#told you there was more by this awesome artist in my drafts
Note
(I hope i'm not too late for the Philophobia ask thingy)
And by the way, this is a question more so about your overall process when writing than the story itself.
So, l know you’ve mentioned in the past about how Philophobia became much more than what it was originally intended to be. I was wondering, I guess, how it felt to have it be that way? Like, I’m in the process of writing the first multi chapter fic I’ve ever made. My original outline for part one of two was 10 chapters long. I’m currently writing chapter 9, but the outline has changed to part one being 20 chapters. And I’m sure it will continue to become longer as I really figure out what I want to do with this story. And sometimes for me it’s like “Oh my god! This fic is so much more than what I planned! Yay!” and sometimes it’s “Oh my god. This fic is too much more than what I planned. Oh no.” So I just wonder what writing Philophobia was like once it became more than what you intended. I can only assume you enjoyed writing it since it continued to grow and change from the original plan. Were you happy when you realized it was so much more than what was expected? Or did it feel, like, stressful? Personally, I’m so glad you did, I love Philophobia and started reading it just days after I finished binge watching Gotham and was still emotionally wrecked by that, and Philophobia was everything I wished Gotham could have given us, and so much more. You’re a seriously talented writer and artist, and I’m so happy you’re a creator in one of my favorite fandoms.
Before I go I want to say thank you so much for all the art and stories you share with us and I hope you have a wonderful morning/evening/whatever. :) <3
hello! Thank you so much you’re so sweet.
To answer your question, my mother once told me that when you feel like the characters are writing themselves, you know you’re doing a good job. So I keep remembering that.
note on that, I think even throughly planned stories do that. Like you’d outline something but when you write a scene it’ll go a little different but it still follows the outline. Some people write on the go, some people follow an outline. Some people do a bit of both.
moreover, it gets exciting. It’s sort of like you’re the reader yourself, and figuring out plots and all can be a fun riddle to work with.
admittedly it does get frustrating sometimes, and sometimes you wish you could’ve foreshadowed something earlier. To combat this, usually I’d write a good chunk or the whole thing before publishing it ( for Philophobia I wrote quite a bit before publishing it and then took breaks whenever I got too close. We can say I’d keep at least 5 chapters in my rough draft if you know what I mean?)
it can get overwhelming, yes, but it’s more often very fun.
also ! Your first multi chapter? That’s awesome! I’d love to read it if you publish it you can tag me if I miss it.
Philophobia Q&A
#Ask#philophobia#BTW THANK YOU FOR THE LONG COMMENT ON CHAPTER 41 I HAVENT FOTTEN TO REPLY YET BUT I KEEO REREADING IT
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Top 5 fanworks of 2021
rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2021. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!
Tagged by: @playboyphilanthro-pissed (thanks :))
In no particular order tbh
1) I Am Yours:
Osner // 42.7k // Harley is Tony’s bio son, ex comes to town, Goblin // T
Harley is now publicly Tony Stark's son, and life seems to be getting better after the whole 'Darrell Incident'. He is the rising heir to Stark Industries, Harry and him are solid, and he is finally free from the guilt and drama of his first few months in New York. However, when Harry gets busy with some government deal at Oscorp, Harley's ex Tj moves to New York, and the avengers have to deal with a new threat from some underground drug-dealing ring, everything starts to go downhill...again
This was honestly such a fun one to make. It is the sequel to I Am Your Son, which was the first fic I ever made, which I would’ve put in this list but I decided not to since a lot of it was written in 2020. I had a few ideas of what I wanted, such as a Goblin appearance and more Abby but it changed a lot from the first draft lol. It was fun to write!
2)soon you’ll get better:
Abbie&Harley // 3.3k // cancer, grief, death, songfic // T
The same sickness that killed their mother is back for more. Harley deals with the grief of losing his sister, through first discovering the sickness till the end. or Abbie Keener has cancer. Harley Keener doesn't know if he'll survive losing someone else. based on "soon you'll get better" by Taylor Swift
This oneee. Honestly probably the most depressing one I’ve written and I love writing angst lol. It is based off Taylor’s song, mentioned above. The song never fails to make me cry and I- the idea immediately came. I based each scene off of each section of lines and it just worked. Definitely one of my favorites by far. I added a little paragraph at the end a few years in the future because honestly? I thought it needed that. I’ve lost people and I wanted to show some kinda healing from everything in the story.
3)Spideydevil drawing:
Um, yeah. Didn’t think it was gonna be in this lineup since I primarily write fics but I am just so proud of this drawing. I draw as a hobby but I don’t do it often nor do I post it, so yeah. It’s fun. This was requested of me when I asked if anybody wanted something and I’m glad they said something cause it was a treat to draw.
4) Whiskey Glasses and (Un)Wanted Attention:
Tony&Harley // 4.3k // Grief, Trauma, Mentioned Rape/Non-Con, Harley feeling ignored // M
Harley is at another party at Avengers Tower, sitting alone, watching Tony brag about Peter and introduce him to all the business associates. It has become very clear who Tony will hand the company to, and Harley can't even deny he's jealous.—But the worst part is that Tony barely pays attention to him anymore. He so badly needs attention.—So when one of Tony's business partners shows him attention at the party, Harley grabs onto it with fervor. It felt good to be wanted, to be appreciated. —God was it a mistake.
Ohh this one. My baby. Honestly probably my favorite. This one was a product of what I had been feeling about Harley for a while. Ignored, overlooked. The story told itself. I’m a sucker for angst and hurt/comfort and this gave it all too me. I’m really proud of how I wrote the little details, the metaphors. Wasn’t sure I was gonna add comfort until people asked me too haha. Glad I did tho because the comfort chapter is my favorite part.
5) Abbie Keener, A Fashion Icon:
Abbie&Harley // 1.3k // keener siblings exploration, Abbie is a fashion designer, kids ig they are young // G
Abbie Keener loves making fashion and clothing, and Harley models her designs for her. However, Abbie is going through a goth phase, and Harley isn't to ecstatic about it.
This one!! Bro literally just a one shot but my first and I’m a proud mamma. I think this is one of my favorite fics about the keener siblings not to get egotistical or anything lol. Idk I wanted to include it :)
Tags: @dead-inside-pt2 @prosperdemeter2 and @ anyone else who sees this and wants to :) (no pressure at all!!)
#harley keener#marvel#mcu#a03 fanfic#2021 was wierd#this is a little late oops#but it’s nice to look back and know I’ve made it through my first year writing fanfic lol#idk what accomplishment that is but I’m proud#learning ig :)#og post
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haunting figures
this is for my @ts-storytime ‘s submission! my artist is @ravenclawicecream and it was awesome working together for this piece.
word count: 15001
tags: discussion of war, slight internalized ableism, arranged marriages, familial death, awful parents, open/ambiguous ending
author’s notes: im never writing anything like this again. it was an experience im glad for !! but i never wanna do this again salkjfdal
The meeting had lasted centuries, it seemed.
In all reality, it had only been a few hours, but he felt like he could see the hairs at his temple graying. The aching joints had been a painful companion all his life, so it seemed that being an old man at age thirty-one was simply his life now. The books surrounding him and the crutches leaning on the side of the desk agreed.
Logan sighed and let his head drop onto the stack of his papers. His eyes threatened to shut but it was only three o’clock in the afternoon and the number of advisors clamoring for his attention was unbelievable. He was only the king, not God Herself. Honestly, if he was a power-hungry noble wishing to be in the king’s good graces, he wouldn’t try and get an appointment with him. Appointments never solved anything; any good court member knew that.
There weren’t many good court members, as you could tell.
Lifting his head from the inked parchments, he rubbed his brow with the palm of his hand. The court member problem was an on-going one, left over from his mother’s reign. Her partner’s death shocked everyone and the queen scrambled to recover the pieces of what she discovered to be a shattered kingdom. She couldn’t fix everything, and so that’s what Logan grew up learning how to do.
The king pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Fix everything” he murmured to himself. “What a useless task.”
A knock came at the door and Logan called for whoever was at the door to come in. “Hello, your majesty,” his steward bowed. “I was told to fetch you.” Logan lifted his eyes to peer over the top of his glasses.
“Am I not the one who is supposed to request others to be fetched?” he asked. The steward’s eyes glittered with amusement as he straightened.
“We both know that that’s no fun,” Emile said, placing his arms behind his back. “Besides you’re going to like who’s come to visit.” Logan exhaled deeply.
“Well, if you are here to fetch me, let me be fetched.” Logan pressed both his hands to the desk and slowly raised. His knees creaked in protest, but he kept going until he was upright. Grabbing the crutches, he swiftly made his way to his steward. Together, they walked the ornate halls until they reached the throne room, where the courtier opened the door and Logan marched inside.
“Your majesty!” a voice boomed. A man clad in black and green stood in the middle of the room, his hand resting on his decorative scabbard. “How is that every time I visit, you seem to become more and more the old man you are inside?” The servants around the room tensed, but Logan just grinned.
“Remus, how is it every time you visit, you can never find a better joke to greet me with?” Logan countered. Remus threw his head back, a loud laugh filling the room. Servants around the room winced at the loud display, but Logan merely smiled.
“Never change, my friend.” Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling. Logan’s heart grew fond at the sight.
“Well, let me sit, and then we may discuss why you are here.”
“What, a prince can’t come to visit his old friend?” Logan scoffed as he sat down in the throne, removing the crutches from his arms.
“Not when said prince has been shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous wreck since I stepped foot into here.” The anxious look in his eyes grew more apparent, but Remus’ smile never dropped. His hand began shaking back and forth at his side.
“I wanted to wait for a bit longer before bringing it up.”
“Nonsense. This is the world we live in, your highness. We’d be fools to forget our responsibilities for a moment.” Remus nodded.
“There has been…a complication in the plan we drafted last summer.” Logan straightened in his seat.
“The one for the fields of the volcanoes in your kingdom?”
“Exactly, my dear friend.”
“What complication could come from that? It was a routine signing, everyone agreed to it and- “
“-and there shouldn’t be another meeting for several more years?” Remus finished. “Yes, but the kingdom of Xious has found that the terms of the contract that has been in place for a millennia before the current monarch is not suitable and wishes to make some changes.”
“What changes could they possibly want? They get forty percent of the crops and pay an incredibly low rent, even after adjusting for inflation!”
“Your anger matches that of my own,” Remus agrees and steps closer, “but they are willing to go to war over it, and, as interesting as I find that, it turns out that death and destruction is not good for kingdoms, so we need to find a solution.”
“War?” Logan exclaimed uncharacteristically. “Over a treaty about wheat?”
“It would definitely be quite the bloodbath. Your army is no match for Xious’.”
“War is quite a rash move, especially if his country is suffering famine.” Remus shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t pretend to know what goes through the child’s mind. My brother believes he’s scared and he sees that war is the only way to protect his country’s dignity. I say that he has been pushing off help from his advisors in some vain attempt to prove himself.”
“Have you done due diligence? There is no reason for the Xiousians to be acting in this manner.” Logan said, leaning his chin into his hand. Roman scoffed, crossing his arms.
“My father would not approve that, not with how the king is acting.”
“Remus, please, your father has little influence in the court anymore, especially in his old age.” Roman gave the Cygnan king a look.
“Please, Logan, you’ve met my father.” Logan rolled his eyes. “You act as if you didn’t know that.”
“Forgive me for still finding it ridiculous.”
“You are forgiven,” Remus jested. Logan huffed a laugh and let his head drop into his hands.
Without saying anything, Logan picked up his crutches, slipping his arms in. He stood up and Remus straightened on instinct. Logan made his way down the steps and walked over to the doors leading out of the throne room. He looked behind him to where Remus was staring at him quizzically in the middle of the room.
“Well, what on Earth are you waiting for?” Logan laughed and kept moving towards the doors. Remus chuckled and hurried after his friends. The guards at the doors moved to follow them, but Logan shook his head. “Leave me with my friend. I certainly won’t die between here and my chambers.”
“But sire-”one of the guards started.
“I am well aware of the protocol, my parent was the one who wrote it,” Logan snapped back. “I will be fine.” Logan saw the guard hesitate for a moment and took his change to keep walking down the hallways.
“You are so rude to them,” Remus mused.
“I’m the king and I can take care of myself. They know to respect me at this point, I’ve more than proven myself.”
“I wonder how many times you could be assassinated between now and then,” Remus thought out loud after a moment. The same guard stiffened and Remus smiled widely in his direction. Logan barely withheld a snort and Remus turned the smile onto the king.
“Are you going to try and find out?” Logan asked rhetorically, beginning to make his way down the hall.
“You mean to tell me that you haven’t taken every chance to find out the exact about of time it would take for any number of assassinations to take place in this exact hallway? That’s so very unlike you,” Remus laughed as Logan smacked his shin with the crutch. “Watch it, Logey, lest I report back to my father that I was assaulted by the king of Cygnas.”
“Oh, shut it,” Logan rolled his eyes.
“Hm,” Remus preened, “I don’t think I will.”
“You and your brother will be the death of me, I swear,” Logan muttered.
“Speaking of my brother…” Remus trailed off. Logan wrinkled his nose at the sound of the prince Roman. “He wasn’t able to accompany me, but we might be returning in a few weeks’ time in case of war, especially since he is the new crown prince.” Logan’s embarrassment shifted into shock.
“What? I thought that-“
“Father has also decided which son will take the throne.” Remus stopped in the middle of the hallway. Logan followed suit.
“Why I haven’t I heard about this sooner? Has he declared this officially?” Logan asked incredulously. Remus shook his head.
“The position is brand new. I heard about it myself while in transit coming here. We both knew that this was coming, Logan.” Remus gave the other king a look and Logan turned away to stare at the ground.
“Yes, but-” Logan cut himself off, frustrated. He turned back to Remus. “Send my congratulations to your brother. He will be a fine king.
“I hope you know that resenting me is an acceptable course of action.” Remus said knowingly.
“I just-”
“You wanted me to be king. I know.” Remus stepped closer to Logan, resting a hand against Logan’s cheek. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
“What kind of talk is that?” Roman looked away, allowing himself to shove his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Remus.”
“Logan,” Remus mocked slightly. “Just yell at me already, won’t you?”
Logan scowled. “Have you no faith in me? Good heavens.” Logan slipped his arms out of his crutches and leaned them against the wall. He pressed up close to Remus and hugged him, making his two inches over Remus known. He cupped the back of his friend’s head, pressing it against his shoulder. Remus slumped forward. “You will be a fine king. Do I wish your father had given Remus more of a chance? Yes, but that does not mean you are anywhere near unqualified for the position.”
“You’re just saying that.” Logan pulled back to look Remus in the eyes.
“Have I ever lied to you?” They stared at each other a moment. Remus searched for something in Logan’s face, but whatever dishonesty he was looking for, he couldn’t find. The air was thick with hidden messages passed between the two members of royalty. Finally, Remus let his head fall against his friend’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Logan’s torso.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of Logan’s jacket.
“You know it’s serious when you start thanking me for things.” Remus snorted.
They stood there for a few more minutes before pulling away. Logan pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead and Remus leaned into it.
“You know me too well, fiend.” Logan smiled softly as he picked his crutches back up from against the wall.
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
-
Weeks had passed since Remus left Cygnas to return to his own kingdom. Despite promises from both twins and the king of Ticevas, the pair of princes were still in transit. Logan was antsy and worried. The threat of war from the Xious kingdom was getting more and more real, with reports of soldiers being seen at the border, and if Remus had to set off to take care of the admittedly powerful army, Logan wouldn’t see him for several months, if not years. He needed to sort this out between Xious and Ticevas, even if it was for purely selfish reasons.
Selfish can be described as practical. That was his story and he was sticking to it.
In their own private letters, passed through business letters addressed to Roman who handed them to his twin, Remus reassured his lover that his brother would be there soon. Yet, Logan’s anxieties still were not soothed.
My bleeding heart,
What do you think of the new introduction? Roman keeps suggesting these ridiculously sappy names for me to call you, but this was the only one I liked, even if I had to modify it a bit. Tell me if you enjoy it.
The Xiousian king visited this past week to try and negotiate with Roman about the contract. They didn’t really get anywhere, which normally wouldn’t bother my brother, but I had to try even less to piss him off at dinner. He stormed out and everything. Quite the dramatic one he is, I have no idea what you see in him.
