#*ignores cries from other wips oops*
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banish every gaslight; let clarity shine - Part 1
I’ve been stewing over this for, like, three/four months at the very least and it recently exploded in my drafts so congrats y’all are being subjected to this now.
2694 words to start, going to be over 12-15k altogether; shout out to @gendervapor14 who was not my beta per say, but they did suffer through my ranting and raving and raging over this fic (so more like my enabler I guess lol; blame them for it getting as far as it has); will ultimately contain lots of Dressrosa bullshit and headcanons and so on and so forth (surprise, surprise, surprise); title comes from the English translation of Ado’s Fleeting Lullaby bc that song is fire; fair warning: I headcanon Dressrossan as an unholy union of Castilian Spanish and Catalan and thus act accordingly
Someone is sitting on the Heart Seat when the Straw Hats and Law head into Dressrosa. It changes nothing… until it does. [AU where there is a Third Corazón, whose very existence makes Law’s life hell]
It was the middle of the night as toys rushed to load crates onto the cutter ship docked in the underground port, the ship’s Human crew staring in amazement.
“So, they just… do this like it’s normal…?” the captain asked. A young woman in a bright pink roquelaure cloak and gilded half-columbina mask shrugged nonchalantly as she checked off the crates on a clipboard.
“I guess when you see them for ten years, they don’t faze you anymore,” she said. “Come on—pick up the pace, hobbies! We only got the one tonight, so the sooner we can get this done and the sooner we can all rest!” The toys all seemed to regard her with silent ambiguity and did not, in fact, pick up the pace.
“Hobbies…?” the captain wondered.
“Just what we call them; nothing to it.” She smiled devilishly, the smirk being accented by the blood-red lipstick that sliced all the way into her cheeks. “You got a problem with that?”
“Why would he have a problem with you, Corazón?” the first mate laughed awkwardly. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a kick from her steel-capped heeled boots, and he was sure his captain didn’t either.
“It just seems like something that happens after people meet me,” she replied. The Corazón flipped her high ponytail of sun-bleached light brown hair back and pretended as though it did not bother her. “They don’t expect an Elite Officer of the Family to be so young… to be a woman… to be me…”
“…well that’s silly,” the first mate assured. “I mean, you earned that position, right? Problem solved.”
“One would hope,” the captain scoffed. He then suddenly found himself with a sword to his throat, the Corazón having not made a sound as she moved.
“I really don’t think that you want to continue along that line of thinking,” she warned. “Since I’m feeling generous, you’ll get to sail away… except…” She snapped her fingers and the toys stopped loading up the crates. “This is all you’re leaving with.”
“We paid the whole amount!” the captain snarled. “That’s extortion!”
“…and if you lie to Kaidou about where the rest of the merch is, I’ll let him know exactly where everything is and why.”
“Please, Corazón, forgive him,” the first mate implored. “He is of no importance to us… to our organizations.”
“Like hell I am!” the captain snapped. He turned towards the first mate only for a knife to find its way between his ribs. Blood gurgled from his lips and he slumped to the floor, dead. The first mate wiped his blade with the corpse’s cape and turned back towards the Corazón.
“As I said: he is of no importance. Please reconsider.”
She snapped her fingers again and the toys reluctantly resumed their work, the task of tidying up the fresh corpse now added to their load.
“Many men are lost at sea, especially in the currents around Wano; I wish your promotion had been under better circumstances,” Corazón nodded. The new captain returned the nod—their additional contract was now sealed despite not even being one of words. “Give my regards to Kaidou and his son if you can; I look forward to our next meeting.”
“As you wish, Corazón, ma’am,” the new captain said with a bow. He then turned towards the rest of the crew and began commanding orders as though it had been his job the entire voyage.
The Corazón allowed herself a faint smile.
This… this was power… and she was right to wield it.
Before long, the toys finished loading up the cargo and the Beast Pirates left the underground port. Feeling the weight of the hour, the Corazón went to the lift that brought her to the first floor of the palace, taking a deep breath once she was out in the open air. Fruit trees and flowers filled her nose with what was likely the best scent in the entire world. She meandered in the gardens until she came upon her favorite bench and sat down, looking up at the moon and stars.
“I can smell you,” she said, not taking her eyes away from the sky. Someone nearby scoffed and sat down next to her.
“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” Baby 5 grumbled. She stubbed her cigarette out on the side of the bench and blew out the last of the smoke. “You shouldn’t be out here, Antonia. The night air is bad for you—it’ll make you sick.”
“Superstition,” Corazón chuckled. She looked at the other woman—so much like a sister—and shook her head. “You’re going to ask me to read your humors or recommend a chiropractor next. Maybe that smoking relaxes the vocal chords…”
“Even when you’re joking, you’re always serious,” Baby 5 said. The Corazón took off her mask and stared at it—the design was one to invoke her father, and yet it always made her sad to see. She ran her thumb over the partial starburst that sat under her right eye and felt something was simply off about it. “Maybe if you stopped beating yourself up over it…”
“I had two parents who loved me, and now I can barely remember Dad and Mom is just this fuzzy thing…” She looked at Baby 5 with tears in her eyes. “My strongest memories are from after we landed in Dressrosa. I’m scared I’ll forget them. They’re fading every day…”
“The Young Master won’t allow that,” Baby 5 assured. She let Corazón lean on her, the other woman bending awkwardly in order to rest her forehead on her shoulder. A choked sound escaped the Elite Officer as she tried not to sob, causing Baby 5 to bite her lower lip in an attempt to steel herself.
Donquixote Antonia, Third Corazón of the Donquixote Pirates and Princess of Dressrosa, needed her to be strong, and strong she was going to be.
“Ah, two of my favorite youngsters.” Baby 5 looked—it was Doflamingo sauntering up towards them. “My darling Antonia, you’re late with your brief.”
“Can you let her give it later?” Baby 5 scowled. “She’s not feeling well.”
“Oh…? Should I fetch a doctor…?” His tone was frivolous and dismissive, sparking a fire in the young woman’s gut.
“Girl things—you wouldn’t understand,” she claimed. He held up his hands in surrender before crouching down and sliding his pointer finger beneath Antonia’s chin, turning her head towards him.
“Did the cargo get loaded, at least?”
She nodded.
“Good—I’ll get the rest of the brief tomorrow. We have a busy day ahead of us: all the preparations for the Levely need to be kicked off. Plus the factory needs inspecting.”
“It’s not due until after we return,” Antonia replied. Doflamingo let go of her chin and shrugged.
“While technically-true, I want it done before we go, so that we are not thinking about it. This is going to be a generational Levely and I don’t want us to miss out on anything.”
“Yes, Uncle Doffy,” the young woman muttered. Doflamingo glanced over at Baby 5, noting how pointed her glare was becoming. “Fufufufu… what’s with that look?”
“I need to get her to bed—she’s been working too hard.”
“Suit yourself.” He sauntered off, not sparing them another look, while Baby 5 indeed helped Antonia to her feet. She put the Corazón’s arm around her shoulder and she led her along, bringing her through the castle corridors.
“Bee?” Antonia whispered when they were just outside her room.
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“The pressures of being Corazón, I’m certain,” she replied. “It would drive anyone mad.” They were now inside Antonia’s room and she let her sit down in a chair. “Do you want me to get you for breakfast?”
