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vikingsong · 10 days

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Reforged (excerpt)

Fill for my Merlin Bingo 2024 adopted square “Aliens” 😉

Hello! For context (if you haven’t already heard me ramble about this WIP in one Discord server or another), this is the first half of Chapter 1 of a loooong and not remotely complete WIP, hence sharing it here rather than AO3 or FFN. It’s a modern-with-magic reincarnation fic.

(TW: graphic violence)

Fic summary:

Arthur Rhydderch had spent years trying to ‘find his calling,’ as his thesis advisor described it. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind, the reincarnated Once and Future King thought as he gave his sword a twirl and launched himself at the alien before it could breathe another blistering spurt of flames.

Up-and-coming paleontologist Dr. Merlin Emrys had thought he was adulting quite well; most days, he even managed to avoid getting yelled at by his landlady. Then secrets from his past life resurfaced, and everything fell apart. Facing an impossible choice, Merlin must come to terms with who he was, who he is, and—most importantly—who he wants to become.

Or:

When Albion’s greatest need arrives in the form of an alien invasion, the reincarnated figures of legend must deal with the consequences of their shared past even as they fight for humanity’s future.

Chapter 1 (excerpt):

Arthur was in the library when the world ended. It was barely 10:00 AM on a Tuesday, and it was shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life even before the sky rained fire.

Six hours ago, Arthur had shaken off the claws of a nightmare for the third night in barely a week. Running, always running, with watering eyes and screaming lungs as the soot threatened to choke him. Four hours ago, he’d paused in the middle of his training run through the city to sit on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and watch with bleary eyes as the pale dawn crept up from the horizon, silhouetting Capitol Hill against the clear autumn sky. His t-shirt stuck to his skin as his sweat cooled. Blood and sweat mingling, trickling down his back as he twisted away from vicious claws that slashed his shoulder from behind. The fresh air hadn’t banished the phantom tang of acrid smoke, so he’d dragged himself home and attempted to drown the taste with a fourth cup of caustically strong coffee, nearly scalding his tongue in his haste. Burns blistering on his forearms as he gripped the sword hilt with white knuckles while hissing creatures stalked him from the shadows. The shifting shadows had still dogged his thoughts as he’d headed to an early one-to-one meeting with the head coach of his college soccer team.

Three hours ago, his coach had informed him, not unkindly, that he wouldn’t be nominating Arthur for the pro soccer draft at the end of the semester, despite Arthur being co-captain and the best on the team. Arthur understood his coach’s reasoning, but it did nothing to ease the sting. The prevailing industry view was that most players peaked in their mid-twenties, and Arthur was already twenty-six. His American uni scholarship had already been his fallback option, a new route to the same professional goal after he’d aged out of Manchester United’s football training academy without a pro contract at twenty-three. Now, the coveted draft slot would go to a younger player—a domestic player who wouldn’t have to deal with visa complexities—and Arthur would simply have to find another calling.

Two hours ago, Arthur’s thesis advisor—never particularly interested in Arthur’s athletic goals—had inadvertently poured salt in that raw wound by asking, as he did at least once a semester, if Arthur had “found his calling” yet.

Arthur’s self-control had slipped, and he’d answered bluntly, “If it’s a calling, then it needs to make itself heard.”

Dr. Taliesin had simply sighed and said, “Someday you will know your destiny.” Then he’d asked to see the latest draft of Arthur’s senior thesis and proceeded to spend the remaining twenty minutes of their meeting eviscerating it.

One hour ago, Arthur had clocked in for his work-study shift at the campus library. The students who’d pulled all-nighters on midterm assignments had all gone to bed or to class by the time Arthur arrived, and it hadn’t taken him long to reshelve the trail of reference texts they’d left in their wake.

Thirty minutes ago, he’d settled at the circulation desk with a stack of books which Dr. Taliesin had just recommended. Arthur had tried—and failed—to concentrate on his thesis research instead of his imploded career plan, even as he’d tried—and failed—to ignore how the silence amplified the harrowing echoes of his nightmares.

