#this drawing went through like three drafts that looked completely different from each other but u know what we live and we learn right🥴

[sufroyo]

disturbing the peaceeeee look into my eyesssssss <- my brain at any given moment

#froyoscribbles #persona #persona 3 #p3 #makoto yuki #id in alt text #this drawing went through like three drafts that looked completely different from each other but u know what we live and we learn right🥴

[mathysphere]

All righty, let’s watch some sausage get made!

I managed to dig up all four of the WIP pixel art files for the Chemistry Sampler, with the oldest dating back to Dec 2018-- three years ago, now!-- and with them, loads and loads of old sketches, rejected ideas, and half-finished panels. So if you’d like to come with on a lengthy-- lengthy!-- dive into the process of making a 16-part sampler, click below!

(I’m not kidding, though! This got long as hell!)

I’m going to go through the sampler panel-by-panel, in the order they were first conceived, but that is not at all how the actual design process went. One doesn’t work on a single panel, finish it, and then move on to the next-- instead, it’s all working on every panel all at once, jumping from here to there, trying to make each piece look good on its own and also look good as part of a whole. I also started and stopped working on the sampler at least three different times over the years, which meant even more changes as my style and abilities altered over time. But for ease of organization, I’ll be taking things one panel at a time. So, from the top-! 🎬💥

The Test Tubes were the first panel sketched, with no specific color in mind, and the original composition didn’t change a pixel all the way to the end! The colors, however, changed constantly: I remember for a while they were mostly neutrals, but once I knew I wanted to have a yellow pencil, orange bottle, and some brown cookies in the other panels the colors of the test tubes changed to match.

When I went to stitch the sampler, this was the panel I started with: since it uses thread from every single color family in the sampler (except for the two blues), I figured if I could find threads that worked well together here, they’d look good everywhere else, too.

The Microscope was the second panel sketched, and it didn’t change too much, either. The very first sketch was wicked flat, and imho flat = boring, so I rotated it around to put it at an angle and give it some more depth. I later decided to put a little molecule model (ethanol-- looks like a cute little puppy) next to it to help fill out the space. There is also a full-panel picture of another molecule model elsewhere in the sampler, but by the time I decided to include that panel this one was both already completely designed *and* completely stitched, so it was a little late to change the molecule to something else. And anyway, I like the little guy! So I’m glad he stuck around. :)

The Periodic Table was the no. 1 absolute must-have for a chemistry sampler, but it also posed a unique challenge in that it was the only part where the size was out of my control: if I made each element 2x2 squares they wouldn’t all fit in the panel, so they had to be 1x1-- but that left a huge amount of empty space around them. My solution: placing the table inside a classroom, as a poster.

The first classroom draft doesn’t read well (is that a kitchen sink??) and the second one was even worse. I liked the idea of including larger squares for the elements, but drawing them that small and at odd angles made them hard to identify even as pixel art, and as a general rule of thumb fine details are always *less* distinct in the stitched version than in the digital pattern. Version three is much better: you can see multiple workstations and stools, making it clear that it’s a classroom space, and the repeated diagonal lines give it a nice sense of dimension. That’s always a good thing. 

(Confession: on its own, I like the rainbow color palette better than the final one, but aside from a tiny bit in the volcano panel this was the only part that had any green at all. Next to all the blue and orange panels the green looked out of place, so for the sake of the larger, cohesive whole it had to change.)

The PPE was the reason this sampler ended up so blue! I liked the first sketch, and the first colors, so I started using the same two sorts of blues to sketch out other panels. Made a few small changes to this one later-- added another glove-- but nothing major.

The Molecule Sketch also didn’t change much, except that it started off *really* messy and was constantly tweaked to be a little cleaner each time I came back to the sampler after a break. Turns out it’s hard to draw a pentagon on a square grid! In the first sketch younger me tried to use antialiasing to smooth out the corners-- see the pale grey parts along all the diagonals-- but nowadays I would consider that extremely bad pattern design. Yeah, it’d make the lines look better when stitched on white fabric, but on dark fabric the pale parts would stick out like a lightbulb and the whole effect would be ruined. 

I also eventually added a little backstitching detail, since somewhere between 2018 and 2020ish I finally got over my irrational fear of designing with backstitch. Baby steps! 🙏

The Boiling Flask started life as a closeup shot of a bunsen burner flame + some tiny bubbles, but after a little while I figured that the water was more interesting than the flame. Plus the silhouette is clearer!

We’ve already seen where all the blues came from, which means it’s time to bring in the oranges!

Jupiter in a Bottle is, along with the PPE, one of the two panels that set the tone for all the others. There were about three seconds where I thought I’d try for a pale, crystalline effect for it, but I quickly switched to something brighter and rounder. At that point the chem sampler looked roughly like this:

…so, ah, not very promising, but I remember thinking ‘well, if nothing else, at least I’d have fun stitching the goggles and the orange one”. So since I was sure I wanted to keep those two, all of the other squares ended up being designed around them and borrowed a lot of their colors.. In the end I decided to go all-in on the oranges and blues, and, well, I think it worked out nicely! :)

This little bastard was The Reagent Cabinet, and it’s one of the panels that eventually got cut! It was a very early introduction, and stuck around almost all the way to the finish. I didn’t ever like it, though: it’s not very interesting, not very beautiful, and if I had stitched it it would have been the *only* full-coverage panel in the entire sampler, and so would have looked very out-of-place and heavy compared to the rest of the design.

Still, it technically fit the color scheme, and technically the theme, too, so I didn’t actually have the guts to chop it until I went to export the image and start stitching. At that point, dreading the idea of laboring over an entire full-coverage panel of a design I hated, I finally deleted it and started stitching everything else anyway, just with a giant empty hole in the corner of the pattern. I figured “well, I may be burnt out on designing for now... but once I’ve been stitching a while I’m sure the spark will come back, and I’ll think of something to fill the space”. And so it did, eventually!

The Cookies, however, are a panel that I’ve loved from the beginning 🤎 I wanted to include a nod to ‘everyday chemistry’ alongside the more ‘serious’ designs; a carryover from the math sampler, in a sense, with its bees and shells. 

These particular cookies are based off of my Mom’s chocolate chip cookies, which are kind of sort of like this recipe, but better somehow, and made out of old Y2K surplus that she bought off a disenchanted ex-prepper. Somehow the 20-year-old powdered peanut butter just hits different...

The Billowing Liquid was a effect that was, at least at the beginning, too far above my pay grade: I knew I wanted ‘some kinda sick-looking swooshy liquid effect, like in VFX reels or something?’, but that’s, uh, not a very concrete concept. I ended up realizing I was thinking of an ink-in-water effect, so from that I was able to look up reference vids and start sketching out some actual shapes. I added a little fizz on top, too, for extra effect-- and I think it did end up looking the way I originally envisioned it, even if I didn’t have the words or the skills to capture it back then! 

Another cut panel! This one’s the Alchemical Equipment: the idea was that hey, the modern science of chemistry is descended from the mystical practice of alchemy, so wouldn’t be cool to put a nod to alchemy into the sampler? Also alchemical symbolism is wicked cool. ⁽ᴬˡˢᵒ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵐʸ ᶠʳᶦᵉⁿᵈ ʰᵃᵈ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵖˡᵃʸ ᴺᵃⁿᶜʸ ᴰʳᵉʷ: ᶜᵘʳˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴮˡᵃᶜᵏᵐᵒᵒʳ ᴹᵃⁿᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶦᵗ ʷᵃˢ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ⁾

I tried a couple different takes on this panel, and I still like both of the last two a lot, but in the end they didn’t fit at all with the rest of the sampler, so! For the good of the whole ✂

The Atom is one of the few where I still had my very, very first sketch saved! 😆 Normally I don’t save these-- I’ll either start cleaning up the sketch on that same layer, or will delete the sketch once I’ve got a first draft started-- but not for this one, or for the next two with it!

After the jump from sketch to first draft, this panel didn’t change much: I just added in the nucleus and made some of the curves less jerky and more smooth.

The Glassware Collection was sketched at the same time as the atom, so you can see its original iteration too! The biggest challenge here was to figure out how I wanted to handle the transparency of the glass: all the other glassware in the sampler was filled with something or other, and I debated whether or not to fill in these beakers and bottles too, with either plain white stitches, or grey, or both. In the end I stitched a bit of white shine on each bottle as a highlight, and left the rest of the space empty. Straight up, on my fabric it’s hardly visible at all, but I made some mockups and found that if someone were to stitch this same panel on black or dark fabric, then this version would look way better than one with the bottles filled completely with stitching. So it may not make my version look any better, but hey, for somebody else someday it will. :)

The Volcano is a kid’s chemistry classic! I toyed briefly with the idea of doing one of the other classic childhood experiments: red cabbage pH tests, or the rubber egg, but none of them are as instantly recognizable as the vinegar-and-baking-soda volcano, I think. 

The Element of Carbon is a spinoff from that one rejected periodic table idea! This panel was one I made right after returning to the project after a long, long break. To get back into the swing of things I went through a bunch of my old discarded prototypes, and discovered that there were some good ideas hidden in there: they just needed to be fleshed out more, and given their own space to breathe.

Also, in the time since I started this design I finally learned how to do a french knot! At long last, I’m a real cross-stitcher 🏅

The Bunsen Burner was made right before I started stitching the sampler: at that point I had the color scheme just about figured out, and most of the panels most of the way done, and there were only two or three spaces left with no design or a soon-to-be-cut filler design. At that point I reached out to a friend of mine who had studied chemistry in college and asked them for some feedback, and they helped me tighten up the design a lot! This is when the alchemy panel finally got the chop, and in its place the bunsen burner came back: now zoomed all the way out, for easy visibility, and with a pretty new shine effect up top.

The Centrifuge was the other panel my friend recommended-- and Evan, if you’re reading this, thanks a million! This one was an easy breezy design to make: pleasant shapes, an interesting subject, and lots of ovals. I do love a good oval.

This panel and the one before it came together *fast*: I was trying very hard to lock down final designs so I could lock in final colors so I could lock in a final arrangement so I could finally, finally, start stitching. I figured if I could get the sampler to the stitching phase then the ball would at last be rolling fast enough that I wouldn’t be in danger of abandoning the project again-- a pretty bold hope, given that I was more than two years and several abandonments in, but hey, I was still hoping! 

One problem: this is the point when I finally cut the reagent cabinet, so, while I *had* finally gotten to the stitching phase, I was still only stitching 15/16ths of a pattern. Enter:

The Molecule Model

The final panel! I had hoped to come up with a suitable final idea in the process of stitching the sampler, and it took a hell of a long time to get there: I believe I had all the panels started, and a few of them finished, even, by the time the idea for this one rolled around. I was working, then, with a fixed position for the panel, along with a fixed color palette, but if anything those constraints made designing it easier. I just picked an interestingly-shaped molecule (theobromine, found in chocolate and tea), built it in MolView, spun it around until I got a cool angle, sketched it, and bam! Final panel complete!

…minus a mountain of tweaking, of course. All the other panels had had months to get their rough edges ironed out, but for this one I just kept the file open as I stitched, fixing problems as I found them. I would not recommend it-- you have to unpick a lot of stitches anytime you decide ‘actually, it looks better one square to the left’!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, did it work? Did it all come together in the end? God, I hope so!

But you know, I think it did. :)

Thanks for reading! ✌

-Geri

P.S. it’s not about any specific panel, but you see how the early drafts have colored borders, while the final version has white ones? At one point I was using a draft of the sampler to mess around with GIMP’s content aware fill, trying to make some glitch art, y’know? And the results were pretty cool, but also overwhelmingly line-y:

…and I was hoping to try and make glitched-out versions of the individual panels, instead. So I took the version I was experimenting with and deleted the borders from it, and from that discovered two things: 

One, that it was a huge improvement to the composition and should absolutely be carried over to the official version of the file, and

Two, that it did not make the content aware fill work any better, and in fact made the results look worse.

This postscript has a happy ending though: turns out if you take any individual panel and use it to tile a plane then you can select a chunk of it, use the content-aware fill, and then pick out the best bits to make your own glitchy sampler :)

✌!

#cross stitch #embroidery #chemistry sampler #progress pics #long post #damn! someone remind me that I specced into math for a reason #and the reason was that writing is hard #but I do like reading abt other people's artistic process #so if you too enjoy that then #this is for you! #enjoy!

[caretaker-au]

an ending.

eruto says:

it may be hard to believe, but the caretaker of the ruins is finally over. finished. it took a long time, and we put countless hours into it, but it feels great to have it done. when ellipsis came up with the concept originally, minty and i knew we just had to make a project out of it. the three of us have been an unbending team this whole time, ever since the nochocolate days.

what an experience! we’ve made so many fun memories together, all based on one question: “what if chara never died?” we took a lot of creative liberties on the character designs, but wanted the story to be at least plausible based on undertale’s canon. based on guesses a lot of readers made, i think we did a pretty good job! 

based on the tapes in canon, as i’m sure a lot of you will be aware, we don’t think that chara is very good for asriel. we thought that their behaviour would only grow worse into adulthood, especially with a power like that. it made sense to us to put an emotionally abusive relationship at the forefront of this: it looks welcoming on the outside, but belies a darker underbelly. the growing discomfort from readers as it became more clear how chara treated asriel was encouraging in its own way. if you didn’t see it immediately, try rereading caretaker from the start! there was a lot of effort put into making chara’s behaviour around asriel questionable. the cutesy bonus art was all part of the mask.

i remember the shock from readers when frisk died for the first time, and then again when chara killed frisk with their knife. that was when people realised what they were in for, i think. but it was never supposed to be all doom and gloom: it’s the story of a horrible day (and the events preceding it), followed by a future full of hope. the plot never veered off track from our initial outline and went exactly where it was supposed to go.

well, i hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed being able to share it! the support from everyone who sent asks, who read, who shared, who discussed things with each other on other websites really filled us with strength. determination, even, one might say. from the bottom of my heart: thank you.

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

minty says:

Wow, it feels unreal to have finally finished this story! It took countless hours of planning, drawing, and writing, but we did it! Thank you so much for sticking with us, I hope you enjoyed it as much as we loved writing it.

In the early drafting period, we went through a few different ideas for the ending, but ultimately I’m really, really pleased with how we decided to bring this story to a close. Even though no one got what they wanted, everyone ended up with something they needed, and I think that’s pretty beautiful. 

(On that note, ask me read about our scrapped endings, they were terrible!)

There were all sorts of ups and down we experienced while writing this, but writing Caretaker will always be something I look back on with fond memories. It’s a little sad to finally write “The End” but I’m proud of what we accomplished. To all our readers both old and new, thank you so much for joining us on this journey. We truly would not have been able to finish this story without your excited feedback and enthusiasm. We hope to see familiar names following us to our next grand creative endeavor!

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

ellipsis says: 

To this day, I'm amazed at how far Caretaker has come. After answering that “what if” question, I mused on the hypothetical situation of an older Chara meeting Frisk—and this Chara had not given up on their plan. They took matters into their own hands instead. After all, if you want something done, do it yourself!

I took this idea and wrote a short story, which I shared with Eruto and Minty. I did not expect anything big to come out of this. My ideas tend to live just as drabbles I usually keep to myself. But they both loved the idea so much, and the rest is history.

Seeing the story come to completion has been surreal, especially after so many years. It grew so much bigger than I could have ever imagined, and the support we receive is tremendous. As much as I (jokingly) cried about how many messages I had to read through to make compilations, it always brought me so much joy to see the reactions and support from our readers. Thank you all for reading Caretaker. <3

#it's a note #main comic #we hashtag Did That #thanks again for all the good power

[corvus--rex]

The last one was the prequel to this one, which I actually wrote first. It's not even the beginning of the main story, but it was what I came up with first. Oh well. I wanted to do cyberpunk without it being Leakira (which I do love, I just wanted to do something different), and came up with this. I have played the shit out of Shadowrun tabletop, so a lot of it comes from that. And since it's part of the last post, it's still an Omegaverse :)

~*~*~*~

Lance backed away, raising his hands. “Hey, no need for that. I’m not even armed.”

The mercenary pointed with his weapon.

“Over here?” Lance asked, still playing the game. “Ok.” He walked over to the window of the high-rise. “Might want to watch that draft. Wouldn’t want to come down with something.”

His hard-wired comm picked up everything, making the assassin on the ledge outside chuckle. But he knew that it was his cue, and punched through the window feet first, his tech-enhanced boots forcing through the thick glass easily. The black monofilament blade glowed red with heat, cauterizing the sliced wound to the mercenary’s throat and killing him instantly. Lance pulled out a modified holdout pistol, taking out the overpaid mercenary that followed with perfect aim.

“Red! On your nine!” Lance yelled above incoming fire.

A small knife flew, catching the mercenary in the throat. Keith used his falling body as a springboard, launching himself at the next target. Both he and Lance heard the same thing over their comms.

“Comin’ in hot!” Shiro yelled.

Lance and Keith both knew what that meant. That meant that this semi-stealth mission was turning into a Russian stealth mission, and that it was coming in the form of Hunk’s gatling gun. Soon enough, they both heard the whine of a spinning barrel and the screaming of rapid laser fire. Mercenaries were still pouring in and the teammates knew that they would still have to fight their way out. Lance had already retrieved the files and uploaded Pidge’s traceless virus. All they needed to do was get out.

Keith spun in the air, knives flying, carving a path to the exit. As he turned, he caught sight of a mercenary coming up a little too quickly behind Lance. His violet eyes went wide, launching himself off walls, furniture, and bodies.

“BLUE!” he screamed as the mercenary drew a small pistol and fired.

Lance’s gasp caught in his throat, his free hand going to the exit wound in his chest and dropping to the floor. This was wrong. These were just mercenaries. And the Voltron Pack always wore heavily modified body armor. There was no way something so small should have been able to punch through that. In a blind rage, Keith hit the mercenary hard enough to pin him to the floor, drawing the ultraviolet hard-light blade he kept on his back. Pressing his thumb to a bioscanner on the hilt, the small knife expanded in an instant to the straight-edged ninjato, which he plunged through the mercenary’s chest plate. He turned the blade back, jamming it into its sheath.

“Blue’s down! We need evac! NOW!”

The laser bolt from the pistol meant that Lance’s wound was cauterized and he wouldn’t bleed out, but it didn’t keep him from going into shock. Keith barely had the presence of mind to retrieve both Lance’s and the mercenary’s weapons before returning to the marksman.

“Stay with me. Come on, Blue. Team’s coming. I need you to hold on. You’ll make it.” Keith was rambling, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself as he watched the light in his Alpha’s blue eyes dim.

The sound of electricity and the smell of ozone whipped past Keith’s senses, a small blur following. Several mercenaries dropped, the blur that was Pidge spinning, her electrified katar flying through the next throng. A powered whine and sharp crack felled a line of mercenaries, Allura quickly moving on to the next group with her whip. Knowing that backup had arrived, Keith focused on keeping Lance awake. The Alpha was only barely conscious, the bolt having blown straight through his lung.

“Come on, baby. Stay with me. Team’s here. We’re getting you out.”

Keith was desperately trying to keep his scent hopeful, but the fear and panic saturating his mate’s was overwhelming. Lance was afraid of dying, and it was looking like a very real possibility. The Alpha’s hand moved, a brief jerking spasm. Keith took it, pulling the tactical glove off and holding it to his face, softly kissing his mate’s palm.

“You’ll be ok. We’re getting out.”

Pidge came up, putting a gentle hand on the Omega assassin. “All clear. We need you to get him to the extraction point. Allura’s got the body of the one that got him.”

Keith hadn’t even noticed it was gone. But he had a new mission objective. Get his mate to safety. He shoved both weapons – Lance’s and the mercenary’s – into Pidge’s hands, and picked his mate up in a bridal carry, racing to the extraction point. Shiro was in the pilot’s seat of their VTOL, a specially built, modular one the Coalition named Atlas. Hunk and Allura were already onboard, Pidge bringing up the rear behind Keith. Allura rushed to help the Omega assassin. The limited medical supplies on the Atlas wouldn’t save Lance in the long run, but it was enough to get him back to base.

The Coalition Rebellion’s base was hidden within a high-rise owned by shell companies belonging to the financial backers of the rebellion. The three biggest supporters were Olkarion BioTech, owned and run by Claudia Ryner, a thin middle-aged woman who could flip between hard-ass CEO and a gentle maternal figure in a split second, Taujeer Chemicals, owned and run by a man only known as Baujal who never showed his face and always used a voice modulator, and The Garrison, manufacturers of weapons, armor, and vehicles, owned and nominally run by Ellen Sanda and more practically run by Cmdr. Iverson. They all wanted the megacorporation that ran the world, Daibazaal Industries, gone as much as everyone else.