“Please. Thank you, Bee.”
“You’re welcome, Nia.”
As Baby 5 entered the corridor, her knees began to feel weak. She shut the door to Antonia’s room and leaned against it, certain that nothing was going to feel right ever again…
…not unless Law came back.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“Alright, so tell us what it is that we’re preparing for.”
Law looked up from his plate and turned his attention to Nami, who was sitting across from him at the table. He swallowed the food that was in his mouth and took a drink of water.
“In terms of what?” he asked. “There’s a lot to cover.”
“The Donquixote Pirates: what are we preparing for? What’s their organization like?”
Law exhaled heavily and frowned. “They’re a pseudo-royal family, who moonlight as underground crime bosses,” he explained. “Doflamingo’s at the top, under him are four Elite Officers, and under them are other, junior-ranking Officers. The man we saw on Punk Hazard was a former Elite Officer.”
“I could tell you he wasn’t Elite,” Zoro grunted. “Who are they? The big ones?”
“Trebol, Pica, Diamante, Corazón, with Doflamingo above them as the Joker,” Law listed, ticking them off on his long fingers. “They act like his Cabinet and Ministers, helping to keep his rule over Dressrosa tight. The first three have been with him from the beginning, the last being more recent an addition.”
“Then the first three must be closest to him,” Robin figured.
“No.” Law shook his head. “That would be the Corazón. It means Heart in Dressrosan—whomever holds the title of Corazón is Joker’s closest confidant. I wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a lineup, unfortunately.”
“A lady~?” Sanji gasped. “I wonder what wonderful Dressrosan beauty is burdened with such a title as Heart?”
“Cool it, love-cook,” Zoro chided. Sanji got ready to kick the swordsman in the face as Zoro reached for his swords, only for Robin to hold them both back.
“A woman like that is dangerous, or have you forgotten the last time you two had a Warlord’s right-hand woman to contend with?” she reminded them. Sanji and Zoro both soured on the idea of fighting and Robin gestured towards Law to continue.
“Her public persona is Princess Antonia of Dressrosa, Doflamingo’s niece and heir,” the surgeon continued. “I’ve tried to get a decent photo of her, but nothing I’ve been able to scrounge up gives me anything identifiable.”
“So then a true family affair,” Brook noted. “It must be something in their bones.”
“Last I checked, Doflamingo didn’t have a niece, so this woman’s true identity is a mystery,” Law frowned. “You’ll be able to tell the other Elite Officers apart—overly-tall men in their forties—but the Corazón? All I can tell is that she’s about a shade over six feet tall and is very dangerous.”
“Doesn’t she have a bounty poster?” Luffy asked, mouth full of meat. “There has to be something; she’s a princess.”
“Unfortunately, she came into the crew after Doflamingo was invited to join the Shichibukai. The best images I’ve been able to get are out of the social section of the newspaper.” Law took some papers from his inner jacket pocket and placed them on the table: old and crinkled bounty posters for Trebol, Pica, and Diamante, along with a newspaper clipping that contained a blurry photo, one figure in motion circled in red. “For being the darling of the nation, she is notoriously difficult to photograph.”
“Verily, we’ll have to ensure we take extra heed when dealing with women in the area, to be safe,” Kin’emon nodded sagely. His face then grew red with blush. “I wonder what sort of beauty she is if she avoids the camera.”
“Probably just someone aiming for the Joker position who wants to balance her rise to her intended reign,” Law scoffed. “I’m sure she’s there for a reason, so we will have to watch our backs until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
‘Until I know what poor kid he took in to replace me,’ he thought privately. Law picked up the newspaper clipping and looked at the photo in it for what felt like the thousandth time. Princess Donquixote Antonia of Dressrosa and her lady in-waiting. Whomever the false princess was, it certainly wasn’t Baby 5, as her face was clear in the photograph.
At least he knew that whomever she was, she was going to regret taking on the name Corazón.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Viola did not like waiting.
Ten long years she had been waiting for the justice owed to her family and nation. Ten years she suffered as she worked within the very organization that disgraced her father and threw her niece—only a child!—into the coliseum as a participant, no less. Ten years she watched as Doflamingo made a mockery of everything she was raised on…
Ten years of waiting and she was no closer to her goals.
She was changing behind her dressing screen, listening to Doflamingo as he talked on the transponder snail with the man whom she only knew in whispers and secrets: Trafalgar Law. This man was high on Doflamingo’s Shit List, something that honestly made her immensely proud of him. The more the pretender was upset, the more likely it was he would make a mistake and fall to those who opposed him. She heard the clunk of the call ending and the scrape of his chair against the floor, only to moments later feel his hands against her bare hips and his breath on her neck.
“I’ll be back later,” he purred, lips not quite touching the back of her jaw. He must have been kneeling down or crouching somehow though she did not dare turn around and look. “I have to take care of a little pest problem.”
“Take your time—you know where I’ll be,” she replied.
Viola tried not to grimace as he dug his fingertips into her before letting go, jumping out the open window with a laugh. She finished putting her clothes on and had to actively stop herself from rushing through putting her hair up. The more different she acted, the more suspicious it would look, and while finally so close to progress? It would be foolish to fuck up now. She left the bedroom and made her way down the corridors, knowing precisely who she needed to find.
“Baby 5,” she said coolly, keeping herself level as entered the sparring room. She waited until Baby 5 and Antonia stopped their match, the two women breathing heavily from their hand-to-hand combat training.
“Yeah?”
“I need to speak with you. Now.”
“Let us have another go, Violet,” Antonia smirked. “No Devil Fruits makes this a fun match.”
“It’s urgent.”
Antonia raised an eyebrow. “An emergency? What is it?”
“You should clean up before a meeting is called of the Elite Officers, nena,” Viola replied. Antonia gave a low whistle.
“Sounds intense—we’ll finish this later, germana.” Antonia took her workout bag and left, leaving only Viola and Baby 5 in the sparring room.
“What can’t wait that you have to interrupt us?” Baby 5 frowned as she grabbed her water bottle. Viola waited until after the younger woman had taken a drink and was toweling off her face before she broke the news.
“Law is coming.”
Baby 5 froze, staring slack-jawed at Viola.
“Law…? As in Law-nii…?”
“The very one.” Viola folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight onto one hip. “Doffy’s headed towards his current location, but I doubt he’s going to find anything except for maybe why Buffalo hasn’t been reporting back.”
“Then it’s a good thing I stayed behind with Nia,” Baby 5 realized. “Who knows?”
“Just you.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“Knowing how quickly Doffy moves? A few hours before a meeting is called in the Hall of Suites.” She saw the worry in Baby 5’s expression and she sighed heavily. “Don’t worry—we’ll save her. We all will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“…because if Law’s coming, then that means that our best time to act is almost here, and I am not going to let ten years piss down the drain like Pink’s dignity.”
Baby 5 could only let out a weak chuckle at that—seas, she hoped Viola was right.
