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courtingstars · 4 years

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Notes for Comfy Cozy Are We (AoMomo)

Finally, it’s the Momoi and Aomine chapter! I tried to make these notes as brief as possible, but I did have some things I wanted to mention. Mostly some cultural notes, and a few personal ramblings.

References to The Seven Wishes

So I feel like I opened this chapter in pretty much the sappiest way possible? //laughs One of the things I’ve always loved about Momoi’s character (which I’m guessing is obvious) is how important her friends are to her, particularly the Generation of Miracles and the bonds they formed while they were at Teikou. So when I write about Momoi, I have a tendency to highlight that part of her backstory.

The start of the chapter is also related to another fic I finished this year, called The Seven Wishes. It was a one-shot about Momoi and the GoM that was included in the KNB 10thAnniversary zine, and I had every intention of posting an edited version of it online months ago. But life got busy, and it’s still not up yet. OTL After I finish posting this Christmas fic, The Seven Wishes is the next thing on my list! So if you’re curious about my headcanon that Momoi started making seven wishes for her and her friends, you should be able to check out the story that inspired the opening of this chapter very soon.

(Cut for some more notes about part-time jobs and highschoolers in Japan, Christmas Eve food, shopping in Ginza, kotatsu tables, and headcanons about Aomine’s backstory…)

Part-Time Jobs and High School Students

This isn’t crucial to the story, but I did want to note that in Japan, schools often have specific rules about whether or not their students can get a part time job. The policy varies a lot from school to school, and it seems like the rules might not always be enforced? But I did read at least one account of a high school that only allows its third-year students to get jobs. Aomine is in his third year in this story, so it’s not too surprising he’d be able to work… But I did think it was worth noting that it’s not a given in Japanese schools by any means.

Budonoki Christmas Cakes and KFC

So I think I’ve already talked in the notes for this fic about how the classic Christmas Eve meal in Japan is KFC chicken and cake… In this chapter, Momoi preorders a cake from Budonoki, a longtime supplier of this type of dessert in Japan. Each year, they even have a special Christmas site displaying their cake specials for the season. There’s generally a classic strawberry cake, a chocolate version, and often a Yule log style cake as well (called Buche de Noel). It’s a great example of what these Christmas cakes in Japan tend to look like!

And yes, there’s also a longtime tradition of eating KFC in Japan on Christmas Eve. XD (To the point that it’s pretty easy to find photos of long lines in front of KFCs in Japan on the 24th. //laughs) You can even order from them in advance, and they have special full meals that are prepared just for the holiday.

I’ve always found these traditions really fascinating, honestly… Particularly because even though these are Western-style foods, they’re very different from what Westerners generally eat on Christmas? To learn more about the history and possible origin of these traditions, you can check out articles like this.

Ginza Department Stores

I included a reference to the Ginza shopping district in this chapter, since the area is generally known for having the most high-end shopping in Tokyo. It has a ton of famous brands, as well as some very fancy department stores. You can read about some of them in this article here.

As for Momoi’s necklace, I didn’t find a specific piece that I was picturing for the story! (What I saw in my head was on the simple side, because I knew it wouldn’t make sense for it to be too overly extravagant.) But I did find plenty of beautiful examples of sakura pendants by companies like Mikimoto, such as this one with pearls.

Kotatsu

I’m sure a lot of people already know about kotatsu tables, but just in case you don’t, you can learn more about them in this article! I’m a huge fan of kotatsu in general. I especially love seeing them in fiction about Japan, because they have a lot of cultural associations with family and general cozy vibes. So it seemed pretty appropriate to feature one in a story about nostalgia between two childhood friends. (Especially one titled “Comfy Cozy Are We”? //laughs)

Aomine’s Backstory

So… I’ve never actually written a fic about Aomine before. Even though his character is really important to me. So important that I hesitated to write about him, because there are aspects of his story that are very meaningful and even personal to me in certain ways. I’ve always felt like would be difficult to do justice to him as a character.