Speaking of seeing, he plams to be in Cygnas within the next fortnight. I know you’ve been worried about the war with Xious, but Father is slowly becoming more lenient in his old age. With our treaty with you and Limora, I think he’s seeing that handing over the food and money this once won’t be an issue (which is what I’ve been telling him from the beginning, but of course, he only listens when Roman says something).
Enough of business. I miss you, quill. Kill a flower for me and stare out the window like I’m your husband gone to war.
Yours,
Remus
Logan smiled as he thumbed over the indents in the paper, the spritz of the cologne Remus wore wafting up from the page. It was a shorter letter than usual, much shorter, but any word was better than none at all, in Logan’s opinion.
It was barely dawn when the letter had been given to him, the poor messenger looking dead on his feet. It had been difficult to conceal his excitement and relief, but he knew that getting a letter from what everyone thought to be Roman was no cause to be filled with such joy. Only Roman and the two of them knew of Logan and Remus’ relationship, though he had no doubt that their father knew as well, and turned a blind eye. As the general of the army and now officially second-in-command to Crown Prince Roman, any upstanding royal or noble family knew how valuable having that connection would be.
Unfortunately, it meant Logan and Remus would never marry. With the current treaty in place, there was no need to strengthen it with a marriage and Remus’ father, and Roman, after the king died, would need Remus elsewhere for political maneuvers.
Back in his early days as crown prince, Logan had foolishly hoped that marrying Remus would be an option. Roman was an obvious shoe-in to be announced king even then, (no matter if Logan secretly hoped that his lover would be awarded the honor) and Logan continuously badgered his mother about the potential ways they could fortify the alliance with Ticevas. The king was sure that his mother knew of his relationship with the prince and both resented her and was grateful for her saying nothing of the matter. They might have secured a betrothal while Remus’ father was younger and more easily persuaded, but Logan was unsure of his and Remus’ ability to maintain both a burgeoning personal relationship and permanent political relationship in their youth.
And yet, there was almost nothing Logan wanted more than to fall asleep each night with Remus in his arms.
Logan exhaled and carefully folded the letter back up. He slid it under the false bottom in one of his desk drawers, relishing in the smell of Remus’ cologne that rose from the letters before shutting it firmly. Today was too busy for him to be distracted, even if Remus was a wonderful distraction indeed.
He shifted his attention to the documents in front of him and wrinkled his nose. Taxes were important to his kingdom’s economy, but even he found them dreadfully boring. The advisors always insisted that they needed to raise taxes on the lower class almost exponentially in order to pay for better cities, but Logan kept them on a tight leash. The last thing he wanted to do was rob the majority of his kingdom blind. Not to mention the fact that the taxes were still outrageously high and no one deigned to put the money to good use. He found it absolutely disgusting how all the nobles in his court refused to pay their own taxes, yet insisted that those who were living paycheck to paycheck deserved to be burgled by their own government.
He had opinions on the matter, not that he was ever that passionate in court. That would lead to a scandal that he did not want nor need to deal with. He was fixing things slowly but surely.
A knock came at the door and Logan called out to permit them entry. He straightened his posture as his personal steward stepped into the room. Emile bowed and Logan nodded his head in return, remaining sitting at his desk.
“Good morning, Emile. I trust you have a reason to be interrupting me at five o’clock in the morning?” Emile smiled at his boss, not put off by the seemingly dismissive greeting.
“Do you how do, Your Majesty?” Emile said instead of answering, a cheeky grin on his face. Logan’s face dropped into a confused scowl.
“Emile, that phrase is utterly nonsensical, I have no idea why you use it so often,” the king said, looking back down at his papers. Emile laughed.
“It’s simply a fun turn of phrase, Your Majesty, nothing nonsensical about it.” Logan opened his mouth to retort but Emile kept going. “Besides, I have some important information for you.”
“Really? Do share, Emile.” Logan motioned for the steward to continue, still not looking up from his papers. He heard Emile shift nervously.
“The Xiousian king is here and has requested an audience.” Logan’s head shot up, the quill dropping with a clatter to the desk.
“The Xiousian king? When did he arrive?” Logan demanded, pressing his weight to the desk and rising from his seat. Emile grabbed the crutches by the door and swiftly walked over, setting them against the desk for Logan to use if he so wished.
“He arrived mere moments ago, it appears that they rode through the night to get here.”
“Good heavens,” Logan muttered, paling considerably. It was a quiet for a moment as Logan stared down at the ground, trying to decide what to do. “Alright, you go speak with the king while I ready myself. Tell him I will be there shortly.” Emile stared at Logan for a few moments, not moving to comply to Logan’s orders.
“Logan,” Emile started, his voice soft, “you don’t have to go and greet him. I can do so myself and you can take your time.” Logan kept his head down, avoiding making contact with the steward. “Valerie wouldn’t want you to force yourself to-”
“Don’t speak her name,” Logan interrupted, his voice firm. “As far as I am aware, I do not know Virgil and Virgil does not know me. There is no reason for me to hide from him.” Emile opened his mouth to speak, but Logan shook his head. “I’m not having this argument today.” Emile hesitated before nodding and moving to leave the room.
“I’ll inform His Majesty that you will be arriving shortly,” Emile said softly, before shutting the door behind him. Logan sighed as the final click was heard, raising one hand to massage at his constricting chest.
To the world, he was Logan, King of Cygnas, the only child of Monarch Ranal and Queen Leona.
Valerie couldn’t be a factor in his decisions anymore.
-
Logan threw the doors of the throne room open as he strode in, his ornamental cloak fluttering behind him. He took advantage of the low pain that day to try and be as dramatic as possible (Roman’s points about theatrics and intimidation had some merit), but he saw Emile standing by the throne, crutches in hand. Something in him shriveled at the idea that not even his steward thought he could make it through this meeting without buckling beneath the pressure and aching, but he cast it aside. This was not the time for pride.
He regretted the powerful move when he saw the tiny boy in the middle of the room. He knew that the Xiousian king was young, having kept track of any news coming from the Xiousian front, but the boy looked so small. Logan took one look at the kid’s trembling shoulders and stopped in his tracks. No sudden movements, he decided.
“King Virgil,” Logan greeted. “Your presence in my court is highly unexpected, especially at this hour in the morning.” The boy attempted to straighten up, but the crown on his head tilted to the side. It was almost comical.
“King Logan,” the other king bowed his head. “I have travelled a long time to be here.”
“And yet that does not answer the real question,” Logan threw back. He started walking towards the boy, taking note of how the other king winced as Logan drew nearer. The older king passed by the boy, noting how he didn’t relax until he reached the throne. Logan tucked his cloak beneath him as he sat down. “Why are you here?”
“Well, you must know about how your ally Ticevas and how they have been refusing aide to my hungry people.” Virgil took a few short, yet decisive steps closer to the throne. Logan had to give it to him; he might be scared, but he was handling it well. Logan cocked his head to the side.
“My apologies, Your Majesty, but that is not the information I was given by the Crown Prince of Ticevas.” The boy glowered and he furrowed his brow.
“I do not know what information the Crown Prince has given you, but I can assure you that if it is anything close to what I believe Prince-General Remus has said to his superiors, it is unequivocally false.” Logan quirked an eyebrow, but the rest of his facial expression remained peacefully blank.
“You cannot blame me for trusting what has been told to me by the Crown Prince and Prince-General of Ticevas themselves,” Logan lifted his hands from the arms of his throne, folding them into his lap. “I do not intend on changing my opinion on what is true and what is false on unsupported hearsay and beliefs.” Virgil scoffed and he crossed his arms, the movement made slightly difficult by the heavy furs he had draped around his shoulders.
“Do you believe everything the Ticevans tell you?” the boy asked, no hesitance in his voice. “They are known for their dramatics and story-telling, Your Majesty, not every word that comes from their mouths is sure to be true.” Logan blinked in shock a few times, caught slightly off-guard. No one had dared question his trust in the Ticevan twins before.
He’d have to do better.
“I’m not sure the Ticevan royal family would entirely appreciate you implying that they are liars, Your Majesty,” Logan said as-matter-of-factly. Virgil scowled, taking impulsive steps towards the throne. The soldiers flanking the throne dropped into a defensive stance, holding out their spears. The young king froze and the guards that were with him when Logan entered pulled their swords from their scabbards. “Remigius,” Logan scolded, turning towards his head guard at his right. “Please, show some decorum.” He turned back to Virgil. “My apologies, my liege, as king I am sure you aware of the heightened security.”
The silver-haired captain-of-the-guard let out a soft scoff as he resumed his stationary position. Logan shot the man a stern glance but Remy refused to turn towards him. “Yes, I am aware,” Virgil said warily, and Logan saw him make a soft hand motion out of the corner of his eye. The guards stood down, their swords back in their scabbard. One guard, his braids pulled back into a tight bun, left his hand on the hilt. “If I have to ask,” Virgil said snidely, “may I approach, Your Majesty?” Logan gave him a deadpan look but the thirteen-year-old held his ground.
Logan broke first, surprisingly, sighing and waving his hand in a motion for Virgil to step forward. “You may approach, King Virgil.” Virgil didn’t move, instead resting his weight on his heels, a smug smirk on his face. A ‘well, now that I have permission, I don’t want to do it’ move. Incredibly immature, Logan noted, but then again, no matter what status Virgil might have, a teenager is still a teenager. “Very funny,” Logan said wryly.
“Why, King Logan, I have no idea what you mean!” Virgil said in a high-pitched innocent voice. Logan held in a chuckle. A few beats passed as Logan stared down at the young boy.
“Why are you here, King Virgil?” Logan said, slightly bored. “You come in with bravado and accusations and you still have not answered my very first question.” Virgil stuck his nose up.
“We are here to offer a chance of your kingdom surviving the crossfire.” Logan furrowed his brow and sat up slightly in his throne.
“What crossfire.”
“Ticevas has disrespected our sovereignty and threatened us tenfold over. Xious will not stand for it.”
“And your solution is to kill everything on sight?” Virgil scoffed.
“You have no tact, Your Majesty.” Logan raised an eyebrow and Virgil turned red. “Apologies, that-that was uncalled for.” Logan hummed, amused.
“Join me for dinner,” he said suddenly and he placed his hands against the arms of the throne. “You and your entourage are welcome to stay in the castle for the next week and we can discuss matters in a more private setting.” Confusion flashed across Virgil’s face and he looked towards the guard to his left, a question of whether or not he should accept floating between them.
“I accept your invitation,” Virgil responded a moment later, his eyes still locked with that of his guard. He turned back towards Logan with a polite, sardonic smile. “It was an honor to meet you, King Logan of Cygnas.” Logan raised his eyebrows but did not smile back.
“And it was certainly interesting to meet you, King Virgil of Xious.” Logan pushed himself off the throne, sliding his right arm into the crutch someone in his periphery offered him. He stepped down the stairs until he was face to face with the Xiousian king.
Virgil was a lot shorter so up close.
Logan offered his hand and Virgil stared at it a moment. The room held its breath as the Xiousian processed the gesture. Hesitantly, Virgil uncrossed his arms and gripped Logan’s admittedly much larger hand. Logan shook once, a firm yet gentle motion, before releasing and walking right past the young king towards the door of the throne room.
At the very least, he had an excuse to write Remus.
-
Remus,
I’m afraid I write to you not with personal anecdotes but with political news.
T’is dreadful, I’m aware.
The young boy king of Xious dropped by this evening, though it will be a few days past by the time this letter reaches you. He is small, but skilled with his language. His father very obviously groomed this boy for the throne at a young age. He stutters, though. It reminds me slightly of myself at his age.
I have invited him to stay at the palace for a few days, provided he have dinner with me. I will write you after the dinner; hopefully I will have more information for you then. Your brother told me that he threatened war over the treaty, but he seemed quite offended at this accusation, lending me to believe that there has been a miscommunication. You were there for this exchange? I need both sides here.
Just so you are aware, and please relay this to Roman but do not tell your father, he has given me an offer to avoid crossfires of war. I don’t pretend to understand why he would offer to have me fight alongside his kingdom or die and then turn around and be offended at me saying that he is planning war. I fear there are other factors at play, not simply a confused child at the reins of a job that no individual can truly succeed at.
I hope you are well, my love.
Sincerely,
His Majesty, King Logan
-
Preparing for the dinner on such late notice made everyone on the castle on edge. Logan rarely had visitors as it was and as such, unused guest wings weren’t cleaned with the frequency that was kept throughout the more populated sections of the castle. If worries of war breaking out over a scared teenager weren’t plaguing Logan with every waking moment, he might’ve taken a moment to thank each staff member that passed him by.
He made a note to up their pay for the month.
“You know I’m not one to question your decisions,” Remigius, Logan’s head guard, said as the king and him walked down the hallway, “but enemy Xious here? In your castle?”
“If I turn them away, I will not gain any information that could actually be of use to our allies. The Ticevan princes would not lie to me and so I am eager to understand exactly why I’m being told two different stories.” Remigius scowled.
“You’re ignoring all the potential security concerns, babes, we don’t have the manpower to guard all the guestrooms, even if they only have ten in the security detail.”
“It’s thirteen,” the king said offhandedly as they turned a corner. “The person dressed in the steward colors had a knife hidden up their sleeve. Some type of holster, I presume.” Remigius paused, gaping at Logan – who kept moving down the hall at a rapid pace – before jogging slightly to catch up.
“I don’t wanna even ask how you caught that.” Logan smiled wryly.
“I’m doing everyone’s job at once,” Logan began, his voice vaguely humorous as if he were starting the beginning of joke. “I have to pretend to do yours at one point.” Remigius scoffed and Logan knew he would cross his arms if he wasn’t holding onto his spear. They made their way down the rest of the hall, their voices in a hushed chatter and Remy complained about what an awkward position Logan put him in and Logan shooting back that this is exactly what he hired Remy for. When they arrived at the door, Logan sighed heavily. “This isn’t something I want to be doing, Remigius,” Logan said softly. “Preventing a war from happening is just as taxing as fighting the war itself.”
“I agree,” Remy said, “but you have to remember our limits.” Logan sighed again, before pushing open the door into the small conference room.
Originally, Logan had a council of advisors and early on in the last day’s of his mother’s reign and the beginning stages of his own, he met with them frequently. Every book on ruling and being fair that Logan could get his hands on emphasized the importance on seeking others’ outlooks on each decision a ruler made for their country and when he was nineteen and fresh from his mother’s funeral, Logan dove straight into that. Looking back on it, it was a poor decision.
For many reasons.
Years later, Logan was still stuck weeding out nobleman who gained their positions through willful missights by both his parents or a generous donation of money towards the upkeep of the castle. The budget for the upkeep of the castle was woefully tight and it had always been that way, so he was sure that his parents squirreled away the money somewhere or maybe wasted it away.
Presently, Logan still stuck by the idea that a stable king had stable council, but it was increasingly difficult to find said steady council when all the councilors seemed keen on starting wars at every given opportunity. The only nobles or advisors or councilors Logan allowed in his presence anymore were handpicked himself, regardless of status.
Or attitude for that matter.
Dominic Dormis, known colloquially as “The Critic” and called Dice by everyone who was just out of enough common sense to have a conversation with him, sat in the middle of a long wooden meeting table, papers spread artfully around him. He was the brother to Remigius, though ironically, it was Remigius who insisted that Logan not hire Dominic. Logan ignored his head guard’s advice and it was the best decision he had ever made.
“Tell me, Dice,” Logan started, walking over to look over the advisor’s shoulder at the papers sitting in front of him, “how urgently do I need to try and fix this all?” Dice laughed humorlessly as he threw his pen down and leaned back in the chair.
“You’ve made a right mess of this, darling!” Dice exclaimed, tilting his head back to look Logan in the eye. “No matter how often they run the numbers, nothing looks favorable.” Logan sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose.
“Are we really that low on manpower?” Logan asked, his voice bordering on desperate, and screwed his eyes shut. Dice tutted his tongue, motioning towards the papers.
“I haven’t been here all morning trying to spread our defenses across the Xiousian border for nothing, darling,” Dice snarked. Logan opened his eyes slightly to glare at him.
