens herself to pledge in as official of a manner as possible, even forcing herself to keep eye contact for more than one second: “But I hereby also declare to do my best not to get your body maimed by marines, headhunters, or any of the people you've pissed off with your attitude in the past twenty-something years.” She closes her left hand, save one finger. “Pinky promise.” After a moment of consideration, she adds 'you better give me a list, though'. He is a man of many secrets and twenty locks on his mouth, after all. Also, she doesn't actually know shit about him past being as much of a wallflower as her, possibly having a degree and also a Reputation- keeping up with the news in general is not Kat's forte.

Law pulls his mouth to the side, but seems more relaxed upon hearing that. Then he turns around, leaving the expectant audience somewhat disappointed. “I'm... going back to my room. Come down tomorrow at 8. And do not fool around with the devil fruit powers until then.”

“... should I just tell people who come to me that you fucked up?” she shouts after him before the door of the submarine could close. It stops halfway and stays ajar for a while. A harder pill to swallow than expected, huh.

He needs a minute to consider how to answer- the initial thought was to groan an exasperated “no, pretend everything's normal”, but... getting his body back may take anything from a few days' time to... straight-up months, depending on her skills and outside forces. The option also leaves way too much room for shenanigans, which, based on the past two days, this woman here appears to indulge in. The harmless ones, yes... but she didn't appear to be one for Strawhat-brand tomfoolery at first, either, and what did he know. All in all, he's better off being safe than sorry. “Don't advertise it outside the alliance for both of our sakes, if you please. Also, they should look for me--- I mean, you, if my skills are needed. The remaining ones, that is.”

“Aye aye, captain~” he can hear from not too far away, with sarcastic tinge still intact. Law closes the door, staying still for a few seconds before making his way down to his chamber- does he really sound like that? He really needs to sleep on this if he can. Also, he has a rather big bump on his head and it stings.

The cool winds of the early night dissolve Kat's excitement from a mere minute ago, and she can feel her inner clock hitting one before bedtime. As she's about to turn around and get her stuff, it occurs to her that she's not supposed to go home- which gives her another rush of blood, and a slight sense of alarm.

“Wait... where will I sleep?” she snaps back, expecting the answer from the four silent judges still idling by.

Chopper stops slurping.

#opfic #op fanfic #you know what these will be more than enough #also in the end I decided to go for third person instead of second #Kate writes #KMKY

2 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 3 years

Note

OMG KINA so I just finished reading The End and I was going thru a whole rollercoaster of emotions u truly made me feel All The Feels™️ with this fic!!! first of all, lemme just say u succeeded in going out with a banger bec this fic was SO INCREDIBLY AMAZING I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. LIKE EVERYTHING. originally, while reading I was just jotting down points that stuck out to me but eventually it turned into me basically live reacting bec one thing I didn’t expect was for us to spend so much

time with oc and jin after that crazy whirlwind adventure they went on when they ‘properly’ met?! I thought the fic would end when oc meets jin in the present day but I was so glad for it to continue on into what happens next bec it made me love them even more, and I’m so glad for everything that happened afterwards!!!! okay tbh I don’t really know how to make sense of all the notes I wrote down so I’m kinda just going to combine them, or at least the start of them, bec I feel like it’ll still make some sense if I do that bec they’re my thoughts/feelings about the fic/ur writing in general. but towards the end of what I wrote down it is literally just me reacting to things that happen in the fic bec A LOTTA SHIT HAPPENS so I’ll just start listing them bec idk how else to organise them and I already know this is gonna be a long message sbdkncf. before I start, please just know my heart swooned so many times even when jin and oc were talking while travelling thru time (their chemistry was just SO GOOD to me even from that point) and I also teared up/tried not to cry/failed miserably and cried multiple times even tho I didn’t mention that a lot in my notes, I felt that big lump in my throat so many times okay so that’s how u know the angst really got to me .__. The End was so thoughtful and heartfelt and amazing. I am so so so happy with the way the fic ended tho, thank u SOOO MUCH for writing this absolute masterpiece of a fic!!!!! it truly is such a good final story and I’m so thankful to be able to read it and all ur other fics throughout the years. so many of them have a special place in my heart and I think of them from time to time and reread them kinda often too so I’m so glad to be able to know such amazing fics exist :’) okay just this intro is getting long so lemme just get into listing my thoughts/reactions hehe sorry for how long and incoherent this is about to get but I’m not the best with words don’t know how else to share what I felt while reading this fic, but this is all things that I thought of while reading and wrote down bec I wanted to make sure u knew how amazing this fic and ur writing in general is to me (side note: as I’m sending this, the formatting of this ask is weird and there’s a huge space between this paragraph and the first bullet point for some reason and I can’t get rid of it but idk if it’ll actually send thru like that so if it does pls just ignore that. also I just realised there’s no word count anymore I think? rip apologies in advance for how long this is but I thought it might be easier if it’s all in one ask kjsjdnfn) :