The Atlas landed on the grounds of the Rebellion base, known only to the Coalition as the Castle of Lions. Medics were waiting to rush Lance to the medical floors, leaving Keith on the landing pad feeling like his soul had been ripped from his body. The rest of the Voltron Pack surrounded him protectively, and the worry, panic, and fear he’d kept carefully bottled up overwhelmed him and he dropped to the asphalt.

When the assassin woke, he was in a med floor bed. Pidge had set up a work station in the room, the weapon and punctured armor of the mercenary being run through her meticulous scanners. Hunk tinkered with Shiro’s cybernetic arm while Allura paced like a caged tiger. Keith sat up, a wave of dizziness making him lay down again. It got the attention of everyone in the room. Pidge adjusted the bed’s position remotely, allowing Keith to sit up without falling over. They were all at his side immediately.

“Surgery was successful,” Allura told him, “Lance will make a full recovery. He’s still out, and they want him in a completely neutral environment. The only medics allowed in are Betas.”

“I can’t see him?” Keith asked, worry and panic clouding his scent again.

“Not yet,” Shiro said, “He still needs to heal, and you know that pheromones can interrupt that process. Even a bonded mate’s.”

“I could probably get in, check up on him for you,” Pidge offered. There were few cases like Pidge where, even if the corporate-run nanny state hadn’t mandated sterilization for all Betas, she would most likely have done it anyway. The benefit in this case was that she was less likely to upset Lance’s healing.

“Please?” The Omega couldn’t keep the whining cry for his mate out of his voice.

Pidge nodded, placing a small hand on his arm.

“Oh!” Hunk said, darting over to the other side of the room. He came back with a high stack of blankets and pillows. “The medics don’t want you moving around much yet, but we figured you’d feel better with at least a small nest.” He went back, returning with another blanket in a sealed bag. “I went and got this one from your room.”

Keith didn’t need elaboration. He instinctively snatched the bag from Hunk’s hands, holding it close. They were his pack, and fully understood the state he was in. Pidge queued further processes for her scanners and left to check on Lance. Hunk went with her, as he was the only other Beta in the pack and could back her up when they got there. Shiro and Allura were the pack’s other Alphas, and while they wanted to see their packmate safe, they knew they couldn’t be near Lance. They could, however, ensure the safety of their pack’s Omega, and so stayed with him, only assisting with the nest when it was asked for.

Even with limited nesting materials, Keith still was able to build one that made him feel more secure, the soft fluffy blanket from the nest he shared only with his mate adding to the security. The shrill, distressed trill coming from him died down only when he fell asleep, wrapped in his mate’s scent and knowing that his pack’s two other Alphas were nearby.

When Keith woke next, Hunk and Pidge were back. He shot up in his nest, a soft questioning noise rolling up his throat.

“He’s doing better,” Pidge answered. She turned around. “It’s been about six hours since we left to check on him. They said that you can probably see him tomorrow morning, which is in,” she checked the time, “About four hours.”

“You should eat and rest,” Allura suggested softly. “If you’re exhausted and upset when you see him, it could make things worse.”

Keith knew she was right, but it didn’t make it better. He wanted his mate, his Alpha. He’d had to watch when he was shot, when he fell to the floor, had to watch as his beloved Alpha desperately clung to life. He wanted them to curl up in their nest together, safe in each other’s arms. The memories caused another distressed sound, this one harsher, even more shrill than before. The pack snapped to look at him, knowing that if Keith got any more worked up, he could go feral. It was a state more closely associated with Alphas, but it was certainly possible for Omegas. The kind of trauma he’d experienced that day combined with being separated from his mate was making things dangerous for him. Pidge dropped what she was doing, climbing into the nest. She was a packmate and therefore safe, but she was about as far removed from anything like Lance as possible and, therefore, was the safest person to be close to Keith. He curled up, still upset, but allowed her to hold him, reinforcing that he was safe.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep again.

He was woken next by Pidge gently shaking him, breakfast in hand. He accepted it, a soft sound escaping, his Omega brain still in control. After breakfast, that Pidge actually joined him in his nest for, she called for a medic, who came in and checked Keith over, clearing him for release. Pidge stuck close to him, going along to the next floor where Lance was still under medics’ care. But he was awake, and Keith darted inside, Pidge staying by the door.

The Omega curled up on his mate’s bed, softly nuzzling him. Lance ran his fingers through his mate’s hair, a large medical patch monitoring his biorhythms across the back of his hand. After a few minutes when Keith still hadn’t said anything he looked to Pidge, concern and confusion written across his face.

“He nearly went feral last night. Hasn’t spoken a word since then,” she explained.

The medics tried to make Keith leave when they were alerted to Lance’s shifts in his system caused by the sudden fear for his mate, but the Alpha insisted on his Omega staying. Pidge left, knowing Alpha-Omega mate-pairs in general and her packmates in particular. She knew how important their connection was and that if they were separated both would most likely turn feral, attacking anyone who got too close that wasn’t their mate. Shiro and Allura stood guard over the room from the outside, preventing anyone from entering they didn’t approve. One nurse claimed that she was just there to check up on Lance, but her scent told them she was lying and that she was most likely there to try and separate the pair again. Shiro’s tall, broad frame firmly kept her out. Pidge and Hunk had brought the nesting materials from both Keith’s hospital room and their own apartment in the Castle. Lance’s biorhythm readings were calmer than the medics had seen, and they stopped bothering him and his mate.

It wasn’t until the end of the day when Keith finally spoke for the first time. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“For a while, so did I,” Lance admitted, “But you got me out in time. You saved me, mi amor. We’re ok.”

Curled up in their temporary nest, wrapped in his Alpha’s arms, long, elegant fingers carding through his hair, Keith was able to sleep peacefully for the first time since the start of the mission.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19* | 20* | 21* | 22*

#my writing #abandoned wips #keith kogane #lance mcclain #alpha lance mcclain #omega keith kogane #klance #keith x lance #abo #omegaverse #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender

[veliseraptor]

Hey just wondering, do you have any draft or work in process or any plan for your next Loki fic? If so can you give us a little sneak peek. Or if you don’t, do you think you’ll write more about him in the future? I know you probably get this a lot and I’m sorry if it’s annoying or if it sounds rude or anything. I’m just wondering and also I’ve been binge reading your stories about him and got addicted so there’s that. But seriously I’m sorry if my message comes off as rude or annoying, that’s not my intention. Anyway hope you’re having an amazing day

I genuinely hate to sound like a broken record, anon, since you are being very polite about this! Which I very much appreciate! But the answer remains more or less the same: I don’t know. I have (counts) 38 different Loki-related WIPs in various stages of completion sitting on my hard drive. I haven’t been working on them actively lately because, to the dismay I’m sure of many of my followers, another fandom has devoured me whole. I’m really enjoying the experience, but it has left me with relatively little brainspace for things that aren’t that thing (or, I guess, other danmei novels and adaptations thereof?? idk okay). 

At some point I would like to finish at least some of those stories, because I do not like leaving things unfinished. But I just don’t know when - or if! - I will. It just depends on if I get that emotional investment back. At the moment it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen imminently, but who knows. And maybe I’ll go back and reread what I have written of some of these, go “where’s the rest, op” and feel encouraged to write more.

All that being said - since you were so nice about this, I will give you a (3000 word) excerpt from one of the WIPs - Dead Superheroes Walking, which is the one about the characters who died/were dusted in Infinity War on a road trip through the Soul Stone.

---

“Anyone for a game of twenty questions?” Sam asked, after they’d been walking for maybe ten minutes.

“Really?” Bucky said. “Twenty questions?”

“I don’t think ‘I Spy’ would work too well. Not a lot of interesting landmarks. Or hadn’t you noticed that the landscape keeps repeating?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot.

“And I have no idea what that means,” Sam said.

Sam was right, Wanda realized. The landscape was repeating. It wasn’t obvious, at first, but there was only one tree, over and over; only one rock placed near to it. The sky was a flat and even orange.

A faint shiver ran down Wanda’s spine. Bucky stopped, though, visibly disconcerted.

“What the hell is this place,” he said.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked. “We’re not exactly going anywhere else. All right, I’ve got it. Twenty questions, yes or no answers only.”

“I am Groot?” said Groot. Sam eyed him.

“I’m not going to take that off the count,” he said.

“Is it alive?” T’Challa asked.

“Yep,” Sam said.

“Guess that rules us out,” Bucky said. Sam snorted, and T’Challa cracked a small smile. Wanda stared down at a small, triangular rock in front of her feet.

“All right,” Bucky said. “Is it an animal?”

“Yes. Two questions down. Wanda?”

She bent down and picked up the rock. It left red dust on her fingers, and when she pressed her fingers together it crumbled like chalk. She half expected the dust to vanish, but the red stain on her fingertips stayed.

“Wanda?” Sam said, more gently.

“Sorry,” she said. “Is it a person?”

“Nope,” Sam said. “That’s three.”

She wiped her hand off on her clothes. This place wasn’t right - she could feel it in her bones, deep down where her magic ought to be. But nothing had been right in the last few days. Very few things in Wanda’s life had been right. Why should her death be any different?

It only seemed unfair that the others should be here, too.

They sky did not change, but they stopped walking eventually - less because any of them were actually tired than because it seemed like they should. Or maybe because they were tired of walking and wanted some change, even if there was very little change to be had. The road went on. The landscape didn’t alter.

And no one else appeared.

“It can’t just be us,” Sam said. “Other people died. Where are they?”

Nobody had an answer for him, unless the tree’s “I am Groot” was an answer none of them could understand. Wanda thought it might be something to do with the fact that they’d all died when Thanos had snapped his fingers, but she stayed quiet, staring off at the horizon and only half listening to Bucky and Sam going back and forth at each other.

“I see something,” T’Challa said abruptly. They all turned and followed the line of his arm.

“I can’t see anything,” Sam said.

“Give it a sec,” Bucky said. “He’s probably got a hundred extra yards visibility on me. Maybe 150 on you–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said. Wanda strained her eyes, some part of her wishing - hoping–

“Is that a dog?” Sam said.

A moment later Wanda saw it too, and slumped. It did look like a dog padding towards them - or at least, it certainly wasn’t a person.

“That’s not a dog,” T’Challa said.

“Fox, I think,” Bucky said. “What the fuck is a fox doing here?”

“I don’t think it’s a fox, either,” T’Challa said. He shifted, like he was thinking about getting into a fighting stance. Wanda stepped forward, reaching for her powers, but nothing was there.

What would be the point, anyway? You can only die once.

The fox - and it was a fox, Wanda could see that now, though black instead of red - slowed as it began to draw closer. It sat down, still a ways away, and cocked its head, looking at them.

“This is weird,” Sam said. T’Challa was still frowning.

“What is it?” Bucky asked him. T’Challa shook his head.

“I’m not certain.”

The fox stood, stretched, and changed, unfolding into a person. Wanda sucked in a breath, staring at the man now walking toward them: dark-haired, pale, lean and taller than Bucky or T’Challa. A vague sense of familiarity nagged at her, but she couldn’t say from where.

The man stopped, still several paces from them, and cocked his head just as the fox had. “Well,” he said, a faint rasp in his voice. “This is new.”

Wanda stared at him, trying to remember where she recognized him from. “New?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else. But then, this time is different.”

“Wait,” Sam said abruptly. “Shit. Are you-”

“Mm,” he said, still looking at Wanda. T’Challa’s eyes were narrowed, too, and Sam’s. Bucky looked blankly at them both.

“What?”

“It’s always nice to be recognized,” the stranger said dryly.

“Loki,” Sam said. “That’s fucking Loki. Right?” Wanda’s eyes widened, but he - Loki - just shrugged one shoulder.

“So I am. Or was. I’m not certain of the appropriate tense.” His gaze swept across them, indifferent, disinterested.

“You’re dead, too,” Wanda said. Loki glanced at her, eyes focusing briefly before they slid back into dullness. No, exhaustion.

“Or something,” he said.

“‘Or something?’” Sam said. Loki’s eyes flicked in his direction.

“This doesn’t feel like death,” he said, “but I remember the feeling of my neck breaking in Thanos’s hand fairly clearly, so…” Wanda flinched, and she thought she saw Sam’s eye twitch. She remembered Thor coming roaring down from the sky, thunder and lightning in his voice, and understood. She looked down.

“What do you mean that this doesn’t feel like death,” T’Challa said into the silence.

“I know a little of what death tastes like,” Loki said after a moment. “This isn’t it.”

“What does that mean,” Bucky said, looking agitated and uncertain.

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, something briefly flashing across his expression before it was gone. Pain, Wanda thought.

“Not entirely accurate,” he said, “but not entirely inaccurate, either.” There was a brief pause.

“You can understand him?” Bucky said. Loki shrugged again. “What did he say?”

“It’s irrelevant.” Loki’s eyes moved back to Wanda. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were simply the high cost of victory?” Wanda looked down, somehow feeling ashamed of her failure. Loki let out a quiet huff. “Pity.”

Bucky, oddly, snorted.

“Thanos gained all of the Infinity Stones,” T’Challa said. “Then…” He trailed off. “I am not entirely certain what happened then.”

Loki made a sort of hm noise, glancing at T’Challa sidelong. “So you didn’t die in battle,” he said.

“If so, I do not remember it,” T’Challa said.

“I am Groot,” Groot said to Loki, whose head swiveled violently toward him, eyes sharpening.

“Gamora,” he said, and there was a wealth of hatred and fear in that word. “You are a companion of hers?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said emphatically, and Loki blinked, then pressed his lips together and exhaled in a short burst.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Can you maybe translate what he’s saying,” Bucky said irritably. “Since all the rest of us can hear is the same three words over and over.”

“He says that Gamora claimed Thanos meant to use the completed Gauntlet to halve all life in the universe,” Loki said. “If you know that he achieved his goal, then presumably you were part of the unlucky half. Though that does not explain why you are here. Or else does not explain why I am.”

“And who’s Gamora,” Sam said, with such exaggerated patience that it demonstrated anything but.

“An old acquaintance,” Loki said. He sounded distracted.

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and this time Wanda could hear the near pride in his voice. Loki didn’t respond. He was scanning their number again, Wanda realized, more closely.

She bit her lip, then raised her voice and said, “Thor’s alive.” His gaze snapped to her, and she made herself hold it though her instinct was to look down. “At least, he was when I...he drove an axe into Thanos’s chest. It didn’t work, it was too late, but…” She trailed off.

Loki glanced down, his eyes half closing, and Wanda thought she caught a brief flicker at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, and a barely audible, “ah, Thor.” Then his eyes were back on hers and he said simply, “thank you for informing me,” with a lack of feeling that made Wanda frown.

“You haven’t asked who any of us are,” Bucky said.

“So I have not,” Loki said. “I am not certain it is precisely relevant.”

“Excuse you,” Sam said. Loki glanced at him, that tired indifference returning.

“I approached because I was curious. I wasn’t intending to stay, nor would I think you were inclined to encourage it.”

T’Challa was studying Loki with curious intensity. “Were you going somewhere?”

“No,” Loki said, and then paused and adjusted, “perhaps.”

“I am Groot?” Groot said, and Loki’s lips pressed briefly together.

“It means perhaps. And don’t be crude.”

“I’m with him,” Sam said. “What does perhaps mean?” Loki looked briefly annoyed, and Sam said, “come on. We’re all dead here. Or - not. Which still begs the question as far as I’m concerned of what we are.”

Loki’s eyes went back to her, and Wanda shifted. “What?” She asked. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

“You haven’t noticed anything strange, then?” He asked. “Felt anything?”

Too many things, Wanda thought, but she didn’t think that was what he meant, and now they were all looking at her. Wanda hesitated.

“I don’t have my powers,” she said slowly. Loki made a derisive noise.

“Of course you don’t,” he said. “Do you need them to sense what’s around you? Midgardian magicians. Norns.”

Wanda glared at him, but took a breath and tried to turn inward, like she was going to use her power. It still wasn’t there, but this time, without distractions…

She jerked and saw a satisfied glint in Loki’s eyes, just for an instant. “There,” he said.

“Wanda, what is it?” Sam asked, looking suspiciously at Loki.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it feels like…” She searched for the right words. “Like a heartbeat,” she said finally, even if that wasn’t quite right.

Bucky’s expression was a mixture of horror and alarm. “A heartbeat?”

“So that’s what it feels like to you,” Loki said thoughtfully. He seemed more engaged now than he had been at first, and somehow even though it shouldn’t matter that felt like a good thing. Maybe because nothing else was.

“It’s not actually,” Wanda said quickly. “That’s just sort of what it feels like - to me, anyway. It’s...different for you?”

Loki shrugged. T’Challa shifted.

“I know what she means,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t have described it like that. But there is...something.”

“Interesting,” Loki said, glancing at T’Challa and looking him over with slightly more interest. “To answer your implied question, I would call it a...resonance.”

“A resonance with what,” Sam asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be bothering to talk to you,” Loki said. “But partly it is that which makes me think this is something other than simple death.”

“What is there other than ‘simple death,’” Bucky said tightly.

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Loki said. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I am wrong. But if I am not…”

“If you’re not, what,” Bucky said, even tighter.

“Then it begs the question of why, doesn’t it?” Loki rolled his neck in a slow circle, and Wanda could have sworn she heard something crack. “At least, such was my thought. But maybe it is just desperation.”

He didn’t sound desperate. He didn’t sound much of anything.

“Why not stay with us,” Wanda said abruptly. Everyone else turned to stare at her, Loki included, and she straightened, turning toward her friends. “I mean it,” she said. “Why not? We’re all here together. And if he’s right and there’s a why, a reason...wouldn’t it suggest that’s true for all of us, including him?” She paused, and added, “and besides - what can he do to us, anyway?”

Loki barked a laugh. “That is a fair point,” he murmured.

“How do we know this isn’t some kind of trick?” T’Challa asked, his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t,” Loki said. “But I will say that you vastly overestimate my interest in you. Well, the majority of you. And your witch has a point: what is it you think I will do?”

“I don’t know,” T’Challa said. “That’s what worries me.”

“And ‘our witch’ has a name,” Sam said a little sourly.

Loki shrugged. “As you will. It makes little difference to me.” He moved around them and started to walk away.

“I am Groot,” Groot muttered, and strode after him, long tree-legs catching up in a few strides. “I am Groot?” He said to Loki, who checked himself and looked at him, his face tightening.

“Was, yes,” he said. “Why?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said definitively, and Loki shook his head.

“Call back your child,” he said, with a sharp gesture at Groot.

“Child?” Sam said, eyebrows shooting up.

“He’s an adolescent Flora Colossus,” Loki said, as though it were obvious. “And he is not following me. I don’t care who you were friends with.”

Thor, Wanda thought. Groot didn’t know any of them, but he’d known Thor, at least a little, and Loki was Thor’s brother, and Groot was, apparently, a teenager, among strangers who couldn’t understand him, who had just died.

Wanda’s chest ached. “If he wants to,” she said, “I don’t see why he shouldn’t.”

“I’m not interested in playing nursemaid–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Loki gave him a hard look.

“No, you are not,” he said. “I’ve met grown Flora Colossi and you aren’t it. You’re barely more than a sapling. Maybe - what, four years old?”

“You know what,” Bucky said, “I’m with Wanda, actually. And the, uh...Groot. This place is weird. I think we should stick together, and it seems like he knows more about this place than any of the rest of us do.” His eyes settled on Loki. “And it’s not like we have a whole lot to lose, right now.”

Sam gave Bucky a long, skeptical look and then glanced at T’Challa, who shrugged.

“You assume I am interested in putting up with the lot of you,” Loki said flatly. He looked tense, Wanda thought. Like he was expecting some kind of trap. Wanda tried to summon a smile.

“You said you came over because you were curious,” she said. “And if you’re right, and there is some reason we’re all here...isn’t that something else to be curious about?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, jaw twitching.

“I’m dead, you twig,” he said. “If not now, then probably soon. And if I did need protecting, you wouldn’t be much help.”

Bucky snorted, poorly muffled. Wanda bit her lip so she didn’t smile. Groot’s expression was hard for her to read, but it looked to her eyes like a glare.

Loki exhaled loudly and looked away. “Fine,” he said. “If you are inclined...I suppose there’s no harm in traveling adjacently.”

“Traveling where?” Sam asked. “You make it sound like you have an actual destination.”