“We’re aiming for peace, Dice,” Logan snapped, “not to antagonize the same kingdom threatening war by placing our entire military on the border.” Dice just shrugging, looking down at the papers.
“It was the only way I felt we had a chance,” Dice said defensively.
Oh, damn it all,” Logan swore under his breath. “What are your thoughts on Ticevas lying?” Dice just scoffed.
“Please, the boy had a point. We Ticevans have a tendency for the dramatics.” Logan scrunched his nose.
“So am I to march up to the Crown Prince and his general brother and tell them to their face that they’re lying? Were they even at that meeting?” Dice shrugged, picking up his quill to dip it into ink and scribble a note into the blank space of one of the pages. “Why is it that when I am listing all the things going wrong, you jump right in, but when I try to figure out a solution, you just sit there nodding?”
“You hired me for a reason,” Dice replied in a singsong voice. “I tell you what you need to hear, Logan, not what you want to hear.” Logan crossed his arms, his face pinched.
“What do we do then?” Dice sighed and moved his head back down, searching through the sheets of paper.
“You either side with Xious or you get them to back down,” Dice says, reciting the words from a piece of paper held close to his face. Logan narrowed his eyes and swiped the paper from Dice’s hands, much to his advisor’s indignance.
“Dice, this just says ‘you’re screwed’. That’s not entirely professional. I do have to present these papers to the princes of Ticevas.” Dice scoffed, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up on top of the desk. “And now your feet are on the table.”
“You’re very good at observations,” Dice said wryly. “Look, you have that dinner with the Xiousian king. Make it count. Make yourself likable.” Logan moved to open his mouth but Dice cut him off. “Diplomacy and facts might work with more stable-minded individuals, but this is a kid, Your Majesty. You need to charm him.” Logan tossed the papers back on the table.
“Fantastic.”
“It’s not all bad, Your Majesty. Emile said that he’s your-”
“No.”
“What?” Dice asked innocently. He blinked up at Logan. “It’s a good strategy, my lord, it will work, especially on a boy his age.”
“I will not be using my dead sister’s name in war talks, Dice.” The advisor scrunched up his nose.
“Well, yes, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound all that wonderful.” Logan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dice shuffled through his papers and Logan could hear him scribbling down notes and calculations. “A right mess you’ve made of this, Logan.”
“Don’t pin this on me,” the king hissed. Dice snorted. A knock came at the door. “Enter!”
“Well, hello there, Dice! It’s been a while,” Emile said as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him. Logan looked up to see Dice waving slightly, leaning forward against the table onto his elbows.
“Hello, dear brother-in-law,” Dice said amusingly. “It’s a shame you are so busy these days, we’ve hardly had a chance to speak one-on-one.” Emile’s eyes crinkled and he laughed.
“That’s what family dinners on Sundays are for, Dice, it’s not my fault you never show up.”
-
“Your Majesty,” Logan greeted coolly, rising up from his seat in order to bow slightly. His knuckles were braced against the edge of the table, allowing his body weight to distribute. “How kind of you to join me this evening.”
Virgil stood in the doorway, classic Xiousian furs piled up around his shoulders and wrapped around his head. His eyes swept across the room, as if admiring each piece of furniture and morsel of food. His face was shadowed by a thin wrap covering the tops of his head and draped across and around his neck, but Logan could still the stringy black hair that reminded Logan of himself when he was a teenager. The way Virgil held himself reminded Logan even of his parent, which was not necessarily a reminder that he was looking for. If he were superstitious, it would feel like a bad omen.
Logan felt the weight of what this dinner meant settling across his shoulders like a physical presence. Ever since the meeting with Dice, several other nobleman came up to him, trying to play up the might of Cygnan army. They acted incredibly patriotic but Dice’s intel (and also that of his brother, Remigius) showed him what their true intentions were. Deals with investors and black markets across both Cygnas, Ticevas, and Limora could make them rich if Logan decided to follow through with the war.
None of them seemed to take into consideration quite exactly war would mean for absolutely everyone else. Sometimes it felt like everyone thought him as naïve as a dog running after a phantom stick. He was the King of Cygnas, the kingdom associated with all things knowledge. He had some common sense.
“Come sit,” he invited, motioning to the seat beside him. “My kitchen staff has slaved over this food all day and it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.” Logan busied himself with tucking his coattails beneath him and shuffling his chair closer to the table, but he kept track of the careful steps Virgil took towards the table. He eyed the guards at the door.
Virgil’s personal guard followed his charge to the chair, inspecting it before allowing the boy king to take a seat. Gently, the boy unwrapped the fur shawl from around his shoulders and the guard took it from him, draping it against the high back of the chair. “It is custom to wear wraps that cover our heads,” Virgil says, his voice tiny in the giant room. “I hope this does not offend you.” Logan waved his hand in dismissal.
“I hope you are not offended that I am not wearing one myself,” Logan says, motioning for a servant to pour them drinks. “In Cygnas, it’s typical to wear less clothing in the presence of guests, though,” Logan gestured at himself wryly, “the same does not usually apply to the royal household.” Virgil gave a small, but genuine smile.
“My father was a…lover of our culture,” Virgil responded, “as am I.” He paused for a moment to lift up his wine glass to his guard, who took a small sip. Whatever the guard was looking for, he didn’t find and he handed the cup back to the teen. “However, I understand that you have your own customs.” Logan nodded, beginning to pick up his cutlery to start eating.
“In Ticevas,” Logan started, “it is customary to bow in a particular fashion before approaching the monarch.” He gave Virgil a humorous look. “Of course, when my mother passed, may her soul rest among the stars, I had many things to worry about and I stormed into a meeting with the King before bowing.” He took a sip of his wine. “I don’t believe the Crown Prince or his brother have ever let me live that one down.” Virgil gave him a curious glance.
“Are you close with the Crown Prince and the Prince-General?” he asked innocently. Logan held back a deadpan look.
“As close as life-long allies can be,” Logan said, a hint of a smile creeping into his voice. “Let’s eat, shall we?”
Logan heard a small, exasperated huff as he looked down to his meal and resisted the urge to chuckle. The boy was smart, but he had little tact.
He was doing better than Logan would have done at this age, regardless.
The clinking of ornate cutlery against fine china filled the room as the two began to eat. Logan could see the young boy struggle to use the wares that were just a tad too big for his hands and wondered how such a boy could threaten war but not know how to handle utensils.
Maybe he simply used swords to eat.
Logan banished the thought from his mind. The past was the past, as his mother would say every time the Xiousian king would extend an invitation to his castle.
Damned Xious.
“How are you finding the meal, Your Majesty?” Logan asked coolly. He didn’t look up from his plate, but he heard Virgil fumbling with the fork and knife. He ought to stop playing mind games with children.
“It is suitable,” Virgil replied, his words slightly muffled by what seemed like a mouth full of food. Logan looked up to see Virgil swallow harshly and washing down the ball of food with a gulp of wine. “I appreciate your hospitality, King Logan.” Logan tilted his head to the side.
“I accept your thanks.” Logan cut a piece of meat, and held it up to his lips. “Your father was a frequent guest at this castle and I hope you will be as well, as you grow into your role as monarch of Xious.” Virgil nodded nervously, fiddling with his silverware instead of responding. “Speaking of which,” Logan continued, “my condolences to you and your family. Losing family is something I am woefully familiar with.” Virgil nodded again; his eyes were downcast.
“May his soul rest among the stars,” the young king murmured. Virgil straightened his back, having slouched slightly, “He was good father to me. He taught me well.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his plate. “Though, there is no other family to console. I am his only heir and my mother died young.” Virgil looked at him inquisitively. “You would have known her, no?” Logan resisted the urge to try and swallow down the lump that had grown in his throat. He hadn’t thought about Virgil’s mother in a long time. It was a shock to try and remember it all. Realizing he hadn’t responded, Logan cleared his throat, busying his hands with cutting a slice of the meat on his plate.
“Yes, I was good friends with your mother,” Logan said, his voice on the edge of trembling. “I simply…forget she is not here with us, from time to time.” Virgil hummed in response. “Your father was a strong king,” Logan said, instead of continuing down the previous path of conversation, “Do you plan to follow in his footsteps?” the Cygnan inquired after a moment. “He was quite focused on the military, but this is a time of peace, as you must know.” Virgil froze slightly and Logan resisted the urge to smile. Finally, he’d pushed a button. Virgil began to look up towards his guard, presumably for guidance, but he aborted the movement, tightening his grip on his wine cup that he’d reached out for as Logan was asking his question.
“It is quite a…” Virgil paused, quirking his lips as he brought the wine cup up to his mouth, “bold statement to claim peace, considering what your allies in Ticevas have accused of me.” His hands were shaking. Logan bowed his head in agreement.
“Though, if what you say is true, there is no reason to fear, is there?” Logan tilted his head. “After all, if there is war to be had between you Ticevas, there is little reason for you to be here, at the castle of a Ticevan ally.” Virgil gulped down his wine nervously and the guard behind him gripped his spear threateningly.
“Peace is a lot harder to defend than a home front, Your Majesty,” Virgil said at last, setting down his glass with a clumsy hand. “It is best to be prepared for the worst, as my father always said.” Logan raised his eyebrows and Virgil’s shoulders seem to shrink slightly.
“We simply have different tactics then,” Logan shrugged artfully, careful not to become too casual. The Xiousian guard glared. Virgil shifted slightly in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times.
“Uh-” Virgil went red at the noise, busying himself with cutting another piece of meat. “What-What tactics do you employ, then?” Logan looked up from his plate, smiling slightly.
“Cygnans pride ourselves on our practicality. The budgeting reflects that,” Logan explained, taking a sip from his glass. “We have dedicated numbers for each individual aspect of the government, numbers that are reviewed daily by our famed scholars.” Virgil leaned in closer, his eyes wide. “And what of you? You said that your father always liked to be prepared.” Virgil blinked a couple times before shrinking back into his seat.
“Well, my father, as you said, was a very strong man and he-he wanted that reflected in his kingdom, I suppose.” Logan raised an eyebrow.
“You suppose?” Virgil fumbled to correct himself.
“No- not that I suppose, I know that is what he wanted. He taught me that himself,” Virgil rushed out. “He always said to me that being overcautious meant two things. One,” Virgil lifted up his index finger; Logan marveled at how small the child’s hands were, “you are prepared for what comes, or option number two,” Virgil lifted up a second finger, “you are pleasantly surprised.” Taken slightly by surprise, Logan huffed out a small laugh. Virgil beamed, his smile almost glowing.
It was times like these that Logan had to fight himself to see a burgeoning king, instead of an unsteady young boy. Logan was lucky he had his mother when his parent died when he was but being the tender age of twelve years old was not a fact that prepared himself for the death of someone so influential. If not for the queen, he would have been forced to take on the harrowing task of being responsible for millions of people’s lives, something that haunts him in his dreams even at his older age.
“You are quite the comedic guest,” Logan said amusingly. “It’s difficult to catch me by surprise.” Virgil went shy, ducking his head.
“I must give credit to my father then, may his soul rest among the stars,” Virgil blushed. “It was he who said it.” Logan tutted good-naturedly.
“But it was not your father who made me laugh, was it?” A glimmer danced in Virgil’s eyes and a fierce protectiveness came over Logan.
“No, I suppose it was not.”
-
They moved to Logan’s official office, not the throne room nor the desk in his room where Logan kept most of his paperwork. He hated the ornate decoration of the space, the gold-plated wood, and curtains of the that never ran out of dust no matter how often you beat them. He hated the paintings of the wall, memories of his mother and his parent and his sister. They were all gone, were they not? What was the point on dwelling on it?
Roman called it unhealthy. Remus called it remembering the dead how they deserved to be remembered. Logan called it practicality.
Virgil and his guard followed him inside. Reluctantly, Logan motioned for his head of security to follow him into the room. Before he shut the door, he motioned for Remigius to come close. “You do not touch a hair on that boy’s head,” Logan threatened, his voice calm and soft despite his words. “I will not be the one who starts this war.” Remy gave him an odd look.
“And if he attacks?” Logan sighed, eyeing Janus who had his hand on his charge’s shoulder. They seemed to be speaking words, but Logan could hear nothing from where he is.
“If the boy attacks, you go for his guard.” Logan stared Remigius right in the eye. “I meant what I said.” Logan bowed his head, bracing his hands against his waist. “Send word to Dice that this meeting is not to be interrupted under penalty of treason. No one but you, me, and King Virgil and his guard will know what transpires here tonight.” Remy nodded, saluting, before whistling over another soldier to relay the message. Logan straightened his shoulders, holding his hands behind his back, and turned to face Virgil and Janus.
“Feel free to sit down, we might be here a while.”
-
The room was silent. You could drop a pin and the sound would ring out through the hall.
“I’m not sure I quite understand,” Logan said quietly, his left hand flat against the desk. Virgil shifted nervously in his seat, no longer hiding his glances to his guard on his right.
“I wasn’t at that meeting with the diplomats,” Virgil repeated, before shutting his eyes tightly. “Didn’t- wouldn’t your contacts that were at the meeting have told you this?” Logan looked down at the papers scattered artfully across his public desk. His memory flashed to the stack of letters hidden beneath a false bottom drawer in his room and the distant feeling of being wrapped around his lover.
“No, they had not,” Logan muttered under his breath. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes briefly. “This changes many things, Virgil, I hope you understand.” He jumped at the sound of a thump against the ground, looking up to find Remy in an attack position and the Xiousian guard with a deadly stare.
“That is Your Majesty to you, King Logan,” the guard gritted out. Virgil averted his eyes from the scene, staring at the carpeted designs on the wall. Logan blinked a few times before clearing his throat.
“But of course,” he amended. “Please accept my apologies, Your Majesty.” Virgil nodded sheepishly and the guard nodded approvingly. Logan motioned towards Remy. “Remigius, stand down. It was a simple correction on my manners, one that is sorely needed.” Remy reluctantly stood down, casting a wary glance towards the guard. Virgil sighed, burying his head into his hands.
Logan looked at the clock on his desk. It was getting late.
“How,” Virgil asked, his voice bordering on a whine, “does this change things, your so-called allies refused to give my people aid after we practically kissed their boots asking so.” Logan shook his head, exhaling.
“No, Your Majesty, that is not what I have been told and that’s what becomes the problem.” Virgil peeked through his hands and Logan’s harsh expression softened and his shoulders dropped. “Your Majesty, I have been told by the Head General and Prince of Ticevas himself that your diplomats promised war if they did not lower the rent and heighten the amount of food Xious could take from the crops. There was no talk of famine or aid and King Romulus does not take kindly to threats, whether they be true or false.” Virgil sighed, sinking forward so that his elbows were against his knees.
“What would you have me do then?” Virgil asked. “Call my own advisors and agents liars? Do you know what that kind of position that would put me in? And let’s not forget the fact that those same advisors were put there by my father and removing them would be an affront to his legacy.” Logan gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist.
“And what am I to do?” Logan asked, holding a tone of incredulity. “Write to my allies in the South and tell them that it was all a misunderstanding?” Virgil sighed deeply. “Your Majesty, I do not want war. My people are thriving and bloodshed would stunt that, I know it goes the same way for you.” Virgil shook his head and straightened up in his seat, his face gaunt in the flickering candlelight that brightened the room.
“I would do anything to prove Xious is a force to be reckoned with,” Virgil muttered, rising to his feet. “You would do well to remember that, King Logan, or I will be forced to show it to you.” Logan glared, bracing his hands against the desk as if he were about to stand.
“Does what I just said mean nothing to you?” Logan seethed, leaning closer to Virgil. “If your people are truly facing a famine—”
“-are you doubting the word of a king-”
“-then they cannot handle an invasion!” Logan slammed his palm against the desk. Virgil’s eyes were wide and angry and Logan’s chest heaved.
“You know nothing about my people,” Virgil seethed. “Janus, we are to leave immediately. His Majesty has shown us that we are not respected here.” Virgil stood up from his chair, but Logan held out a hand, bowing his head towards the wood of his desk.
“Wait. Please,” Logan breathed. “I don’t want this to escalate. I lost myself.” Virgil glanced at him with disdain but did not make to move towards the door. “I take your word as truth, Your Majesty, just as I take the Ticevan princes’ words as truth.”