• the dog world reference and when spring meets autumn reference :’) I love when u reference ur other fics

• I just love ur writing so much like it’s so easy to follow and get lost in the description and dialogue and works you’ve created. you’ve really outdone yourself with The End and I’m glad u seem to be proud of it too bec u should be!!!

• it’s so cool how u showed so many aspects of relationships and why some are great and some still may not work despite that and still have their own challenges within the various specific circumstances in this one fic and all the factors that go into relationships too (like oc said: family, compatibility, career, stability, etc)

• it’s such a pleasure to be able to see how much ur writing has improved and to just read all ur creative ideas in fics, both in older fics and newer fics, bec so many of them stick with me and have a special place in my heart. it just makes me want to reread them over and over and I definitely have already and I still will be rereading ur fics for a long time lol!!

• even the lil parts where jin and oc were getting friendlier or acting cuter with one another or when jin was secretly judging these candidates for oc even tho he’s trying to help potentially her be with one of them or even when jin seemed to know something that oc didn’t, it was all so heart-fluttering and exciting to read about I just love the subtleties in stories in general (it’s that show don’t tell aspect I think) and it was so well done in this fic imo!!!

• even tho I like ot7 fics I usually don’t gravitate towards stories like this where they’re all potential lover interests but at different points of oc’s life, but u just made it work so well!! I enjoyed myself reading this fic so much and I feel like everything just made sense and made me feel for oc and jin too and for the different situations oc was in and the emotions she felt within them. it was all different but somehow some similar emotion linked them that made her realise that this isn’t the life she wanted to choose for herself

• when oc found out the truth about jin u wrote ‘Your breath hitches. Your heart stops in your chest. It lodges inside your throat.’ and that’s LITERALLY how I felt. ur writing and this fic in particular made me feel SO many things and I absolutely LOVE when a story is able to do that to me. I adore ur writing so so so much!!!

• I had the fattest lump in my throat trying not to cry and I was just thinking how are u able to make me feel this way with ur writing I’m so in awe of how amazing it is?! how can someone write this well and write a story this good?!

• june 23rd the day of the car accident omg that’s ur blog’s anniversary date right? and ur last day on this blog? damn the parallels make me feel even more sad about u leaving and this whole situation with jin and oc :( they only knew each other for 2 years but from the way jin acts around oc and even wants her to choose a new timeline for herself to avoid meeting him and thus avoid the pain of his death? I can tell he really cares for oc and loves her so much :( HOW THE HECK did u manage to make me feel jin and oc’s chemistry so much when I didn’t even know what they were like when they were together?! again, ur writing is truly one of my favourites and I really mean that!!!

• when it said ‘Salt bleeds from your eyes that still hold the memory of his tender gaze but it, too, has already begun to fade.

The six love letters sit untouched on the table as if nothing had happened.

The silence of your apartment is deafening.’ I was scared oc is gonna forget about jin and this whole night she spent with him exploring possible alternate lives but I’m glad she still remembers when she woke up even tho it’s still painful he disappeared and I wonder if jin will remember :( probably not since his ghost was the one who knew everything after obviously dying but I wonder how oc would be with present day jin, knowing exactly when he dies and I wonder if she’d even tell him about anything from that eventful night?