Fifteen minutes ago, Arthur had scrubbed a hand over his itchy stubble, regretting that he’d forgotten to shave in his distracted state that morning. His neck had popped audibly in the quiet lobby as he’d stretched and had given up on his thesis research for the moment. Having concluded that he needed to distract himself from anything having to do with his future, he’d pushed aside the heavy books and pulled out the latest reading assignment for his Medieval Lit elective.

One minute ago, Arthur had realized that he’d been staring blankly at the same Middle English paragraph for several minutes. He’d given up on studying altogether and gathered up his reference books to shelve. When he’d stood, his rolling chair had skittered sideways out of his reach. He’d been ready to chalk it up to caffeine tremors and jittery nerves when he’d heard the lobby’s floor-to-ceiling windows rattle.

That was when he’d glanced up and discovered that the world was ending.

He blinked—once, twice—and craned his neck to get a better look. Well, his tired brain amended as it struggled to process the latest milestone in his terrible day, perhaps ‘ending’ is too strong a word. Maybe just the ‘start’ of the apocalypse?

Semantics aside, the sky was raining fire.

The ground shook as each flaming meteorite crashed, one after another after another. One hurtled toward the window, and the prospect of his impending fiery death finally jolted Arthur into action. He dropped the books and dove behind the circulation desk, throwing up an arm to shield his face as the glass shattered and the fireball barreled through.

Over the greedy crackle of flames as a row of study cubicles caught fire, Arthur heard an unnatural hissing. It grated across his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He peeked around the edge of the circulation desk and froze.

Am I dreaming?

From within the smoldering wreckage of the thing that hadn’t been a meteorite, a creature emerged—a creature unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. The firelight glinted off its burnished scales as it unfurled leathery wings like a monstrous bird hatching from a cursed egg, like a cassowary made of fire and brimstone. The creature fixed its glowing red eyes on him and uttered a shrieking hiss.

Arthur knew that sound.

So that’s what they look like, he thought, half-hysterical. He ducked back behind the desk, even though he knew it was too late to hide. The beast had seen him, and just like he knew that horrible cry, he knew that thing would hunt him down. He heard the creature flap once, and then a spurt of flames shot past the edge of the circulation desk where his face had been moments before. The industrial carpet melted.

Arthur’s instincts took over. One. There was no hope of getting out through the burning front entrance, so he scrambled away from the flames and ran the length of the circulation desk, staying low as another fiery blast raced over his head and immolated an oil painting on the wall above him. Two. Just like in his nightmares, he counted, and just like in his nightmares, he had no idea why. He reached the end of the circulation desk and made a run for it across an exposed stretch of the lobby, dodging more fireballs—Three. Four.—as the creature chased him toward the winding, windowless corridors that formed the only route to the back exit.

He skidded into the corridor and ricocheted off the wall as he took the first turn at full speed. Another volley of flames hit the wall just after he’d turned the corner; he felt the heat at his back as he continued his flight. Five. The fire alarm kicked in, and the reverberating noise in the corridors nearly drowned out the creature’s shrieks and hisses. After several more turns and another near miss with a fireball—Six.—that left one sleeve of his red hoodie singed, Arthur hit a dead end.

He cursed colorfully under his breath as he realized he’d taken a wrong turn on autopilot; he’d been so focused on dodging fireballs that he’d turned left instead of right at the special collections display case. He’d reached the central elevator’s windowless alcove rather than the exit. The elevator was out of service, he’d already passed the nearest stairwell, and he didn’t have time to retrace his steps to the turn he’d missed. He heard a crash followed by scuffling as the creature—the alien, his brain so helpfully supplied—slammed into the display case before approaching the final turn. I’ve got thirty seconds at best. Arthur backed away from the sound, wracking his brain for any remaining options. His shoulder bumped into something sharp; he glanced back and saw it was the corner of a wall-mounted display case containing a medieval-style sword from the university’s eclectic collection of artifacts. On the lower right corner of the plate glass front, a snarky student had added a sticky note that read:

In case of emergency, break glass :)

What have I got to lose? he thought, glancing around. There were no fire extinguishers—Ironic, he lamented—nor any other heavy objects in the alcove to break the glass. Out of time and options, he raised his hood for protection like a knight’s coif and shielded his face with his right arm before slamming his left elbow into the glass as hard as he could. It cracked but didn’t shatter.