#this thing is fucking insane lemme tell ya#like. all I wanna do is work on Seagull fic and this invaded#*ignores cries from other wips oops*#One Piece#fan fiction#Trafalgar Law#Baby 5#Riku Viola#Donquixote Doflamingo#Donquixote Pirates#Straw Hat Pirates#Mugiwara Kaizoku#Alternate Universe fic#Trafalgar D. Water Law#Trafalgar Lami#Trafalgar D. Water Lami
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I'll just post this little bit I've got of this wip toh fic i wanted to write before the finale airs but didn't have the time and energy to do. It's very much still a wip but. It's a lil somethin! Formatting's gonna be atrocious though. Also if you've read my one toh fic, "hands, grasping" then this takes place in the same continuity. Yeah Hunter has a rough day in that one. Anyway! :)
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philip knows what happens next - his brother struggles, begs for him to stop, struggles to be freed, but he presses the knife in, until his cries quiet, and once he's almost still, pulls the knife out, and leaves his brother to die.
it's not how it goes. instead of terror, caleb's brown eyes flash with steely determination. instead of struggling to be free, caleb grabs the knife - the limb - with one hand, but not pushing, keeping in place. belos tries to pull away, this isn't how- but caleb's other hand is freed, and he holds on with both hands. it's not the expression of terror and betrayal and pain; it's one of steely determination, of protective fury, or pain. it's the face of a soldier. it's not the face of his brother.
"Caleb wouldn't do this," belos says, with confusion and something like an inkling of fear.
"I'm not Caleb," caleb says, gasping for breath, and his vision - the illusion - flickers away. the eyes are brown, but there's a huge jagged scar that cover the other cheek, stretching to just touch the darkened skin under the right eye, and all the way down the side of the neck, and another, smaller slash of a scar halfway up the left cheek. the pointed, scarred ears. the pained gasps whistle through a gap between the front teeth. there is no shock of betrayal, no grief, np sympathy, no love in these brown eyes, not anymore.
this is not caleb.
"Hunter," belos says, and the grimwalker's mouth pulls into something resembling a bitter smile.
"That's me," hunter says, and the smile solidifies, widens, showing off the canines, and for some reason it fills belos with dread.
[and then hunter's friends kick his ass. or they try to, and start to, but hunter's just kinda bought them a moment of belos being distracted, they still gotta kick his butt, but as one of them hits belos with am attack, he also turns and oop. flings the kid he frickin stabbed across the battlefield.]
something warm dripped down his chin. he thought he might've heard someone screaming his name, but it was hard to tell past the ringing in his ears. he might've hit his head on landing. funnily enough, he couldn't feel much pain from that. it was quite wholly eclipsed by the searing, piercing pain in his chest.
i'm not caleb, but the thought was more like a distant, frightened question.
everything else felt distant, far-away somehow, but he was very aware of his physical body. the hot pain in his chest- dark red stain on white cotton- i'm not caleb--the shivers, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat. the rough ground against his palm and arm as he tried to hold himself up, the tiny sharp pebbles digging into them. the cold numbness starting to spread from the tips of his fingers and toes. the sharp sear of the wound in time with his rasping breaths. the blurry sight of his bloody, trembling arms. there was a stinging cut on his left palm, from the blade-arm. the ground below him, glistening with spreading dark red.
i'm not caleb
he had to get up. he had to stand up. he couldn't fight, but he couldn't stay here. the only thing he'd serve as a distraction for would be his friends as they'd have to scramble to shield him and keep any attacks or debris from hitting him. he had to move. he had to. he tried to get his legs under him, but even just moving them a little, ignoring the flare of searing pain he had to grit his teeth together against, he could tell they wouldn't carry.
he crawled. from the sound of it, a sizable rock crashed into the ground where he'd just been seconds ago. he only made it a couple more feet before the jittery, jelly-like feeling from his legs spread to his arms. a mere foot further, and what little strenght he'd managed to claw from himself had run out. his arms were too weak to even tremble. it was all he could to to slowly lower himself to the ground, instead of just collapsing outright.
it was getting harder to breathe. he felt something bubbling up inside his chest. he coughed, and it hurt, and his mouth tasted like iron.
i'm not caleb, and now it was a desperate plea.
his vision was blurry. all he could really see were shapes and lights, figures moving against a bright light. he could barely make out the silhouette of something heading straight towards him, and even when he strained to push himself up, he knew his arms wouldn't carry and get him out of the way in time. he braced, but a thick wall of what must've been vines grew to shield him right before and took the hit instead. he let himself collapse back to the ground.
the pain flared anew with each shallowing breath. that was good, he didn't mind the pain, it was a sign he was still well enough to feel it. what was more worrying was the slowly spreading cold numbness. it had started in the extremities, but was creeping further and further. it was from bloodloss, he knew.
with his friends shielding him - protecting him, and that knowledge warmed him so it felt like it kept the creeping cold at bay for a little longer - he wouldn't have to expend energy on trying to crawl to safety. he could use it on trying to stay alive.
with difficulty, he rolled onto his back, or tried to, but was left halfway, onto his side. even so the effort left him panting, but it was a little easier to breathe. the sky above him was murky with clouds and smoke. there were no stars, but the sparks from the flames looked a bit like constellations, ever-changing and floating away on the warm air. something bubbled. there was a horrible gurgling noise that it took him too long to realize had come from him, and a tickle in his throat, and soon he was coughing again. his chest hurt so much it brought tears to his eyes. the fit passed. he spat out the blood, and squeezed his eyes shut. his breaths were shaky, and not just from pain.
i'm not caleb, he thought and clung to that thought with the desperation of a drowning man. i am not him, so i will not die like him. i won't die at belos' hand. i can't, because i'm not caleb, and i am going to live. i am going to live, because Flap gave his life for me to live, and i promised him, and i promised my friends, and i promised luz, and i promised caleb, and he told me i'm not him, i'm hunter, and caleb died but hunter will live. i'm not caleb...
he must've gone through it a hundred times. that's what it felt like. there was nothing else but him, and that one singular thought. it kept his mind from the burning pain and the numbing cold, so well that he didn't even notice the flares of pain coming further and further apart, didn't notice the cold spreading.
distantlty he registered the sensation of a hand on his shoulder. it was immediately lifted, like the touch had burned. a distant sound, like muted speech, like underwater.
the hand was back on his shoulder, and it was so warm it almost burned, and somebody's voice pierced through the surface.
"h-hunter?" he knew that sound. it was his name. and he knew the voice too, and the other voices around him, and they pulled him from the depths. the numbness receded like a bubble bursting and suddenly everything was so clear so fast it made him gasp, and the flash of agony from his chest at the sudden movement drew out a broken little sound, something between a whine and a sob.
"hunter!" the person next to him exclaimed. their voice was high-pitched, a little frantic, but there was something that sounded like relief in there, too. "hunter, oh my gosh. please open your eyes, you gotta stay awake. can you look at me?"
could he? he wasn't sure. it felt as though his eyelids had been sealed shut, like they weighed more than a selkiedomus each, but the voice insisted - or he thought it did, at least, the words mostly just washed over him, uncomprehending - so he tried.
only one eye opened properly. the other was squished shut by his cheeck, mushed against the ground.
[this is where i got stuck fellas but essentially. his friends get to him, luz is like thank god you're alive bro let me see looked lile you got stabbe- holy fuck MOM and there's some first aid and hunter's trying his best to stay awake because hw doesn't want to die ya know but his friends are there and his mo- i mesn camila and his sis is there also and he trusts they'll keep him alive :) they've got him. but then when he thinks that his body's like oop danger past cool and he passes out. from relief. dumbass. anyway there was one more line from this pov]
i'm not caleb, was the final distant thought before the numb darkness consumed him. caleb died because his brother killed him, and hunter will live, because his sister saves him.