“Then what do you propose, King Logan?” Virgil sneered. “You cannot believe a truth and a lie at the same time.” Logan nodded, setting his hand down.
“Please take my words with a grain of salt, King Virgil,” Logan said softly, looking the young king in the eye. “Have you ever considered that, maybe, your diplomats and advisors are looking for war?” Virgil’s nostrils flared. “No, please, listen. I am also forced to re-examine my alliance with Ticevas here, this is not just you who is put into a compromising position.”
“Your Majesty, please listen to what you’re saying,” Virgil said after a beat of silence. “You’re accusing my trusted advisors and diplomats of treason. Of lying to the crown. That comes at the penalty of death in my country.” Logan nodded understandingly, breathing in deeply.
“Please, stay a few more days,” Logan offered. “Think about this. Talk with your people and I will talk with mine. The Crown-Prince is due to arrive as soon as tomorrow and perhaps, we can clear things then.” Virgil glanced at his guard – Janus, he’d called the man – who merely stared back. Whatever passed between them solidified Virgil’s decision and he turned back towards Logan.
“So be it.”
-
Roman and Remus arrived two days later and Logan felt like he was about to collapse. Virgil and him had been going back and forth for days, letters arriving by the sack-full, no doubt several angry diplomats coming after Virgil for even thinking that they could potentially be treasonous to the crown.
Logan himself was dreading such letters coming in from his own advisors, whenever he finally found a way to prune them out, but he pushed that aside. He had to worry about one thing at a time. His advisors could wait.
When the Royal Carriage for Ticevas finally arrived, it was like weights measuring a ton were lifted from Logan’s shoulders. The worry and the anxiety soothed itself and it was like the answer to all his problems rested inside the gilded coach.
“Crown Prince Roman, General Remus.” Logan greeted cordially, a playful smile on his lips. “It is a pleasure to see you so soon after your previous visit.” Logan held out his hand and Remus stepped up, bowing and pressing a kiss to the ring on Logan’s finger. Roman merely smiled, bemused by his brother and best friend.
“King Logan, the pleasure is all mine,” Remus returned, nothing in his voice hiding the utter glee in his eyes.
“My steward will take you to your quarters and then, perhaps, you could join me in my office to discuss a few things before dinner.” Remus’ smile grew, nearly splitting his face in half. Logan’s eyes crinkled in pleasure.
“But of course, Your Majesty, your hospitality is most gracious.” Roman accepted, not-so-subtly bumping his elbow into Remus’ stomach. Remus scrunched his nose and moved to step on Roman’s foot with his heeled boot, but Roman skillfully avoided the maneuver, following Emile who was beckoning the twins to follow him. Remus scoffed under his breath as he moved to follow his brother and Logan had to resist a smile. As Remus passed by, the prince reached out his fingers, the action so subtle, no one but Logan saw it coming. Logan reached his own hand out, under the guise of adjusting his lace cloak, to brush skin against skin. He breathed in deeply and it was like the sun had just peeked through the clouds at the end of a horrid winter.
A few, long minutes later, Remus finally entered Logan’s room, shutting the door behind him. “So,” Remus said playfully, “what matters of business are we to discuss?” Logan laughed and something in his chest loosened. He unclasped the ceremonial lace around his shoulders, letting it flutter to the ground as he strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders.
“I’ve missed you, Remus,” Logan said reverently, digging his nose into Remus’ neck. He felt Remus lean against him, wrapping his thick arms around Logan’s lithe frame.
“I’ve missed you too, quill,” Remus said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come alone to see you. It’s been far too long since we’ve just existed, you and I.” Logan sighed, stepping back but not letting go of Remus.
“I know,” the king said apologetically, moving to brush Remus’ bangs from his eyes. “Maybe that will change one day, but I can live with this. At least I get to have you in arms once again.” Remus’ ears went red, but his smile merely grew and he jutted out his chin in pride.
“I’ll go down in history as the one to make the stern Logan of Cygnas crack,” Remus teased, digging his fingers into Logan’s sides, where he knew the king was ticklish. Immediately, Logan tensed, giggling. “Aha! I’ve discovered your weakness.” Logan slapped at his lover’s hands childishly, giggling even when Remus pulled his hands away.
“You menace,” Logan said softly, grabbing Remus’s face between his two hands and pulling him in for a long overdue kiss. “You will be the death of me, I swear it.” Remus smiled and leaned back in for another kiss.
Eventually, they made their way to Logan’s bed, kicking off extraneous pieces of ceremonial garb and their shoes, determined to be as comfortable as possible without making it difficult to leave the room in a rush. “Why do we actually have to do things,” Remus whined, shoving his face into Logan’s chest. Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling more through his diaphragm than an actual noise. He ran his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Remus’ neck.
“We’re royalty, Remus,” Logan said humorously, with the tone of someone whose had this conversation with the other prince many times. “If we don’t do things, other things don’t work.” Remus groaned.
“The other things should be able to figure it out on their own,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna leave yet.” Logan pursed his lips, a sorrowful expression taking over his face.
“I know,” he said wistfully, letting his head fall against the headboard. “I don’t want to leave either.” Remus gripped Logan’s waist tightly and Logan lifted his head slightly to look down at the prince. “Is something the matter?” Remus looked up at Logan, a frenzy in his eyes.
“We should run away,” Remus whispered, careful of anyone sitting outside the bedroom doors. “You and me, we could run away and never come back and they’ll think we died a bloody death and all of our problems would be solved.” Logan smiled softly and brought up his hand to brush Remus’ white bangs from his eyes.
“It wouldn’t be a bloody death if there was no blood,” he critiqued good-naturedly. “We’d have to find a decent substitute and leave quite a few red herrings for them to follow. They wouldn’t just see us gone and give up.” Remus stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry, and Logan just scrunched his nose.
“You’re no fun,” Remus grumbled, shoving his face into Logan’s stomach. “Always making plans make sense and be rational.” Logan chuckled.
“You certainly thought I was fun when we dissected that deer together,” Logan said. “I was so sure my mother was going to barricade me in my room after she saw the mess we made in the dining room.” Remus scoffed and Logan huffed lightheartedly.
“Your mom just didn’t like that we ruined the wood of the table with all the blood.”
“To be fair, that table had been in the castle for over two centuries.”
“Then it was obviously due for a remodeling. We did her a favor.” Logan let out an uncharacteristic snort and he could feel Remus’ smile pressed against his torso.
“Maybe so,” he said, carding his fingers through his lover’s hair. “I wonder what she would think of me now.”
“You are doing a much better job than she ever did. Not to mention how much better you’re doing than your parent.” Logan sighed, tilting his head to the side.
“Yes, I would hope the bar would be higher than my parent, but I suppose as the next monarch, that is exactly where the kingdom’s standards are at.”
They fell quiet, the only sounds filling the room were that of the steady rise and fall of their breathing. The sun gradually set in the sky as they spent hours wrapped up in each other, too afraid to let go as if they would be dragged apart as soon as they did. It had been too long, Logan thought, his head bowed of Remus’ as the prince dozed against him. He didn’t know if he could do this again.
Eventually, Logan moved Remus’ head to the pillow beside him, waking up the prince from his gentle nap. “Where do you think you’re going,” Remus grumbled, shooting out his arm to trap Logan’s hips against the bed. Logan smiled softly, but removed the arm from his body, tucking it gently against the prince.
“Your brother and I need to talk about what’s been going with Xious and King Virgil,” Logan said, swinging his legs slowly over the edge of his bed. “It’s gotten infinitely more complicated than I would have hoped.”
“What’s the way to fix it?” Remus asked, stretching out like a spider across the bed. Logan pushed himself up off the bed, holding his nightstand as a support.
“At this point, I’m not sure,” Logan admitted, shuffling to his dresser. “I need Xious to agree to not fighting if everything doesn’t go their way and I need Ticevas to agree to providing aid. They’re in the midst of a famine and Roman has a short temper so high stakes plus-”
“High stakes plus my dumbass twin does not equal peace,” Remus finished for him and Logan snorted.
“Exactly.”
“What do you plan to do about it?” Remus said. The king draped his ceremonial cloak around his shoulders and paused.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Logan said hesitantly. “I’m hoping that-” he cut himself off, before glancing at Remus. “I’m hoping Virgil will be a little bit like me.” Remus’ eyes widened and he rolled onto his side facing Logan.
“I’ve got to say, beating heart, that’s quite a tall order.” Logan looked away, avoiding Remus’ cutting gaze.
“Well, it’s my only hope that the boy has a minute amount of common sense in his bones.” He chuckled. “It’s either hope for that or pretend that Roman has all the common sense and I somehow doubt that.” Remus gave full-body smile and Logan smiled as he stared down at the floor. “I don’t want to leave, Remus,” he said quietly.
“Come here,” Remus said, his voice holding a sensual lilt. Logan turned his head back up. His lover had a hand stretched out and a wicked smile spread across his face.
“Remus,” Logan said warningly. Remus scoffed.
“Oh please, we won’t get messy unless you really want to,” Remus teased. “I just- you need a distraction and I can give you that.” Logan swallowed nervously, trailing his eyes up and down Remus’ body.
“Can you?” Logan said at last. Remus closed his fist in a “come hither” gesture and Logan couldn’t stop himself from indulging, at least one last time.
-
Logan woke up that morning with the feeling of someone slamming a hammer into the inside of his temple repeatedly.
Now, there are several things to unpack in this statement. For starters, there is no such thing as a hammer being present inside his skull. It is impossible and Logan wasn’t sure if a hammer so small with such power could even exist.
And although Logan continuously prided himself on not believing in the superstitious, his mother’s upbringing had instilled certain fears in him and his inability to even handle the sound of his skin against his bedsheets did not sit well with him.
Pain in his head such as this was usually only cured by drinking ridiculous amounts of water and resting for hours on end. Logan grabbed the glass of water sitting on his bedside table, drinking it as if his life depended on it, and then slammed it back onto the wood surface as he threw his legs over the side of his bed.
As soon as the cold air hit his knees, he recoiled and tightened his fist in the blankets. Although Cygnas was in its spring prime, thunderstorms still found their way into the season, as if to plague the king himself.
Today would not be a good day.
Dressing was a struggle. He pretended not to see Emile wince as he battled his way into the immense amounts of garb considered necessary at diplomatic conventions. Navigating his room brought tears to his eyes and frequently, he found himself gripping onto the nearest surface and taking heaving breaths as he waited for the pain in his legs to subside enough for him to keep going. He knew he was in for it when Emile presented his crutches and he didn’t even think twice before slipping his arms in and resting his entire weight against the mobility aid.
Logan must have looked as haggard as he felt because every worker of the castle who crossed his path as he dragged himself to the throne room immediately scuttled away, for fear that his temper might cut short with them.
He couldn’t blame them.
Sinking into the plush chair that awaited him in the giant dining room he insisted on eating in each morning was a relief. The ache in his knees lessened as he stretched his legs out, but every so often, a twitch or a jolt of his body would cause the throbbing to pound in time to the hammer in his head.
Emile set the platter of food in front of him and did not even hesitate before patting the king on the shoulder. “I’ve requested that Remus join you this morning and I’ve given the others orders not to disturb you until you call for me.” Logan looked up at his steward with alarm, but Emile just smiled. “I’m a sucker for romance, Your Majesty, and I’ve known for far too long to not notice the signs.”
“I didn’t realize we were so conspicuous,” Logan murmured, leaning against the back of the chair. Emile just shrugged.
“You remind me of my husband and me is all.” Emile pat him again, this time on the head, and let a small chuckle loose when the king blinked rapidly in surprise. “Have a good meal, Logan.”
Emile left the room, skipping slightly, and opened the large doors to run face-to-face with Remus, who smiled so widely at the sight of the steward that even Emile seemed a bit taken aback. Logan hid his smile behind his hand as Remus lunged forward to wrap his arms around Emile’s waist and pick him up, squeezing the shocked steward.
When Remus set him back down, Emile wobbled slightly, though the laughing Logan heard from across the large dining hall soothed his worries that Remus hadn’t been gentle enough with his steward. Emile patted Remus on the cheek gently and the prince beamed as Emile slipped past and shut the door behind him.
Remus’ smile seemed to spread even more at the sight of Logan, however tired and disheveled he looked to the rest of the world. Whereas Emile’s skip outside of the room was small and barely noticeable, the Ticevan seemed to leap into the air as he wiggled his way to Logan’s side. “Hello, my dear,” Logan greeted softly, careful not to jostle his legs as he reached a hand to grasp at Remus.
“Hey, Logie,” Remus said just as quietly, gripping Logan’s hand to his chest and he sunk to one knee so that he could rest his forehead against Logan. “Emmy told me that you weren’t feeling so spic-and-span.” Logan huffed through his nose in amusement.
“Since when are you on such good terms with my steward?” he asked rhetorically and Remus didn’t so much as laugh as jostle his shoulders. “Are you two conspiring against me?”
“And what if we were?” Remus asked. “Maybe it’s my job to seduce you and then Emile’s gonna, I don’t know, take over the kingdom.” Logan chuckled out-loud.
“I’m not sure how seduced I can be in this state, but I have no doubt the kingdom would do well in Emile’s hands.” Remus pouted.
“No, Logie,” he whined, “you’re supposed to be a tyrant, not a reasonable human being.” Logan smiled and shrugged his shoulders lightly.
“My apologies,” he whispered as Remus closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together. Logan breathed in deeply through his nose and shuffled closer, reaching his other hand to grip at Remus’ neck. They broke apart and Logan sighed happily, shoving his nose into the strip of bare skin at Remus’ neck.
“You really must be going through it if you’re this cuddly,” Remus mused, releasing Logan’s hand so he could card a free hand through soft hairs the base of the king’s scalp.
“All the evidence points towards today not being a good day.” Remus made a sympathetic noise. Logan pulled back and Remus let him rest against the chair backing.
“Don’t you have that meeting with my brother and the little pip squeak?” Logan snorted.
“I don’t know if the volatile King of Xious would be amenable to being called a pip squeak, but yes, I do. In approximately an hour and a half, I’ll be trying to stop the leaders of two kingdoms from killing each other.”
“Sounds funky fresh.”
“Where do you even come up with these sayings?” Remus shrugged.
“I sneak around here and there. Father is...quite preoccupied with preparations for the coronation so there’s little else he notices, especially regarding my whereabouts.” Logan tried to make eye contact with Remus, but the prince ducked his head. “I’m truly fine with it, I think I just miss...I miss making an impact,” Remus paused before snorting, “good or bad.”
“Trust me,” Logan said, a bit more sentimentally than intended, “you always make an impact.” Remus gave Logan a smile on the teary side.
“You’re biased, Logan, isn’t that against your whole thing about logic and true verdicts?” Logan made an offended noise.
“It’s an objectively true fact,” Logan insisted. “Nearly everyone would agree with me.” Remus just gave a shrug, still seemingly disbelieving of the king’s statements, but he stopped refuting them, so Logan counted it as a win.
Eventually, Remus moved to the chair beside Logan and they made their way through the food platter, obviously stocked with some Ticevan delights that few knew were the prince-general's favorites. Laughing too hard made Logan’s legs ache with the movement and his head continuously throbbed, but the stack of rocks that had built up on his chest seemed to fall over at each joke or hidden barb at his brother that Remus made. The sun slowly rose up in the sky, highlighting the two lovers, whispering and giggling as if they were teenagers all over again.
“It’s been two hours,” Logan remarked at one point, recovering from a bout of laughter that nearly sent him to the floor. Remus shrugged, his trademark rebellious smile playing at his lips.
“And?” Logan gave him a deadpan look.
“I have responsibilities, Remus.” The prince waved a hand in dismissal.
“Responsibilities, shmesponsibilities,” he leaned in closely, shuffling his chair so that he could touch their noses together, “let’s burn this place to the ground.” Logan smiled, his heart full in his chest.
“So long as my library stays intact, there’s no reason why this place doesn’t need a renovation,” Logan teased.” Remus bit his lip, trying not to laugh, and Logan saw him pump his fist in celebration underneath the table. “Of course, I’m joking, dear Remus, I quite like my home.” Remus ceased his excitement to feign disappointment.