“I have a...feeling,” Loki said, though something about the brief pause before he spoke made Wanda think there was something he wasn’t saying. The question was if it was important or not. “No more than that.”

“Well,” T’Challa said after a few moments of hesitation, “that is more than I have, at the moment. And so far as I know we weren’t going anywhere in particular, so…”

“I guess that settles it,” Wanda said. Loki eyed her like he suspected her of having some ulterior motive. She decided to pretend not to notice. “So which way are we going?”

#anonymous #conversating #fic excerpt #i know this is an unsatisfying answer! i know it! #i just don't have a better one #this does remind me i should write up an actual faq at some point maybe

[valaks]

Hey Valaks! I love your blog and your writing!

Please could you do 1, 10 and 18 for the writing asks?? 🌺

Thank you for the ask! I have added a cut to hopefully not be that person clogging up the feed XD

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

I have a few collabs outstanding like Gemini and a Kabir/Alex sequel to Reunion (It’s rated T at the most so still kid friendly) with Lupin and Devil Went Down to Georgia with Galimau. My utter love for both of my collab partners for pulling me through at a time when I’ve been really struggling. I have a WIPs List but I’ll confess to not having touched most of them in quite sometime (partly from life, partly because I’m not sure how interesting they’d be to anyone else other than me which influences my writing more than I would like to admit):

Good Intentions: Smithers never thought he’d be anyone’s moral compass, he was no angel to sit in anyone’s shoulder but trying to keep Alex Rider from following in the ruthless footsteps of his father or worse his former handler, Alan Blunt is as close to hell as he can imagine. (Wherein Alex becomes head of MI6 we watch his morality slip away form the eyes of an increasingly frustrated and heartbroken Smithers - it all culminates when Alex uses a child “just as an informant, simple information gathering” but hidden behind the charming smile of John Rider and the brutal coldness of Alan Blunt’s words is Alex Rider dying as he says them (Smithers just hopes there’s still a part of the boy he once knew in there to mourn)

Walk the Line: Alex thought he was done with SCORPIA. But they kept creeping back into his life in the most unexpected of ways. He thought he could at least count on it being on the other side until he gets teamed up with Walker, his former classmate and current CIA spy. Unfortunately he still hasn’t been able to figure out whose side Walker is really on - attempted deep cover op like his dad, repatriated rogue spy back on the “good” side, or SCORPIA double agent? He doesn’t know but at least he’s nice....in that obnoxious American way.

Temperamental: (Sequel to Sentimental which isn’t all that popular and you would need to read it for the sequel but basically amnesiac Yassen whose memories stop pre John’s betrayal set during the Stormbreaker mission and features him trying to come to grips with the use of chemical weapons against children and how to handle Alex once he snaps back to reality which is where this starts) Yassen had promised Alex Rider that he would be safe from the world of spying but fate had other ideas. In the days after Sarov’s failed plan, Yassen scrambles to find where MI6 have hidden his wayward charge without drawing Rothman’s attention. A request from one of their existing clients to look into suspicious activity at his son’s former school prompts Yassen to investigate under the guise of offering security. He should have known where there was trouble there would be Alex.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Lordy do I ever not have a good answer for this. Typically it involves an idea hitting me and then the determination: would this idea work better as a short to post on tumblr (because the set up would take away the tension or would require a multi chapter which is not really my strength), as a prompt to lob out into the ether for someone better and brighter to touch on, or a fic. Once fic is decided I determine whose perspective the fic would be the most interesting from either because it would create the most tension or their internal monologue/background knowledge would add the most to it. Then the summary is written and a title is chosen. If it’s something I’m really passionate about and I already have it in my head I tend to write it all in one go, if there’s more I need to chew on then it’s a series of dates with the Evil Writing App. The final determination is whether it’s good enough for Valaks or if it gets sent to an alt account.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Allegedly. I’ll try to go in order of posting -

Ruthless has a sequel where Alex just goes *quiet* once the initial dust as settled it’s unnerving to everyone because they’re not used to having to wonder just what Alex is thinking, at least not behind closed doors but what happened isn’t exactly something that can be recovered from easily, not when Alex isn’t sure who all’s in on it no matter what they’ve told him. Failure is the AU where I considered what would happen to Alex to make him want to torture.

Alibi was originally going to have Yassen show up in the end but I found it far more fascinating if MI6 was just testing Alex so out went Yassen and in went Ben. The sequel to it was torn apart and turned into Warm Reception because I wanted to trope flip SCORPIA comes to Brooklands and decided that it was more logical to have a small fight in Mrs. Bedfordshire’s lobby than anywhere else and I wanted to explore some side characters instead of Ben.

Providence’s sequel thoughts ended up inspiring Gentleman’s Agreement but I did write a small short for it “Yassen and Alex encounter each other on mission. Surprisingly they are working to mostly the same goal - Yassen needs to kill the millionaire who Alex needs to get information from. “I suppose I could answer some questions for you, Sasha. /In Russian/“ “Is now really the time for a language lesson?” he ground out in frustration but the man pointedly ignored him “/Fine but I don’t know some of the words/“ “/Then there is no better way to learn/“

I mentioned the Sentimental sequel but changing Sarov to come first and probable for almost a month before Yassen figures out he’s missing made the most sense. It was also a bit of fun at the Yassen would absolutely take Alex away from MI6....just to throw him in a school and throw away the key. Almost had him send him to Point Blanc but decided that wouldn’t quite fit all that well and wouldn’t be as interesting as if Alex had already gotten his feet back under him with MI6 and now sees that Yassen was right that MI6 would just use him until he’s dead but that doesn’t mean Alex wants to be anywhere near Yassen. Julia Rothman might have other ideas when she finds out what her newest second in command is hiding.

Gentleman’s Agreement.....there’s a lot of thoughts on Sequels and AUs, a lot of them have been written by better people, but that fic was written in 45 minutes so there wasn’t much time to recharacterize or change scenes. It did get Turncoat aka the Alex saves Yassen fic I wanted so badly.

Blood Brothers is a fic I really worked hard on considering how John would feel about his son being thrown into SCORPIA assuming Alex was of age. A rocky marriage was characterization that didn’t quite fit what I imagined would have happened but did fit the story so it stayed in. It was a fic that was supposed to get expanded on - the competition between Hunter and Yassen and Nile and Alex who is desperate to beat his Dad and his “apprentice”. I think two teenagers thrown against each other with a bit of a bone to pick, especially Yassen and Alex who can both hold a grudge even if one runs hot and the other runs cold, would have been compelling and a little fun but the premise and specifically John’s characterization doesn’t quite work out to me.

Found and Legends both have their plotting done but it’ll never see the light of day

Little Moments and Sweetest Thing were my guilty pleasure writing pieces for a while and I have about 1000 DMs of scenes for both of them that are lost to the sands of time and an embarrassing amount of self indulgence

Mates has a follow up ending for those who needed resolution in the comments of it. I’m not sure I did a good job of showing that Tom was in a semi abusive relationship since a lot of people seemed to blame him for him and Alex’s breakup. Most of my headcanons for how their relationship goes have them splitting much sooner just because of Tom’s own home life and either being unable to relate/talk to Alex and drifting away because his Mom throwing a plate at his head isn’t being hung over crocodiles but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or because Alex is just too dangerous/jumpy to be thrown back into a school environment and lashes out even unintentionally especially not under the pressure of being seen as a failure. School is also a barometer of just how much he’s lost of himself and his childhood, bonus points for Alex being completely upfront with Tom about everything he’s done

In My Sights has an AU where this is all post Christmas at Gunpoint and Yassen is there because he knows Ian is already at Sayle’s factory and will have to be...handled. So two weeks of just getting Alex trained for the protection he might need, connecting him to resources, etc. Ian finding out that Yassen had been there was part of a draft at one point which was included Alex wondering about an all too sincere goodbye from Ian “who never hugged him” but I can’t find the snippet anymore ;__;

A Warm Reception was an alternate version. Originally I wanted it to be Alex watching his last chance at normality slip from his fingers and then the crushing realization that it was something that was his own doing, not even MI6 but Skoda who he had picked a fight with and the accompanying breakdown but then decided that Mrs. Bedfordshire was the right way to go upon writing the summary. Because everyone loves some Outsider POV

Adopted was supposed to be a one chapter throw away trope flip of K Unit adopts Alex. I kept it pretty consistent with Amitai and Lil Lupin’s K Units, tried to add in some more characterization just in how they treated some of the details. It has an alt ending/chapter where they find out Alex is Cub when they pull him from Three’s tender mercies almost by accident. I was persuaded into light humored fluff via guilt trip.

The Truth and Other Deadly Weapons has Ben acting exactly like he think he would in front of everyone but my AU was that this interaction happened in the field and absolutely shattered Ben’s trust in him partly because he had worked for the other side and partly because even if it ‘wasn’t as bad as it looks’ it showed a severe lack of judgment. It also featured several chapters of Alex running into the glass ceiling that is having “Member Malogosto Class of 2004” on your resume. Was going to feature Alex running into Walker as well and into problems within MI6 and the CIA but that was eventually cut and it was kept to one chapter.

Guardian....Guardian holds a very special place in my heart. I was given the prompt of a Monster Fic and I wrote what I knew but the interesting parts were all the ones that come after the story but might come across to a general audience as Hogwarts School of Prayers and Miracles. The plotting done post this was going to feature baby Angel Alex reuniting with his parents but...they were strangers to him and so he stayed with Yassen more and more, followed him, learned from him....it encompassed everything from the dynamics of broken families to reflections on theology and references from the Good Book....which is why it’ll never see the fandom but has a very special place in my heart.

In another, more perfect world Glocking Around the Christmas Tree is the Die hard fic this fandom deserves but as Lupin and I untangled the plot of the movie more and more we just couldn’t make it into anything that would be coherent on paper so it was changed and changed and is now a half finished sad abomination that sits on my works list only because Lupin would kill me if I took it down.

Hot Shot was supposed to feature my current favorite character that is not Nile Abara, John Crawley but I wimped out and changed it at the end because I swore I would write the Crawley fic that we all need. Hear me out: John Crawley knew and worked with John and Ian Rider, was respected by both of them, was recruited by SCORPIA within one year in the field, is the Chief of Staff of MI6, the man who “no one gets a knife in the back without him signing off” and is also the man who walks his dog to check on Alex. There’s a mentorship waiting to happen there, preferably in a nice work study program during college where Alex finally gets to see the repercussions of his missions and Crawley helps try and pull him back from the black mark that SCORPIA would have put on him.

My personal fluffy favorite is the spinoff of Devil Went Down to Georgia where Joe Byrne did pull Alex out post Skeleton Key and brought him home. There’s a pretty extended one about where Tom ends up after Mates. There’s also an actual sequel but ask me no questions and all.

Skipping a few collabs and Febuwhump fics but Burning Questions was just supposed to be Branded - a fic where upon being captured by Razim he is brought in and forcibly branded to differentiate the appearances of Alex and Julius (since Razim has decided to have him killed after shooting the Secretary of State). As a result of the pain levels spiking when Alex actually sees that the SCORPIA logo is branded onto his cheek Razim considers that emotional pain might be something to investigate. There’s a couple thousand words on it, one day I might polish it up.

First Impressions is supposed to be a mirror verse of Alex working for MI6 which includes Three as Blunt, Rothman as Jones and of course Sagitta as K Unit while he’s up against his father as Yassen and Yassen as Crawley. But it was cut down significantly even if the ideas are pretty fun to consider.

Sorry this was probably more than you bargained for but it was fun to get everything out there so thank you for asking

#alex rider #alex rider fanfiction #Im so sorry #I just have a lot

[astraeagreengrass]

this is me trying [the woods 3/4]

You make a decision and Steve takes a chance

Word Count: 4.848

Warnings: angst, mentions of sickness, mentions of death and death-related themes, alcohol, curse words

A/N: This chapter is filled with Taylor Swift references - I would love to know which ones you guys find and what are your expectations for the final part of this story! Many thanks to the beautiful @xbuchananbarnes​ for your help with this one. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway​. I hope you like it ♡

pulled the car off the road to the lookout could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe i don't quite know what to say but i'm here in your doorway i just wanted you to know that this is me trying

There is a place in Pennsylvania, a few miles past the old Swift Christmas Tree Farm, where a careful rider might notice a path off the side of the highway. If he chooses to follow this gravel road, he’ll find himself flanked by Eastern Hemlocks and Red Cedars, whose branches tangle together and the leaves whisper secrets like sisters do. “She’s here”, they’ll say. “She’s home”. At the end of this lane, the rider will encounter a house, and a gale will blow in the heart of the woods, announcing the good news to all of the forest: their child was home.

Steve turned off his motorcycle. When the rumble quieted, you heard some Blue Jays singing in the distance. Your lower back complained when you stretched, yet your boyfriend appeared completely unperturbed by the long ride.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, gaze circling the clearing, going from the house made of stone and wood to the trees surrounding it.

The door opened and an older woman skipped down the porch steps. You’d seen her a mere three weeks ago, yet your grandmother somehow looked older, more fragile. The disease was taking its toll on her body, causing her to be out of breath when she hugged you.

“You’re not supposed to run, grandma,” you chidded. She was shorter than you, shoulders slumped by age and illness, but you still hid your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the gentle scent of home and family.

“Can you at least say hello before you start scolding me?” she replied, wrinkled hands grabbing each side of your face, as if to assess any damage. “Being in love suits you, darling. You look beautiful!”

You flustered, lips opening up in a perfect, embarrassed pout, but she was unfazed, shifting her attention to the other guest.

“You must be Steve!”, she beamed. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Your grandmother kissed both of Steve’s cheeks, leaving him stunned.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he cleared his throat, a soft pink blush crawling up his cheeks.

“Oh, no!” she dismissed him. “Please call me Meredith. Now, come inside. You must be tired from the journey.”

She waved you into the house, up the rickety wooden stairs and past the veranda whose railings you used to perch on to catch raindrops with your tongue.

“I’m so happy you could join us for Thanksgiving, Steve,” Meredith said as the three of you crossed the threshold. “Did you know it’s Y/N’s favorite holiday?”

“Grandma!” you reprimanded.

“What?” she raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence.

You raised your own, a silent warning for her not to at least wait until dinner to start with the embarrassing stories. Thankfully, he was oblivious to the quiet exchange.

The house reminded Steve of a cabin he stayed with his ma in upstate New York for a few months when he was eight, after a doctor suggested that the mountain air might be good for his lungs. He remembered the whistle of a train, it's red wagons gleaming brightly under the spring light, and the way it sped through fields and forests, almost to the beat of his racing heart. He remembered the smell of grass and the buzz of the cicadas singing in the late afternoon. He remembered going back to the city after his birthday and telling Bucky that the woods were magical.

The memories flowed through his bloodstream as he entered your home. The front door revealed a small living room that someone - that undoubtedly looked a lot like Tony Stark - might call cramped, but Steve thought it was cozy. Knit blankets were thrown over a cream-colored couch sitting opposite a built-in-the-wall fireplace. Across from the entrance, a large window overlooked a glittering pond and, behind the couch, there was a bookshelf overflowing with volumes, portraits and trinkets. A staircase, which he supposed was as rickety as the one outside, led to the second floor.

"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Y/L/N," he complimented, in a voice that sounded somewhat distant to his ears, as though muffled by nostalgia.

"Meredith!" your grandmother corrected him, clearly pleased by the compliment. "And thank you! My husband and I moved here in the 1990's after he retired from the Military. We did some renovations back then, and I suppose it's time I do it again, but oh well..."

She trailed off, fast feet scurrying to the kitchen in a silent order for you to follow her, yet Steve turned to you:

"Your grandfather was in the Army?"

"Yep. My dad, too," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"You never told me that," he pointed out.

You sighed: "I know."

"Why?"

His hands went to his waist, in that defensive stance you knew all too well, and his jawline clenched in frustration.

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, saving you from answering - at least for now.

"It's Fury," you showed him the screen. "I have to take this."

You turned, bolting outside before Steve could protest.

He exhaled, rubbing his eyes furiously. Hearing the soft tinkling of glasses coming from the kitchen, he trailed your grandmother's footsteps.

"Would you like some sweet tea, Steve?" she smiled.

He nodded, thanking her as he took the glass. Meredith groaned as she sat at the dinner table and Steve's heart squeezed in his chest. Theoretically, the woman was younger than he was, yet their bodies - and their lives - were many decades apart.

"She didn't tell you about them, did she?" Meredith asked, contemplating him with eyes just like yours.

Steve shook his head.

"Please, don't be mad at her. It's a hard subject for Y/N," the woman said. "Would you get that picture frame for me, please?"

With a bony finger, Meredith pointed at a double portrait sitting at the countertop: Both pictures showed young men in military garb, but one was noticeably older than the other, in black and white with sepia coloring the edges.

"John and Michael," she said, cradling the portrait as one would an infant. "John and I met in Japan. My father was a veteran from the Pacific, and in the late 50’s the Navy stationed him in Okinawa. So, long story short, I was this rebellious daughter of a high-ranking officer who wanted nothing to do with wars and the military and John was a good boy from Pensylvannia drafted to fight in Vietnam. Still, we fell in love, eloped and I moved to Philly while pregnant with Michael, but John only joined us in 1972.”

“Wow,” Steve smiled genuinely. “That’s incredible.”

“It is,” Meredith nodded. “And he was an incredible man. Earned all the medals he was honored with. He made it to Sergeant Major, you know? But when Michael made the decision to join S.H.I.E.L.D, John retired.”

"Y/N’s father was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent?" Steve gaped.

Meredith pursed her lips.

"My husband was a righteous man. He believed his institutions and he loved them. And Michael, like everyone that knew John, admired his father and his career. So, like any boy in his position, Michael enlisted. But he was different… I think he liked the thrill, the adrenaline rush that came with the danger.

"I'm not entirely sure how or when he joined S.H.I.E.L.D., but one evening he left Y/N on our doorstep, saying that it would be best for her if she stayed with us from then on," she continued. "He visited very little after that."

Despite the brisk autumn weather, Steve's glass of sweet tea was wet with perspiration, as if the tales he'd just heard were so alive in this house they could manifest themselves in the air, in an introduction to the absent characters.

"What happened then?" he asked, unsure if he wanted an answer.

“Well," Meredith sighed. "The official report said an IED hit his convoy in Iraq, but shortly before he left Michael said he was going to Northern Europe, so…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

"I know," your grandmother said, and she meant it. If anyone could share her pain of losing too much to the military, it was Steve Rogers. "I know you do."

She slid her forearm across the table and squeezed his hand gently. There was so much kindness in her gaze that Steve nearly cried.

"It's not my place to meddle in your relationship," she said. "You're both adults. But please be careful with my granddaughter, Steve. She has a lot of love to give, she just doesn't know that."

Behind Meredith's frame, her bright yellow headscarf catching the light coming through the open window, Steve could see you pacing back and forth in the lawn with your phone in your ear. Tiny specks of dust glinted where the luminesce was brighter and in his mind they were the pieces of your puzzle, coming together for him like a gift from the extraordinary place you called home. He always thought you belonged at the Triskelion, sitting behind a computer or looking down at a tablet, cracking digital enigmas as fast as he could draw his next breath, but what a lovely mistake this was.

Maybe he was high on the sugar from the sweet tea, or maybe he just desperately wanted a piece of the love your grandmother told him about, but Steve thought about black holes - those wondrous forces of nature he learned about on TV a few weeks ago while cuddling you on the couch. Like a black hole, your gravity was so strong that nothing - not the grass, not the leaves, not a single fiber of Steve Roger's being - could escape your hold.

The woods were a small universe, and you were it's center.

The last of the boxes was emptied on Christmas Day.

It had snowed in the evening, leaving a light dust of white covering the grounds outside. If the temperature kept on lowering, the pond might freeze by January. When you opened the final cardboard package and found your old ice skates, you thought you should fix the rusted blades in case that happened. Or perhaps not. You were never the most skilled skater and there was no else here to drive you to the ER in case you broke your arm - it wouldn't be the first time.

For years, the house in the woods sat quiet - some during which the three-hour journey proved perfect for your grief to turn the car around and give up visiting and others when you were declared as dead as your ancestors. It was in urgent need of repairs, filled with the belongings you packed after your grandmother’s passing, but never found the courage to give away. But the heat was working. That would be enough for now.

"Are you sure you're going back there?" your cousin asked as you finished loading the car with your things. There wasn't much - your furniture was sold with the apartment and most of your clothes were moth-eaten and frayed from their long stint at a cramped storage unit.