(after he passes out)
his eyes drifted shut and his face went slack. for a moment it was like time had frozen. luz had. she couldn't tear her eyes from hunter's pale and bloodied face. from the corner of her eye she saw her mom put her fingers to the side of his neck, but it barely registered.
his face was calm. relaxed. kind of like he were asleep. there wasn't a trace of pain, of discomfort, and next to the cuts and the bruises and the trail of blood from the corner of his mouth it looked wrong.
but just now he'd looked so calm, so, reassured, so... sure. i know, he'd said and he said it with such certainty. he knew. she'd told him he'd be okay, or at least that's what she thought she'd included in her panic-induced stream of words, and he'd said he knew. he was so certain. he trusted that she'd make it okay.
when, after what felt like hours and no time at all at once, mom sighed a "there" and relaxed a fraction, and a chorus of shaky exhales of relief rand out around her, luz steeled herself, and armed with his trust and her own determination, turned her attention to doing what she knew best.
the impossible.
"willow", she got out past the lump in her throat and tried to swallow it away, and then continued with a shaky voice, "how much do you know about palistrom trees?"
willow looked at her a moment, straining for comprehension, and luz could pinpoint the exact moment the realization hit.
"not a lot", she said, and luz could hear the struggle in her voice as well, to keep it steady, but she saw her determination mirrored in her green eyes. "but not nothing."
luz nodded. every part of her wanted to shake, and it felt like electricity crawling all over her skin, and he heart was beating so fast she was afraid it'd break out of her ribcage, but she kept her hands steady as she started on the second glyph.
she didn't trust herself to know palisman magic well enough to cast it with Stringbean, and she'd not had the time to test the thus far purely theorietical glyph before either, but there was no time for doubting herself. she had to trust herself. hunter did. and if he was so certain, well.
who was she to let him down.
"it'll have to do", she said as she added the first plant glyph to the healing spell, and though the quiver in her voice wasn't gone, it felt steadier. she felt steadier. failure wasn't an option.
i won't let you fall again, she thought, and sniffed, and used the hand not drawing to wipe a tear that fell from her eye. i'll catch you. this time and all the ones after.
[i have some more too but it's not. it'd have to be updated a bit because i wrote it after ttt! might add it in a reblog later. but that's the most complete sequence of stuff i have written for this fic :) hope you enjoyed this pathwork quilt of a thing if you read this far.]
#drev's fics#not putting it in the main tag because as i said. very wip. but postin anyway#not like anyone has time to read it haha it's finale time#but yea it's here. wanted to share
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Grieve and Burn
Oops it has been a while since I posted anything...
I have a few things that are done or mostly done but life is extremely busy. On the plus side I'm writing more again so I might be able to post a bit more. I have a little excerpt for an OC of mine. (surprise surprise... I'm writing OC stuff again...) As always, I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading.
Liz, the younger twin sister to Link, has been waiting for her brother to come back home. When he takes longer then they expected, Liz goes to look for her brother. She finds him.
Characters: Liz (Original Character,)Mentions of Link (Legend of Zelda)
General Tags: Grief, Crying, Angst, Determination, Pulling the Master Sword, Faries are Friends, WIP, (Excerpt From a Major Project)
Warnings: Death of Sibling, Finding a Body, Burns, (technically) Suicidal Thoughts,Semi-Grafic Depiction of Blood, Semi-Grafic Depiction of Burns
~~~
Liz came to a clearing, the fairy that had been leading the way flying off as the fog around them cleared. Her vision adjusted and she took in the sight around her. Dense forest and foliage, a stone platform with the Master Sword still in it’s pedestal, a temple of sorts with--
“LINK!” A scream ripped itself from her throat as her eyes landed on her brother. He had been pinned to the stony wall of the temple by his shoulder with a spear, blood had dripped down his front and down the wall, pooling at his feet. A lot of it looked dry…
Liz ran to her brother, frantic and desperate, digging blindly in her bag for her bottled fairy. She foregoes the search for a moment in favor of just getting him down. She places one hand flat against the wall under his arm that isn’t pinned and uses the other to rip the spear from the wall, using all the strength from her days on the ranch. It takes some time but it eventually comes free.
He falls onto her and she drops the spear in favor of catching him, gently lowering him to the ground, resting his head on her knees. She digs in her bag again for a fairy, trying to ignore how cold he was, how much dried blood there was, how likely it was that the fairies could do noth--
Liz pulled the cork on the bottle, “Please, please heal him. Help him please. He’s the hero. He’s my brother,” She begged the fairy with a shaking and cracking voice. The little fairy fluttered around his head for a minute gently settling on his forehead for a minute, no magic being used. Liz’s heart sank, “Please…” Tears started to form and she started to shake.
The fairy sensing her distress fluttered up to her and circled her, trying to find the source of her pain, not sure what to heal. In response Liz just leaned over her brother’s form and cradled his head, sobbing fully now. She rocked gently as she cried, a prayer in ancient Hylian spilling from her lips as she hiccuped and sobbed.
She stayed like that for a while, sobbing and repeating her prayer until her voice was raw and her tears were dry. She could hear the chime of the fairies again. There were more of them, as if the one she had asked for help had brought more. Wouldn’t surprise her, she and her brother always attracted fairies. Except for when it mattered it seemed.
Light caught her eye and Liz turned slightly. The Master Sword was sitting in its pedestal just a few steps away. ‘Link must have been ambushed, there would have been no other way that the sword would have been untouched.’ Liz thought bitterly. ‘The cowards must have pinned him there and left him for dead, it wasn’t even a truly fatal wound! He must have been there for days!’ A dry sob shook through her frame
Her eyes widened as something clicked in her head. ‘Hyrule is in more danger than ever. Without the hero… The kingdom will fall, and the rest of the world is likely to follow. I can’t have failed my brother like this can I?’ Liz closed her eyes and took a breath. An idea slowly taking form in her head. She planted a kiss on her brother’s forehead, laying him on the ground fully as she stood. ‘I’m his twin so the world will have to settle for second best.’
Liz stepped up to the Master Sword, stories of people being burned or struck down for trying to draw the sword without the Hero’s Spirit came to the front of her mind but she pushed them back. ‘Either I join my brother, or I fight for Hyrule. I refuse to be a bystander to a massacre!’
Liz wrapped her hands around the hilt of the blade. She would not back down. Not without ensuring Hyrules safety or seeing her brother again. So many lives were at stake and despite her pain she couldn’t stand idle and let others go through what she is experiencing.
Liz began to pull. The heat was barely noticeable at first but the sword didn’t give. ‘Please…’ She thought at nothing and no one in particular.
Wind started to pick up through the clearing, the fairies taking shelter in the trees and bushes. Her hands started to sting but she just gripped the hilt of the blade tighter. Liz ignored the steadily growing pain in her hands, pulling at the unmoving blade.
‘I will fight with or without this sword.’
Teeth grit together as the burning feeling became distracting. Liz almost let go of the hilt but just readjusted her grip and continued to pull, her hands sliding on the hilt slightly and her muscles screamed at her to stop. The wind in the clearing was beginning to shake branches of the trees and her hair was coming loose from its ponytail.