“Oh, you’re no fun, Logie,” he moaned, throwing himself back into his chair. Logan merely grinned and raised his cup to his mouth, sipping as Remus thrashed about.
The doors to the dining hall creaked open. It was like a switch had been flipped. While Remus maintained his strewn about position, he pulled his chair away and spun the food platter so that it was sitting directly in front of Logan. The king swept a hand through his hair and gingerly lifted his legs from their spot against an ottoman set underneath the table so that he could sit with his back straight. His hand was clenched around his glass and Logan felt like his heart was in his throat. Remus, though he mastered looking casual in tricky situations, had a nervous air about him that Logan could feel from where he was sitting.
The guest stepped into the room without much fanfare and turned to make sure the door was shut behind them. Their white tunic shone brightly in the morning light. They turned around and the gleaming smile and red curly hair instantly relaxed the entire room.
“You bastard,” Remus groaned, sinking down into his seat. “You fucking bastard.” Roman merely smiled innocently as he approached the table. Even Logan slumped slightly, taking a few deep breaths as he lifted his aching limbs back onto the ottoman to stretch out.
“You caused an immense amount of anxiety, I do agree.” Logan said, trying to take another sip of his glass to calm down.
“Not my fault you guys haven’t gone public yet,” Roman teased as he took the seat next to Remus. Remus groaned theatrically and Logan shook his head.
“We’ve been over this, Roman, there are many reasons why Remus and I cannot be out of the metaphorical closet and-” Roman raised a hand.
“I know, Pocket Protector,” he said, “I was just teasing.” Logan rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to cross his arms in a petulant manner. “Are you ready for the meeting?”
It felt like an avalanche had just toppled over his body, the way Logan felt like he couldn’t breathe. Chills filled with heat raced up and down his back and he let go of his glass to discreetly wipe his hands against his cloth napkin. “I- I suppose that I am, I have all the documents prepared in the primary office.” Remus must’ve noticed how he was fidgeting with the napkin because his brow furrowed and he opened up his mouth. Logan all but threw the napkin back to the table and made quick work of setting his legs back down on the ground, cutting off whatever Remus wanted to say to him.
“Wonderful!” Roman cheered, not noticing the exchange going on between the two lovers, or the immense glare Remus was now sending his way. “I can escort you to the meeting place?”
Logan waved him off. “You go on ahead, Roman, I will have to take my time this morning,” he said as he stood up and slipped his arms into the crutches leaned up against the table. Now it was Roman’s turn to furrow his brow and grow concerned and Logan cursed the day he became friends with the two princes. “I will be fine.”
Remus huffed through his nose, muttering something under his breath that Logan knew to be calling him out as a liar, but he refused to acknowledge it, only bending slightly for Remus to kiss him on the cheek as Roman stood from his seat.
Roman trailed the way, throwing the heavy oak doors open and all but marched down the hallway to Logan’s office, where the meeting would take place. Logan struggled to find his footing, the dull throbbing in his head and knees expanded tenfold as he tried to walk to the door. He felt Remus’ gaze on him, but he refused to turn back, afraid that he would just melt to the ground if he made eye contact. He walked past the threshold of the dining hall and the guards swung the door shut behind him.
-
Walking to the meeting felt like it took another three hours, though logically, Logan knew it had only been twenty minutes. Walking without his aids would’ve taken another forty at this rate and quite honestly, he was proud of the pace he was making.
What was admittedly awful about said twenty minutes was the amount of time it gave him to think.
Logan enjoyed thinking; it was practically his job to think. Cygnas remained the kingdom with the region’s largest library and it brought him never-ending joy to contribute to that collection. Studying and researching was a favorite pastime and the only thing he enjoyed about hosting events and having guests was the knowledge they would bring him about their homes and countries.
But this felt like something entirely different than the thinking he had come to enjoy and take pleasure in. This felt like a worry after worry compounding into itself, growing bigger and bigger until he felt like a small child in the middle of the eye of a storm.
His office door loomed in front of him and the pressure of thousands upon thousands of souls rested heavy on his shoulders. Memories of his sister and parents swirled around him, ghosts long since dead risen again for the sole sake of reminding him what lay before him should he fail. His vision swam and had he not been resting steady against his aids, he would have surely toppled over from the weight of his ancestors and their collective duty to protect his people placing itself on to him.
He motioned for the guard standing by the door to open it for him. There was no ominous creak as it opened, but Logan’s mind filled in the blanks.
Roman and Virgil sat across from each other in front of the fireplace, an antique tea set sitting between them. As Logan stepped inside, they both rose to their feet to greet him. “Good morning, King Virgil, Crown Prince Roman. I am glad to see you both here.”
Virgil bowed, a symbol of respect in Xious. Logan felt an odd lump developing in his throat, but he swallowed it down. Based on the growing look of offense on Roman’s face, Virgil had not given the crown prince the same honor. Roman simply shook his hand and preformed a rune in the air, with a motion to push it towards Logan, a standard Ticevan greeting of monarchs in a formal setting such as this.
Logan nodded his head towards the seats and motioned for Emile, who he just noticed was standing in the corner of the room, to gather the papers at his desk and bring them to where they were sitting. “Let us begin, shall we?”
Virgil and Roman resumed their original positions, while Logan took up the seat that was not usually there at the head of the coffee table. Emile poured him tea as Logan spread the documents across the table, handing each party a copy of the details they were there to discuss.
“Thank you for hosting this meeting and acting as a mediator, Your Majesty. It is quite the honor,” Roman said, glaring daggers at Virgil over the tops of the papers he was skimming. Virgil nodded in agreement, setting the papers to down to pick up his cup.
“I agree with Ticevas, and that is quite the thing to say, seeing as I don’t agree with Ticevas on much of anything at all.” Roman went red in the face and Logan saw the grip on the papers tighten as Virgil innocently sipped at his tea.
“It is my pleasure,” Logan said. “I simply want the best for my people and I have strong evidence to believe that this meeting will be fruitful for all parties involved.” Roman wrinkled his nose. Logan almost kicked him in the shin.
“I, for one, want this to be resolved. My advisors grow restless with me having been away for so long,” Virgil said. Logan furrowed his brow at the mention of the advisors. He was unsure of how much of the previous conversations between him and Virgil he wanted to bring up with Roman present, but he might ask if Virgil would be willing to discuss more in private.
That is, if everything went well today.
“If it is amenable to the both of you, I would like to begin with the meeting that took place two months ago, as of today.” Virgil went tense and Roman scowled. “It is to my understanding that neither of you were there at that meeting.”
“That is correct,” Roman said. “However, my brother was there and I trust his word.”
“Your Highness, we are not here to discuss the alleged threatening on either side,” Logan cut in. “If I wanted to do that, I would have let your two kingdoms go to war already.” Virgil snickered, hiding his laughter behind another sip of tea when Roman glared at him.
“I am simply stating my matter on the opinion,” the prince harumphed, crossing his arms.
“I was hoping-”
“I don’t think hope will get you much of anywhere,” Virgil snarked, still holding the cup to his mouth. Logan sighed, his headache beginning to spread to the middle of his head.
“Please, let me speak.” Virgil shrugged, but Logan could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“The Ticevan land has been rented out to the kingdom of Xious for centuries. The rates of rent have always remained the same. Why are you asking for the rates to be changed, King Virgil?”
“My kingdom is in famine,” the boy said primly, jutting out his chin. “We need food and Ticevas has plenty to share.”
“Ticevas has been plenty generous with the land we’ve offered to you, we have no obligation to give more.”
“Xious offered for you to have the largest military this side of Capemin at your disposal in exchange for lowering the rates for five years, you cannot look me in the eye and say that we did not give you reason to accept our proposal.” Roman looked taken aback. Logan averted his eyes to the papers on the desk.
“I know Xiousians are a lot of things, but I didn’t know they were liars,” Roman said, almost conversationally. Virgil startled, looking slightly like an agitated feline.
“Your Highness,” Logan said warningly. Roman waved him off.
“No, no, this is bullshit-”
“Roman-”
“There was never such an offer and I am offended at the mere idea that we would even accept such a savage exchange.” Virgil’s eyes seemed to flash red.
“Savage? If I remember correctly, that land was ours in the first place, but you pushed my people out and forced them to run into the mountains where they barely survived-”
“-I resent this accusation-”
“I didn’t mean for you to enjoy being called a murderer, Crown-Prince Roman, that would be pretty savage if you did.”
“Logan, throw him out.” Roman turned suddenly to the older king. Logan looked at him over the top of his glasses, flitting back to Virgil who now had his arms crossed and looked five seconds away from storming out.
“No,” Logan said calmly. He saw Virgil blink in surprise. “I invited you both here for a civil conversation and so far, you are being anything but civil-”
“He started it-”
“-and you’re not even letting me finish my sentences.” Roman’s nostrils flared and his hands clenched into fists at his side.
“Is Cygnas not a Ticevan ally?” Logan looked nervously at Virgil, but the younger king avoided his gaze.
“Yes, but-”
“But nothing, Logan, you should be supporting me and tossing this riffraff out with the rest of his kind.”
“Your Highness, I will do no such thing.” Roman paused in his motions, unnervingly still.
“Fine.” Roman stood up. Virgil shrunk back and Logan became viscerally aware that this was not a private conversation between him and a friend about his temperament, but rather a political discussion over whether or not war would break out between their three countries. He had forgotten himself and now everything hung in the balance. “Ticevas officially removes herself from this meeting.”
“Roman, sit down,” Logan demanded, his voice calm even if his hands began to shake. “You don’t want this to go where you’re thinking.”
“Just because you have a soft spot for the boy doesn’t mean I do, Logan,” Roman seethed. “I don’t have to listen to you and I never have. I should have ignored you from day one, Logan. Valerie is dead. Deal with it.” Roman stalked out of the office, his sleek boots hitting the stone ground sounding like the din of a thousand soldiers marching on the city gates as the noise echoed around the room.
“Valerie?” a questioning voice came. Logan’s tunnel vision receeded slightly to accompany Virgil in his periphery. “That is my mother. You were friends- is that why I am here? Because you pity me?”
“No,” Logan ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You- you don’t respect my country or my people, do you?” Logan’s shoulders scrunched forwards, the sheer anger in the child’s voice making even him panicky. It was all falling apart, all the diligent planning, all because he couldn’t handle the pressure of his sacred duty as king.
“If you would let me explain-”
“No! No, I don’t think I will, because you lied to me!” Virgil shouted, his chest heaving. Logan felt his anxiety crawl into his throat, squeezing his vocal folds shut.
“I never lied to you,” the older king croaked. “And none of this is about you being Valerie’s child, I assure you.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at him, any hint of the camaraderie they had developed over the past few days gone.
“You can’t prove that.” Logan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“When you showed up, my steward told me that I had the right not to speak with you, but you know, I know-” Logan cut himself off, trying to stave off panicked tears. “It was either speak to you or let my country burn to the ground, I had heard what Ticevas was warning me over and it wasn’t about manipulation, it was about protecting my people.” Virgil stared at him.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then how do I make you believe me?” Logan exclaimed. “How do I prove what is intangible? That just because Valerie is my sister does not mean that I wanted to control you and your kingdom?” Virgil paused.
“My mother was your sister?” he asked, the quiet room coming to a standstill. Logan’s face crumpled.
“Virgil-”
“My mother was your sister?” Virgil shouted, cutting Logan off. The older king sighed, his hands clenching around his knees.
“Yes, but-”
“If I die, you have a claim to the throne! You could take over!” Virgil said incredulously. Logan’s heartrate went through the roof. “Is there poison in my cup? An assassin laying just outside the room? Were the Ticevan disagreements just a ruse to get me here and kill me in my sleep?!” Logan shook his head.
“No, of course not, that would only harm my people, I want peace, Virgil-”
“No, I will not hear it, Xious will not hear it.” Virgil stalked over to the door, throwing it open. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Logan. The burning hatred in his eyes made the older king feel faint. “This is war, Cygnas. You will have my kingdom over my dead body and I don’t intend on living this realm anytime soon.”
The door slamming shut behind Logan’s nephew sounded like an arrow from a firing squad hitting its mark, right in the center of his chest.
#logan sanders#remus sanders#ts big bang 2021#virgil sanders#sanders sides#roman sanders#ts logan#ts remus#ts virgil#ts roman#sanders sides fic#tw war#tw internalized ableism#tw arranged marriages#tw bad parenting
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Yep, we're doing this!
If you're not sure of what a Bang entails, I feel like the best way to explain would be through the planned timeline for this event...
November 3rd - 6th: Sign-up form open. A prompt list will be made available for any writers who wish to use it during this period too, but there's no obligation to do so
6th - 15th: Writers make a start on their projects, and send a summary of their ideas for the whole project to me by the end of the 15th. I'd recommend to make this fairly detailed if you can, but you can always provide more information at a later date if need be
15th - 16th: Pairing up artists with writers based on the summaries
16th: Artists are provided with the summary written by their writer, which they will use as a prompt to create either general fanart or magazine-style cover art for the fic (their choice). All participants are also told who their partner is, and is free to contact them directly to discuss any details. Writers are free to send parts of the WIP itself to their artists if they wish (generally the artist doesn't see a full draft in Bang events though, btw)
16th - December 3rd: Writers write, and artists art!
December 3rd: All pieces associated with the Bang are published (if you're not comfortable sharing publicly, there will be an option to privately send your finished piece to your partner instead. Please let me know that it's been sent this way so I don't end up getting in touch with you for not posting!)
-
A few things to note:
I know a lot of people- myself included!- are pretty busy at the moment, so I've decided to keep this event on a small scale in all respects. Writing should ideally be kept to oneshot length, whatever that may mean to you (I'm not going to set an official word limit, since different people can have very different writing styles and speeds). I personally feel like something in the ballpark of 1000-2000 words would work well, but there is wiggle room there.
I don't anticipate a large number of public announcements being needed during this event, particularly after the initial sign-up period, so I will be posting all information and details to my main and only blog right here. My primary method of contacting participants will be through DMs, though.
Please consider whether you will be able to realistically produce a piece of writing or art in a short time period before signing up! There will always be an option to withdraw from the event if you do find that you've bitten off more than you can chew or circumstances change, of course, but ideally we want to keep last-minute changes to a minimum.
Selecting the 'both' option for the question asking what you will be producing for the event will sign you up twice, to produce two unrelated writing and art pieces. It's entirely your choice, but be warned that this could be a heavy workload!
OCs are welcome! Please provide references to your artist
No NSFW in either writing or art, please
Once again, I'm sorry for the short notice on all fronts! If this mini-event is a success, I don't see any reason why I won't hold more of them in future with longer time frames.
If you have any questions, issues or concerns at any point during the event, then please get in touch!
Also, to the awesome peeps who offered to co-moderate this event: I don't think I'll need to enlist any extra mods unless the sign-up somehow gets a lot more attention than the expression of interest form did (in which case I might be in touch!). Still, thank you so much for the offer, and I'll bear you in mind for any future larger Bangs I may host if that's alright with you.
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The show currently on had a bunch of stuffed shirts sitting at a round table.
["...my esteemed colleague, Professor Newell, gives too much credence to the ex-Avengers' education. I simply don't believe they all read and fully comprehended the document they were rejecting. Steve Rogers had a high school diploma and one year of art college."]
Steve curled his lip.
["That doesn't mean he's illiterate," Newell, a brown-haired man with glasses, said.
The other man, his tight coils of hair salt and pepper gray, raised an eyebrow. "As a lawyer, I'd be the first to say legal documents are needlessly complex, but no lay person can just sit down and read a 1000-page legal agreement and absorb the intricacies with nothing more than a high school education from the 1940s. Not without help."
Newell ceded the point with a nod.
"And Wanda Maximoff is a street orphan and doesn't even have that. Ditto Clint Barton, who grew up in a traveling circus. The Ant Man has an engineering degree, which makes me think he would have ample education to comprehend the Accords, but he had little time to do it in—only the flight to Germany, and investigators say he was likely shrunk and in Clint Barton's pocket, as there's no evidence of him on the passenger list, but he suddenly appeared at the Leipzig/Halle airport. It's questionable he bothered to shrink the Accords with him or bring the necessary resources to decipher all the legalese."]