"I've taken up your space for too long," you said. Olivia was your cousin from your mother's side, and like everyone from that part of your family, you shared little to none connection. You'd gone to her out of desperation, because you'd rather stay with your far-flung cousin after returning from the dead than with your not-so-ex-boyfriend who left you two - or was it seven? - years prior and you were extraordinarily glad she took you in. But like it always happened with your mother's family, it became too much, too soon. "Besides, it's time for me to move on."

Olivia hugged you before you drove away and it was stiff and awkward. You wouldn't miss her and you were sure she wouldn't either.

You programmed the GPS on your phone, but somewhere past Newark, you realized with a start that you were always one step ahead of it. It was like the way home was ingrained in your heart, despite the new buildings and the fresh pavement. It went beyond street lights and stop signs, following a map made of veins and arteries, rather than just paper and ink.

Rain started pouring heavily when you reached Reading and you nearly missed the gravel road off the side of the highway, but it was there, as unperturbed as the forest encircling it. As a child, you'd give them names and personalities, and dream up conversations they'd have with each other - Betty and Inez, the Hemlock twins; James, the Red Cedar; sweet Rebekah, the Sugar Maple. It felt stupid, but you wondered if they'd left too, like you did. If when the snap came, their soul was dusted from the bark, leaving nothing but trunk and root.

"No," you muttered to yourself. They'd stayed. They'd stayed and guarded the woods.

The first three days were daunting. You'd sleep until noon and spend the rest of the afternoon trying to book tickets to wherever in the world you thought would be the perfect place to start over, but something invisible always held you back from actually buying. On the fourth day, you emailed the lawyer, asking about the possibility of putting the house for sale. On the fifth day, while rearranging the boxes, you tripped and they fell, spilling hundreds of pictures on the timbered floor.

When you bent down to collect them, the first face you noticed was your father. He had a wide, carefree smile as he gently held you standing on a chair. You were looking down at a cake, where a big candle shaped like a "3" was lit up. You tiny hands were clapping, and your father looked at you with all the love in the world.

You never doubted his love as a child. You just didn't understand why he wouldn't visit often or why he couldn't have a job like the other kids' dads - a job that kept him close so he could tell you that he loved you, instead of whispering it in a forehead kiss every few months. As an adult, you still didn't doubt it - but you knew that he loved his job more. Still, seeing the affection so clear on his face was comforting.

An older, gray-haired, version of your father smiled in another picture - your grandfather. He was wearing a flannel shirt and a blue cap, and he held you on your shoulders. You remembered that it terrified you to swing in the air as he lifted you, but the moment he placed you on his back, you relaxed.

“Don’t ever let me fall, grandpa,” you’d beg, little hand clasped tightly around his.

"Never, sweet pea," he'd promise.

Behind the photograph, your grandmother had written: "John and Y/N. Summer, 1994".

She was notably absent from most of the pictures, you noticed. They must’ve been taken around the time she became interested in photography, and would spend hours experimenting with a Kodak she got at the flea market. You, on the other hand, was the perfect model - posing at the swing, by the pond, with your legs crossed in the big armchair, always smiling, always happy.

You didn’t remember this particular box from when you organized the house after her death. The photographs must’ve been stored away for nearly a decade, judging by the dust that covered them. There were albums, as well - Y/N’s first birthday, Y/N’s first school day, Y/N’s first trip to the beach - but the amount of pictures was so abundant that most were kept loose.

Dusk came and went, and, on the dawn of the sixth day, you made the decision to unpack the house.

You started with the kitchen - crystal glasses, the porcelain dish set your grandparents got as a marriage present and the beautiful Portuguese pottery. The living room came next with the books, portraits and an elaborate scheme to clean the hearth of the fireplace that you immediately regretted. You moved the furniture around the upper floor to the point you thought the ceiling might collapse, but eventually you managed to turn the mattress and push the queen bed to the window side of the master bedroom.

And when you found your old ice skates, tangled with an ancient string of Christmas light, you decided to hang them in the mantelpiece. Some of the tiny light bulbs were burnt or broken, bathing the room in a messy, uneven golden glow.

Like you, you thought. Damaged, but perhaps you could still shine again.

During the time you spent tidying up the house, you tried your best to ignore the nagging sensation that maybe this was a mistake. That wistfulness shouldn’t grow roots and boxes should stay closed, just like the dead stay dead. But you hadn’t. And when your fists crushed the last piece of cardboard, you wept. Not because you were haunted, but because you were wrong. You thought returning home would be haunting, that you would see your grandparents at every nook and corner, but you were mistaken. The creak of the wooden steps, the marks on the door frame for every inch you grew, the soft slope of the book bindings in the shelf - all of it brought back only the most generous memories of your childhood, and you basked in the newfound revelation that they were filled with a love so strong and abundant that it drowned even loud noise of absence.

You missed your grandparents, almost to the point of desperation, but there was a fondness in your grief now, because you were finally safe, in the home they built for you.

With the realization, came the decision. So in the space between Christmas and the New Years, you made three phone calls:

One for a therapist’s office in Reading, scheduling an appointment for the second week of January.

One for the bank in Switzerland where you'd wired all the money you made in your profitable years at S.H.I.E.L.D.

And one for a contractor, who, after much cajoling and the promise of advanced payment, agreed to start your renovations in early 2024.

Despite the state-of-the-art acoustics of Stark Tower, Tony’s buoyant countdown to the New Year was drowned out by the large crowd gathered outside, waiting for the Times Square’s ball drop.

The excited cheers rattled the bullet proof glass of the windows and the comforting press of Steve’s palm on your lower back tightened as the seconds closed in on midnight. Gentle finger - too gentle for a soldier - took your chin, angling your head towards his. Your hands wrapped around his shoulder, mindful of the crystal flute halfway filled with bubbly champagne.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” he whispered right before he kissed you. It was slow, just the calm press of his lips and easy flicks of his tongue, the sweet lingering taste of Asgardian mead. A hand cradled the back of your head and you sighed, pushing your body further into his.

And like a firework show, it burned too fast, too brightly - sparkling in the starless night before fading away in thunderous applause.

“For a man who saved the world, you look awfully glum.”

Steve let out a dry laugh.

“How should I look, then?” he asked before taking a swig of his beer. He was well into his fourth bottle, but it wasn’t like the alcohol had any effect on him.

“Less miserable, maybe?” Bucky shrugged, plopping down next to Steve on the couch. He raised his own beer bottle: “I can’t believe how fast the refrigerator worked!”

“You spent two years in Wakanda, Buck. Modern technology shouldn't surprise you as much."

“I spent two years in Wakanda in a hut," Bucky retorted. "Besides, for all the greatness of hovercrafts and magnetic shields, there's just something so fantastic about chilling a beer in half an hour..."

“I can’t wait for when you finally master the art of the microwave,” Steve snickered.

“They’re confusing, ok?” Bucky grumbled.

They settled in comfortable silence, watching a blonde popstar perform at the New Year's Eve concert in Times Square. She was halfway through a beautiful rendition of Robbie Williams’ Angels when Bucky spoke again.

"Did you call her?" he asked. "Your girl?"

Steve hadn't told Bucky about you, but he knew. He'd seen you at Natasha's memorial service and he noticed the way his best friend got home afterwards, as well as his sullen mood in the weeks that followed.

In their youth, Steve always mocked Bucky's easy infatuations. "You can't live out of love affairs, Buck," he'd say and Bucky would roll his eyes. He lived for the hot rush of blood flushing his skin in the dark, hot corners of a speakeasy as lips trickled his ear or fingernails scratched his scalp. He longed for the soft brush of fingers circling a wrist or the bump of noses before hungry mouths met. And in his juvenile ignorance, Bucky thought his life would be too short to just no have them all - so he had them.

When the war came, Bucky believed Steve had found his match with Peggy. They were complimentary in every way - both righteous, stubborn, never backing down from a fight. And what a fight it was - so grand, so terrible, so cold. There was no room for love or heartbreak those days, only combat. Steve and Peggy's courtship was a promise, meant for better times - but they never really came.

The friend Bucky encountered in 2016 was different - still tenacious and daring, but almost to the point of recklessness. Steve wasn't satisfied in snuffing out the fires, he ignited them now. Their experiences awakening in this new world were much different, but Bucky supposed they were the same kind of nearly maddening decipherment. Besides, he may have his doubts about himself, but not about Steve Rogers.

Bucky Barnes knew a broken heart when he saw one.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her," Steve muttered.

"You don't have to apologize," Bucky said. "I am curious, though. Sam wouldn't tell me anything."

Steve chuckled.

"Of course not. Her name is Y/N,," he started. "We met when I went to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. She was an intelligence agent, so we were always working together and… She is so smart, funny, kind and beautiful, Buck. Everyone was walking on eggshells around me, meanwhile she was giving me shit for not knowing who Beyoncé was."

"Who's Beyoncé?" Bucky asked.

"The greatest performer in the world," Steve stated. "Anyway, we became friends and after a few months, I asked her if she wanted to go on a date."

"You did?" Bucky gasped.

"I was a mess," Steve groaned. "You would've given me so much shit about it. But she said yes! And then we had a second date, a third date, a fourth date… She was the one that found out about you."

"She did?"

Steve nodded, tearing the wet label of his beer.

"She uncovered Hydra's plot inside S.H.I.E.L.D. - Pierce, Project Insight, you. After the fallout, Fury managed to take most of the blame, if you can even call it that, but she still had to testify before Congress. They treated her like some kind of criminal. By then I was already back in New York, living in the Tower, working with the Avengers again. Tony was really impressed with her work so we offered her a job."

"And did she say yes?" Bucky asked.

"She wanted to go to school, learn something new. Find another trade, any trade that didn't involve secrets and conspiracies, but I begged her to accept the position. And not for the right reasons."

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N was - is - incredibly resourceful. And I wanted to find you, find Loki's scepter, punch bad guys, save the world. I wanted to be a superhero and I knew that with her I could. I felt secure in her abilities and secure in her affections. She was my safe zone, but I don’t think I was hers - or at least I don’t think I let her know that. We weren't perfect but we were fine, I think, until the Accords happened. She wasn’t a signatary, but she agreed with Tony and Natasha and that felt like the worst kind of betrayal. The night before Peggy’s funeral we had a massive fight. I called her a coward, said…” Steve hesitated.

“Said what?” Bucky coaxed.

Steve exhaled heavily. “I said that Peggy would’ve never done that to me.”

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his newly cut hair. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” Steve said, but acknowledging it after all was said and done was useless. “I left for London that night without saying goodbye. And then… Everything happened.”

“Did you contact her at all while you were away?” Bucky asked.

Steve didn’t reply, but the answer was clear in his quietude. "Sometimes silence is louder than sound," you used to say. He finished off his beer, dropping the empty bottles on the coffee table with a thud.

“When Vision was attacked in Edinburgh and we brought him to the Compound I actually thought I’d see her there, you know?” he confessed. “Like it was all a bad dream and I’d find her waiting for me like she always did. But the computers were turned off, the jacked she kept on the back of her chair was gone. It was like she was never there.”

He continued: “So I went to her apartment - our apartment - and I couldn’t even look her in the eye. I was the coward, not her, never her. I was the worst kind of bastard, showing up unannounced after vanishing for years, as if I had a right to any of her answers…”

His breath hitched and Steve rubbed his eyes furiously. Bucky put his own beer down and pat his friend on the back.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen next, Steve,” he said. “That is not a guilt you should carry.”

“I can’t erase the image of her sitting in that hospital bed, Buck,” Steve croaked. “She was so lost and scared. I keep thinking that, even if everything was the same - Thanos, the snap, those five fucking pathetic years - if I’d just been braver, we’d be together now. The worst part of everything is that I let her think she meant nothing to me.”

“Where is she now?”

“At her childhood home in Pennsylvania. After Nat's funeral, she told me she needed to figure out what to do with her life, but she'd let me know once she decided,” Steve said. “Somehow I don’t think her plans include me.”

Bucky sighed.

“So you’re just going to quit?”

Steve frowned. “Quit?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “After everything, is this how the two of you will end?"

Steve opened his mouth, then paused. Bucky thought he looked like a big blonde dumb fish flapping in the wooden Red Hook docs he used to work at.

"I don't… Know?," he muttered hesitatingly.

"Clearly," Bucky snorted. "Pal, the guy I used to be is long gone. Hell, I might be the worst person to give out advice, but if you ask me, it sounds pretty stupid to sit here sulking while the only girl who's ever loved you for who you are is out there making plans that may or may not include you."

Steve perked up.

"You think I should go after her?"

"I think you should try," Bucky said. "First you left her, and then she Snapped. Her mind must be a mess! She has every reason to be confused, sad and especially angry, but you need to let her know that she's not alone."

Steve understood then: why it took so long for you to share your secrets and open your heart. Why you hated when he left for missions and the smallest of his wounds made you cry. Why you'd sometimes cling to him in the middle of the night.

"Don't leave me alone, Stevie," you begged once after your screams startled him conscious and he had to shake you awake from your nightmare.

"Never, sweetheart," he promised. But he failed you.

He craned his head, gaze finding his motorcycle keys hanging next to the door. If the snow wasn't too heavy, he could be in Pennsylvania in less than three hours.

"Please be careful with my granddaughter, Steve."

"Maybe wait until morning?" Bucky suggested, noticing where Steve's eyes had landed. "I'm presuming girls still like their beauty sleep, so maybe show up at her door at a reasonable hour?"

Steve laughed then, a real laugh.

"How did I spend eighty years without you, Buck?"

Bucky smiled.

"Trust me, pal. I have no idea."

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #the woods #corneliabarnes #my writing

[lukecastellandeservedbetter]

17. Me and Mine, You and Yours

a/n: this one hurt. Shoutout to @theartofimaginaryfriends for letting me bounce ideas off of her at random times during the day. 

Read the others!: Masterlist

Luke was sipping his coffee and trying to relax a little. He had been up since before dawn, after being plagued by nightmares all night. No matter how hard he tried to recall them however, he couldn’t pull the images forward in his mind. 

One thing was certain though. 

He had a really bad feeling about Kansas. 

He remembered being in Kansas when he was younger, before he met Thalia or Annabeth. It wasn’t kind to young demigods. He spent his time fighting karpoi, running around looking for some kind of shelter and avoiding authorities when the monsters got a little overzealous trying to eat him. 

But this feeling wasn’t like it was back then. It was darker, twisting his stomach in knots, and shot pain behind his eyes whenever he thought too hard about it. Every nerve in his body tensed for battle, every muscle coiling in anticipation to run. A cold draft he couldn’t escape sent shivers down his spine and caused goosebumps to rise up and down his arms. 

He got the funny feeling Piper wasn’t sharing everything about what she saw in her blade. 

As he watched the sunrise, the other demigods slowly got up. Jason was first, closely followed by Hazel and Frank. He figured it was a Roman thing. Next was Annabeth, then Leo, and then Percy. Finally, they arrived in the drop off spot, and Leo went to grab Piper so they could dish out roles. 

“I need to finish repairing the ship,” Leo told the group. “And Annabeth, I’d love it if you stuck around, since you’re the only one who kinda understands how this works.” 

Annabeth looked at Percy apologetically. 

“I’ll come back to you,” Percy promised quietly. “Promise.” 

Annabeth nodded and kissed his cheek and turned to Luke as Leo and Frank went at it. “You’ll be with them, right?” 

Luke shrugged. “Yeah, I can tag along. You can never have too many guys with swords.” He offered a small smile, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of his head, telling him something was off about this whole stop. 

The four of them- Jason, Percy, Piper and Luke -made their way through the fields after Leo dropped them off, walking all the way to the highway. “We should get off the ground,” Piper commented, sounding just as anxious as Luke felt. 

“I’ll get us a ride,” Percy grinned. 

“No, I got it.” Jason told him. 

Jason whistled, and Percy closed his eyes, concentrating. Luke raised his eyebrow watching them, glancing at Piper. “Who do you got?” He mumbled. 

Piper looked up at him and shrugged. “Who is Percy, uh, calling?” 

Luke shrugged and looked back at the boy. Suddenly, the temperature dropped a little as a horse made of clouds burst down from the sky. Not far behind, a familiar black pegasus followed suit. 

“Blackjack,” Luke said, surprised, looking at Percy. “He’s still around?” 

Percy looked at Luke just as surprised. “You remember him?” 

“Well yeah, he was my horse,” He frowned. “It was a pain in the ass trying to keep all the monsters away from him.” 

Percy regarded Luke curiously and looked at Blackjack, who seemed nervous, and aggressive, around Jason’s horse. “Hey buddy, it’s okay, they’re friends.” Percy told him, petting him carefully. “Feel like taking me and Luke for a ride?” 

Blackjack glanced at Luke. “He’s on our side,” Percy told him. “It’s okay.” 

Luke couldn’t hear what Blackjack was thinking like Percy could, but he seemed relatively okay with the idea of taking Luke. He just hoped it wasn’t because Blackjack was planning to buck him off. 

They headed out, Percy and Luke in the air on Blackjack, Piper and Jason on the ground on Tempest, until they found the 32 mile marker. They touched down and dismounted. “You’re right, no sign of the wine dude,” Percy said to Blackjack, looking around. 

“Excuse me?” A voice called out. 

Luke recognized the god, not by his looks, but by how he carried himself. 

Bacchus or Dionysus, the guy was an asshole. 

Luke tried to focus on the conversation, but he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Piper tried to charm Bacchus, Percy was running his mouth, and Jason was trying to remain diplomatic. He could see them talking, and hear the sounds of their voices, but the actual words seemed muffled, like the world was slipping away from him. 

Panic seized his brain. His blood ran cold, his breathing turning ragged as the almost familiar feeling started taking over his limbs. He would have cried out if his voice hadn’t tightened around the lump in his throat, as if someone was slowly crushing his windpipe, letting him breathe just enough to survive. 

“-a trap.” Bacchus’ voice broke through the barrier in his ears, and with that the god was gone. 

Luke felt like he was drowning. He watched Percy and Jason draw their swords, and he could faintly hear a woman telling Piper to choose between the two boys. When she refused, the boys turned on each other and started fighting. 

‘Watch, Luke Castellan,’ The same woman’s voice chimed in his head, clearer now. ‘Watch as I take those you care about away from you, destroy them just as you destroyed my son.’ 

Luke tried to fight harder, but Gaia and her spirits were stronger, more ancient than Kronos. Kronos had allowed him to regain his body at different points, so he could regain more strength. 

Gaia was in no such position. 

Luke watched his own hands reach for the Imperial Gold blade in his sheath, pulling it free, out of his control. ‘And once they reach their demise, you will receive yours.’ 

For a horrified moment, his eyes found his reflection in the blade. They were solid gold, and he was sent into a deeper spiral, his mind spinning faster. He banged harder on the cage in his mind, begging for a crack, for a weakness, anything. But the panic was too strong, and he wondered foolishly if he would somehow suffocate himself before the gold blade could even touch his skin. 

He watched helplessly as Piper panicked, looking between the three demigods, trying to figure out who to save, how to save them, and as Percy and Jason fought each other, equally matched in skill, all of it a muffled blur. He stood there, unable to move his legs as if they were stuck in the ground, and were trying to pull him beneath it, his hand raised, the tip of his sword ready to plunge into his Achilles Heel under his arm. 

Jason hit the ground. Percy got up, raising his sword. 

“Eidolon, stop.” 

Piper’s voice rang clearly through the haze and for a moment, Luke’s limbs felt lighter, connected to his body again. The ocean he was drowning in receded, if just for a second, and he felt like gasping for air. He managed to regain enough control to drop the sword before his hands when rigid again, the spirit taking over once more. 

“You’re spirits from the Underworld, and you’re possessing Percy Jackson and Luke Castellan, is that it?” 

“We will live again,” Luke found a voice that wasn’t his own, joining Percy’s in unison. 

Piper seemed to be focusing on Percy more, her voice drifting away as Luke’s mind once again fell underneath the waves of control. 

Smack. 

A stinging sensation on his cheek seemed to pull Luke out of it entirely. His body was exhausted, and his knees buckled as he crumpled to the ground. A pair of warm hands grasped his bicep, steadying him from completely face planting. 

“Luke? Luke, answer me,” Piper said softly, concern laced in her tone. 

“I’m-” His throat closed around the word ‘fine’ and he choked up. 

He could feel the hot pressure of tears pressing against his eyes and he shook his head, his body shaking. 

“I know it’s scary,” Piper cooed, and Luke couldn’t even be bothered to resist the Charmspeak Piper was laying on him. “But I need you to get up, and walk with me and Blackjack, okay? He can’t carry you, Percy and Jason at the same time, and I’m not leaving you behind.” 