‘I can’t stand by and let that murderer continue to tear this kingdom apart!’
With a flash of blinding white-blue light Liz stumbled back and fell, her back hitting the stone behind her and a metallic sound rang out next to her. She blinked the spots in her vision away, the clearing coming back into view.
In front of her was the empty pedestal where the Master Sword once stood. Fairies started to come out of the bushes and flutter back around her. She finally looked away from the empty pedestal when she felt a fairy land on her right hand. There were blistering burns on her palms and fingers, her hands shaking and bleeding. The warmth of magic spread across her hands and they healed in moments. Calluses and scars littering her hands.
In her left hand though, resting gently in her grip and against the stone was the very sword she just burned and bled for. The very sword that was supposed to be in her brother’s hands. She had drawn the Master Sword, despite not being The Hero.
Emotion crashed into her again. Pain, the most prominent, the loss of her twin still heavy on her heart and the thought of continuing this fight without him hurting in a way she never wanted to think about. Confusion, strong and disorienting, how was she supposed to help save Hyrule? She knew how to use a sword, yes, but she didn’t know where to begin with the fight against the Dark Wizard himself. A flash of fear crossed her mind, she could die, not just that, but she could fail. There was a goal now and she couldn’t give up.
Determination, Hope, and grief, were the ones that settled in her mind. Liz knew that she had to find a way to save Hyrule. She refused to give up without a fight. She had the Master Sword, she had a chance. Even if this chance belonged to her brother.
#Liz (Original Character)#legend of zelda#legend of zelda fanfiction#legend of zelda oc#cw: blood#cw: death#cw: death of a sibling#cw: dead body#cw: burns#cw: suicidal thoughts and actions#though the Thoughts and Actions are not addressed as outright suicidal#it is addressed as a “or I'll die trying” type of thoughts and actions
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WIP ask game!
My Italian ass is asking for "Ci sarà", but my angst heart beats for "Solitaire". I don't want to be greedy, so let's pick Solitaire.
Unless...?
Thank you so so much for asking, and I'm sorry for reponding so late! The reason for this is mostly that I actually finally got inspiration for Solitaire again after you send me this ask, so thank you for that! I'll give you little snippets of both WIP's, because greed sometimes is good (namely when it motivates me to finally work on WIP’s).
So, first things first: Solitaire.
You're absolutely, completely right about the angst. The entire plot is Martín angst, I'm not even kidding. The general outline is that it forms a series with Fear and loathing/ Now I see, I see it for the first time, which is about Andrés in the Mint realising he should never have left Martín but accepting that it is too late now anyways. Solitaire is to be Martín's experiences of the Mint heist and the time afterwards. The title is taken from MARINA's song by the same name, and although it only is vaguely is inspired by the song, I want to match the vibe I get from it: a supposedly beautiful life that actually is just... loneliness and tears. A ‘we could have had it all’ and ending up with empty hands.
I only have a few paragraphs jotted down yet, though, because I find it one of my hardest WIP's to work on: I want to show a canon compliant Martín, and I want to accurately portray the way he feels like a victim, even if he isn't truly one. I want to correctly talk about his mental ilnesses (I am guessing at least depression and narcissistic personality disorder, though I’m not planning to label them in the story), but I am no psychologist. I started this WIP around March or April and I suppose I am now more sure about what I'm doing, and now the words are (finally) slowly flowing.
That being said, enjoy these little snippets:
“Andrés was like a poisonous drug, flowing through my veins and cutting off any necessary blood supply, but it felt so exquisite, like a breeze in the warmest summer day."
[....]
Martín sat in the middle of broken glass, a reflection of him in more than one way, and cried until breathing was getting hard and his eyes were red and dry.
[...]
The two of them had become so intertwined that sometimes it was difficult to see which one of them was dead and which one of them was still living.
[...]
The television only showed static now, ever since he had thrown an empty bottle of vodka towards it. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’, went the saying, but Martín hadn't been able to think straight after he had heard the news. In a way the image was fitting, because Martín’s life had become static too, ever since that horrible day.
[...]
But now he understood Andrés’ romanticizing of the death, for his best friend had lived his whole life knowing he would take his own one day. And he had wanted to make his final show grand, he had wanted a last standing ovation, one that deafened his eyes, before the red curtains closed forever. Martín also knew that Andrés would dissaprove of the method he was contemplating, in his sad little flat, a simple shot instead of blazing guns. So he put the velvet box back and instead took a bottle of vodka in hands, waiting until a better idea came to mind, waited until he had a plan, ignoring how those were harder to come by now Andrés wasn’t with him anymore.
Now, Ci sarà is practically the polar opposite of Solitaire: it's pure and unadulterated fluff. The only thing they have in common is that they both are named after a song and both get too little of my attention ehehe oops. I have no idea where I want to go with this story, whether to make it a one shot, or something more. I think the latter, though.
Basically, I had been studying (very) late and it was around 3AM. I was listening to a music playlist when Ci sarà came on. It is one of my favourite Italian songs (though honestly I love anything by Romina Power and Al Bano) and yes I know, I know, my music taste is just as basic as Andrés de Fonollosa's. I, myself realised that exact fact then as well. So, I thought: what if this would be the song for Berlermo's first dance at their wedding? The song just makes me so happy in an undescribable way, and since feelings are always much stronger deep in the night, I felt so incredibly happy and in love listening to it, in the middle of the night, at a volume that was a little too loud. This resulted in me putting the song on repeat, and trying to describe that feeling I had felt. So in a way, ci sarà is a writing exercise.
The plot thus far basically is Andrés being overwhelmed by happiness during his wedding dance with Martín (and everyone is alive and happy). Because as much as I love making him suffer in stories, I also like writing his strangely soft side around Martín. I might write the entire wedding and also the proposal, because I have ideas, especially for the latter (Andrés had been planning to propose for months, then Martín is the first to ask him. Andrés is divided between tremendous frustration and great happiness, but obviously says ‘yes’; that’s also why I imagine that they both take the surname ‘Berotte-de Fonollosa’).
So, here some snippets (I couldn’t choose so it’s slightly more than ‘some’):
They were spinning, whilst the music was swelling, and it was dizzying Andrés. One step back, to the side, close, one forward, to the side, close, an endless repetition. Martín spinning him around and pulling him in his arms again. Their friends all singing Ci sarà, all wearing white clothing and pearly smiles, the adoration clearly visible in Martín’s eyes, how beautiful Martín was looking in the suit. No, not just Martín, his Martín Berotte-de Fonollosa. They were turning again, his husband’s -he couldn’t believe it, his husband’s- warm hand burning on his waist, then on his right cheek, only shortly and suddenly the refrain started and Martín was singing too, albeit softly, yet it’s still too loud in Andrés’ ears. Everything is so loud, so bright, so vibrant. It’s all so pure, and he’s drowning in love, with the sun shining brightly as if it was God’s blessing of their union, the perfectly green grass as nature’s wedding gift to the new spouses.
[...]
Andrés manages to spot his hermanito in the choir made of bank robbers, he’s holding hands with his wife and Paula and he looks so happy and carefree. He has finally accepted Andrés’ relationship, he had even been the one to walk Andrés to the altar, and the things Sergio had told him then were still going through his head.