Scott got up and left the room. Wanda curled up and hugged her knees to her chest. Steve remembered the hasty conversation he'd had with Scott before the battle. Scott had no idea about the Accords back then. He thought they were there to fight over killer assassins.
Steve rubbed his forehead.
["That leaves only Sergeant Sam Wilson, a man well-educated by the armed forces. I wondered what made him reject a document that his own government and one hundred and sixteen other countries supported, and then I read up on Lieutenant General Ross' record. Any man who has served in the military and heard of Ross' abuse of his own forces and how he used his own daughter as bait in pursuit of The Hulk would have zero respect for the retired general and Secretary of State. Ross was spearheading the US support of the Accords. Whether or not this influenced Sergeant Wilson's decision to reject them, I cannot say."]
"This is bullshit," Clint said, obviously fuming. "I didn't need some stupid diploma to tell me the Accords are a shitty idea."
["You haven't said anything about the Black Widow," the moderator said, shifting his papers around on the big desk.
"Ms. Romanov is an interesting case. Raised and educated by the top-secret Soviet training program called the Red Room, the Black Widow supported the Accords at first. She appeared to recognize their necessity, but then during the fight at the airport seemed to run into an issue of allegiance in fighting her friends. Understandable, I think. It's why the Avengers should never have been sent to contain the renegades. But who else could battle that sort of might?
"In any event, it appears to be no coincidence that the Avengers who sided with the Accords all have master's degrees or higher."
"Or much higher," the mediator said, abandoning neutrality. "Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes as a master's in engineering as well as officer's training, Stark has multiple doctorates, and the Vision is said to have access to the sum of all human knowledge. The King of Wakanda obviously has the finest political education as a leader of his nation, and I understand he is also an engineer."
"Nothing is known about the Spider-Man," Newell said.
"No, that's true. He'll have to remain an enigma."
"But it's your contention that education had something to do with renegades choosing not to support the Accords," the mediator said.
"I think it's obvious."]
***
["Hello, all. Thank you for time.
"As Mr. Sjöberg mentioned, I recently came into some information regarding The Winter Soldier that I felt was of international importance, especially since he had the protection of some very powerful people. The ICC is just the place to turn when the State is unable or unwilling to carry out an investigation and prosecute the perpetrators."]
Steve drew in a shocked breath.
["I found this information at a Hydra bunker in Siberia, where Rogers, Barnes and I had an altercation about whether suppressing this information was cool or not." Stark gave an acid grin. "In the course of this disagreement, Rogers disabled my suit and left me in the Hydra bunker to freeze, unable to radio a rescue team."]
Sam sank his head into his hands with a curse.
["However, Rogers' 'leave our teammates behind' policy turned out to be useful, because while searching for a way to communicate with my rescue team, I discovered a trove of records spanning back decades on the Hydra supersoldier program. I looked through all of it, hoping to save it and get retrieved before Hydra returned.
"What I discovered was more than enough: movies, photos, and detailed plans to assassinate political heads of state, industrial leaders, diplomats, prominent artists, radical leaders and activists, all of whom were murdered by The Winter Soldier. Included in these documents were the names of the ones who ordered the kills, the criminals behind the deeds. For the last three weeks, with the assistance of the Joint Terrorism Task Force, that's what we've been up to—rounding up the bad guys with a vengeance."
The murmurs grew into a roar of approval.
"Most of the Hydra operatives still living have been arrested for their complicity in murdering countless important figures who stood against Hydra's core principles of racism and fascism. Despite the unnecessary delay introduced by Rogers, who could have put us onto Barnes and thus the location of the bunker that much sooner, the loved ones and family members of the deceased will at long last know, and hopefully find peace in knowing, just what happened to their loved ones, and why."]
Tony's voice trembled on the last part, and Steve felt a pit growing in his stomach that he couldn't shake off.
["My only regret is whom I have to thank for this. The man behind the Vienna bombing was the one who revealed the truth to me by showing me the video of my parents being murdered by The Winter Soldier. The man who told me the truth is a criminal. But then, the man who kept the truth from us all is a criminal as well.
"Thank you all for listening. There will be no questions."]
***
Tony lifted his hand and smacked away the letter he was writing as Rhodey walked in. "Sour patch! Look at you. How're the legs feeling?"
"Better now that I tweaked the timing on the left one. Feels more natural now. But, Tony..."
"Awesome. You should totally patent that port thing. That was really good work." Tony pulled up the schematics of Rhodey's braces to take a look at the timing adjustment port Rhodey had added.
"I don't have time for—that's not why I came in here, Tones. Vision got a call—"
"Time, shmime. I'll have Friday draft up the diagrams and application for you."
"It would be my pleasure, Colonel Rhodes."
"Yes, fine. Thanks, Fri. Tones, listen. Something's happened with the renegades."
Tony stopped fiddling and gave Rhodey his full attention. "Tell me."
"It's weird as hell." Rhodey dropped onto a lab stool and rolled over to join him. "Wanda contacted Vision to tell him she delivered Rogers to the US Embassy in Nairobi. I checked, and sure enough, according to embassy officials, she made him walk in like a zombie, then directed him to 'Wait here until Tony Stark comes to arrest you.'"
Into the Weeds by truet
This is literally the best Team Iron Man fic I read till now, and it includes all the things I missed from the other ones: acknowledgment of Rhodey’s smarts, acknowledgment of the education Rogues had, acknowledgment that Wanda may actually get angry at Steve when she learns what he did and what it means to her, acknowledgment that Hydra agents who ordered the murders should be arrested, acknowledgment of Tony relying on other people to actually accomplish or polish the things he engages with (JCCT, braces).
The only thing it doesn’t have is acknowledgment that Shuri doesn’t need BARF to help Barnes, but it’s only because the fact that the story never reaches that point, but damn, so many Team Iron Man fics mistreats other charas and I know it is not malicious, that it is because the authors love Tony and want him to fix the issues himself, but Tony isn’t omnipotent god of science and I would like people to get that Shuri is as mart as he is and can definitely handle helping Barnes and making his arm without Tony’s help, as much as Rhodey can fix his braces and doesn’t need Tony to constantly do it for him, because he has proper education to handle that, and also he is the user, so he knows best what is wrong and what is right and what works.
I also tend to like the stories which don’t demonize Wanda more than the ones which do, because I think she was radicalized, but not evil and those stories, where she is an evil Hydra agent or actually went mad long ago and nobody noticed, as much as interesting and enjoyable don’t really get what it means to be radicalized and then trying to de-radicalize and also heavily fall into the trap of demonizing a woman in the same way misogynist media creators usually do and the only thing I can blame is the fact that we all are raised in the society which hates women and even if we don’t actively believe in it some of it stays with us, in our subconscious and affects what we write and how. Everybody is capable of evil as long as they believe something very much and Wanda is more prone to that due to her background. Not to mention that those stories also usually infantilize her and I like to see her actually being treated like an adult she always was, who understands the consequences of Steve’s action for her and who would do something, albeit something stupid mind you, to mitigate her case, because she is an adult, and she like any other adult person would want to help her case somehow.
Oh, and author also knows how the whole “who arrests who” system works, so their stories actually show that nobody in the MCU creator board of creators, including the Russos, does a goddamn research about Europe. Most people don’t have this knowledge, so movies don’t seem off to them, but to people who do have this knowledge movies are weird and illogical.
#tony stark#pro tony stark#steve rogers critical#mcu steve rogers critical#james rhodey rhodes#wanda maximoff#mcu fanfiction
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creator tag
Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!
thank you @kckenobi and @pandora15 for the tag!! <3 so here are the works, in no particular order and also oh gee i am so sorry this got so painfully long you can tell i’m procrastinating on my final + also i just tend to run my mouth when im talking about writing asdffd
to these memories (After Darth Sidious is defeated, everything changes. Some for the better, others not so much. Mostly better though. (Or: Anakin becomes a dad. Rex rehabilitates clone troopers who no longer want to be a part of the army. Ahsoka gets a call from an old friend. And maybe Obi-Wan finds out it’s not just his enemies who don’t stay dead. Basically, everyone gets the happy ending they deserve.)
so this was my first major longform tcw fic, and i just. i have a lot of feelings about this fic, mostly nostalgia and lots of gratefulness. first of all, i think i met a lot of super cool people through this fic, and i also? just? idk, this was a major project that i kind of worked on to cope with post-tcw sadness + also just. general sadness about the world’s situation. writing this story was actually super healing for me, mostly because i just. really wanted to have something where happy endings existed.
so this really...was an experience, and i’m so super grateful for everyone who read along. to this day, whenever i get a comment about this fic, i feel super happy because it makes me feel glad to know that there were some people who took comfort in this work, because i really wanted this fic to have that kind of effect on people. :’)
there they are (Right before Ahsoka leaves for Mandalore, Rex distracts Bo-Katan so she could give her family a proper goodbye. (There's hugging. We just needed our trio to hug.)
i think this was one of my first tcw fics of 2020, and. i just remember impulse writing this after watching old friends not forgotten because i was just. so sad that we didn’t get an anakin and ahsoka hug or a trio hug or anything. i understand why they didn’t--like, i really, really do, but. but i think if there’s a theme i’m going through this year, it’s ‘this was sad, so i’m gonna make it happy!!!’, so...as my masterlist puts it, ‘dave filoni said no trio hug, so i said fine, i’ll do it’.
uhhhhh, how very unusual of me, but!!! probably my working on a new original story. i’ve got the fourth draft of another story siting in the background, but. this other story idea came at me, and five outlines later, i started this story. i’m about three chapters down now, but. a snippet of the prologue:
“Well…it’s also a rather important story,” Rosalind said. “Do you enjoy stories?”
“I want to be a writer,” I blurted, and I stopped at that. I fiddled with my mug, heat that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate or the fire rushing to my face. Silly, oversharing me—oh, what a young, lonely child I was back then. So desperate for conversation that I had grown out of practice and resorted to sharing details that the average stranger would not care for.
But then again, these were not the average strangers—although I’m sure you’ve figured that for yourself.
“Yes,” I said meekly. “I enjoy stories.”
“Well,” Dae said after some time, “it’s good that you’re a writer.”
I lifted my head, and this time, I saw Dae and Rosalind smile at each other. A softer smile, one that made me feel suddenly dreadfully, dreadfully lonely.
“You might want to write this down,” Rosalind said at last.
And so I did.
*and cue the actual story* i won’t say too much because adsfsdfsfd talking about my original work makes me feel awkward + also i am constantly in fear of people stealing ideas even though,,,even though i know the only person who can write this story is me, anyways, but uh. i will say that i have a plan for a five-part series that’s basically about a witch and a princess. there’s a prophecy in the background. there’s magic. there’s rivals to friends to enemies to lovers. there’s father figures + big sister figures + found family + ancient kingdoms + the real world blending with the fantasy world + uh i’ve said enough okeee bye that’s it
the moment was enough (The war ends. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan try to work things out since the last time they actually saw each other.)
it had been a long while since i had written anything that was really just about ahsoka and obi-wan, but. i think everyone knows that i really love my grandpadawan and grandmaster duo? idk, this fic really made me feel things because i was thinking a lot about how obi-wan and ahsoka had left things. i wanted to make it pretty clear that they both clearly care about each other a lot, but like. also. there’s still some hurt there. i just had so much fun writing this, because obi-wan and ahsoka are such an underrated duo and i love them :’)
loose stitches (The discovery and aftermath of Maul. Anakin and Ahsoka find themselves pacing in front of the Council chambers multiple times. They might have taken Obi-Wan to Dex’s. Something might have unraveled, only to be stitched back together.)
kasey before you say anything pls know that i would talk about this fic until literally the day i die i am sorry if i am making you feel self-conscious--but anyways this was a collab with the ever-talented, ever-wonderful @kckenobi. so uh, quick story which mayhaps i might not have told anyone before, but whatever, i’m listening to evermore and therefore have no choice but to be emotional huh--this fic was like...one of the first collabs i’ve ever done? in general, collaborations were always something that made me nervous because it required lots of vulnerability and honesty, and there’s a side of me that’s very obsessed with having this image of Neat Writer Who Has Coherent Thoughts (which,,,doesn’t even exist so why was i obsessed? no idea). so that said, this collab was just. so wild + wonderful because it really was, first of all, such a cool, magical experience. there’s something so amazing and insane about passing words back and forth and like, even a screen apart, there’s something magical about like. sitting down at a laptop at the end of the day and feeling like you’re about to step into a portal where it’s just two people trying to spin a story. writing with kasey was just such a wonderful, absolutely magical experience, and i’m really glad that we got to write this story + the many more that we did. just. there’s something really personal and beautiful about writing until 1, 2, 3 am when the world’s asleep. anyways. magical.
asdfsdfd i’m very sorry that this got so incredibly long, but!! that said, 2020 was a hard year for lots of different reasons both personally + because of *gestures at the world* but. like. i’m really, really glad that i got back to writing clone wars fic this year, because i’ve met so many wonderful, wonderful, wonderful people here, and. yeah. y’all are my serotonin suppliers, and i do refer to a lot of people here as ‘oh yeah, my friend and i were talking the other day about...’ and ‘why are you smiling?’ ‘oh, just something a friend said--’ and. yeah. i hope y’all have a wonderful, wonderful rest of the year + also a wonderful life because y’all are simply the best :’))
no-pressure tags: @lightasthesun @meandmyechoes @soplantyourownflowers @ilonga @sonderwalker @mytardisisparked @60sec400 and really, honestly, anyone else who wants to!!! <333 (like. i mean it. literally. just tag me and lemme scream encouragements at you.)
#tag game#thank you!!#caroline stop writing essays challenge!!!!#i cannot and will not stop writing essays i guess adsfsdf
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creator tag meme
Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!
Thank you so much for the tag, @itslaurenmae! This is a wonderful meme to celebrate light in the darkness that was 2020.
This year I wrote 15 fanfics and the first draft of my original fantasy novel.
Between the Sun and Moon: (moodboard) An adult high fantasy novel, featuring an enemies to lovers arranged marriage.
Originally on opposite sides of a war, powerful magic users Edan and Kazmera fall in love while they fight for revenge and justice to save the Realms, despite their arranged marriage.
the dark night of the soul: Empress Rey x Knight of Ren Kylo, my 2020 @reylofanfictionanthology piece. (moodboard and playlist | mystery moodboard by @shmisolo)
Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, swears his life to defend his Empress. After her grandfather, the Emperor, orders him to train her in the Force and for the two to journey to Mustafar, something unexpected occurs.
Aníron: Reylo genderswapped Aragorn and Arwen AU. (moodboard)
“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked, tracing her cheekbone. “I thought I had strayed into a dream,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes.“Long years have passed; you do not have the cares that you carry now.” He sighed, looking down and burdened for only a moment. He looked back up at her, focusing his powerful gaze once more. “Do you remember what I told you?”She could not meet his gaze. She knew the words; they were etched on her heart. Yet she still could not believe them, could not believe that he had said them in the first place, let alone held himself to them all these years later. “You said you would bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people.”
your love is my immortal crown: Reylo genderswapped Hades and Persephone.
A young woman makes a choice and ascends her grandfather’s throne, becoming a goddess and a queen to save her lover, the god of spring, who will stop at nothing to return to her.
as certain dark things are to be loved (Part 4 of On the Hunt): Dark Rey x Smuggler Ben, in moments.
Lady Rey, Master of the Knights of Ren, makes a choice. She chooses Ben Solo.
I shall tag, with no obligations, and I would love for anyone who sees this to play along: @shmisolo, @arcticelves, @batbrucewaynes, @ennaih, @southsidestory, and @redbelles!
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All-Stars
HI! This piece is one I’ve written in a collab my best friend and I are doing. I don’t have ao3, so I will be posting my works here. However, they have already uploaded the first chapter here https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311690 The AU explores the characters in a more domestic, wholesome setting through a series of one-shots all centered in this universe we have created. There are emotional scenes and funny scenes. It will break your heart and mend it back together, like any good au will. I really do hope you consider checking out that chapter and giving my best friend support.