“Are they okay?” He whispered, his heart hammering, avoiding looking at her. 

“They’re alive.” Piper assured him, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “C’mon, you can sit down when we get back to the Argo II. I don’t want to stick around if they decide to come back.” 

Luke nodded and let Piper help him to Blackjack who seemed to understand Luke was barely holding on. He offered his neck for Luke to hold onto, and between him and Piper, they managed to get the three boys back to the ship. 

#Luke Castellan's Second Chance #luke castellan #percy jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #jason grace #Piper McLean #pjo #Heroes of Olympus #hoo

[wittyrosebush]

The Aftermath

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Summary: You and Steve take a day to relax.

POV: 2nd

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety & depression, a little angst, mostly fluff

Word Count: ~1k

Date Posted: 11/10/20

A/N: Hey y’all! So this is a second part to The Afterparty, you do not need to read that to understand this. I have a few drafts I’m working on so expect something within the next few days. Also, I know everyone goes through anxiety & depression differently but I am somewhat basing this off of my experience because I do not want to incorrectly portray someone else’s experience. Also, three dots after a paragraph means a time skip. I'm such a sucker for soft!steve. Hope you enjoy!

Also, if you are interested in editing and giving suggestions about my writings before I post them, please let me know! I would love to have a second opinion.

Ever since you had joined the Avengers Steve had always been there for you when your anxiety reared its ugly head. And that’s what made him different. He never made you feel like your feelings were stupid or invalid. Instead, he would intently listen to anything you had to tell him and try to figure out whatever would be best for the situation. From cuddling to walking to the ice cream shop, he has done anything he can to relieve you of the stress of life.

You woke up with your limbs tangled with your boyfriend’s and the smell of his cologne from the previous night. After taking a moment to enjoy the tranquil scene, you gently removed yourself from Steve and stood up, taking a moment to admire him.

You walked out of your bedroom with a soft smile plastered on your face. You wanted to do something special for him, you thought as you stepped into the kitchen. With a determined huff escaping your mouth, you rolled up your sleeves and got to work.

. . .

Steve turned over in the bed and opened an eye when he didn’t feel you next to him. He brought himself up onto his elbows and scanned the room. When he realized you weren’t in the room he stood up and put on a pair of sweatpants before calling out your name.

You jumped from your spot at the kitchen island and walked to your room, "Good morning! Is everything ok?"

A tired smile appeared on Steve's face as soon as he saw you, "I should be asking you the same thing, doll."

"I'm better," you shrugged and leaned on the doorframe, "and I made breakfast for you if you're hungry."

Steve brought you into a loose but warm hug. You inhaled his scent, wanting to imprint it into your brain forever. The moment ended after he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled himself away.

He walked you back to the kitchen with a loose hold on your hand. The smell of the food made him take a deep breath. You took advantage of his state of bliss to start to make him a plate of food.

"Doll, you didn't have to do this," he nearly whispered to you.

"It's fine, Steve, I wanted to do something nice for you. After this can we go out on a picnic?"

Steve nodded as he took a seat, "Of course." You set a plate of blueberry pancakes and a separate plate of sausage and scrambled eggs on the table.

The male inhaled the scent of food before taking a bite, humming in satisfaction. You took this as your cue to get yourself some food.

Seeing you sit down next to him with your food, he instinctively put an arm around your waist. You smiled as you both ate your food in content silence.

. . .

You pulled a sweatshirt over your head as your boyfriend pulled on a jacket for the cool fall day. Grabbing your hand and a picnic basket, Steve looked at you with a grin. He opened the door for you and you both walked out of your room.

The two of you left Stark Tower hand in hand. People were walking across the courtyard on business calls or trying to drink their overpriced coffee before they officially got into work.

You could almost feel the amount of stress surrounding you, but your boyfriend kept you grounded. Whenever he felt like you were getting overwhelmed he would rub his thumb over your knuckles and a small smile would almost immediately appear on your face.

The utter amount of love you both shared throughout your relationship made your stomach flutter at the thought. Both of you could not believe the luck you had with finding each other.

You both were brought away from your thoughts as you saw your favorite spot in the park; a large cottonwood tree with a gorgeous view of a pond.

The male walked you to the spot and you laid down the blanket you'd tucked under your arm. Once you sat down he carefully placed the basket of food onto the grass and returned to your side.

You had brought a book with you and Steve brought his sketchpad. While you read Steve would always draw you. The first time he told you made you a blushing mess.

"Dammit, Steve!" You cried out as you pushed your red face into your hands.

Steve panicked and threw his papers across the room, "I'm so sorry, I should have asked you but I-" The last thing he saw was his crying girlfriend lunging at him. He closed his eyes in fear, but felt your arms wrapped around his torso. The male opened his eyes to see you looking up at him, eyes brimming with tears.

"Thank you, Steve. I'm really flattered that you would draw me."

And at that moment, Steven Grant Rogers knew who the love of his life was.

You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt the super soldier's stomach rumble, "Do you want to eat now?"

"Do you?"

You frowned and brought a hand to his face, "Don't worry about me so much, love. Now, are you hungry?"

Steve nodded and you moved do you were sitting in front of him. He watched and straightened himself as you brought out a few sandwiches and 2 bottles of water.

You both lazily talked while you ate. At one point you heard Steve squeal, causing you to look up from the food. Turns out an acorn flew and hit his forehead. The super soldier's face went red. With a grin you moved closer to him and peppered his face in kisses until you both were lying down in a fit of laughter.

Once the sun touched the horizon, you packed up, more than satisfied with the events of the day. You left the park with your boyfriend's arm around your waist and a warm feeling in your chest.

The two of you arrived at Stark tower. The courtyard was much less busy than earlier. The employees were leaving the building, with relaxed shoulders and some on calls from their family wanting to know how their day was. Nobody standing near you was completely relaxed, but each had a weight taken off of them.

No one can be at peace without anxiety, you told yourself as you laid in Steve’s arms that night. Without anxiety, peace would be meaningless. No matter what you were going through, you knew he was on your side and you were on his. And that was enough to help you sleep at night.

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve x reader #captain america #soft!steve #soft!steve rogers #I do not need to be lusting for another person #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #Steve Rogers x Female Reader

[harley-sunday]

Final Approach [01]

Summary: Something’s different at Sandspit Airport when you return after some much needed time off. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader (f)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 3352

AN: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and I think I’m finally ok with putting it out there. You can blame my endless love for NGC’s ‘Air Crash Investigation’ (no crash involved here though!) and having worked in aviation for this. That it involves Chris Evans is somehow a given for me because he just seems to ‘fit’ the story.   For the observant reader - yes I already posted this a week ago, but I didn’t like the direction it was taking and so I changed some things around. You might want to reread :) 

Masterlist

You stifle a yawn just as Deb appears at your table with the Cobb salad you ordered a couple of minutes earlier, earning you a kind smile from the older woman before she says something that you don’t quite catch. Like pretty much always, Mike, the bartender, has turned the music up way too loud and so you point to your ear before you shake your head to let Deb know you didn't get any of what she said.

"You work too hard," she says, her voice raised just enough for it to reach you over the outro of Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run', the look on her face nothing short of judgmental, her arms now crossed in front of her chest for good measure. When your parents moved back to the mainland a little over ten years ago, Deb promised them to take good care of you and so you’re used to this by now.

There's a lull in the music then, in which you assure her you're fine even though you know she doesn't believe you. You sit upright to appear more awake but the scowl doesn’t disappear and you know there’s nothing you can do to convince her otherwise. She’s right, of course she is, but you can’t let her know that, now can you? “Must be because I just had a couple of weeks off,” you try in a last ditch effort, “too much sleep, I guess.”

The way she nods lets you know she doesn't really believe you but that she'll let it go for now. It's at that moment Mike turns up the volume even more for Chumbawamba's 'Tubthumping' to let everyone know happy hour is about to begin. A loud cheer erupts inside Don Cherry’s Bar and so all you can do is smile in a way that you hope tells her there’s nothing to worry about.

Deb just winks and mouths, "Enjoy your meal!" She never could stay angry for too long.

Like every Friday night the bar is slowly filling up, most if not all of the patrons Prince Rupert locals who have known each other, and thus by default you, since pretty much the day they were born. The high table you're sat at is closest to the door and so all throughout your meal a chorus of, "Hey, how are ya?" and, "Good, how about yourself?" echoes around you as more and more people make their way inside.

There’s chatter all around you but you eat in silence, eager to finish your meal and head home. No happy hour for you tonight, you still need to unpack and get some laundry done before you get back to work on Monday.  

As if on cue Deb brings your bill the moment you push the plate away from you, because that’s how well she knows you. You hand her your card and while you wait for her to return it you grab your jacket off the back of your chair and put it on, pulling the zipper all the way up because you know it’s going to be cold outside. They’ve predicted some snow over the weekend, which is unusual on the island, but there has been a chill in the air that tells you the forecast might be right.

Deb hands you your card and the receipt back with a smile and tells you to enjoy your weekend.

You’re about to tell her you will, but she’s already rushing off to another table and so instead you wave to Mike who winks at you from behind the bar. You greet a few other people on your way out and nod to the guy who’s holding the door open for you, who you recognize as someone you went to Kindergarten with.

It’s dark outside even though it’s still early, but that’s how it is this time of year. You hurry towards your car, hands deep in your pockets and shoulders up high, trying as much as possible to shield yourself from the cold. It’s not much better inside though and you’re quick to start the car so you can at least get the heater going. It takes you a few tries to get the engine running, but your car is old and always acts up when the temperatures drop below forty degrees and so you are not too worried.

That is until you’re almost halfway home and all of a sudden there’s a weird shudder that runs through your car before the ‘check engine’ light comes on. Before you even have a chance to react everything shuts off and you come to a complete standstill on the middle of the road. 

“Fuck.” 

Sixth Avenue isn’t a particularly busy street, day or night, and there are street lights on either side, but you still turn on your hazard lights, relieved to see they at least still work. With a sigh you get out and kick the front tire for good measure before you realize you’re going to have to push your car off the road until it can get towed. Leaning back in you put it in neutral and grab a hold of the steering wheel before you try to push it to get it moving. 

It won’t budge.

Fine. It’s fine. You’ll just leave it here for now and call Burt to come pick it up. His tow trucking service’s only a few miles away so it shouldn’t take too long. You take your phone out of your back pocket and push the home button only to see the screen light up with a battery warning. Of course. Unlocking your phone proves to be too much and so that dies on you too then. 

It takes everything you have not to scream in frustration and so you aren’t really paying attention to what’s going on around you.

“You ok?” 

The voice comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of you and so you can’t help but curse, “Jesus!”

“I’m sorry,” he takes a step back, hands up to show you he means no harm, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if you were alright and if you need any help.“

“Well, you scared the shit out of me,” you say even though, in all honesty, you’re glad there’s someone kind enough to come up to you. You take him in and realize you don’t know him, which is weird, because over here there really are no strangers. It’s hard to get a good look at his face though, because he’s wearing a baseball cap that’s pulled low over his eyes, the logo on it not one you recognize. It’s then you notice a dog sitting next to him, patiently waiting for whatever comes next. 

You’re about to ask him if he’s new here but then he interrupts your thoughts, “But you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. You motion towards your car then, “This thing though, not so much. And my phone’s dead, so you know, double the fun.”

He chuckles, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I think it’s the battery. I mean, you get an iPhone and you would think that by now they would have figured out how to make the battery last longer than one day, but no-“

“I was talking about the car,” he interrupts you and laughs, “but if you want to talk shit about Apple products for a little longer, please, be my guest.”

You smile and shrug, “It’s an old car, who knows what’s wrong with it? Maybe you could have a look?”

He puts his hands in his pockets and kicks the gravel at his feet, not looking at you now, “I’m not really that great with cars.”

You snort, “So much for helping a lady out.” 

“Hey,” he crosses his arms in a defensive manner, but smiles anyway, “at least I have a cell phone that’s fully charged, thank you very much.”

You throw him a wink, “That’s the one thing you have going for you at this moment.”

“Listen, why don’t I call someone for you and I’ll wait here until they arrive?”

“That’s really not necessary,” you hold up your hands when you see his eyebrows knit together in confusion, “I mean the call, yes, please, but really, you don’t have to wait here with me. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Let me at least call first to see how long it’ll take.” 

“Fine.” You give him Burt’s number and listen as he tells him where you’re at and what’s going on while you take a step closer to pet his dog, his tail wagging when you scratch him behind his ears. You can’t hear what’s being said on the other end, but he ends the call with a “Thank you,” shortly after.

‘He’ll be here in five,”

“See,” you nod, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Well, if you’re sure,”

“I am.” It’s not that you don’t want him to stay, it’s just that you don’t want to hold him here on a Friday night, you’re sure he’s got other things to do. You smile at him, “Thanks for your help though.”

He lets out a low whistle that has his dog jump to its feet, “No worries.”  

You’re quietly singing along to the song that’s been stuck in your head since the moment you got up this morning when a flicker of light on your left draws your attention. A quick glance over your shoulder and out of the window has you smiling, the reflection of the sun in the water of Mathers Lake bouncing around beautifully, like a welcome back sign from Louise Island. All around the lake there are flecks of orange and yellow, surrounded by fir trees that stay a dark shade of lush green all-year round.

Seeing Mathers Lake lets you know you’re almost at your destination and so you hit the switch to transmit the call to let Joanne know you’re on your way, “Sandspit Tower, this is PASCO seven five, fifteen miles out south, requesting inbound.”

“PASCO seven five, report over channel three for runway one left.”

You’re about to respond, almost absentmindedly, like you’ve done a hundred times before, but then you realize something’s off. It takes you a moment to realize what it is. Because unless Joanne’s voice suddenly dropped a few octaves, there’s someone else in the tower. Panic hits you almost instantly, knowing Joanne would never give up her seat out of free will. Hell, she tends to joke she’ll be at Sandspit until the days she- Oh shit.

“PASCO seven five?” The unfamiliar voice returns. “Report over channel three for runway one left.”

“Who the hell are you and what did you do to Joanne?” It comes out more like an accusation and less like the question you intended it to be, but you’re freaking out just a little bit because why isn’t Jo answering your call? Jesus, you were only gone four weeks.

“PASCO seven five, please confirm.”

There’s a lot more authority in his voice and it sets you on edge almost immediately. This can’t be a good sign. Right? You let out a frustrated sigh with the mic still open before you respond, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, reporting over channel three for runway one left.” Then, as an afterthought, “You still owe me an explanation though.”

“PASCO seven five,” there’s a hint of irritation seeping through now, “do I need to remind you of protocol?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you, but also because you know he’s right. You’ve broken just about every aviation protocol there is, but things like that never really mattered at Sandspit Airport, not until now anyway. Apparently whoever took over from Joanne is a stickler for the rules. Cursing quietly, you switch to channel three even though he’ll still be the one taking your call because Sandspit Airport isn’t big enough for Tower and Ground to be separate departments. And because you’re still a little upset and want to stick it to him, you put on the voice you only ever use at Bella Coola airport, where the woman working at ATC is an absolute bitch, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, requesting inbound on runway one left, if it so pleases you.” Then in a sing-song voice, “Thank you.”

The reply comes almost immediately and is as unfazed as it was before, “PASCO seven five, enter right for runway.”

Shaking your head ever so slightly you try to regain your focus - you have an airplane to land, after all. You’ll figure out what happened to Jo once you’re on the ground, you decide, before you sit up in your seat and relay the latest information, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, entering right for runway. Seven miles out.”

You’ve just started the checklist needed before you can start your descent when his voice returns, a little kinder now, “Joanne retired two weeks ago, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Any concern for protocol has disappeared, knowing full well things aren’t as strict once you’re on Ground frequency. At least that doesn’t seem to have changed.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you shake your head even though no one can see you, “no, she did not.”

“I’m sorry.”

Realizing how defeated you must have sounded, you clear your throat before you continue, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, four miles out, please stand by.” You end the call and try to clear your head, knowing you need to focus on the task at hand. No matter how small the plane, taking off and landing are where most fatal errors happen and so there’s no room for distraction. But the checklist isn’t long and everything is as it should be and so you call back not much later, “Sandspit Ground, ready for final approach, please advise.”

“PASCO seven five, confirmed on runway one left.”

Even though Joanne won’t be there to greet you, you can’t help but smile when you see the Sandspit Air Traffic Control Tower in front of you, the two runways of the small airport looking as pristine as ever, no doubt thanks to Joe’s commitment to the place and his new sweeper. “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, ready for touchdown on runway one left.”

“PASCO seven five, landing confirmed. Please taxi via Delta over to parking nineteen, one-niner.”

You scoff, pretty sure you heard the hint of a snicker coming through over the radio, “All the way in the back? Really?”

“Protocol, PASCO seven five," he replies almost instantly, but he doesn't sound all that serious.

“Fine,” you mutter before repeating, “Sandspit Ground, PASCO seven five, parking one-niner, taxi via Delta confirmed.” You lean forward in your seat a little as you fly past the tower, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious new air traffic controller. No such luck of course, because the mirrored windows only show the reflection of your plane. 

Almost there, you think to yourself then, as you take a deep breath that you hold in until you feel your wheels hit the tarmac and you get to add another successful flight to your record. Superstitious? Maybe. But you’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Nice landing, PASCO seven five,” he compliments once you’ve touched down. “Dave will be your valet for today. Please standby.”

“At least Dave’s still here,” you joke quietly. “PASCO seven five, standing by.”

Your smile only grows wider when you see Dave guiding you onto your parking spot, because like Jo he’s been at Sandspit for as long as you can remember. Once you’re in the right place you kill your engine and wait for the propeller to slow down somewhat before you open your door and jump down onto the tarmac, “Hi Dave!”

“Hey kid, how have you been?” He gently slaps your shoulder, always considering you one of the guys albeit being a little less rough with you. Which you appreciate. “How was your holiday?”

“Good, good,” you reply while you take off your sunglasses and put them in the pocket of your jacket.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was nice to be away for a while,” you admit easily.

Dave nods understandingly, “Sort of like a fresh start, eh?”

‘I guess it was,” you agree, although you don’t really want to talk about it. Not now. And so you change the subject rather abruptly, “But what’s this I hear about Jo retiring?”

“Well, you know she was long overdue anyway,” Dave explains as he opens your cargo door, “and then Roger had some troubles with his heart a couple of weeks back, right after you left, and I guess she decided enough was enough, ya know?”

“Hmm,” you respond absentmindedly, trying to figure out if you have time to go see Joanne and Roger soon, a little disappointed when you realize it won’t be for at least another couple of weeks. “Roger’s ok now, though?”

“Sure is,” he says with a wink, “they’re tough, those two.”

“Just like you,” you offer kindly, even though you absolutely mean it. Dave is one of the most dedicated ground crew out there and always ready to give you a hand even though you’ve told him many times already you’re more than capable to handle your own. Something Dave somehow never seems to remember.

“Oh stop it,” he grins, as he reaches into the cargo hold and grabs the first bag of mail, “you’re making me blush.”

“So…” you draw out, “who’s the guy replacing Jo?” You take the bag from him and place it on the back of his truck, “Sucker for protocol or what?”

“He’s not that bad,” Dave offers, “came in right after Jo left, from somewhere on the east coast I think. We still busy teaching him how things work around here.” He laughs then, “Don’t worry, kid, Joe and I will have him whipped into shape for you in no time.”

“Ah, thanks Dave,” you reply as you take another bag from him, “I knew I could count on you.”

“You know I got your back, kid.” He turns to you then and nods to his truck, “Let’s get some coffee before we load you up for your trip back, eh?”

Enjoying a cup of freshly brewed coffee you listen to Dave as he brings you up to date to the latest news and gossip at Sandspit Airport. Turns out none of the crew particularly liked the guy they sent in to replace you while you were on holiday, and once you learn it’s Chad Dave’s talking about you can’t help but agree. The guy’s a dick.  

“Alright, kid,” Dave grunts as he gets up out of his chair after putting his now empty cup down on the table, “let’s get you loaded.”

There’s just one mail bag to take with you this time and some empty crates you know have to go back to Vancouver Airport eventually, and so loading only takes a couple of minutes. Before you know it you’re back in your seat, calling the tower once you’ve filled out the departure forms, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, at parking nineteen, one-niner, ready for departure.”

There’s no immediate reply but you decide to give him a couple of minutes, after all you’re not really in a rush. Plus, you figure, he might be occupied with some of the sightseeing planes that always circle the island in the afternoon and so you busy yourself with the weather forecast instead.