The hissing grew louder. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Arthur struck the case a second time, and then a third.

Razor-sharp shards grazed Arthur’s hoodie as the glass shattered and spilled out onto the floor. As the security alarm blared in concert with the fire alarm, he reached into the case and drew out the sword.

It felt strangely comfortable in his hand. Not quite like the sword in his dreams, but familiar all the same. He gave it a quick twirl with his wrist, then faced the hallway just as the alien appeared.

It stalked toward him on all fours with its folded, bat-like wings curving up from its clawed forefeet; the barbed tips met in a sharp arch over its back like crossed lance poles. Its glowing red eyes were nearly level with Arthur’s as it paused, tilting its large, draconic head side to side on its long neck as though sizing up the sword in Arthur’s hand.

Arthur stood his ground. Not like I have anywhere left to run, he thought as he tightened his grip on the sword. Might as well go out fighting.

The alien hissed, and smoke curled out through its nostrils. It opened its jaw wide and coughed out a sulfurous black cloud. Arthur gagged as his eyes watered. The alien hacked again like a chain smoker, but no flames burst forth.

Arthur saw his window and took it. Just like on the footie pitch, he feinted left, then spun to the right. With a screech, the alien fell for the trick and lunged, leaving its neck vulnerable to Arthur’s attack. Arthur used the momentum of his spin to throw his full weight into his one shot at survival, bringing the blade down squarely on the creature’s neck.

The steel sliced clean through sinew and bone, and the creature’s head hit the ground mid-snarl. Arthur dodged the body’s writhing death throes and vaulted over the convulsing tail as he raced back down the corridor toward the exit. He slipped more than once on the wet linoleum—the emergency sprinklers had finally activated—before he stumbled out through the back exit into the deserted alley, soaked and bleeding, still clutching the sword.

#merlin bingo #bingo fill #alien invasion #aliens & swords #bbc merlin #fanfic #wip #shameless self promotion #my stories #writing #angst with a happy ending #wip wednesday #aliens #fic: reforged

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vikingsong · 10 days

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This is…painfully relatable 😂

#writing #writing memes #writing humor #writer woes #writer life #humor

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vikingsong · 14 days

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Cool survey! Interested to hear the outcomes of the research…

Fans' attitudes toward AI-generated works

Irissa Cisternino, a PhD candidate of Stony Brook University, is writing their research on topics related to technology, art and fandom. You can participate by filling out a survey and additionally, signing up for an interview. The survey is expected to last until at least the end of April, those, who signed up for the interview, will be contacted later. You need to be at least 18 years old to participate in either, be able to understand and speak English and identify as a fan.

After the completion of the research, it will be accessible as the dissertation of the researcher. If you have further questions, you can contact Irina Cisternino at [email protected] or Lu-Ann Kozlowsky at [email protected].

#fandom studies #fanfic #artificial intelligence #survey

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vikingsong · 15 days

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Writing prompt? No. Writing much delayed.

#writing #humor #fanfic #writer woes #wip #writer problems

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vikingsong · 17 days

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Someone captured the solar eclipse on an airplane

#solar eclipse #nature #photography #astronomy #the heavens declare the glory of god

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vikingsong · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday (3/13/24)

Above all—more than power or beauty or life itself—the magic of the world required balance in all things. The ebb and flow of the tides, the rhyming couplets in a poem, the two sides of one coin, the moment-by-moment handoff between the past and the future. The Purge and the Prophecy were no different. One could not exist without the other.

It was fitting, then, that the death of the late Queen would spark the blaze, and only the saving of the Future Queen could extinguish it.