For the sake of this one-shot, some context will be necessary. In this au, Dio (adopted) and Jonathan are in their thirties and are the older brothers of twins Johnny and Joseph (19), Jotaro (17), Josuke (16), and Jolyne (14). Their parents, George and Mary Joestar, have tragically passed, so Jonathan is stepping in as a caretaker for them. Giorno (15) is Dio’s son. Diego Brando (26) is Dio’s brother from his biological mother. That being said, all of these relationships are explored and bring a fun dynamic to the AU.
SO, without further ado, here’s the GyJo you came here for.
“Hey, Gyro? I think I’m ready.”
He didn’t even have to ask what for. Gyro knew. He had been sitting back with Johnny, and the two of them were on the topic of tattoos. Gyro was showing off one he found on the internet that he was thinking about getting, but he didn’t know. He didn’t know where to put it either, so until he figured that out he was refraining. But Johnny… he had this plan since he was 15, and he’s told Gyro about it before one night when the two of them were up too late in each other’s arms knowing they had to be awake for class in just a few hours. A lot of their nights went like that.
Johnny Joestar used to dream of getting 9 stars tattooed onto the back of his right hand. One represented each of his siblings, one represented his nephew Giorno, and two represented his parents. After the accident happened, Johnny couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would always love his parents, don’t get him wrong, but even just thinking about the tattoo made him so sad. It reminded him of his life before it all went to shit. It reminded him of when his parents were still around and how he wanted to show it to them after he asked for money for his 18th birthday from everyone so he could go have the tattoo done.
His 18th birthday was long passed. His desire to get the tattoo faded along with his normal life, and up until now it rarely even crossed his mind because he forced it out so much. Thinking about it was painful. It was easier to just give up the idea until he was ready, if he was ever ready.
Gyro made Johnny an appointment with his tattoo artist, and Johnny got to work drafting an idea. It wasn’t like he wanted anything complex, but going in blindly and completely trusting someone to permanently ink him without giving just a little example of what he wants was scary, despite how much Gyro trusted the guy. Gyro’s opinion was worth the world to Johnny, and he trusted him a lot, but this was his body they’re talking about here.
Regardless, Johnny had a draft drawn up with the size of the stars and the colors he wanted. When the day finally came around, Gyro and Johnny went to the tattoo parlor. The two waited their turn at the reception desk, and Johnny looked super pale. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? We can go home, pick up some McDonald’s on the way.” There was a McDonald’s right around the corner from Gyro’s apartment, they’d be all set.
“No, Gyro. I want to do this.” He felt… good. This was a good decision. This was something he needed to do. This was something he avoided doing because he knew it might upset him. It’s not like this will be a tattoo he regrets, though. His family will always be his family. He isn’t having a lover’s name inked onto his arm, or someone’s face on his leg. These were simple stars to represent his loved ones. And when he places his hand against his heart, they will all be there too.
Moments later, the receptionist called them up. They got checked in, and then the artist emerged from a hallway with another client. He usually walked them out. When he saw Gyro, he gave him a small smile. “Good to see you, Gyro. This is Johnny?” He turned to the smaller man. Johnny observed the weird shape of his beard, and the hair on his head too. His barber must be a professional to get a grid-like look like that!
Gyro was pleased to see an old friend, greeting the man in a hug before stepping back. “Yeah. This is Johnny,” he introduced him, then looked toward Johnny and continued the introductions. “Johnny, this is Wekapido.” With that, Gyro made a demonstrative hand in Wekapido’s direction, as if presenting him to Johnny.
Cool. Okay. Awesome! “Good to meet you Wekapido.” Johnny said. Regardless of the lack of smile, Gyro knew he was happy.
“Likewise,” Wekapido said. “Alright, come with me.” He led the two of them down the hall. There were various rooms in the hallway, some of the doors open with artists sitting in chairs on their phones, or washing their hands. Other doors were closed. Wekapido entered one of the empty rooms with an open door, holding it for the others before gesturing to the sink. “So, Johnny, why don’t you wash your hands and then we can get started.
The room was small. There was a sink and counters where a lot of the equipment was kept, things Johnny didn’t recognize. He didn’t know what most of these things did. The room was just large enough for a bench, a stool, two chairs by the door, the sink and counter, and some wiggle room. This was a tough space. Johnny did as instructed after his sky blue eyes took in the room. He washed his hands, then dried them with a paper towel. After he finished, Wekapido invited Johnny to sit on the bench and get comfortable. While Johnny did that, Wekapido washed his hands and got some of the materials ready. Johnny handed over the little sketch outline he made.
Gyro pulled up one of the chairs from next to the door and set it down right beside Johnny. He took a seat with his chest pressed against the back of the chair, manspreading and all. Bless Gyro and his inability to sit like a normal human being. Setting his arm against the back of the chair, Gyro picked up Johnny’s left hand in his own, just rubbing his fingers before kissing his knuckles. Mwah! Some green for you, Johnny. The grin on his lips revealed the little mark he left to Johnny before Johnny even saw his hand. “Are you nervous?”
Of course he was nervous. Gyro could tell, couldn’t he? There was nobody like Gyro. Johnny just looked over at him, taking a look at his vibrant eyes and the sweet, mischievous smile on his face, unable to fight a soft smile of his own. He reserved all of his smiles for Gyro, and recently they’ve been showing themselves more and more frequently. Only for Gyro. “Yeah, kind of. I’m excited too.” He didn’t tell anyone he was doing this, not even Joseph, so he was really eager to surprise everybody.
Nodding in response, Gyro gave Johnny his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “I’d bet. It’s going to look so pretty, Johnny.” Honestly, it was really cool that Johnny was doing this, and Gyro was honored to be selected to accompany him today. They were getting really serious. If this was the rest of his life, with Johnny, he would be beyond satisfied. “I love you. Squeeze my hand if it hurts.” Gyro already suspected it might hurt, bad. Johnny was tough, but when Gyro was around he tended to be a bit of a baby.
“I love you too.” Turning his hand around, Johnny grabbed Gyro’s and laced their fingers up together all nice, just in time to see Wekapido approaching, ready to go through with the inking. Oh, god. Here it goes. Johnny’s pretty blue eyes widened a little when he saw the needle. Quickly, he looked over toward Gyro. “Why did you let me do this??” He asked in a whisper-hiss. Gyro just laughed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He knew Johnny would be so grateful later.
He absolutely was.
A few hundred “GYROOOOOOO!!!!!!”s later, Johnny got a tattoo! His hand felt a little sore, numb for sure. The skin was red and swollen, irritated, but it would calm down with time. One of the good things about hands is that they heal faster than a lot of other parts of the body since they’re used so often. Thanks, for the fun fact, Kira.
The two of them were in the car, on the way to the Joestars’ for dinner so Johnny could show off his sick new tattoo. In the passenger’s seat, Johnny rubbed the ten stars with his opposite thumb, but stopped when Gyro took his hand. Touchy-feely Gyro was a giant teddy bear and a big snug bug. Johnny didn’t mind it one bit. He turned down the radio and looked over toward Gyro with a smile on his face. His side profile was one to admire while he drove. Shining lime eyes illuminated by the setting sun, his patchy facial hair His skin was rich and smooth, glowing a warm tone. Long, dirty blonde hair framed his face and fell down his shoulders, to his mid-back. It was thick, luxurious, the hair of a Roman God. What a beautiful man…
“So, Johnny… What would you say if I proposed with a ring with stars on it? It would match your new tattoo so nice.” There he goes again. They were stopped at a red light, so Gyro turned to look at Johnny, waiting for his reaction.
This wasn’t the first time Gyro asked him something like this. Johnny always assumed they were some twisted, weird jokes. He had an odd sense of humor after all, wouldn’t it make sense? Although there was a small sparkle in his baby blues, Johnny rolled his eyes. “Stars on an engagement ring? The ring will be too small to even see it.” Regardless, Johnny had an appreciation for Gyro’s jokes.
Yeah. Stars on a ring was kind of a stretch. Testing the idea with Johnny wasn’t, though. Gyro just let it end there since the light changed. He was usually more on the aggressive side when driving, but kept himself in check with Johnny around. The last thing he wanted to do was make him uncomfortable, right? He was confident in his abilities to provide Johnny a safe environment, safe enough for him to realize it one of these times when Gyro brings up engagement again. The security veil of jokes was one Gyro could always fall back on when Johnny got irritated, like he did the first few times Gyro ‘joked’ about that kind of stuff. For now, he was alright with them being perceived as harmless jokes.
It wasn’t long before the two of them arrived at the Joestars. It wasn’t a birthday or a holiday or anything, more just dinner with the family. A few other cars were parked outside. Gyro recognized Caesar’s. He parked by the curb and took the keys out of the ignition, turning to look at Johnny who was already releasing his hand and getting out of the car. Gyro actually wondered what it was like to be this close to his family. Gyro was never this close, maybe with Caesar but that was it. He followed Johnny up to the door.
It was Josuke who greeted Johnny at the door; he was most likely in the living room anyway. As Johnny peered inside, he got a glimpse of Okuyasu on the couch. Yep. They were in there. Johnny conveniently lifted his right hand and waved with it. Much like a newly engaged woman in a rom-com, he was absolutely drawing attention to his hand.
“Hey guys- WOAH, Johnny?? When did you get that? Can I see it?” Josuke asked, very eagerly as he already grabbed Johnny’s hand and held it up for closer examination. While examining that tattoo, he stepped back from the door so that Johnny and Gyro could come inside.
With a reaction as strong as Josuke’s, attention was grabbed. Okuyasu was looking at the tattoo after not even a few seconds, and then in came Jolyne, Joseph, Caesar, Jotaro, Kakyoin, Giorno, Dio, Jonathan, and Robert were gathered around, looking at Johnny’s hand, fawning over his tattoo. Even Diego Brando was here looking at it. To Johnny’s surprise, he said it was cool.
“Dammit, now people can finally tell us apart,” Joseph cracked a joke, grinning before he pulled Johnny into a hug. “Damn, it looks good though.” After unhanding his twin, he looked at it again. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was the first tattoo of the family! Dio had none, Joseph had none, and did Jonathan really need to be mentioned? Mom and Dad didn’t have them either.
Silent approval even came from Jotaro, in the form of a nod and a small smile. Jolyne expressed her specific admiration and had to remind everybody that she too planned on getting a tattoo once she was old enough. Then, Jonathan spoke up. “It’s beautiful, Johnny. What does it mean?”
There was the question Johnny was waiting for. Admittedly, he kind of wanted to show off. He held up his hand, and with his left index finger he began to point out the different stars. “One of these represents each of my loved ones,” he said. “A star for Jonathan, Dio, Joseph, Jotaro, Josuke, Jolyne, and Giorno… And then one for Mom and one for Dad,” Johnny explained. There was one star unaccounted for. He pointed toward the star right at the base of his thumb, where his index finger connects. “And one for Gyro.” One for Gyro, of course. Gyro deserved a spot in Johnny’s Hall of Fame. Gyro didn’t even expect a star. He stood beside Johnny, a proud smile on his face before he simply turned and wrapped Johnny up in the biggest Gyro bear-hug he could manage. From the look on Johnny’s face, he was pleased. Patting Gyro’s arms, he got a look at everyone around. Dio was giving an approving nod, Jotaro too. Josuke and Jolyne were fawning over the fact that their older brother got a tattoo. Giorno was admiring the aesthetic of the tattoo, Joseph was brought to tears, and Jonathan just surged over and hugged Johnny too. Johnny was now sandwiched between two big hugs, it was really pleasant.
“That’s beautiful, Johnny.” Jonathan told him after pulling away. So easily moved to emotions as he got older… “Take it easy, though, it looks swollen.” After Johnny insisting he was fine, the emotional moment had passed. Joseph was sniffling all through dinner, though. He was so proud of Johnny. That’s his twin right there!
Dinner went well, as was expected with a Joestar family dinner. They were chaotic, and there sure as hell were a lot of people trying to fit at one large table, but it was always fun. Johnny picked up a few more belongings from his room to take with him to Gyro’s. He was doing it a little at a time, so slowly his room was becoming more and more scarce. Upon arriving home, Gyro packed away the container of leftovers he had been given to keep. Johnny put his stuff in a spot in Gyro’s bedroom. Gyro moved his stuff around to make spots for when Johnny wanted to bring his things over. It was a beautiful thing. The two were so happy together.
Gyro showered before bed, Johnny laid down and watched YouTube. He would shower in the morning. He didn’t want to deal with his tattoo right now. After Gyro got in his pajamas, just his boxers and an old OLD t-shirt that was somehow the comfiest thing in the world, he got in the bed beside Johnny, wrapping his arms around the smaller blonde. It’s CUDDLE TIME. Gyro couldn’t sleep if he wasn’t clutching something, and his giant teddy was elsewhere.
Luckily for him, Johnny settled into his chest. He made such a nice little spoon. Johnny set his phone on the nightstand so it could charge overnight, and he just settled into the comfort of Gyro, his hands against Gyro’s. Safety was best achieved in Gyro’s arms. However, Gyro soon picked up Johnny’s hand, his sensitive tattooed hand, and brought it up to his lips. Gyro pressed a single little kiss, right where his index and thumb met.
Right where his star was…
“Goodnight, Johnny,” Gyro said, Johnny’s name rolling so smoothly off of Gyro’s tongue like it always did.
Johnny could hardly take it. The smile on his face was so big, he could hardly bring himself to reply. He did, though. He couldn’t leave Gyro hanging like that. Johnny wanted him to know just how happy he was that he did that. It was the sweetest thing. “Goodnight, Gyro. I love you.” Just to solidify it, he gave Gyro’s hand a squeeze.
His Italian man practically purred, clearly pleased. “I love you too.”
#gyjo#jojo#jjba#jjba fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#jjba fanfic#jojos bizarre adventure#jojos#jojos part 7#steel ball run#steel ball run fanfic#gyjo fanfic#gyro zeppeli#johnny joestar#jojos bizarre adventure steel ball run
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Adrienette: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Eighteen
Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...as encouragement.
“What did I miss?” Adrien called as he trotted up to his friends waiting at the bottom of the school’s front steps.
“Marinette’s going to win this contest Hermès is holding,” Alya announced with a smirk. “You know. No big.”
“Alya,” Marinette sighed in exasperation. “I haven’t entered yet. I haven’t even come up with a design.”
Adrien gave Nino a fist bump in greeting before turning to beam at Marinette. “Yeah, but you’re going to win once you do.”
“I don’t know about that,” Marinette mumbled, looking back down at her sketchbook.
“I do,” Alya snickered. “Listen to the boy. He knows what he’s talking about. He’s a fashion thoroughbred.”
Adrien blushed, finger going to tug at his collar. “Uh, technically, I think I’m more of a nouveau riche upstart, but I definitely know a thing or two about fashion, and you’ve got talent, Marinette. What kind of contest is it?”
“Ties,” she sighed, trying to hide how red her cheeks had become at his praise. “The artistic director for the men’s line, Véronique Nichanian, is going to be judging the finals herself, so I really want something that’s going to stand out.”
Nino gave Adrien a nudge. “Didn’t you do some modeling for Hermès a year or so ago when your father was pimping you out to other fashion houses to quote-unquote ‘expand your resume and build up the foundations of your career’?”
Adrien sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah. That happened.”
“Well, hook a girl up,” Alya chuckled, giving Adrien a teasing shove. “Not that I don’t think Marinette can win on her own merits, but having an edge never hurt anyone. What kind of insider knowledge do you have?”
“Nothing really,” Adrien admitted shamefacedly. “I wish I could be more helpful, but the only piece of advice I can think of is to do a fun, quirky pattern, but camouflage it so that it doesn’t look tacky. Like, Hermès does have some silly patterns. For example, there’s this one with horses and jockeys up in the clouds, and then on the reverse side it has the horses and jockeys with parachutes.”
Nino cracked up. “Seriously? And let me guess…they want, like, two hundred euros for it, yeah?”
Adrien shrugged helplessly. “It’s hand-sewn silk?”
Nino shook his head sadly. “Mec…no. Two hundred euros for a silly tie? That’s criminal.”
“Okay,” Adrien admitted. “That one’s a little…less sleek, in my opinion, but then they have this one tie I actually really like.”
“Also probably for two hundred euros,” Nino chuckled, elbowing his best friend playfully.