He comes on not much later, sounding a little out of breath as though he has been running, “PASCO seven five, hold short for runway two right via Charlie.”

You decide to ignore the probability of having caught him on a bathroom break and instead confirm, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, holding short for runway two right via Charlie.” As you line up at the runway you glance at the tower again, but of course there’s nothing to see from the ground and so you shrug and call him instead, “Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, ready for takeoff.”

“PASCO seven five, fly straight out until advised, runway two right, cleared for takeoff.”

“Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, taking off, flying straight out.” You open the throttle and build up speed as you move along the runway until finally there’s liftoff and you’re steadily climbing higher and higher. Some people ask if it never gets old, flying from one small airport to the other, the flights only three and a half hours at most, but you always assure them that even after seven years you still get as excited to get airborne as you did the first time.

“PASCO seven five,” he says, his breathing back to normal, “turn at your discretion.”

“Sandspit Tower, PASCO seven five, will turn at my discretion.” Then, because there’s no need to blame him for Jo’s departure and it’s always nice to be on good terms with ATC, “See you on Thursday.”

“Safe travels,” he responds and you swear you hear a hint of a smile.

“Sandspit Tower,” you scold, already starting to laugh at your own joke, “do I need to remind you of protocol?”

#Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Chris Evans Imagine #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #Chris Evans

[theastrophilearchitect]

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Writing journey #4.

15/05/2021 07.22 My break has officially been over for five days, and i have done some writing, but it’s been incredibly inconsistent, so I decided to start this blog post over. Bay Tree has been archived, and though FSB isn’t done, I’ve realised I need to take a step back. It’s why writers leave weeks at a time between drafts--so when they return, they’re in a different mindset, and can improve their work.

For this same reason, I need to take a step back before I finish my outline. My thought process is becoming monotonous, which means I’m losing my excitement. When you start a project, you have the idea in your head as perfect, and when those ‘vibes’ become tangible, it is less exciting. That’s unavoidable. But I just need to take a step back, so when I return, I have fresh ideas, and the plot becomes more exciting to me.

So today, I’m going to start brainstorming a new idea I had, which I don’t have an alias for yet, and I have an idea to essentially bind every project I have together, but not in Grishaverse- or Shadowhunters-style where you need to read ten books just to read the one you want. Just a nod to anyone who does read multiple, like when Aelin falls through worlds and sees Rhys and Feyre for a split second.

So. Let’s brainstorm.

My plan, I think, is to alternate weekly. This week, I’ll work on the new one, next week I’ll do FSB. I could just take this new idea and apply it to FSB, except I just don’t see how that would work. I have different worlds in mind, and this new one is a fantasy where FSB is sci-fi(/fantasy. It’s kinda both).

16/05/2021 07.07 I really wish I was a pantser. Even though I haven’t got to the editing stage, my favourite part of writing is implementing new ideas and making changes, but I’m just not a pantser. I need to know where each part is going. Instead, I have to sit here, brainstorming, for days, to figure everything out.

18/05/2021 07.06 I did a lot of work on the 16th, but I was busy yesterday, and didn’t get any writing done, because, when I was free, I was just reading. So, I’ve decided I’m going to at least write before I leave the house, which gives me about 45 minutes this morning. 

23/05/2021 18.30 Based on the fact it has been five days, I think you can tell how good I’ve been about keeping writing. The problem is that I don’t actually have much past a concept for my new project, so I’m trying to figure out how, precisely, I could merge the two projects. FSB is interesting, but doesn’t have a huge amount of depth, which adding the characters from the new project would absolutely do, while the new project is lacking plot, which FSB (at least the first book I’ve planned) does. So, I’m going to start a new Scrivener project, and consider how I can merge the two concepts while implementing both plots.

Is it too much? I have only two main characters in FSB, but five in the newer one, which gives me seven main characters, divided into three groups. And do I want to write a book with so many separate storylines? I know readers (myself included) always end up favouring one storyline over another, getting annoyed when certain POVs come up. I don’t know what to do.

I could keep the new project, but implement FSB? Hold up. New Project (NP) has two protagonists who could undergo a similar development to the protagonists of FSB... I had a plan for the male protagonist of FSB, his arc, which wouldn’t work for NP’s male protagonist, but would work perfectly for its female protagonist...

Tumblr’s glitching. It wouldn’t let me reblog a post earlier, and now it won’t let me save this draft. Please, no.

Okay, so I had to copy what I’d written for today, disconnect and reconnect to the Wi-Fi, then wait for my drafts to load to paste it. Going great!

21.00 So I didn’t get a huge amount done, because I caught up doing ~evening things~, but I at least have a plan going forward, which is an accomplishment

30/05/2021 09.29 I’ve spent the last couple weeks doing everything I can to avoid writing, but i now have an insane amount of free time, so I have no excuse. I want to use this time in a productive way, and, for me, that means writing.

03/06/2021 10.31 I swear to god, I’ve had ‘writing’ on my to-do list every single day, except not doing it is probably my own fault, because it’s been so far down on the list. Also, I’m doing a buddy read, but am also unfortunately descending into a reading slump, so even reading 50 pages takes me about 90 minutes--they’re not even long pages.

I actually went back onto my old Wattpad account earlier, where I found a load of old, unfinished stuff, but none of it was as bad as I thought it would be, and the ideas weren’t bad. I just really have no idea what it is I’m writing right now, and I hate trying to figure it out.

11.30 There are so many Ss in the word ‘assassin’ this is not okay.

This is actually going so well. I have two storylines in my head, a complex cast of characters, and I’m so looking forward to plotting this.

04/06/2021 08.04 Look at me, two days in a row. Anyways, I’m thinking I ought to name these characters ASAP, because it’ll be easier to shape them to their names than it will be to find a name which fits them once they’ve been shaped.

14.41 Here’s what I’m realising: I like to pants plots, but I can’t do that while I’m actually drafting, so I think my plan is actually to bullet point everything that happens, then revise that, then start drafting, so the story is basically set in the first draft.

I’ve actually gone through a lot of stuff--I have workable plot material!

17.16 So, me being me, I’ve semi-outlined (I say semi-, it’s more like a tenth) a trilogy, meaning I have ideas for three books following this storyline, and it... makes sense. It’s the kind of story where I can follow multiple arcs, a few at a time, instead of several overarching ones, or maybe it’s just that I’m letting myself.

07/06/2021 16.44 I don’t have a damn clue what I’ve spent the day doing. I haven’t done anything in a couple days because it was the weekend and I was busy, but I’m back now. The thing is, I haven’t spent the day reading, watching, drawing, or doing anything, really--it’s escaped me. But, at the very least, I’ve relaxed, so who cares?

I’m not applying story structure to the ideas I’m having quite yet--rather, I’m just developing them to see how they bloom on their own, then I’ll fit it in; it just seems like a more natural and effective way to develop.

Yeah, no. It’s too late in the day for this. I have zero motivation.

08/06/2021 09.49 Maybe I’ll accomplish something today; who knows? Certainly not me.

I’m now applying the 3-act structure, but I’m realising I have way too many details worked out for this--switching to more acts.

22.20 Why am I doing this to myself? I wish I could say I’m not entirely sure, but it’s because I can’t sleep, because this project, and my character Lihan, are the only things I can think about, so here I am. I don’t want to be a night writer, but que sera sera (I wish I could type accents on an English keyboard).

23.22 I accomplished more in the last hour on this project than I have in the last four days.

09/06/2021 - 1,115 words 09.29 I really hope I don’t prove today that night-writing is my sweet spot--I don’t want it to be. Can the world just let me have a functional sleep schedule??

Anyways, so, as I’ve mentioned before, I use Scrivener, which enables me to sort which documents are part of the manuscript from the ones that aren’t. I’ve been working outside of the manuscript, but I think I’m going to move them into it--I have a plan I believe will be more effective for my own drafting. I think I very much need the events to be set in stone before I begin writing in actual prose, so how can I do that? Especially when I also enjoy pantsing, but not in prose?

Here’s the plan: I plot out the main events, then bullet point everything in very high detail, similar to what many people call a zero draft, in which they draft a book in short form. I’ll sort the bullet points into chapters (but not scenes, because as I discovered with Bay Tree, I find scene-blocking makes the narrative less natural), leave it alone a while, then revise, so I can have my plot more-or-less set in stone before I work on prose.

As a result, I’m going to shift my plotting into the manuscript section, because it is, essentially, an early draft, and also I want a word count as a progress metre.

13/06/2021 - 1,611 words 8.18 Alas, I have been busy the last few days, but I’m here now.

9.20 The amount of secrets and who-knows-what in this story is genuinely absurd, but I’m sure I’ll clean it up eventually.

14.01 A few days ago, I came across a post about balancing large casts, which is exactly what I have, and the first thing it mentioned was the two-trait rule, in which every character has two traits completely unique to them, to help both reader and writer differentiate. Which I’m now going to implement.

14.42 I have these two characters, and I know exactly what I want their dynamic to be, except I can’t decide who should be which part of it.

I have made my decision. It probably works better now, but it does alter their roles, so I need to fix that.

I literally swapped them round solely because I decided one was taller than the other and thought it would be more interesting if the short one was the sadist. Why do I make my own life so difficult?

14/06/2021 - 1,574 words 11.08 I didn’t make an enormous amount of progress yesterday, but I did make some, and made notes of ideas for relationship arcs last night, so I count that a victory (forced optimism--surprisingly effective). I’m currently just working through bullet-pointing book one, while making notes of events I want in the rest of the series (I’m projecting three books, and telling myself I will finish them). I’m currently fiddling with one of my storylines to see how I can mould it to FSB’s and OH MY GOODNESS I JUST HAD A GREAT IDEA must take notes, one moment pleaseeee.

Okay, so I have four bullet points for relationship arcs and an idea to adjust one of the storylines--I’d say I have six main characters, two of whom are really the protagonists, two of which are my favourites, and the other two are fun, but in need of development. They’re split into a group of four and a pair, and I’m definitely more into the storyline of the four, mostly because the four contains my two favourites, and it’s more developed than that of the pair.

I’ve been keeping a list of things to add: motivations, loose plot threads, plot points I want to include--I really need to re-organise it.

On another note, I am so glad I named the characters as early as I did. I’m debating having two of the characters swap names, but I don’t think I will, because I will absolutely mix them up, and one of them is part of the perfect ship name.

My mouse isn’t working. I changed the batteries, but it’s not working, so now I get the joy of trying to figure out if the batteries I put in are just old or if the mouse no longer works, which would suck.

Yes, I’m going to describe this. Mostly because when I changed the batteries the first time, it took a minute to stop working, and this will waste a minute. So, first set of batteries, which we’ll call set 1, don’t work. I don’t know if it’s both or just one, but if it’s one, I don’t want to throw away both. I take out set 1, I put in set 2. Set 2 works perfectly. So it’s not the mouse. Now I take out battery 2B, and replace it with 1A, so I have 1A and 2A in here. I know 2A works, but I’m not sure about 1A, but the mouse works, so 1A is fine. Let’s replace 1A with 1B.

Yep. 1B is the problem child. 1A works fine, but 1B doesn’t. Lovely. Crisis averted. It would’ve really sucked it I had to get a new mouse. And back to writing!

12.13 I’m bouncing between documents as I organise, which means my word count is actually decreasing, so I feel like I’m making significantly less progress than I am.

I just realised my two protagonists are cousins. I’ve had it in my head that one’s father was the brother of the other’s father, but somehow I didn’t realise that makes them cousins.

I’m about to delete a list because I’ve reformatted it--my word count is currently at 1,958, but is really about to drop.

AND NOW WE’RE AT 1,572. My session word count is -32. Minus thirty-two. I hate it here, but it’s fine, because we’re ~developing~.

15/06/2021 - 2,113 words 09.39 It’s not even technically summer yet, but it’s too hot, and I hate it here. All the windows are open, so everything’s cool, there’s a nice breeze, and lots of light, but the birds are so loud, and I have to keep all the doors closed because the open windows send them swaying and slamming. You know when you close a door when all the windows are open and it slams? Yep. Not into it. 

I feel like every day I try a new way to organise my plotting. I’m unsure as to whether that’s helping me or holding me back, because it forces me to review what I have, which usually sparks new ideas, but I’m not convinced I’ll ever get to the end as long as I keep doing this.

21/06/2021 13.40 I spent the latter half of last week with zero motivation, then I was busy at the weekend, but I’m here now. I’ve been trying to make myself write basically all day--I have a plan, and a list of things I’ve come up with the last few days, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I’m not in a good mood, but maybe this will help.

I have, however, just reminded myself that I need to prepare this week’s post, because I sincerely doubt either this or my ongoing Recent reads will be ready for Friday. Actually, if I do quite a bit of writing this week, this post might be, but I’m not willing to bet on it.

And oh, crap, now I just want to write a blog post.

No. No I don’t. I started looking at the list of ideas I had, and now I’m just not feeling it. I’m pretty sure when I open my document for this project I’ll lose all motivation too, but it’s worth a shot.

There’s a specific relationship in an anime I recently watched that I want to pull apart--there’s this ship, and the author of the manga has called the two characters ‘soulmates’. There’s just this huge amount of tension between the two, and I want to re-watch the show because I love it, but also so I can take notes to figure out what was so effective about it.

13.53 I’ve been doing this for 13 minutes, but I do think I need to leave this project/outline alone for a bit, give it an opportunity to ruminate, to evolve. In truth, I may not even come back to it until I’ve re-watched the anime I was talking about so I can tear that ship to pieces.

17.33 So I just learned brainstorming is apparently significantly easier on paper. Hm. I’ve just worked out so damn much, stuff I’ve been struggling with.

18.00 I have successfully tied up so many plot threads, simply by working with pen and paper. This is revolutionary. (I know, not really, but it is for me, someone adamant about working with a keyboard and monitor)

22/06/2021 09.42 Seriously, why did I never try actually working on paper before? Something about holding a pen to paper and scribbling and drawing a mindmap--it just works. I’ve been obstinate about avoiding working on paper because I hate physically writing, yet here we are.

25/06/2021 11.09 I’m really not managing much reading at the moment--since I started reading manga, my attention span has just gone down the drain. I’m currently reading Mister Impossible by Maggie Stiefvater, and I don’t think it helped that I had to stop less than a third of the way in to do a buddy read, but I just don’t have much motivation to read it, though I do so want to. I haven’t been listening much to audiobooks lately either, because when I’d usually listen--when I’m getting dressed, waking up, going to bed etc.--I just want to listen to music, because I also recently fell down the well of k-pop, and the group whose discography I’m getting to know at the moment is BTS. Basic, but they’re the fifth group I’m doing, and they have so many songs. Which would happen after eight years, but still.

I want to read so, so badly, but I just don’t feel like reading Mister Impossible. But I do want to finish it before reading anything else. I think I’ll finish my current audiobook, then if I’m still feeling stagnated in Mister Impossible, I’ll switch to the audiobook of that, then just take a break from reading until I’m ready to actually read. 

But this post is for writing, not reading. I did write on the 23rd, but I just didn’t update this post. The 24th I was busy, but my wall is now covered in post-it notes of world-building, characters, gods, plot points, and a whole load of other stuff.

Also, I had an idea for a book title this morning--not for this one, just in general--and when I went to add it to my list, I found a title that would so suit this project. I don’t want to say it, but let’s just say this project will be called ItLotG--or not. That’s a hideous combination of letters. I promise it is actually a good title.

11.52 I’m having another crisis over these two characters. I’m thinking it would make more sense to have L’s betrayal ‘arc’ initiated before the catalyst, or rather have it be the catalyst, except the problem there is that they’re not in the city they need to be in to receive that offer.

UNLESS,,,, what if this point happens just while they’re in the capital.... I’ve got it. 

17.16 I’ve been taking notes this whole time of everything I want to happen in books 2 and 3, and I have so much now i think they’ll be so much easier to plot than this one.

The downside of working mostly on paper is that my plans on Scrivener have been refined to one document, which is now only 878 words.

Right now, there’s a glaring hole between the midpoint and the ending, but my climax is one of those where the climax itself is a very small part of a bigger event, so if I figure out what I want to happen in this big event which is essentially the whole of the third act, I should be able to fill in the rest of Act Two with the setup for that.

So I’m leaving it there for both today and this post. In the last month or so, I decided to start over and mash two projects together, which created a whole new storyline I love, and now I’m mostly done with the first outline. I want to treat outlines as more than just preparation for drafts, because I find notes so much easier to edit than actual prose, and I hate writing without a clear idea of where I’m going. 

I think I’m going to call these ‘runs’--an outline is a run through, a draft a run through, so I’m nearly done with my first run, and I’m very proud of that, so go, go write the idea you have, drink some water, take a nap if you need one, eat if you haven’t eaten in a few hours, and I’ll be back with another writing update innnnnnn probably august, honestly.

Go write that idea!

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[ificanthaveu]

Moments Where You Didn’t Know I Was Recording || Shawn Mendes

Description: Shawn loves to take videos of you when you’re not paying attention. You find out.

A/N: I came up with the title of this first and I’m like oh shit this could be cute and I’ve been super busy so I didn’t write this in one sitting like I usually do but I really really love how it turned out. Hope you love it :) also this is one of my faves and i forgot it’s been sitting in my drafts for weeks oops

Word Count: 3.7k

Your laugh echoed off the empty walls of your new apartment as Shawn tried to help you hang pictures.

“You can’t put that in the middle of the wall!” You yelled as he positioned the frame. He sighed and set the frame down onto the floor.

“Then where does it go?” He asked with a genuinely confused expression on his face. You laughed at him and pulled a few more photographs from the box next to him.

“They go together like a collage. Step back and let me show you how it’s done.” You shoed him away and positioned them how you wanted them, drawing marks with a pencil on the wall.

Shawn stepped back and watched you with a smile. He quietly pulled out his phone and hit record. He watched you through his screen.

You tried different positions, occasionally stepping back and tilting your head to the side, your ponytail going wherever your head did.

“Does that look ok? Or does it look completely stupid?” You asked without turning around.

“Looks great. Better than I ever could have done,” he said with a small laugh. You shook your head and picked up a frame off the floor.

“That’s not saying much,” you mumbled.

“Hey!” He yelled as he stopped the video and grabbed you from behind, lifting you and spinning as your laugh echoed once again.

—

It was windier than the forecast said it would be. This was not what you imagined would happen when you thought of bringing Shawn to your favorite spots in your hometown. The wind coming off the lake whipped your hair in every direction. You cursed yourself over and over again for not bringing anything to tie it back.

“We can do this tomorrow, babe,” Shawn said from behind you as you led him onto the rocks that bordered the lake.

“No, tomorrow we’re getting coffee with Mrs. Miller and visiting my grandparents. It’s now or never,” you said as you continued to get irritated with the weather.

You balanced on the rocks as best you could but slipped anyway. Shawn quickly reached out and grabbed your waist before you could tumble.

“You seriously would come here all the time? Isn’t this dangerous?” Shawn questioned.

You glanced back at him and shrugged your shoulders with a smile. “That’s the best part.”

Shawn shook his head as you continued to dance from rock to rock. He pressed the record button and showed off the scenic sunset in front of him. You were situated in the bottom left corner as you found the large boulder you always sat on with your best friend. Shawn watched you as you finally released your breath, brushed your hair aside and admired the beauty around you with a smile on your face. He took a few photos of you before ending the video and carefully making his way back to you.

“Was it worth it?” He said as he sat down next to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder, and he looked down at you. He swore he'd never seen you more content.

“It’s worth it every time.”

—

“Quit doing that!” Shawn quietly yelled as you jumped up and rode on the cart again. You gave him that look, again, and he laughed at it, again.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snarked back at him as you gripped onto the cart with one hand and grabbed a cereal box off the shelf with the other, knocking two onto the floor in the process. And cue Shawn with the look again.

“They’re going to kick us out of here,” he said through a laugh as you quickly put the boxes back on the shelf and climbed inside the cart this time with your back to Shawn.

“You’re mean to me,” you said with your arms crossed and head facing forward, refusing to look at him. You couldn’t see it, but you could tell he was definitely rolling his eyes.

“You are so dramatic, my love,” he said as he pushed the cart forward once again, pulling his phone out and recording it.

“Learned it from my mama,” you said with a giggle as you aggressively pointed at the box of granola bars you couldn’t reach.

“You’re kidding,” Shawn mumbled. “This is honestly like shopping with a child.”

“Please, Shawnie, just grab the granola bars,” you whined. He signed as he stopped the video on his phone and grabbed the box, tossing it in your lap and looking at you with that same look.

“Are you done?” He said as he let a small laugh escape, and you smiled up at him.