#wip wednesday #fanfic #writing #wip #bbc merlin #shameless self promotion #my stories #angst with a happy ending #fic: promises to keep

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vikingsong · 1 month

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WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What’s the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

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vikingsong · 1 month

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vikingsong · 2 months

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writing fanfiction is just. i’m being so creative and original. i’m plagiarizing everyone by accident. i’m a genius. i’m cringe. i’m too angsty. i’m too cheesy. this is not in character. it doesn’t matter that it’s not in character because these are my characters now. i love my hobby. this is the worst possible use of my time. i’m seeking validation. i’m projecting my own personal problems onto this story and i’m barely hiding it. i know so many words and i’m using all of them wrong. im on tumblr posting about it instead of writing it.

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vikingsong · 3 months

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My first bingo fill of the year! 🥳

Be Careful What You Wish For by VikingSong Ship: No ships/gen Main Characters: Merlin, Arthur Rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Fake Character Death Major tags: Friendship, Fake character death, Invisibility, Post-magic reveal, Angst with a happy ending Summary: A story told in a pair of triple drabbles. Part 1: In which Merlin learns to “be careful what you wish for.” Part 2: In which Arthur makes a wish, too.

#bbc merlin #merlin bingo #writing #fanfic #fandom #my stories #Fic: Be Careful What You Wish For

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vikingsong · 3 months

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oh is the aliens and swords one the one that you were asking about museum practice a while back? I want to hear more about that 👀

@sydneysageivashkov Yes, it is! 🥳

(Thank you again for answering my museum questions a while back! I have even more museum questions now if you’re amenable sometime!)

This is the elevator pitch:

Up-and-coming paleontologist Dr. Myrddin “Merlin” Emrys had thought he was adulting quite well; most days, he even managed to avoid getting yelled at by his landlady. Then secrets from his past life resurfaced, and everything fell apart. Facing an impossible choice, Merlin must come to terms with who he was, who he is, and—most importantly—who he wants to become.

Or: When Albion’s greatest need arrives in the form of an alien invasion, the reincarnated figures of legend must deal with the consequences of their shared past even as they fight for humanity’s future.

Arthur is cornered during the initial invasion in a building that has a collection of artifacts displayed in wall cases, so he breaks the glass (not security glass! just regular plate glass! There’s a joke about it later in the story) and pulls out a medieval sword in a ‘might as well go out fighting’ mindset, then ends up successfully killing the alien that cornered him.

It quickly becomes apparent that conventional modern weaponry is useless against the aliens. Only authentic medieval swords can kill them.

Arthur finds out that he’s the new King of England, despite having been 28th in line and having always held generally anti-monarchist views. He has to learn on the job how to actually lead/govern because Parliament and the rest of the upper levels of government have been obliterated, too, so all the ministers’ authority has temporarily reverted back to the Crown. He ends up working closely with the staff of an eclectic and widely respected (fictional) museum in London to try to figure out what it is about the swords that makes them effective. If they can figure it out, then everyone will have a better idea of how to fight the aliens effectively. (Spoiler: aliens = pterosaurs = dragons, and their only weakness is steel that is forged in dragonfire.)

Gwen is an expert on medieval weaponry. Elyan doesn’t work for the museum, but he’s roped in because his specialty is chemistry/materials science. Paleontologist Merlin joins the party because the aliens bear a striking resemblance to Cretaceous pterosaurs. Freya, the museum staff member responsible for sourcing items for collections (I have questions about this job!), fulfills her Lady of the Lake role by sourcing and distributing swords to the knights. 😉 Many other canon characters pop up along the way. (You may also remember a snippet about an OC named Mrs. Nettleburn? She’s Merlin’s landlady who wears a violently floral housecoat and wields a frying pan during suspected break-ins. 🍳)

Meanwhile, the characters start getting their first-life memories back sporadically throughout the story, and they have to separate the truth of their incomplete memories from the distortions of the literary legends. Merlin ends up betraying everyone by siding with the dragons based on his distorted interpretation of those incomplete memories. Arthur refuses to give up on the friend he remembers, and Merlin gets an intensive redemption arc.

The story began as a crack prompt, but it has evolved into a crack-treated-very-seriously novel. 😂 I have about 60k written so far…

#ask answered #asks #fic: reforged #aliens & swords #shameless self promotion #wip #writing #fanfic #my stories

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