• omfg as soon as I read that the new transfers from the Fresno branch were coming I remembered oc’s colleague talking about that at the start of the fic and THE DOTS WERE CONNECTING IN MY BRAIN I completely forgot about it throughout the course of the fic until then but I gasped and was like :O perhaps jin is one of them?!

• the way u describe jin’s lil •ᴗ• smile makes me emo for some reason I just love it :’)

• “is there something on my face?” “you’re just handsome” I KNOW OC KINDA DIDNT MEAN TO SAY THAT BUT YYYYEEEESSSS I LOVE IT HERE

• “It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can be good deskmates.” oh jin baby if only u knew

• “But I’m actually terrible with directions. Maybe you could join me and lead the way?” that’s not what u said in France!!!! oc knows u lying but it’s a cute excuse!!!

• ‘A love story with a forgotten prequel.’ omg PAIN... I wonder if jin will remember or come to know of their ‘prequel’ later on or when he dies or if he’ll reappear to oc when he dies ;(

• omg all of these snippets into their life together... usually I don’t like when stuff progresses fast but in this case I already love jin and oc together since their whole whirlwind adventure and it just feels right for them, and knowing what happens in just 2 years, I’m kinda glad they form such a deep relationship so quickly :’)

• ‘When you blow out the candle on the cake, you wish for this happiness to last.’ she got her 30th birthday wish and on her 31st birthday she’s not alone :( I hope this wish of her’s somehow comes true too :( I love her and jin, their relationship is just so cute and comforting and sweet and they’re just so right for each other I want this to last forever for them <3

• u know there’s this thing ppl say that’s like do I like men or do I like men written by women? u truly made me think that so much bec this jin was just so sweet and incredible to me I absolutely love him

• “Let’s look in July.” GIRL U KNOW WHATS GONNA HAPPEN IN JUNE is that why she just wants to stay where she’s always stayed rather than find a new place with jin only to be alone there when he’s gone :(

• the way they keep holding hands just reminds me of their prequel adventure when they’d hold hands to travel to different places/times, I love them so much man ;(

• omg oc is trying to avoid june 23rd.. I was thinking maybe she’ll do that and hopefully something will work out in their favour but idk .... I’m stressed I’m basically live reacting at this point bec it’s getting closer and closer to the date.. I’m scared tho is something bad gonna happen if they avoid june 23rd?? will oc possibly die instead??? what in the final destination is gonna happen I’m so ?!?! lemme continue reading..

• NOOOO WHY DID JIN LEAVE THE HOUSE AFTER PROMISING NOT TO I MEAN I GET HES WORRIED ABOUT OC’S HEALTH BUT NOOOOO PLEASE

• ‘I want her to be with someone who can make her happy.’ HES WISHING FOR HIMSELF!!! HES THE ONE WHO MAKES OC HAPPY THE ONLY ONE SHE WANTS TO BE WOTH!!!! omfg I really thought maybe he’ll get a second chance bUT HES WAKING UP TO THE SIGHT OF HER ON THE 30TH BDAY ISNT HE?! BACK IN THE PAST BEFORE THEY MET AND TO THE START OF THE STORY NOOO

• the way whenever jin looks at oc his eyes soften and his gaze tenders.... PAAAIIIINNN I WANT THEM TO BE TOGETHER SO BAD

• wait so he’s in hospital rn.. is this the period when his ghost and past oc are going on their adventure in the meantime.. and oc picks jin at the end right? so hopefully his ghost returns to his body in the hospital and he wakes up and they can be together in the present and future then? man I’m clinging onto every shred of hope I can for them to end up happy together, if that happens I hope they both tell each other they both know about what happened that crazy night with the 6 love letters

• holding his hand while he’s unconscious :( all this hand holding is just so THEM™️ I love it