“This is what you get for not doing the grocery shopping before I flew in. You set yourself up for this,” you said as he helped you out of the cart.

You spent the rest of the grocery shopping trip gripping onto his hand and arm and resting your head on his shoulder, trying not to nod off.

—

It had been two months since you moved to Toronto to live with Shawn. You’d bought a new house together in a cute neighborhood outside of the city. Your full-time job was able to transfer you to their Toronto branch, and everything was perfect.

Except your friends had been begging to visit since you first moved in. But there were things to be unpacked from both yours and Shawn’s places, and a whole damn house to decorate. So two months later, and your three closest friends were gushing over your new house with a bottle of wine.

“This still feels really fake,” Liz said as she curled into the couch. “Like this is temporary and by next week you’ll be living down the street from me again.”

“Tell me about it. I finally finished putting my clothes in my closet last week,” you laughed as you poured another glass.

Regan launched into a story about her new Tinder disaster as the rest of you nodded along, this story sounded like you’d heard it a million times before.

You heard the back door open and close slowly, Shawn obviously trying to sneak in without any of you noticing. He obviously wasn’t good at it. By the time he made it to the kitchen, all four of you were staring at him, and he turned beat red when he noticed.

“Get the hell outta here,” Hannah yelled as she held her glass up at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at some friend’s house?”

Shawn shook his head and laughed as he quickly dipped into your room and grabbed his bag.

“Forgot my laptop,” he said as he held the bag up.

“Honey, did you seriously go to write music and not bring your computer with the music on it?” You questioned with that look on your face. You honestly don’t know how he continued to live from day to day.

He crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow,” he said as he made his way towards the back door.

You and your friends faced each other once again, going back into Regan’s story. Shawn paused for a minute and pulled out his phone, not wanting to miss the look on your face when you were with your friends.

You threw your head back in laughter and almost spilled your glass, quickly catching it before it met the brand new white couch. You set it down before your hand went to your heart and you laughed it off. Shawn smiled as he ended the video and tucked his phone into his pocket.

“Love you, [Y/N],” he said with his head leaning inside the living room.

“I love you, too. Now get outta here. I can’t talk about you if you’re standing right there,” you said as you shoed him off one last time.

—

You stood on your tiptoes as you grabbed a box of pasta from the top shelf and tossed it down on the counter. You bopped your head to “Mercy,” a favorite of yours since before you’d met Shawn. Even after years of knowing him, it never left your playlist.

You added the noodles to the boiling water and went in search of that jar of pasta sauce you swore you bought last week. You sat on the ground outside the cabinet it should’ve been in and dug around to see if it would maybe just jump out at you.

Unknowingly to you, Shawn came home a little earlier than expected and shook his head when he could hear the song that was blaring through the house. He slipped off his shoes and walked carefully to the doorway.

“I knew it!” You shouted as you pulled out the jar and set it next to the noodles on the counter. Your playlist switched to another song, “22” by Taylor Swift. The pasta was long abandoned as you began to jump up and down to one of your favorite songs.

Shawn pulled out his phone and started recording, trying not to laugh at the sight in front of him. You swayed your hips back and forth as you sang along and stirred the pot occasionally. You started another pan to heat up the sauce, almost spilling the entire jar, deciding you should probably stop dancing so aggressively.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you tried to wipe off the little bit that had spilled onto your sweater. Shawn quickly stopped the video, knowing you’d be turning around to go to the sink he was standing next to you.

He was right. You turned around and jumped back.

“Damn, Shawn. How long have you been standing there?” You said as you leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Long enough,” he said through a smile. You shook your head as you leaned against the counter and started wiping at the stain that was forming.

“Pasta for dinner,” you mumbled as you sighed in defeat that you’d definitely just ruined your new sweater. Shawn nodded his head as he set his backpack down on the table and looked back at you.

“Kiss Me Slowly” by Parachute began to play as Shawn pulled you close to him to dance. You finally relaxed into him, your arms around his neck and his around your waist as your head rested on his chest. He rested his head on your head and turned the burners off when you made your way near the stove.

“Mercy always has been one of my favorite songs,” he whispered in your ear and you could practically feel the smirk on his face. You pushed him away from you quickly.

“You ruined the moment,” you laughed as you went back to finish dinner.

—

“I’m freaking out,” you whisper shouted as Shawn gripped onto your hands backstage, rubbing his thumbs against the backs of your hands as you shook.

“You’ve practiced this a million times. You know you’re going to kill it. You’ve got this, [Y/N],” he whispered to you as you checked the time again. You gave your presentation in four minutes.

When you submitted a proposal to give a TED talk about your experiences in your life this far, you never thought they’d actually want you to give it. You had to admit you had an interesting life, but not enough that all these people wanted to hear you talk about it. But here you were, four minutes from your speech telling everyone about the time you moved to a different country to be with your rockstar boyfriend and didn’t give up your career by doing so and how you somehow learned to balance all of it.

“This is so stupid. Why am I doing this? No one wants this. No one wants to hear this,” you rambled as your anxiety got to you. Shawn quickly pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around you tightly, knowing it would maybe help a little.

“Breathe, honey,” he whispered in your ear. You took a deep breath and released it as best as you could smooshed against Shawn’s chest. He released you and rubbed your arms a few times.

“Two minutes, [Y/N],” the lady said to you. You nodded your head and thanked her.

“I gotta go up by the side,” you said quietly as you rested your forehead against Shawn’s.

“You’re going to do amazing. I’m so proud of you, and I love you,” he paused to kiss your forehead, “so damn much.” You quick pecked his lips once more before turning and waiting on the side of the stage, applying your lipstick for the tenth time and trying to breathe.

Meanwhile, Shawn stayed a few steps back and watched you as he pulled out his phone to record. He watched you take a few more deep breaths and shake out your arms a few times. You nervously reviewed your opening statement again and cracked your neck. You said a quick prayer, and the lady told you to walk out.

Shawn cheered with everyone else as you put a big smile on your face and walked out on stage. And it definitely wasn’t a fake smile. You were beyond happy to do this.

So, Shawn put his phone away and took his spot on the side of the stage and watched you with total admiration.

—

Neither of you can remember who said it first. You were both thinking it anyway, so it didn’t really matter who brought it up.

You were gone every day from 8:00 to 6:00 at your job, and Shawn liked recording at night so he was gone from 7:00 to whenever he decided to come back which was usually well into the early hours of the morning. You were lucky if the two of you had dinner together, and you were damn near blessed if you were still awake when he got home.

The two of you hadn’t had a genuine night together in longer than you can remember. So now you were both standing on opposite sides of the kitchen, not saying a word.

You both said things you regretted. Things you definitely didn’t mean.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Shawn finally said just barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you said near the same volume. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, willing the tears to stay in. You were not going to let yourself cry over this.

“Can we please just-“

“I need a minute,” you cut him off before he could say anything else. You grabbed your blanket off the chair, went out the back door and made your way to the lounge chair in the back corner of your small backyard. You wrapped it tightly around you and leaned back, staring at the sky, praying someone was listening to the prayers inside your head.

You wanted this to work. It had to work. You knew it was going to. But this was not nearly what you signed up for.

As you sat in the back with tears streaming down your face, Shawn watched you from the kitchen window, elbows resting on the edges of the sink, trying to figure out when was the best time to go back and sit in the chair across from you.

He stayed there and cursed himself for having a schedule like he did. He could easily go in the morning. He could work the same hours as her if he wanted. He’s the reason they’re in this position. He rubbed the palms of his hands aggressively against his eyes before looking up at you again.

The moonlight seemed to just hit you at the right angle. You looked up at the stars with a stuck look on your face. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and hit record. The camera captured it well but not nearly as breathtaking as he was seeing you right now.

He watched you stand up and lay your blanket down on the ground before laying on top of it.

He took this as his time and slipped his phone in his back pocket before making his way out to you.

You could hear the grass crunching underneath his feet, but you didn’t look up. He laid down next to you, just centimeters apart.

Without speaking, you moved into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm around his middle as you both stared at the sky. His hand made his way underneath your shirt and rested on the bottom of your back.

“I’m going to make this right. I’m going to change this. I’m never going to let myself lose you,” he whispered. You simply nodded your head against his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, and a soft smile came across your face.

“I love you, too. Always.”

“Always.”

—

If your niece loved anything more than Uncle Shawn’s music, it was going to be Taylor Swift’s. You swear your sister-in-law must have given birth to her while listening to Lover on repeat.

Any time you were in town, you gladly took Elle for the night to spend as much time with her as possible. Your nights were filled with dance parties and whatever tv show she was currently obsessed with.

So, here you were, holding her tiny five-year-old hands and dancing to “Paper Rings” around the living room. She giggled loudly anytime you’d lift her up, spin her around or poke at her sides.

Shawn watched from his spot in the kitchen as he leaned against the counter on a phone call with Andrew. He honestly couldn’t tell you what the phone call was supposed to be about because he for sure wasn’t listening.

He hung up the phone a few minutes later and pressed record, capturing the utter joy radiating out of you and Elle. You lifted her up and held her on your hip as you dipped her up and down and she laughed uncontrollably.

Shawn couldn’t contain the smile on his face. He always thought you’d be forever, but he loved moments like this where it hit twice as hard that someday this could be you and your daughter dancing around your living room.

“Come on, Uncle Shawn!” Elle yelled over your shoulder as Shawn quickly put his phone away. He wrapped his arms around the two of you as he swayed whichever way you pulled them as Elle planted a kiss on his cheek.

And it was the moment that he didn’t need to take another video to watch on nights where he missed you or doubted this was forever. This was it. This was all he needed.

—

He bought the ring the day the two of you got home from visiting your family. He buried it in the bottom of the bottom drawer of his dresser, knowing you’d never find it.

He went through every video he’d ever taken of you where you had no idea and had Connor edit together with your song playing softly in the background.

He had it all planned out. Your friends would keep you busy for the day while he got the backyard set up with the roses and the projector. There’s no way it could go wrong.

But even Shawn should’ve known that wasn’t true.

It was a Sunday around 8:00, and the two of you were tangled together on the couch. Everything was in place for a week from today, and it drove him crazy that in a week from now you’d be his fiancé.

“I’m going to grab some tea,” he said before pressing a kiss to your head and walking over to the kitchen.

You laid on your back and stared at the ceiling trying to decide what movie you wanted to watch tonight. You looked around the living room trying to find where you left your laptop, but you couldn’t see it so you grabbed Shawn’s which was on the floor next to you.

You propped it up on your lap as you opened it up to go onto Netflix and look around.

But what was on the screen was definitely not Netflix.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you hit play. You watched moments you never knew were caught on camera. You smiled at videos of you and your niece and the first night in your apartment. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you watched countless moments you’d nearly forgotten about.

“Did you want green or white-“ Shawn said as he leaned in the doorway but cut himself off. “Oh my God, what are you watching?” He said with panic in his voice.

“When did you do this?” You said between sobs. Shawn sighed as he trudged over to you and curled up next to you.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“How did I never know you were recording?” You whispered as your eyes couldn’t leave the screen.

“You’re always in your own little world. It’s not very difficult,” he said and you could feel his smile against your shoulder as you leaned your head against his.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered. “What’s this for?” You said as you finally looked at him, and he looked up at you.

“Will you marry me?” He said with a smile on his face. Your heart stopped, and you set the laptop next to you before straddling his waist. He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs carefully as he smiled up at you

“Are you serious?” You whispered as the tears returned.

“The ring is up in my drawer underneath some shirt from high school,” he paused and rolled his eyes. “It was supposed to be a lot more romantic, but I should’ve known this would happen,” he said through a laugh and a shrug before you pressed a longing kiss to his lips. He looked you in the eyes with a total look of admiration. “But will you please be my wife?”

“Yes,” you managed to say in-between kisses. “Yes, yes, yes.” Neither of you could stop smiling or kissing, and he could only imagine how ridiculously in love the two of you looked right now.

You stopped for a moment and rested your forehead against his and closed your eyes.

“I love you,” you finally said.

“I love you. Always,” he said before pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Always.”

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[d-l-dare]

“Near Existence”

The imagination is a powerful thing. You can dream up worlds of great fantasy, create characters that you can easily fall in love with or hate. You can do anything and be anywhere your heart desires. But sometimes your imagination can play tricks on you. It can leave you believing things that couldn't possibly be real.

Being the author of a best selling book is one thing, but having an entire series that's sold more copies than you even dreamed possible is a feeling completely different. It is one that, ironically coming from a writer, is hard to describe. It's like all the hard work you put into a silly little something you enjoyed every moment of creating, suddenly sprouted wings and flew off to a crowded city of admiration.

Going around to book signings is something I enjoyed, though I wasn't much of a people person. Big crowds make me incredibly anxious, and the fact there were so many people supporting me on a dream I've attached myself to since I was a kid was about to bring me to tears, didn't help the situation. But no matter what life threw at me in the wake of my success wouldn't stop me from enjoying every moment of it.

Even the nerve wracking phone call I'd just received wasn't going to ruin my fun. I'd just got off the phone with my agent. She said I needed a new book in my series to be finished and mailed in by the end of the month. I was relieved because I still had three weeks left. I was also terrified because I'd have to write quickly and do a rewrite for a final draft before mailing it in. It would almost seem doable, if not for the fact that I had no plan for this book. I'd just got back from a short vacation I'd taken my family on from all the money I earned off my books. I had no time to plan.

I paced back and forth in my small writing room in my apartment, trying to come up with a concept. It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that this book would be a filler. I'd load the book up with a bunch of killings from my main character, the Unseen Killer. I'd then sprinkle in a little bit of a plot that I'd further explore in the next book.

My next thought was, who should be the first death? I figured in order to do some quick writing, I need to base it on people I actually know. I knew just who it'd be, my mother. She told me when we were on vacation that she wanted to be in a book. What better way to honor her than to make her the first victim in the newest book? She'd be ecstatic.

I sat down and began to write. I had her on front of the kitchen counter, making a quick snack for herself before bed. A peanut butter sandwich. She finishes spreading the peanut butter on the slice of bread when she hears heavy footsteps coming up from behind her. He brings his axe over his head and slams it down over her head.

After the graphic scene I'd created in the book, I figured I should call my mom. It was probably from the guilt I felt from killing her off. The phone rang for a few minutes before it went to voicemail. I hung up the phone. She must be asleep. I didn't want to keep calling and wake her up, so I followed suit and crawled into bed.

*** I awoke to my phone buzzing. I glanced over and turned the screen on, squinting hard to read what it said. I had several missed calls from my sister. I sat up and dialed her right back.

"Hey sis, what's going on?" I asked, my voice groggy from the slumber.

She responded in sobs. "It's mom. She's dead." She began crying louder.

I fell silent, tears beginning to stream down my cheeks. I couldn't help but think back to what I'd written the previous night. There's no way this had to do with what I wrote, I thought, this had to be a coincidence. A twisted one, but a coincidence all the same.

"Are you still there?" she asked, sniffling.

"Yeah, I'm still here." I replied. "Where are you?"

"I'm outside of her house," she said. "The police won't let me inside to see her."

I told her I'd be right there and headed out the door. I had to continue wiping tears from my eyes as I made my way to her.

After meeting up with her, I took her to get some coffee. She told me everything she knew about how she died, which wasn't much, between sobs. I kept reminding myself of the story I wrote. I know what I wrote didn't cause it, but I couldn't help but feel guilty for it. We shifted the subject of conversation to the good times we'd spent together and scrolling through the pictures we took on vacation and laughing. It made us feel a little better.

As we were about to go our separate ways, she asked me if she could stay the night with me. She was afraid that what happened to mom might happen to her. And she didn't want to be alone right now. I know I didn't either. We needed each other more now than we ever have.

*** It had been a few days since our mother's death. Her funeral was yesterday. My sister and I felt it was time to go our separate ways and continue our lives as normal. We had grown closer the last week. We agreed that if anything happens we'd call each other and let them know.

I was reminded that the deadline for my book to be finished was drawing nearer. I needed another person to kill off in my book. I knew exactly who I'd base it on. He was an old school bully in high school. We'd since made up and talk every once in a while online.

I wrote that he would be drinking a beer and watching television. Suddenly, he hears the door swing open behind him. He turns to see the killer swing an axe toward his head and it topples to the floor, along with his body.

It was a little twisted the way I wrote the killer to be. The way he kills his victims was simply by checking to see if their door was locked. If it wasn't he'd go inside, sneak up behind the person, and kill them. I know, it sounds like a cheesy way to get people to lock their doors. It wasn't always meant to be that way, that's the way the character kind of shaped himself.

I mean, this was an oddball book series in general. The main character was the killer. It was supposed to paint the picture of why the person kills. He's not supposed to be some kind of anti-hero, he's just the main character bad guy that somehow always gets away with it. That's why they call him the "Unseen Killer" because he never gets caught.

With all of this in mind, I drifted off to sleep, knowing that the book I was in the process of writing was shaping up the be the best one I'd written yet.

*** The next morning, I found myself thinking about Thomas, the guy I wrote about last night. After writing about my mom and her ending up dead, I was worried about him. I got onto my social media account and scrolled through his page with the intent to message him. I was about to click the message icon when I caught a glimpse of a post that someone had made and tagged him in. I skimmed through it and saw that he had died last night. Apparently he was murdered but nobody could prove it.

I staggered back and when I felt my back hit a wall, I found myself sliding down to the floor. I was lost in shock. This was impossible, how could the exact two people I'm writing deaths for, die on the same night I write about them? There's no way this could be a coincidence. I got in my car and made my way to the police station.

*** I stood before a cop at a police station, begging for them to listen to me. I told them about the stories I'd written lining up with two deaths. They rolled their eyes.

"So what are you trying to tell us?" the cop asked from behind his desk. "Are you suggesting that the killer in your stories came to life and killed these people?"

"No," I replied, scoffing. "I'm saying... I don't know. Maybe someone hacked into my computer and looked at the story as a motivation to kill people."

"Do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now?" he said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "What would the hacker be after anyway, trying to get your book promoted?"

I rolled my eyes and walked away. If they weren't going to listen to me, there's only one other thing I can try.

*** That night after getting home from grabbing food at the nearest burger joint, I propped open my laptop and began to write.

This time the story was about a man, sitting home alone. He was in the kitchen, typing away on his laptop. He heard the door creak open but paid no mind to it, he was lost in the story he was writing. He hears footsteps creaking behind him. He feels the wind off the axe as the killer raised it above his head.

I was about to type up the next line when I felt hot breath on my neck. I turned around and to my surprise, there was nothing.

"FINISH IT!" a voice boomed behind me. I knew this was it. The killer was behind me. The Unseen Killer. I now knew why he was never caught. He was invisible. I figured I could run and call the police, but how were they going to arrest someone they couldn't see?

I realized with terror, the only thing left to do was finish the story.

"The killer swung the axe down on the man's head with all his might, burying the hatchet in his head."

[benmcm18]

Film Narrative 2 (March)

This will talk about all the March work i have done for Film Narrative 2.

Finalized the script

After many redrafts of our script “119! we have finally got a version of our script that we are happy with. Bonnie is the Writer of the group and she did a fantastic job creating a piece of work we are all really passionate about. We already had roles thought of however we solidified them shortly after handing in the script. We figured out our roles going forward and when we need to have our work done for each of the departments within the production. As I’m the cinematographer, I’m working on the Storyboard and Shot list.

My Work for the Fiction Project

Storyboard

I really enjoyed getting to do the storyboard. With no limit due to us not actually making the film, I was able to create shots I physically couldn’t do at the level I’m at, so it was a breath of fresh air. I spent a few days creating the storyboard and came up with about 40 different shots. Not only did I improve on my illustrations however it made me understand why filmmakers shoot for coverage. Instead of thinking of each individual shot and cut, I assume they just get the main coverage shots (Wide, OTS, etc.) and then get some insert shots that are crucial. Overall, that made me be more considerate of my time and work process.

Shot list

I didn’t have a template for the shot list (or I couldn’t find one) so I came up with my own trying to get as much information as physically possible. I’m realizing now that I forgot to put in a legend. Something Jack (Director) suggested I will remember this for next time as it would be very helpful to those who aren’t sure what the abbreviations mean. A stupid mistake on my part.

Lighting plan

The lighting plan was interesting. We wanted to have a major contrast in lighting when the twist in our fiction project happened. So we were going for a very dark, gritty noir look when the audience believe it is a police station and then when the twist is revealed, the whole colour palette changes and so does the lighting becoming more high key than low. I looked at film inspirations for colour palettes (I’ll let you see which films you can spot in the images below :) )

Editing sequence breakdown

Introduction

We additionally, got to work on an edit for class. It was a short hospital scene in the film Lethe. Overall, I’m very happy with my edit I took advice from my group and went away to great an edit we were proud of. In the end, we created a total of three edits. I believe I create two different drafts of the edit.