The butterflies in Andrés’ stomach were taking him over more and more, he is growing dizzy and dizzier. All this love, he has no place for it, it is seeping through his veins, bursting out of his fingertips like rays of sunshine, out of the fingertips that are currently in Martín’s hand and on his shoulder. Andrés knows that he hasn’t had much to drink yet, but he has never been more intoxicated, intoxicated on this eternity captured in less than four minutes. Martín is turning them again, leading him gently, keeping him steady. Martín is there for him like he has always been. And now it’s finally right, it’s finally the way it should be, the other ring on Martín’s hand. Finally, he has married his last spouse, it’s finally the one who he was meant to be with. Finally, finally, finally.
[...]
Andrés feels like he is flying, like his feet aren’t touching the floor anymore. The two of them form a leaf in a strong summer wind by the blue sea, slowly going upwards in an intricate dance, but they’re also so much more. They are the wind and the sea, the entire universe is drowning in their love and they are drowning in the universe. It’s all so much, so so much, yet so small. There is no Berlín, no Palermo, no monastery, no friends forming a choir, no wedding cake, it’s just Andrés and Martín Berotte-de Fonollosa, and their love for eachother.
[...]
Andrés is oh so dizzy with happiness and love, and then he feels it, wet on his cheeks, rolling over his lips, Martín’s hand gently sweeping the oceans welling in his husband’s eyes away. He wants to open his eyes, but he can’t and he doesn’t need it anyway, he already knows what Martín’s soft smile would look like. When Martín kisses him again, softly cupping his cheek, Andrés realises his husband had been crying as well, their tears mixing together like everything between the two of them always has, the way they’ve always been. Like so many of their clothes, their ideas, their furniture, their past and future, their personalities, their love. They have always been intertwined, it just took Andrés a while to see.
[...]
“I can’t believe you cried,” Martín said as he giggled, truly giggled, and Andrés thought it was somewhat comparable bubbles coming to the surface in a fishing pond, and then decided it was a stupid thought because nothing can compare to his husband. Andrés can’t help smiling. “You were crying too, mi marido,” he says softly, the quip in there lost, replaced by pure adoration. He takes Martín’s face into his hands. “Today was my last wedding, I know it for sure. No one else has ever made me feel like this.” And normally, Martín would have joked that he must had said that to all of his wives too, but he didn’t. Instead, his hands mirrored Andrés’, softly stroking Andrés’ cheekbones, which were still wet with tears. Their lips met without any of their usual aggression and hunger, and maybe this kiss was even more important than the one after the exchanging of vows, for Andrés just had made a promise that was much more meaningful.
Thank you again for asking, I hope you liked these snippets! I might or might not have just started another WIP based on the season 5 trailer, so I have no clue when these two will finally be published.
#Berlermo#berlin x palermo#andrés de fonollosa#martín berotte#berlín#palermo#berlin#my fics#asks#wip folder meme
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16, 23, and 37 for the asks :)
16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?
Yes! I did several different bouts of research for Steady Beats actually. First, to gather information on intracranial hemorrhages and related medical problems. And also to fact check the relationship between hemorrhages, seizures, and cardiac arrest to make sure everything lined up. This led to a rabbit hole itself cause I study neuroscience and am so incredibly interested in the effects of head trauma, oops.
Second was to begin the mythology for Death, which led to research on German folklore and figures of death. I found the tale of Mephistopheles and, boom, was inspired.
Lastly was to come up with a real name for Death so I began researching a bunch of other demon names/death figures/etc to get ideas. And this stuff was interesting to even just read about so I got side-tracked. And then the anagram idea came up and Todratuhele was born.
23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?
probably no surprise, but hurt/comfort all the way. As per my interest in medicine, my go-to will be injuries of some sort so I can explore that side of it, but also include the concern/comfort/care from family and friends cause YESSS. As mentioned, I love exploring head injuries, but I also will go to stabbings/impalement or some form of internal bleeding (coughing up blood my dudes - yes).
37. Give an update on your current WIP - if you don’t have one, give a sneak peek to a title or idea that you have and would like to write.
Ah I see you Sage 😏
OKAY so update on Steady Beats. Does this mean like a preview update or just a “where am I?” Maybe both???
So I am getting to the end, I promise guys lol (cries a little). It’s been a super slow process getting the final chapter written, between hectic work schedules and writer’s block cause I’m trying to bring it to a satisfying close. I have the outline done and bits of each section written up in full. I really really really hope to have it up within the next week or two. I give you permission to strangle me if it’s not.
And a preview? Sure!
...
“Why did you choose to go to the moonstone? I—I mean, after the warning you had given my father…”
She trailed off quietly, her resolve faltering as the words left her tongue. It—what right did she have to question him? Was he angry—?
A sad smile tugged at Quirin’s lips as he glanced back down at his son. “I must sound like the world’s biggest hypocrite. And maybe I am.”
“No—I wasn’t—”
“It is true, though. Nearly 21 years ago, I warned King Frederic of the dangers of messing with magic. I had warned him of the consequences his actions would bring. And we saw firsthand that very devastation.
“And then, only a few years after, there I was, ignoring my own words in the hopes of finding any way to save my son. You’re not wrong, your highness. It was mighty hypocritical of me.”
Rapunzel wanted to say something—anything to negate his words. But there wasn’t much for her to say. And, being honest, she had been feeling a little hypocritical, herself, lately, dancing the way she was with difficult choices and a friend’s betrayal when, not so long ago, she had simply let that same music sweep past her without a single rhythmic step.
She was still holding out hope to bring Cass back from the edge, despite it all. Yet where had that resolve been when it was Varian in the darkness?
Where had she been?
She had let him fall. She had let him hurt and fix his mistakes himself. She had offered no helping hand, choosing instead to turn her back—to vilify him when he may have never been the villain at all. At least, not at first.
She wonders about that night, from time to time. Who had really been the villain on the night a kingdom waged war against a cornered, grieving boy? Was it him—was it Varian, who had kidnapped her mother in a last-ditch effort to make his voice heard and save the only family he had left? Was it her father, who had lied to their people—who had ignored a threat of his own creation and sought to silence the only person willing to unveil the truth?
I am the King and I have the situation under control!
I’ll be sure to do everything I can to get him help.
Her father—who had lied to her.
Was it her—a supposed friend? Her—the sundrop?
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to all the WIPs i’ve loved before
rules: post your favorite parts of 3-5 fics that have been sitting abandoned in your drafts for ages. (for extra shame, throw in when you last worked on each thing.) tag 5 other writers to reflect on their life choices.
a pen pals au of sorts in which jake and amy share a desk and communicate via post-it notes (last edited: december 2017)
Amy is going to murder her deskmate.
The literal trash heap that greeted her last Monday was one thing, the sticky orange soda stain from last month was another thing, but this – this blatant disregard of property and boundaries and the sanctity of office supplies – is the Last Straw.
Spread out across her entire desk is a good fourth of the Post-it notes from the brand new assorted set she got from her brother Tony. They’re all arranged to look like various Star Wars icons, and a few of them are filled in with marker for apparent color correction. It’s horrifying.
Grumbling, she begins taking apart Post-It Yoda, keeping the salvageable pieces in a stack and throwing out the rest. When she’s cleared her entire table, she grabs her favorite pen and a fresh sheet then writes:
Hi,
Please refrain from wasting my Post-its in the future. Thank you.