• ‘Salt bleeds from your eyes that still holds the memories you’ve made together.’ OMG THE SALT BLEEDS FROM YOUR EYES LINE AGAIN BUT SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT miss kina u are a freaking genius I love whenever u do this in ur fics I just love parallels So Much

• ‘Even if it means the present and future pain, you wouldn’t change being with him.’ AND THAT LINE IS FROM EARLIER IN THE FIC TOO ISNT IT?? omfg so jin never actually died I AM SO GLAD MISS OC NEVER CHOSE ANOTHER GUY BEC IMAGINE IF SHE DID SHE WOULDVE JUST NOT KNOWN HER DREAM MAN AKA JIN kina the way the past and present and future all tie in together is just so genius to me like ITS SO PERFECT BEC IM HAPPY JIN IS STILL ALIVE BUT ALL THE EMOTIONS I FELT BEFORE WHILE WAITING FOR JUNE 23RD FELT LIKE A ROLLERCOASTER

• omg wait so did jin and oc never talk about how they knew the future/how jin’s ghost came to her?? wait miss kina I’m genuinely asking, this isn’t rhetorical lol, so they never tell each other and never know that the other basically knew about what would happen in the future? or they do talk about it and I’m just dumb and didn’t get it lol?

• ‘For the pair of you to be together. Until the end.’ omg I would’ve wished for this too if I was oc and ‘the end’ the name of the fic are the last words of it ahhh idk why that makes me feel things :’)

...this is all kind of a mess I’m sorry but thank u SO MUCH for this amazing fic kina!!!! and for all the amazing fics you’ve posted here during ur time on tumblr!!! I’m truly going to miss ur wonderful writing and presence here so much but I wish u all the best for ur future and I hope you’ll come back from time to time to let us know how u are if u want!! just like how u said ur not gonna forget writing/ur time on tumblr, I will never forget ur fics either and will be rereading them in the future too just bec I love them so much <3 in fact, before reading The End I was thinking to myself I want to reread Sugar and Coffee just bec I was lowkey nervous The End would end really angsty (but I love the way it ended) and S&C is one of my faves and it’s been awhile since I last read it so I might go to that lol!! I know anything I say won’t come close to how much I love u and ur writing and how thankful I am to be able to read it but please know I appreciate u so so so much and I really wish u all the happiness and success in the future too!!!! sorry I’m starting to sound redundant and this got so long, I think I said most of what I wanted to say at the start and throughout that list lol, but AHHH I LOVE U AND I LOVE THE END AND I LOVE ALL UR FICS <333

Holy shit, anon. You wrote me a whole bible and i- i loVE IT!! I am so honoured that you thought so much of my story to write and rave this much about it. I am so speechless and honoured and in awe.

first off, I'm glad you thought it was a banger cause I definitely wanted to leave off with one. I'm glad you gave it a chance and that you liked it even if these kinds of ot7 fics aren't up your alley. secondly, thank you for walking me though your thought processes and highlighting certain sections/dialogue. specific feedback like that is actually the most helpful since it points out what in particular was good. It also allows me to experience the story all over again :') thirdly, it's very nice to hear that my writing has improved since I think my writing skills was pretty garbage when I first started hahahaa that being said, it makes me very happy to know that people cherish my stories as much as I do. it's definitely a pleasure to write for readers like you :')

June 23rd is indeed my official anniversary date! there's definitely a lot of parallels - not only in the story itself, but in real life and from other fics (ie the cameos) haha. also nice catch!! I don't think anyone's mentioned the directions thing yet but jin was definitely telling some white lies to get with OC hahhaha I also want to say it makes me soo happy that you ship the two characters together cause that's what all romance writers aim for!! :D

To answer your question btw, OC never told Jin that she knew the future or how Jin's ghost came to her until after the accident and he wakes up. so the moment he wakes up in the hospital (right before the epilogue), he knows she knows. so they're both caught up to speed essentially.

Anyway, thank you so much. This all really means a lot, so thank you for reading <3

#happy to hear you're a fan of Sugar and Coffee too!!#cause that series is my shit hahaha #Jimlings

8 notes · View notes