So I guess it’s no surprise that for my first time writing about him, after all these years, his PoV ended up WAY more serious than I planned it to be. (And also way longer, but anyway. //laughs) Even though this was supposed to be a fluffy holiday story. (But I guess I should have known it was coming, if I was going to write about his bond with Momoi, of all people?)

In any case, this chapter ended up drawing on some of my longtime headcanons about him… I know I’m not alone in this, but I do tend to interpret how he changes in KnB canon as connected to mood issues and depression. I also see his issues as going deeper than basketball, and his canon struggles as a symptom of something much larger. (Which is kind of how I tend to interpret characters in general, like in A Spark of Light, for example.)

So while I didn’t reveal everything that’s been going on in his life in this story, I did hint at his background and some aspects of his home life that I’ve had as headcanons for a long time. And I’m definitely planning to explore my take on Aomine a lot more in my future verse/future WIP, which I’ll hopefully talk more about in the new year.

Well, that’s it for this chapter! Thank you all for indulging me in my holiday fic feelings. XD This story is almost complete, but I did save my favorite chapter for last. And I’ll be posting it very soon. <3

#long post #text post #kat writes fanfic #kat writes about basketball dorks #these wonderful things #ahhhh I loved writing about these two!#even though their feelings got kind of out of control wow XD #but I guess I should have known lol #especially if I was going to write a story about Aomine finally thanking Momoi #also props to him because that necklace thing was SMOOTH #there's a surprising amount of jewelry in this fic in general haha

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laora-ryn · 7 years

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some hearts beat ever onward

(partially) written for the 10th anniversary of Gundam 00!!

tumblr whY did you take out all my italics they’re super important here why

Spoilers: For Marie’s existence, though I don’t remember when that actually came up. ~2x8?

Summary: His body has failed him, leaving him trapped in a medical pod with no chance of escape. Her memories of her life Before are slipping steadily through her fingers.

They find each other, and for a while, life is just a little more bright.

Characters: Allelujah and Marie

Rating: T-ish for canon themes of war, tragedy, terrorism, and child experimentation

Notes: So I started this this week and then realized there was no way in hell I was gonna get it finished by today. (Super unfortunate, since I love the premise.)

The summary is a work in progress, but if it’s unclear, basically we’re looking at an Allelujah and Marie swap AU, in which Alle’s the test tube baby and Marie’s been kidnapped from the wars. Ultimately, we’re going toward Marie recruited to pilot Kyrios and Allelujah sent off to Sergei Smirnov, though this blurb doesn’t quite get that far!

It’s gonna turn into a snapshot collection more than a cohesive thing (or else this would turn into much longer than a oneshot OTL)

I really hope you guys like it! I’ll try and get this done as soon as I can :)

@sapphireswimming, @ninthfeather, @g00week

He tries to remember what it meant to experience the world around him.

He tries to remember, but it has been a very long time since he was able to see, or hear, or feel anything at all. He remembers—barely—colors, and cold, and sharp voices that spoke over him no matter how hard he tried to speak up.

He remembers the stories well, though, and remembers their words as if they’re branded on his mind. He remembers them and they were good, and so he clings to them as time passes interminably without him.

He remembers the stories—the beautiful words said and sung by the children new to the facility, in hushed tones so that the doctors would not hear. He remembers them explaining God, explaining how he is good and kind and wonderful, and he reasons that God must exist somewhere outside of the facility. He’s never left this place, after all.

He remembers, once upon a time, wondering whether he could ever meet God. He remembers wondering if he could ever leave so he could talk with him. All of the adults here are indifferent and cold, but the others explained God as something different entirely, and he thinks he’d like to meet him, if he can.

But now he cannot, not ever, because his body has stopped working though he is still intact inside of it. Some days he thinks it’s unfair, but he also knows that he is still alive—he is still alive—and so maybe he will one day get better and be able to leave, to visit God on the outside.

Allelujah, he thinks, because perhaps God has kept him alive for this purpose, and the other children taught him that life is a precious gift that should be cherished.

(He wonders what he would do, if he hadn’t heard of God—and he thinks he doesn’t like the answer.)

Her head hurts more than it ever has, at this facility or during her life Before—which she can remember less of by the day.