- Det. Amy Santiago
She stares at it for a moment and decides, since this is probably the only passive aggressive note she’s going to write her deskmate, she might as well add:
PS: I would appreciate it if you would leave our desk clean at the end of your weekend shifts.
After checking it over once more, she places it in the center of her desk, ready to be read the following Saturday.
a dianetti cake shop au in which rosa owns and runs a store called arlo’s (last edited: june 2017)
Gina takes a moment to look over some of the cakes on display before clearing her throat and leaning over the counter. “’Scuse me, can you help me get a custom cake order started?”
“Sure.” The baker wipes her hands on a dish towel before grabbing a small notebook and pen from one of her pockets. “What’s the occasion?”
“Some old geezer’s leaving our precinct to enjoy retired life, or something like that.”
“Retirement party? Cool. Tell me about this guy.”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know or care about him. I’m just here cause my boss told me to order a cake.”
A smirk forms on the baker’s lips. “Ha. Do you wanna just do a standard cake order then? I usually do the custom cakes for more personalized, special events.”
“That’s probably smart. Which one of your standard cakes say: ‘Congrats on being old and rich enough to never work another day in your life, but sorry you’re almost dead’?”
She snickers. “I don’t know about that first part, but how ‘bout an angel food cake as a ‘hope you go to heaven when you die’ sort of thing?”
Gina grins and fishes through her purse for her wallet. “Oh, you should know my expectations on this cake are out of this world high. I’m only here because Yelp told me you’re the Beyonce of baking.” (Actually, she’s here because at least three reviews claimed the baker-slash-owner was “terrifying” and “gorgeous.” – They were right, on both accounts.)
a sequel to i could listen to you all day // the “after ever after” story in which jake and amy navigate their first year together as soulmates (last edited: march 2017)
Jake’s phone buzzed on his desk, breaking him out of his happy daydream. He picked it up and opened a new message from Gina.
“god, quit making heart eyes at the new girl!! your conscience would be v disappointed, kiddo.”
Gina, who had been watching him like a hawk from her desk, expected him to get all flustered and to text or yell back something overly defensive. She raised a single eyebrow when his face instead broke into a goofy grin and he straight up giggled.
Across from him, Amy looked up from her case files. “What’s so funny?”
He shook his head and mumbled something about memes and the internet.
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips curled up into a smile. After he redirected his attention to his computer screen, her expression morphed into the same openly adoring look he had on his face the entire morning.
And then it all clicked.
If Gina had stopped to think about it, she would have recognized the new disappointment she felt in both herself (for taking this long to put two and two together) and her childhood best friend (for not keeping her in the loop). As she had not stopped to process anything, she instead yelled across the bullpen: “OH MY GOD. JAKE AND AMY ARE SOULMATES!”
All work stopped, and everyone fell silent. For a good minute, all that could be heard was the faint snoring from Captain McGintley’s office.
“Gina,” Rosa half-snarled, half-whispered. “You can’t just say that.”
“Oops, my b. Y’all know I have no conscience now so…” She giggled, winked at the leather-clad detective, and went back to her game of Kwazy Cupcakes.
Jake let out an awkward laugh. “Well, uh, that was -”
Out of nowhere, Charles appeared right in front of their desks. “Is it true, Jakey? Was Amy the voice in your head all this time?”
“I -” He glanced at Amy for help.
She bit her lip and shrugged.
This wasn’t at all how he envisioned making the announcement, but there was no use denying it. Still looking straight at her, his face softened into a smile. “Yeah… We’re soulmates.”
Charles squealed loudly. “You said the S word! Does that mean it’s official?” He gasped. “Have you said ‘I love you’? Have you met each other’s parents? When’s the wedding? What are you naming your first child?”
pretty much a crack fic inspired by the media’s post-olympics obsession with tessa and scott // my spin on a vm au bc i still refuse to write jake and amy as ice dancers (last edited: may 2018)
Like many of the other bizarre situations he’s found himself in, this all started with Gina. Over the last year or so, she’d been posting random photos and videos of all of them at the precinct. (“I’m devoting my energy to my new project, Ginazon,” she’d declared to the entire bullpen. “It’s a one-stop online portal for my legions of followers. I’m just giving the people what they want!”) Given that this was Gina of all people, Jake wasn’t at all surprised to find out that each post garnered hundreds of likes, but he’d never bothered to venture into the comments section. He’d never known about the apparent niche following that had formed, the group of fans – for lack of a better word – waiting with bated breath for him and Amy to get together.
Charles had only spurred them on, what with all the various Easter eggs on his culinary blog. (“This place has everything,” he’d written once. “My co-workers Jake and Amy even gave it their stamp of approval after they’d shared a quick lunch there before a long stakeout. Make sure to ask for the winter salsa; it’s wonderful!”) He’d sworn that none of it was intentional and that he would never do anything to sell them out, but everything he’d written had still been catalogued and analyzed by the pseudo-experts of the fandom. At this point, Jake’s main regret is not reading Charles’ weekly email blasts.
Their downfall – or rise to viral glory – came when someone from the so-called G-Hive happened to be in just the right place at just the right time, catching their (second) completely-platonic, spur-of-the-moment, done-in-the-name-of-justice kiss on camera. By the next morning, “Undercover Cops Lock Lips Before Locking Up Wanted Criminal” had been viewed on YouTube over a million times.
With everything about the entire situation already being so weird, they’d decided to just ignore their newfound fame in the same way they’d pretended the kisses never happened. (“We’re a great team. We work great together. Nothing should mess that up,” he’d said, repeating nearly his exact words from the night before.)
Evidently, there was no escaping this though. A formal press conference was set up, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary for cases that caught the general public’s attention, except they’d ended up having to say more about their dating lives than the investigation or arrest. He can still feel his heart lurching in his chest at the first relationship-related question, still hear Amy loudly stammering out some vague answer about being “very professional.”
a smutty soulmate au in which jake and amy unknowingly share dreams every now and then (last edited: november 2017)
At this moment in time, Amy Santiago is undeniably, incomparably, drop dead gorgeous.
More specifically: she’s in the hot red dress Kylie convinced her to buy on their last post-trivia night celebratory shopping spree; she’s wearing a matching killer shade of lipstick picked out by her fashion-forward, shockingly sexual 13-year-old niece; and she’s got her hair swept into that one elegant yet fun side ponytail that caught her eye in a magazine a few weeks back.
Normally, she’d be proud of herself for managing to pull off such a look, except–
It’s been a good several hours since she tossed her dress into the hamper, wiped the makeup off her face, and tugged the elastic tie from her hair. She’d buried her head into her pillow and wheeze-cried herself to sleep shortly after changing into her pajamas, so overwhelmed with shame and disappointment over the night’s party-gone-wrong.
The thick haze shrouding her current surroundings tells her she’s in another one of her soulmate’s dreams, which helps a tiny bit in explaining her current appearance but really opens up more questions than answers.
tagging: @santiagoswagger @three-drink-amy @do-me-decimalsystem @arnie-santiago @sergeant-santiago
for the record, this was inspired by @disruptedvice and @elsaclack’s responses [x,x] to the writing meme!! i thought it was super clever of them to feature little snippets from various works and felt this would be a good way to give unfinished/abandoned fics some love!