Edit One

The response to my first edit was a lot better than I anticipated. In previous short films, I’ve done whilst there are numerous problems with everything I was always told that my editing isn’t the best. So I went off and did research and practiced on my editing skills taking up jobs on websites like Fiverr and editing people’s YouTube videos just to practice, However, what I realized when editing this short scene that it wasn’t necessarily wrong with my editing (There are things wrong though haha) it was how I prepared my footage for the edit. Rushing takes, making them shorter for actor and not looking at my script which in turn lead to many continuity mistakes. 

The Lethe footage was of the full scene from several different angles and it was a joy to edit. I’ve never had so much freedom. 

I’m going to go over some main parts of my edit.

(Opening vision) Inspired by one of my favourite shows “Attack on Titan” in the first opening of the show we see a dream sequence from the main protagonist who wakes up in a frantic panic. I didn’t initially think of using this idea. I knew I wanted to do something in that expressionist style however wasn’t sure how. So I researched and came across the shows opening. The reception to the opening sequence has gone well. The majority of people really like it and wanted to know how to do it. (I’ll describe in a moment xoxo) Some suggested it be toned down a tad. I can completely understand why they would want this and whilst I am already really happy with it I know it can be improved. 

(How to do the opening edit) I used Premiere Pro to edit the footage. However, I believe this could be done on much less complicated editing software as it was mainly practical effects that sold the scene. The blurriness is all done through the camera (I believe this is through actually removing the lens to give it that distorted feel or possibly rubbing the lens in vaseline to make the image as smooth as possible (I am not the filmmaker however and these are just theories) Additionally, the editing is simply cutting on the beat of the heart scanner (which I found on YouTube) I also began rotating the image and zooming into to give a much more distorted feel. Then I boosted the grain slightly and then lowered the saturation to give it a washed-out look. The final shot was already slowed down however I took the audio into Audacity and added a low pass filter to make it sound muffled instead of slowed which i think came out good. Overall I’m really pleased with this edit and I can’t wait to make changes for the next draft.

I wanted to stick to mainly long takes and focus on the main protagonist. I recently watched Thunder Road and I was really inspired by Jim Cumming’s use of long takes as it grounded the film in reality so that is why I chose to cut a lot less than others. One idea was to focus more on the protagonist when the man (possibly Abe) sits down at her side. I have already shown so much of her and believe his performance is good however, most importantly I feel her dialogue wasn’t as important as his reaction so that’s why I chose to focus on “Abe” instead. 

Towards the end of the scene, I foreshadowed many things from later in the script “The Watch” and “The Purse” reading the script I understood how important those items were in developing the story so I made sure to draw specific attention to them. I agree with the criticism that some of the insert shots last too long. So I’ve taken the initiative to shorten them.

Edit Two

Returning to the edit there were some things I wanted to change. Overall the reception of the original edit was good but there were crucial things that needed to be changed. There was an audio sync issue in one of the takes that when hearing about I had no clue what the teacher was talking about haha, but after checking it I think I fixed it. I hope I fixed it! Additionally, they asked me to tone down the opening shot which I did subtly. I’m very happy with it and the majority of people thought it was fine so when one person suggests I change it I’ll take it on board but I kept it closer to what I envisioned then dramatically reducing the effect. Furthermore, the shot of the wallet was too long so I shortened that and the shot of the watch was too short. I extended it but just to give some reasoning behind it, I have been watching a lot of Satoshi Kon, He is known for his unique style and editing. I wanted to see how short a shot I could cut for the audience to register. In hindsight I must have cut it too short haha!

My Teams work

Tom - He was the producer and the rock of the pre-production process. Whenever I was lost he was kind enough to give me a helping hand and his work on the Call sheets was fantastic. I believe we are working in the same group again for the independent project so I’m really excited about that (To be honest I could say that about everyone in this group haha)

Heather - Heather was the production designer, she was in charge of the mood boards and sketches. I’m really happy as well with her work the mood board is clear and concise I would have loved to see more of what she thought the scene looked like with sketches and her opinions on a colour palette but I think she thought we already had a clear enough idea.

Jack - The Director of the production. I’ve worked with him on loads of projects and he always seems to handle all the stuff given to him with ease. This production was no different I feel sorry for him not actually getting to direct the idea he came up with but I do think he enjoyed helming a great group.

Bonnie - I believe this is Bonnie’s first time writing. I don’t mean to say that as an insult because she did a fantastic job. She was passionate about her ideas, has a great grasp on entertaining dialogue and I just want to see more of what she writes. 

Final thoughts 

I think we created a solid piece of work. There are definitely flaws and obviously after seeing everyone else’s work you are going to think of things we could have done better. However, there is no point worrying about it now, I just have to make sure I implement it into the next project :) I had fun xoxo

[razieltwelve]

First 7 Win Draft! (MTG Arena)

In Magic: The Gathering, I’ve generally been better at constructed than draft. However, with the way MTG Arena is structured, getting better at draft was something I wanted to do.

So, over the past couple of months, I’ve been saving coins and even using gems to do drafts to try to improve. The first month was pretty awful. I’m not going to lie. The fact that I was also rare-drafting to help fill out my collection didn’t help either. It was also a way of mitigating my losses since I tended to be awful, so at least I’d walk away with some rare cards even if I bombed out. And there were most definitely drafts where I bombed out.

But I kept at it, and I started studying more. I read draft guides; I looked at tier lists; I practiced on Draftsim; and I watched a lot of more skilled drafters in action. I found the videos by Nizzahon Magic to be especially useful since he talks a lot about why he drafts the things he does or makes the plays he does, and I felt we had a similar approach to the game in general.

I also had to get used to the different rhythm of draft. When you’re playing constructed, just killing everything is an option because you can build a deck with enough removal to do that. In draft, you’ll basically never have more than a few pieces of removal, so you have to use them sparingly. Likewise, your threat density in draft is so much thinner than in constructed, so you have to be much more aware of how you manage your creatures. That 2/1 or 1/3 isn’t something you can throw away, and you’ve got to really shepherd your fliers and other evasion critters because they might be the only way you can get damage through later.

Today, I finally managed to get to 7 wins in premier Zendikar draft. 7 wins is special because once you get to 7 wins, the draft ends, and you get the highest level of rewards possible. I’ve never done it before. I’ve gone 6-3 a couple of times, but each time I stumbled on the final match. Not this time.

But let me set the stage...

I started off by doing a Theros quick draft since I wanted to get some drafting in, but I didn’t want to spend any gems. After drafting what I felt was a very solid deck with plenty of playable and more removal than I ever thought possible, I proceeded to go 2-3 after getting horribly mana screwed twice and getting run over by someone with a playset of Iroas’s Blessing and the sort of hyper aggressive B/R deck that you dream of drafting. Seriously, that deck was incredible. Looking at my deck, I thought it would go at least 4-3, but it just wasn’t to be.

I was a little bit aggravated by that, but at the same time, I was also very happy with the deck that I drafted. I thought it was super solid. I just didn’t get much help from the shuffler, and I ran into the equivalent of a rocket-propelled freight train. So I thought... why not give premier draft a go? My recent drafting attempts had managed to garner me a decent quantity of gems, and I had a good feeling about it since I feel I’ve got a better grasp of Zendikar draft than Theros.

So I paid up my 1500 gems and gave it a go. Of course, since I’m me, I decided I’d do some rare-drafting as well. 

The first pack wasn’t bad. I opened a Haggra Mauling for a super easy first pick that was also a rare that I wanted. I also picked up some nice playable like Shepherd of Heroes and Malakir Rebirth although I hadn’t settled yet on a colour to pair with black. About halfway through the pack, it became clear to me that black was relatively open since I was able to load up on plenty of mid-range (in quality) stuff to help round out the pack. I also dipped into red after Roil Eruption and Cinderclasm came by while white only had a few playables, but nothing as good as those two cards except the angel.

Pack two began with me picking the Mankindi Throne (yes, I know it’s draft garbage, but I needed it for my collection...) and finding out that red was getting cut by somebody else. I was a bit surprised since the Roil Eruption and Cinderclasm had gotten to me late in pack one, so I’d assumed red wasn’t taken, but I got nothing out of red from pack two. With red cut, I switched fully to white, which seemed to open up as a Canyon Jerboa and Felidar Retreat made their way to me mid-pack. At that point, I was questioning the sanity of some of my fellow drafters because I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Felidar Retreat go pick 7 before. That card is completely nuts and requires basically no commitment from your deck other than you have some plains in it. 

Despite only committing properly to white in pack two, I was extremely relieved to be able to pick up some solid playables for it. I even managed to snag a second Shepherd of Heroes, which had me feeling even better about my decision to switch from red to white.

Pack three began with some more good luck. I opened a Squad Commander for an easy pick, and there were suddenly some clerics available to help fill out the party sub-theme I had going. I grabbed a couple, and I must have sent a strong enough signal because a Cleric of Life’s Bond wheeled and made it’s way into my deck. I didn’t have enough for a full on cleric deck, but I had enough clerics + incidental life gain that I thought I could make it work. If nothing else, I did need a two drop to fill out my curve. Getting a Mankindi Stampede in pack three was great too, and I was pretty certain that, at most, only one other person was drafting white because I was getting some goodies in the mid-to-late pack that I wouldn’t be getting if more people were in white.

My deck ended up being a BW mid-range deck that used clerics and a party-sub-theme to get through the early game and put on some aggression before landfall stuff (e.g., Prowling Felidar, Dreadwurm, Canyon Jerboa, and Felidar Retreat) combined with my fliers stabilised and took control of the game.

It did not start well.

In fairly short order, I was 2-2 with my two losses being just brutal and my two wins being close fought. At that point, I was already consoling myself with the fact I’d managed to snag quite a few rare cards during the draft, and at least I’d get some gems back (albeit not many) for winning twice. I told myself that I just had to focus on getting one more win since three wins gets you most of your investment back.

That fifth game was extremely close. It basically came down to me surviving an onslaught of aggression and trading creatures until I finally managed to slam Felidar Retreat onto a basically empty board. Felidar Retreat then did what it does best, and I basically out-valued my opponent the rest of the way.

From there, I played three more close games. Seriously, the games were tight, and I don’t think I’ve ever played better in a a draft. I won all but one of them with barely any life left after always going second (I think I only went first once the whole time), and there were a stack of complex decisions to make about how to use the removal I had and about when to trade and when to just take damage. The only easy game I had was the one in which my opponent got stuck on three mana, and I drew like a boss to just run over them with Canyon Jerboa shenanigans.

The last two games were nerve-wracking. In the game for my sixth win, I was up against this white-green party build. The early game was basically me getting punched in the face over and over again as they curved out like a champ and used three copies of Practiced Tactics to blow me out. After the second one, I thought, there’s no way they can have a third... and they did.

The pivotal moment in the game came when they went in to attack with their entire team, and I was able to engineer a situation that resulted in my team trading for theirs thanks to a Practiced Tactics of my own on a key creature. With the board clear, I was able to find my fliers, and they soared over for the win.

In the game for my seventh win, I was again on the back foot early. I went second, and the opponent was playing this awesome three colour landfall build with a party sub-theme. I was knocked down to 10 life in a real hurry as his landfall creatures outclassed mine, and I couldn’t find good spots to trade. I even got stuck on four mana for a bit. Finally, though, I found a Shepherd of Heroes and Felidar Retreat to stabilise with the lands to make them work. Unfortunately, they had a Territorial Scythecat, a Canyon Jerboa, and a bunch of creatures on their side with a Seagte Banneret threatening to pump their team. 

The game stalled out, but the biggest moment came when I could have played a spell on my turn but elected not to because I wanted to bluff a trick after showing him a combat trick earlier. I didn’t have anything, but the game was so close that I felt sure they wouldn’t attack into five open mana with three cards in my hand.

They played Mind Drain. In my hand were two cards that I didn’t super need... and my one copy of Mankindi Stampede. If I had played a spell, I would have been forced to discard it since I’d be left with only two cards in hand. Instead, I got to keep it, and I was able to gradually add to my board even as he forced through damage using Angelheart Protector to make his gigantic Scythecat indestructible. 

Since they weren’t in blue (they were running BWG), I knew that if I could just get enough creatures on the board, then my Stampede would win me the game. Unfortunately, I stopped drawing lands, so I couldn’t keep using Felidar Retreat to go wide, but I did draw a few creatures. However, they were drawing plenty of creatures themselves, and that Scythecat just kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger.

At this point, with the board basically stalled out, I had a slight edge since I had the only flier on the board. I was slowly but surely chipping away at their life total, but then they made their move. They had played a Tajuru Blightblade earlier, but they’d kept it back to dissuade my reasonably large Prowling Felidar from cracking back at them. That’s when they drew a Taunting Arbormage.

I knew exactly what they were thinking. The kicked Taunting Arbormage would force everything to block the Blightblade, so that when they swung with the rest of their team, I wouldn’t be able to block, and I’d be dead.

There was just one problem: I was holding my Practiced Tactics in hand.

I blew up the Blightblade and started assigning blockers. The end result was me being alive and them without any blockers left to stop my counter swing for lethal. Once the dust cleared, they conceded, and I had my seventh win.

I might have done a little dance around the room when I realised that I’d finally gotten it.

7-2. 

Not bad. And the six packs I got as part of the prize? Solid hits on all of them.

Best night on Arena ever.

#mtg #magic: the gathering #mtg arena

[seijch]

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide…not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

[ read luck of the draw here !! ]

this is an extra post for me to infodump on all the worldbuilding details i never got to fit into my already obnoxiously large fic 🕺🏻🕺🏻 its holding my brain hostage so maybe posting this will help!!!

please read luck of the draw before clicking the readmore !! there are spoilers abound (and you probably won’t understand much of what i’m saying if you haven’t read the fic LMAO)

ABOUT THE CONCEPT

the very core of luck of the draw isn’t actually unique to kenji or to haikyuu in general; in fact, it was originally a part of a superhero!skz series i was planning to write but never got around to. the foundation of this fic -- kenji’s power and the idea of them being opposing forces that slowly draw together -- was originally given to stray kids’ hyunjin. i never went past the Thinking Stage with it, so it was fairly easy to hand the concept over to futakuchi when i moved fandoms.

the dynamic of this fic in general was inspired pretty heavily by miraculous ladybug’s “love square,” but i ... obviously wasn’t going to write all four sides of it so i stuck to the civilian identities (the reader and kenji) and the alteregos (harbinger and ace). in the kpop version of this wip, the reader and hyunjin were coworkers, but in moving from one fandom to another and reworking it for futakuchi, i decided to make them friends instead. they’re not particularly close (they’re definitely comfortable but not close Emotionally) to start with, but there’s potential for something to start!

ABOUT THE WORLD

in this universe, the city is ruled by two major factions that control much of the economy: seijoh, who controls the entertainment/tourism industries and has its fingers in most of the smaller businesses around the city (such as johzenji and dateko) and nekoma, who is partnered with the equally large fukurodani to control shipment of all kinds as well as the food industry (among others). nekoma has allies within the local government, and seijoh all but controls the law enforcement.

karasuno, on the other hand, works entirely from the underground to overhaul the way things are run in the city; it’s a bit .... corrupt as of right now, and they seek to change that. 

at the top are typically individuals blessed with special powers known as gifts. these gifts can be as mundane as the ability to make flowers bloom wherever you walk or as powerful as being able to alter the flow of time. there exist a series of regulations (and a shit ton of paperwork) that come about whenever an individual happens to manifest a gift. 

however, the city’s gifted demographic is incorrectly represented; a chunk of the gifted population are instead drawn to the allure of making money by doing illicit deeds for companies like seijoh or nekoma. these individuals’ gifts are never properly documented due to the traceability it lends itself to, should a job go wrong.

the government is supposedly in talks to enact stricter laws on the gifted, despite them making up a comparatively small percentage of the population. the head of the department of gifted individuals, ushijima wakatoshi, is a particularly overwhelming force in support of better regulation of his fellow gifted.

ABOUT THE CHARACTERS

in the first draft of luck of the draw, the sequence of events and relationship dynamics were MUCH different. in the final draft, you see the alteregos being drawn to each other first before you see the civilians come together. 

in that first draft, it was originally centered on the civilians getting together despite kinda-sorta being attracted to each other’s alterego? as a result, the kiss scene between the alteregos was still there but it was DRASTICALLY different. the whole idea of it and imo moral ambiguitity (kenji and the reader never went official with their relationship in the first draft) didn’t sit right with me at all; it felt a little like i was using cheating as a plot device which ??? no.

to make the long story short, the execution of that (tbh poorly developed) idea was.......less than stellar.

so i took a look at the chronology and basically upended the entire midsection to make the concept something that was less awful morally? that’s what i hope happened, anyway LJSKDFLSD

in the first draft, the reader (as harbinger) was also much less competent than they are in the final draft as a result of having been affiliated with karasuno for a shorter time. in truth, the harbinger’s origin story didn’t surface until i was in the middle of writing the second draft!

when it comes to the other characters:

oikawa doesn’t have a gift, which is rather rare for someone with their thumb sitting so heavily on the city’s pulse point

iwaizumi’s gift is entirely up to interpretation! him and oikawa making formal appearances in the story was something that only came up towards the end of draft two, so i didn’t have the space (word count wise) to really give either much thought

kyotani came into his gift without any control over it, and is only given amnesty because he was found hiding by iwaizumi

i really really wanted to talk about kyotani in this fic but ultimately it wasnt revolving around him + i once again didn’t have space to even tease an encounter with him (so in the fic proper he’s mostly there as a cameo + to scare you as you read into a potential action scene)

aone and kenji actually come from the same company that happened to come under seijoh’s control, so they’re more comfortable with each other than anyone else!

hinata has the gift of manipulation as long as you’re making eye contact with him; unfortunately, if he wills it, it’s rather hard to break eye contact once you’ve made it -- aone made the mistake of glancing at him during the takeover at seijoh hq, leading to his hold on harbinger loosening

kageyama obviously has the gift of ice/hail/snow manipulation to a rather strong extent, considering he can create it where there is none and lower the temperature of the air around him (the reader cannot create their own darkness, only manipulate what is around them)

he also has some beef with oikawa (or is it the other way around?) that involves him formerly working under seijoh -- not one of their many smaller companies, but seijoh itself (much like iwaizumi and after kageyama leaves, kyotani)

in terms of who’s been with karasuno the longest of the introduced cast, it’s tsukishima/three-eyes > hinata = kageyama > reader (but not by much)

MISCELLANEOUS

following the takeover of seijoh, tsukishima finds himself at wit’s end much more often LMAO

there are a good amount of deleted scenes and scenes that were only added in at the very last second!

among the deleted scenes is a scene where the civilians are at the park -- in the first draft, it happened in the middle, but in the second it was towards the end. it got taken out because come the end of the second draft, i realized it no longer fit ...

in terms of completion status, it probably ?? took a little over a month from this to go from Thinking Stage to the 14.2k monstrosity you see now? there were a couple of weeks early on where i did nothing on my ipad and laptop except outline and write, respectively

i definitely got burned out halfway through (which is abt the time i posted the xc2 au .. i NEEDED to work on smth else)

the idea of the clock tower wasn’t present at all in the first draft!! i only really came up with it in the second draft because i’d rather have them meet somewhere consistent and identifiable rather than some nondescript building

the running joke (?) of them getting drinks together wasn’t present until the third and final draft -- originally the scene where ace asks “do you remember our last conversation?” had a different beginning

in fact, a lot of the scenes that are a bit more...emotionally charged (see: every scene after ace’s unmasking as well as the movie night scene where the civilians struggle to define what their relationship has become) had to be overhauled dramatically

ummm i love kenji thats it! none of this would be possible if i didnt have the strongest mf brainrot for him so ... ! theres that LMAO

(theres probably more im forgetting to say ........ if any of you want to pick my brain regarding the chronology or the characters or why i had them say something or do something send me an ask! this post tbh is almost entirely for me but i didnt put this much thought into a fic that long to NOT share it with everyone else)

#futakuchi x reader #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #futakuchi kenji #i shouldnt have typed this out #i feel like writing a spinoff #i cant tell if itd be another kenji fic or explore kyotani or even kageyama tbh #this universe is literally holding me at gunpoint omg luck of the draw took so much from me but i still want to write fic in the same settin