Her name is gone, replaced by the code E-0057, and her head hurts more than it ever has in her life. The other children explain that children named E don’t live very long, in hushed tones so that the doctors will not hear. Those named C tend to survive the longest, and undergo fewer surgeries, and there’s a rumbling of something at the back of her mind that she tries to ignore because, right now, she thinks she has more to worry about.

She cannot remember her name except that she had one, and she cannot remember the family she must have had. She cannot remember what country she is from, or what language she used to speak beyond the Mandarin that now occupies her mind, the French and English that they’re starting to teach her. It terrifies her, that one day she might even forget that she has forgotten, that this place with its steel walls and its doctors will be all she’s ever known. She remembers that a place exists, Outside, and she holds desperately to this truth, because she does not know what will happen to her if she does not.

The other children say she’s going to die, and there’s something in the back of her mind like another voice waking up, and the doctors tut over their clipboards at her next check-up. They shake their heads and mutter to each other about how she isn’t progressing, and she bites her tongue to keep quiet because she knows speaking up will only earn her a slap to the face.

“Has anything changed since the last surgery?” one of the doctors directs at her, his words sharp, and she shakes her head. Headaches happen every time she goes under, after all, and she thinks a second voice in her head will surely be cause for disposal. They always say that they’re looking for the perfect child, the one they can show to the military as a prize and a tool and a soldier. Someone sharing headspace with another person is about as far from perfect as she can think of.

The doctor’s face twists; he and his colleague stomp out of the room as the orderly steps from the corner, his face impassive as he leads her back to the common area. She tries not to hunch, tries not to hug herself about the middle, and tries to think of a way to convince the doctors that she should not be disposed of.

There isn’t one—at least not one that they couldn’t see through in a second—and she grows more miserable by the second, sure she’s going to die.

(The voice in the back of her head grows stronger by the minute, though, and there’s something else, too—just at the edge of her hearing—that she can’t quite make out.)

He’s been calling out in his mind for what feels like forever; by now, he’s not expecting anyone to respond.

It’s not that he can hear it, exactly, but it’s there, at the edge of his mind, and he’s so surprised by the existence of something beyond himself that he’s struck dumb for a moment. But it sounds like—like another person, maybe, because it doesn’t sound like his own mind-voice, and if it’s not him then it must be someone else.

Who are you, the voice asks, and as he focuses it becomes clearer in his mind. It’s higher than his own, a little tentative, and at first, he’s not sure how to respond. He barely remembers ever interacting with another person at all—but he is so desperate to not scare her away, even if he does not know why she is here.

My name’s Allelujah, he thinks, trying to project, and the silence lasts just long enough that he thinks maybe it hasn’t worked. Who are you?

He’s trying to come up with another way to communicate when the same voice says, very quiet—I...I’m E-0057. I think.

Allelujah frowns, or he would, if he had control of his face. That’s a weird name, he thinks to her, and the silence is even longer this time.

Why are you in my head? she asks eventually, and he doesn’t know how to answer. I don’t think—the doctors won’t be happy, they might dispose of me.

She sounds scared, and Allelujah feels as if he should try to comfort her, make her feel better, because she is the first person he has been able to talk to in so long that he feels suddenly terrified of losing her. It can be our secret, he says, earnestly. I won’t tell anyone. Even if he could.

She hesitates. Promise? she asks eventually, and Allelujah agrees without even pausing to think.

He has a friend—he has someone to talk to for the first time since he got sick—and he will do anything to hold onto her for as long as he can.

She goes wandering the halls that night, careful to stay away from the guards on their patrols and the orderlies who increase in number as she approaches the medical wing. Allelujah is a quiet presence in the back of her head, alongside the other that she’s trying very hard to ignore, but he grows louder and more present as she approaches. She wonders with terror whether he is sick in med bay, whether he is going to be disposed of.

She comes across heavy double doors, and something compels her to push one in, just a crack, to peer inside. The doctors have gone away by this time, but she knows there’s a chance she’ll be seen and disciplined. But she still…

The only thing in the room is a large, transparent medical pod, attached to an enormous suite of equipment—and within the pod is a boy.