#writing meme#wip meme#tag game#b99 au#i'm honestly shookt at the last edit dates on these#why am i like this#ngl i just wanted an excuse to post some of these bc i'm fairly certain they won't ever be finished RIP#if anyone else wants to do this pls feel free!!!#my stuff
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WIP Questions Tag Game
Because I have to start this blog off somehow! Say hello to some random facts about One Siren’s Soul.
... what, what do you mean I could post some actual writing? Pfft, no.
I actually got this game from @thelysstener‘s blog and thought it was pretty cool! I wasn’t tagged or anything but I really like doing tag games. Hope you don’t mind!
1: Describe the plot in one sentence
Magical things get stolen from magical people, forcing a siren, a sea witch, a pirate, and a legend of the Royal Navy to begrudgingly work together to get them back. (Aka: A study in how Quill doesn’t know how to write story pitches yet)
2: Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel, and taste to describe the aesthetic for your WIP. (I definitely did not follow the “one” thing but too bad)
Sight: The soft, welcome blues of the sky peeking through clouds of a dispersing storm, the ocean below calm despite its froth of foam drifting across rippled dark water.
Smell: Salt and drying seaweed and rotting fish. And then a permeating, engulfing scent from the ocean that you can’t place or describe, like the very depths of its soul. Magic.
Sound: The howl of wind through a cave opening, a background of distant waves crashing amidst sea bird’s cries.
Feel: The crackling of static electricity through your fingertips as you smooth down the folds of your clothing on a stormy day.
Taste: The slight tang of something metallic. Is that blood, or sweat, or metal? Or all three? (Or the tears of my future readers?)
3: Which 3+ songs would make a playlist for your novel?
I’m normally better at making playlists for things but in this case I was really picky, so...
Your Bones by Of Monsters And Men (Probably one of the biggest inspirations for the overall aesthetic and just... feeling of my wip.)
Sirens by Fleurie (The name and lyrics of this song fit in both definitions of the word.)
Coastline by Hollow Coves (There’s... a happy song on this list? What?)
4: What’s the time period and location in which your novel takes place?
Early 18th century on an alternate Earth in the North Atlantic.
5: Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded?
So uh. Funny story about that. One Siren’s Soul was originally going to start with ‘A’ instead of ‘One’. I realized pretty quickly why that wasn’t such a good idea, and also I just like how it sounds more, now?
6: What’s the first line of your novel?
Mmmmm this is a first draft, mate, I don’t wanna touch that just yet.
7: What’s a line of dialogue you’re particularly proud of?
Oh, jeez. All of the ones I really like are heavily context dependent or ridden with spoilers. In lieu of those, have a somewhat-kinda-funny one:
“Colin! Nice to see yer up. Or, well. Down.” - George, right after Colin falls flat on his face in front of him.
8: Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?
~Spoilers are fuunnnn~
9: Who are your character(s) face claims?
I’m definitely not the most set on these (especially for Io and Dione), but:
Celestine - Amandla Stenberg
Colin - Booboo Stewart
Phoenix - Enam Heikeens Honya
Dione - Maggie Duran
George - Johnny Harrington
Isabel - Camila Cabello
Io - Kirby Griffin
Rose - Nivetha Pethuraj
I have no idea for Io or Sheila or Alixandre yet, oops.
10: Sort your characters into Hogwarts houses.
For some reason these sorts of things are always tough for me? I myself don’t fit in only one so I think that’s worn off on my characters. Here’s some approximates, though:
Gryffindor: Phoenix, Isabel, Colin
Ravenclaw: Dione, Alixandre
Hufflepuff: George, Sheila
Slytherin: Rose
I can’t decide whether Celestine is in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, and Io’s stuck somewhere between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
11: Which character’s name do you like the most?
Chichima is probably my favourite. Who’s that, you ask? Nyehehee.
Including full names it’d probably be Phoenix Solarin because if that isn’t the most over the top thing to name a pyro I don’t know what is.
12: Describe each character’s daily outfit:
I’m just... gonna do my PoV characters, since I have too many characters in general, and fashion (especially historical) is not my strong suit.
Celestine: Maroon, long-sleeved dress; long, cream woolen scarf; and a pair of dark brown, lace up leather boots.
Colin: Simple white tunic; red and multi-coloured knit sash around his waist; brown trousers; and black cavalier boots (but to be honest he goes barefoot way too often).
Phoenix: Simple white blouse; bright red sash around her waist and as a headband; dark trousers; and buckled black leather boots. She gets a scarlet frock coat with gold trim later on.
Dione: Honestly, I have no idea how to describe Dio’s clothes. Other than black felt boots and a light green dress-like thing, I know she has a billion hidden pockets and a giant, hooded, fur and wool cloak that covers over all of the rest of her clothes so you can’t even see them. I dunno.
13: Do any characters have any distinctive birthmarks/scars?
Phoenix has a tattoo of crossed cannons somewhere (and also her, you know, vitiligo), George probably has a couple sailor’s tattoos as well, Isabel only has one arm, Celestine is missing her whole left eye, and Io has very distinctive scarring that she hides and is totally not going to become plot important at all.
14: Which character most fits a character trope?
Maybe Sheila? She’s the sweet and kind old lady shopkeeper who has all the best juicy gossip for our main cast to conveniently learn of.
15: Which character is the best writer? Worst?
Dione. Just. No competition. She writes poetry in her free time. She keeps a diar—I-I mean journal. Also she has actual training in writing but you’re not supposed to know that so shhh. Worst is probably Colin. He can barely read due to his dyslexia and as a regular deckhand he never really had the need to learn anyways.
16: Which character is the best liar? Worst?
You’d think it’d be actual thief and criminal Celestine but no, it’s Phoenix. Also another character I can’t mention because spoilers. Worst would be Colin. That comes up a lot. Sorry, Colin.
17: Which character swears the most? Least?
Rose. Swears. A LOT. Celestine does in Spanish. Least would probably be Alixandre because he’s just... too sweet. Too innocent of a boi.
18: Which character has the best writing? Worst?
Dione also has the best handwriting, since spoiler reasons but also she’s just like that. Colin’s handwriting isn’t the best, but it’s actually Io’s absolute chicken scratch that takes the cake for the worst. You wonder how people can even read her ship logs.
19: Which character is the most like you? Least like you?
Fun fact: Colin was originally based on another character of mine that was originally based on a sona form of me. So. His clumsiness is a new development, I don’t have that, and I’m apparently really good at lying, so there’re some differences. (Also I’m a writer and he can barely read. Oops.) But that obliviousness? That absolute clueless, distractibility? That inability to sit still? Those terrible puns and attempts at being socially adept? That’s me.
20: Which character would you most like to be?
I think Phoenix? You’ll find out why that is in the book, ‘cause her true personality isn’t quite the one people think of her as having, but... yeah. Phoenix is fun.
I’m gonna ignore the rules like a rebel and not tag anyone, so I’ll just tag everyone who wants to do this, instead!
Want to learn more about One Siren’s Soul? You can find the page here. I’m going to be starting a taglist soon, too, so let me know if you’d like to be added!
#oss#one siren's soul#wip#wip tag game#tag game#wip intro#wip introduction#writing#writeblr#writeblr community#ocs#my ocs#i enjoy doing tag games way too much#please tag me if you ever do them#plz
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