She steps forward, glancing to the mirror on one side of the room but quickly returning her attention to the boy. “Who are you?” she asks, when she comes upon him, because his gray eyes are wide open and staring at the ceiling as the machine helps him breathe.

You came, Allelujah says in her head, and she jumps badly, looking again to the boy in front of her, who hasn’t moved an inch. He sounds so happy, so relieved, and his voice is clearer than it has been in the past. She can feel his emotions when she could not before.

“You’re…” she trails off, staring at him, unnerved by the way he doesn’t look at her. “Why aren’t you talking to me normally?”

I can’t, he says, a little sad, a little embarrassed, and she needs to look away so as not to see the strangeness of it all. I’m—sick, I think. I can’t talk, or see, or hear, or anything.

“That sounds terrible,” she says, quieter. She tries, and fails, to imagine living such a life herself.

It’s not so bad now that you’re here, he says, and he sounds so earnest that she can’t help smiling a little in return. Are you one of the other children? That the doctors brought?

“Yeah,” she says. “I...I don’t remember anything about Outside, though...even my name.”

It hurts, to say it out loud, but Allelujah only hums in thought. I gave myself a name, he says after a moment. You could do that too, if you wanted.

She blinks, turning to stare down at him again. She considers this, and then wonders what the doctors would say, should she begin calling herself something new. She realizes very quickly that they would be angrier with her than they already are. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” she says hesitantly, scuffing the toe of her slipper on the floor. “The doctors might be upset.”

It can be our secret, Allelujah insists, and she thinks she can hear a smile in his voice. If you want, I could help you think of one.

She blinks, and eventually nods—before hurrying to agree verbally, as he has no way of seeing her. He already seems to be thinking, though, and she waits silently for him before several seconds before he makes a soft sound of revelation. What about Marie? he asks, and she blinks, considering this. It’s a nice enough word, she supposes, though she doesn’t know anything about it as a name. Like the kind woman in all the stories—

“What stories?” she asks, not meaning to interrupt and hurrying to take back her question. But Allelujah only seems aghast, asking in horror whether she has not heard stories about God.

She has never heard of God, though, and at the other’s horror, she thinks maybe she should have. “Can you tell me about him?” she asks, hesitating before sitting on the sterile ground, leaning her back against the pod.

Allelujah hums, thinking. God is very important and powerful, he says eventually, and she feels her eyebrows rise. Even more powerful than all the doctors put together. He lives somewhere outside of here. I want to meet him one day.

She blinks, considering this—tries to imagine a person who would have power over all the people here, and fails. “I don’t understand,” she says eventually, flinching at the admission, and knows if it had been anyone else, she would be reprimanded.

But, she realizes, even if Allelujah were able, she doesn’t think he would ever harm her—not with the warmth she feels in her mind.

The others said we weren’t supposed to understand, he says, and she’s sure he must be smiling. We just need to trust in God, and he’ll take care of us. That’s why I chose my name—to thank him for still being alive.

She considers this, and thinks it ironic that the boy who is so sick is the one who’s giving thanks. But, she supposes, when so many other children disappear and never come back, still being alive is something to be thankful for, after all. “So, who’s Marie?” she asks eventually, and she thinks the word rolls nicely off her tongue—she thinks she might like using it as a name for herself.

God’s mother, he says, reverence in his tone, and she blinks, unsure. She should know the word mother, but it’s just at the edge of her mind, and she can’t remember, no matter how hard she tries. So she hesitates, sure it must be an important relationship, before asking—

“What’s a mother?”

Allelujah pauses. I don’t know, he says eventually, but it must be important, if she knows God so well, right?

She supposes he has a point, and makes a noise in agreement. She reaches up to rub at her face, wondering suddenly whether she’s good enough to take such a name for herself. She’s disappointing all the doctors, lately, after all.

She voices this aloud, and Allelujah scoffs; his voice is warm as he says, You found me when no one else could—that makes you the most important person in the world.

#gundam 00 #allelujah haptism #marie parfacy #fanfiction #fanfic #gundam0010years #mine #g00 #wheeeee i tried

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