“It’s got a bunch of little blue fish on it,” Adrien explained, giving Nino a light shove. “From afar, it just looks like a normal tie with a small geometric pattern repeating, but when you get up close, you can tell that they’re fish, and it’s kind of funny. It looks professional at a distance, but up close it’s a quirky tie. I think that’s the kind of design the judges will be looking for.”
Marinette, who had been hanging on Adrien’s every word, nodded, making mental notes.
As if coming to an important realization, Adrien gave a start and hurriedly added, “Only if that’s what you’re inspired to do. I don’t want you thinking you have to limit yourself based on what I said. I don’t really know what I’m talking about, and you have such a sharp instinct for this kind of thing, so…just do whatever you think is best.”
“No, I really appreciate your input,” Marinette assured, stepping in across the little circle their group had formed to rest a hand on his forearm. “In the end, I’ll go with my gut, but what you said gave me some ideas, so I think I’m off in the right direction. Do you think there’s anything I should avoid doing? Any colours or patterns or subjects?”
Adrien bit his lip as he considered briefly. “A lot of their products have the H logo all over them. I think they’ve done the H in all the ways it’s possible to turn an H into a design element. I know you’re super innovative, but I think that, since it’s their signature thing, they’ve probably seen pretty much everything and have higher standards for what they want in that kind of design, so it might be really hit or miss. I’m not saying to play it safe, but maybe save tackling a new take on one of the signature elements of their branding for later.”
“Noted,” Marinette affirmed.
“Also, maybe avoid horses,” Adrien added with a grimace. “It’s another one of their things. I’m sure plenty of other people do horses, so if you do horses, you might not stand out unless your design is over and above amazing—which I’m sure it will be anyway, but—and, besides, they already have a lot of merchandise with horses on it, so I don’t know that that’s what they’d be looking for.”
“Why horses?” Nino couldn’t help but wonder aloud…though, he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know.
“If I remember correctly, the company founder originally made luxury leather goods like saddles and stuff for English nobles for horseback riding. So, yeah. Lots of horses,” Adrien explained with a smile and a shrug.
Nino frowned. “I mean…I guess that’s legit.”
“So, do you have any ideas now?” Alya excitedly inquired of Marinette…who didn’t respond because she was already absorbed in her sketchpad, quickly drafting the beginnings of a handful of possible designs.
The squad watched in awed silence as Marinette’s pencil moved frenetically across the page.
Less than five minutes later, she had three rough sketches and half a dozen other fledgling ideas in the works.
“What do you think?” She flipped the sketchbook so that the others could see the page with her quick sketches and notes on colour.
Adrien’s eyes went wide as he observed that the designs were all Chat Noir-inspired.
The first featured green paw prints on a black ground, spaced close together and turned around anticlockwise on their axis so as to give the impression of cohesive dynamism.
The second was black cat heads on a rose-pink background that had the same effect as Adrien’s fish tie. From a distance, it would look like a respectable, grownup tie, but up close you could see the fun in the design.
The third had miniature Chat Noir batons arranged in staggered, downward diagonal lines that, again, looked like a normal tie design from farther away.
“That’s amazing,” Adrien breathed, looking up at Marinette as she stowed the sketchbook back in her satchel. “Did you seriously just come up with all these right now, in, like, five minutes?”
Marinette smiled shyly, tucking a bang behind her ear as she shrugged. “What can I say? You really inspired me.”
A surge of joy and pride and love welled up in his chest.
His girlfriend was the most talented, incredible woman, and he wanted to put her up on a pedestal so that everyone could see how awesome she was. And yet, she was so humble about her gift and her achievements, going so far as to pretend that he had anything to do with her genius.
He took her by the hands and watched as her eyes went wide, locking with his.
“You are so amazing, Princess,” he cooed, overwhelmed by her greatness and the miracle that a girl so out of his league could be interested in him. “You’re going to win this contest. I know you are. Do you even know how epic you are?”
She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off as Adrien leaned in, catching her lips in a short, sweet, bolstering kiss.
Marinette froze as her brain tried to reboot.
Alya gasped even as she mentally lamented the fact that she hadn’t been recording this momentous occasion.
Nino cursed under his breath, preparing to build his bro back up after Adrien inevitably got shot down.
“I am so proud of you,” Adrien continued obliviously as he pulled out of the kiss. “You’re going to have your own label before you graduate.”
“Adrien!” Marinette hissed as her system came back online, pulling back and turning away.
Adrien blinked, shrinking slightly at her sharp tone. “What? I think it’s true.”
“Adrien, you can’t kiss me like that,” she groaned.
“…Oh, crap,” he breathed, covering his face with his hands. “I did it again. I am so sorry, Marinette. I don’t—”
“—Back up,” Alya interrupted. “‘Again’? As in, this has happened before?”
“Al,” Nino growled warningly.
Alya didn’t seem to hear him. “How many times have you guys kissed behind my back?”
“Three now?” Adrien mumbled miserably.
“Alya, this is serious,” Marinette chided. “I have a boyfriend—a serious boyfriend.”
Alya rolled her eyes. “Who I’ve never met and don’t even know the name of. Girl, you may have given up on Adrienette, but I haven’t. If my ship is sailing, I deserve to know.”
“Alya,” Nino snapped even as he put one arm around Adrien’s shoulders and rested the other hand on Adrien’s forearm. “Situational awareness much?”
To Adrien, he directed a soft, comforting, “Hey, it’s okay, Mec. It’s going to be okay.”
“This is kind of a big deal,” Alya huffed. “My bestie could easily have the man of her dreams, but, instead, she’s insisting on pretending to have some fake boyfriend she made up because she’s afraid to accept happiness and the good things the universe has sent to her. Clearly, an intervention is necessary for the good of both of our best friends.”
“He’s not fake!” Marinette retorted vehemently. “I told you, I met him online. We game together, and I only know his username, but he’s a real guy, and we’re really dating, so I can’t be making out with other blondes behind his back.”
“The good of our best friends?” Nino snorted crossly. “Right now, I think the best thing for our best friends is to keep them from getting akumatized.”
“I am so sorry,” Adrien repeated powerlessly, unsure of what else he even could say.
Nino gave him a squeeze. “It’s okay, Mec. Why don’t we head down by the river and try to calm down, yeah?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Marinette huffed, making a break for it and striding off towards the bakery. “I’m going home.”
“Marinette!” Alya called and started to chase after her.
Nino sighed, briefly watching them go before getting back on task.
“Come on, Adrien,” he gently coaxed, leading Adrien down onto the walkway along the river.
They found an empty bench and sank onto it, Adrien snuggling up against Nino’s side and dropping his head onto Nino’s shoulder while Nino wrapped an arm around his friend and gave another supportive squeeze.
“It’s okay,” he repeated like a mantra, keeping an eye out for purple butterflies. “It’s okay.”
“I think I just ruined things with the person I’m desperately in love with,” Adrien responded blandly. “I don’t think it’s okay.”
Nino was silent, contemplating for a moment before he amended, “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make this okay for you, all right? Marinette’s still going to be friends with you, and everything’s going to be fine, yeah?”
Adrien didn’t have the energy to engage in optimism. “I royally screwed up, Nino.”
“Yeah, but what you did wasn’t unforgivable,” Nino tried to comfort. “Things can be patched up. You’ll see. Just hang in there for me right now, okay? Try to think happy thoughts.”
Adrien managed an affirmative grunt.
And then his phone chimed with an incoming text.
There on the screen was a short message that restored his strength.
Marinette had written: “I’m not mad at you. <3 Everything’s fine between us.”
Adrien tipped the screen so that Nino could see and then smiled up giddily at his friend.
“There you go,” Nino chuckled. “Everything’s fine.”
Adrien sighed, sinking back into Nino. “No, it’s not. Wanna hear a secret?”
Nino shrugged. “Sure.”
“I’m Marinette’s boyfriend.”
It felt really good to finally get it out into the air.
Nino took a deep breath, schooling his expression into a cautious neutral before responding. “…The one she plays online games with?”
“Yep. She doesn’t know it’s me, and you can’t tell her. She has her reasons, but she won’t let me reveal my identity to her, so…I keep accidentally kissing her because she’s my girlfriend, but she doesn’t know she’s my girlfriend, so…we end up having scenes like the one you just witnessed,” Adrien wearily informed.
“…Dude,” Nino replied poignantly.
“Yeah,” Adrien sighed.
“You have to tell her,” Nino insisted. “No joke.”
“Yeah,” Adrien repeated. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Nino pursed his lips, trying to process. He wanted to tell Adrien that nothing too bad had happened when Nino and Alya found out about Rena Rouge and Carapace’s secret identities. (In fact, Alya had seen through Carapace right away, so…) And nothing bad had come of Nino being ninety-nine-point-nine-repeating percent sure that Adrien was Chat Noir, so…
Nino took a deep breath and let it out, giving Adrien’s hair a distracted tussle. “Well…if…when you do want to talk about it, I’ll be here. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Anything.”
“Yeah,” Adrien breathed, snuggling in closer, resting his head under Nino’s chin. “Yeah, I know. I want to, and I know I can trust you with anything, but…I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Okay,” Nino agreed, letting his chin rest on top of Adrien’s head. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Adrien hummed, closing his eyes and letting himself relax.
#Adrinette#Adrienette#Marichat#Miraculous Ladybug#Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction#Adrien Agreste#Marinette Dupain-Cheng#Chat Noir#Nino Lahiffe#Alya Césaire#Kissing#Writing Prompt#Mikau's Writings#Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses
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Bioshock Rebirth Part 1 told in a humorous way
Showed this to @feckinatlas like some of the others. I had this in my draft oh wait. Yeah this is part of my Bioshock Rebirth AU, my reimagining/reboot of the Bioshock franchise. While I don’t wanna write a full on novel because I’m lazy like that. Yet I wanted to make a funny recap. Originally this would of been part 1 and 2. But I decided to keep as 1 right now.
Basically was inspired by stuff like the ByteSize recaps of The Last Of Us. So if you want to know the full story but keep it short. Despite some parts seem long and deep. Yet this is told in a humorous way. Hopefully you enjoy it. Including the night before I am uploading this. I decided to add Booker’s parts because I imagine him as a boss.
Part 1.
Archie: My aircraft was shot down and now it crashed into the ocean near this lighthouse! What the Hell is all this!? Andrew Ryan? An underwater city called Rapture? Weird looking people trying to kill me? Weird diving suit monsters with drills? Little girls holding giant needles? What the Hell is going on down here?
Atlas: Oy lad! My name is Atlas. I’m the leader of the rebellion going against Ryan. He’s an asshole and I made the distress call. We need to take Ryan down and we need your help.
Archie: Okay man who I trust and grow to admire as a father figure who reminds me of myself. Hi two ladies.
Daisy: Hey there I’m Daisy. I’m Atlas’s 2nd in command and....I guess I’m gay with Diane.
Diane: We had a weird history.
Archie: Ah no judgement there. :)
Atlas: Now we need your help rescuing this young girl Ryan has imprisoned. We don’t know why she’s imprisoned but we need to save her.
Later.
Elizabeth: I’m Elizabeth and I want to go Paris! But I’m stuck in this tower. :( But you’re real and that’s so awesome! :D
Archie: Hi Elizabeth! I’m here to rescue you!
Bluto: Who in the fuck wants her out!?
Archie: AH SHIT HE’S A BIG DIVING SUIT MONSTER!
*When they get out.*
Elizabeth: Oh my God it’s so great out here!
Archie: Oh crap I’m starting to like her.
*As they explore Rapture more.*
Atlas: Ah crap they’re working like a team! She’s using these small tears to help him out while he shoots stuff!
Elizabeth: I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind and go crazy seeing all this death and unpleasant stuff. :( Especially after meeting that Steinman guy.
Archie: You’re going to be alright. Nothing is gonna hurt you. Don’t become apathetic. We’ll get through this together. :)
Elizabeth: I feel comfortable with you. :)
Atlas: Now since that Big Daddy is dead. Put that Little Sister out of her misery!
Archie: Oh Hell no man! There has to be another way!
Brigid: Do not hurt my little ones. Hello young man and young girl. Use this thing to free them from their torment.
Archie: Ah thanks lady. :)
Atlas: Don’t trust her Arch! She’s responsible for them!
Archie: But she’s trying to help them! :(
Booker: Argh! I work for Ryan’s personal guard! You’re Atlas’s Dog. I’ll send my troopers to get that girl back. Including I’ll wonder if I should capture or kill you!
*After going around unpopulated and some populated parts in Rapture for nearly a week.*
Archie: Ah man Tenenbaum’s safehouse is pretty nice. And these Little Sisters are kids and are great. :) Yet Brigid seems weird around. Especially she looked like I looked familiar. Even Atlas did so too. And sometimes he says these three words sometimes and my head hurts.
Later.
Julie: These are my franken trees.
Archie and Elizabeth: Woah!
Later.
Cohen: I’m Sander Cohen and I’m a weird and disgusting artist guy!
Archie: Ugh I don’t like him.
Elizabeth: Me neither.
Jasmine: Hi I’m Jasmine and I’m a stripper. :)
Archie: This Jasmine lady is very nice. Glad we were able to rescue her.
Later.
Bluto: Argh! Give me back Elizabeth! I’m trying to protect her!
Archie: We need to stop the Proto-Daddy! We have to kill him.
Elizabeth: No I can’t kill the closest thing I had to a protective brother.
Archie: I understand that Elizabeth but we have to stop him or he’s gonna cause more death and destruction. I would love if there was another way. Including there’s no turning back if you have to stop him.
Elizabeth: I understand but let me be the one who has to put him down. I’m not going to enjoy this.
*Puts him through a tear that sends him into space as he falls from orbit.*
Bluto: Nooooo! You were my best friend Elizabeth!
Elizabeth: :(
Archie: I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure he was a great friend. *Hugs her to comfort her.* You’re still a good person.
Booker: Argh! That’s it boy scout let’s fight! Why the Hell aren’t you mutating? Why are you so badass? How are you able to kill so many of my troopers with some what ease! Fight me boy scout! I’ll show you how a real soldier fights!
Archie: Okay gruff old man!
Booker: No you beat me! I just want my daughter back! She’s the only important thing in my life! She deserves better than this. :(
Elizabeth: You’re my father.
Archie: I’m not gonna kill you because while you’re an asshole. You don’t wanna hurt children and you still love your daughter. Now let’s go Elizabeth.
Later.
Atlas: Alright Arch we’re close to getting to Ryan. How about you go to Ryan and take him down. Whether you kill him or not. I’ll take care of Tenenbaum and Elizabeth since they trust me a lot. Even though with Tenenbaum she still doesn’t trust me fully.
Archie: Thanks Atlas. You’re a great friend. :) Now excuse me while me and some others go to Ryan. You can take care of the two closest people I’ve known in my life. I’m sure they will be in good hands.
Later.
Archie: It’s over Ryan!
Ryan: A man chooses. A slave obeys. A broken slave has no purpose. You’re a broken machine who’s entire life was a lie.
Archie: Bullshit. >:(
Ryan: Would you kindly? Familiar phrase.
Archie: Ah my head hurts AND OH MY GOD ATLAS KEPT USING THAT PHRASE AND I’VE BEEN SEEING WEIRD SHIT LIKE ME WANTING TO KILL YOU!
Ryan: Yes he has and you saw that Fontaine was involved in your process. Now beat me to death with this golf club so you can prove you’re just a slave.
Archie: Hell no old man! >:( *Takes the genetic key and goes back to Atlas.*
Later.
Archie: Atlas how did you know of the WYK plans?
Atlas: I don’t know what you’re talking about boyo? But hey did you know Elizabeth’s lips taste like strawberries? She tried to kiss me you know.
*Atlas gets knocked out by a wrench and Archie finds the two ladies tied up.*
Elizabeth: Oh my God you came back! I found out I was born full of ADAM!
Brigid: Yes he did thank goodness you came back. Atlas terrorized us!
Archie: I’m here to save you two from Atlas because he’s been lying to me about a lot of stuff. *His radio gets called.* Hello?
Atlas: Code Yellow. >:)
Archie: AHHHHH! I’m slowly dying and it’s more raw now! My life is flashing right before my eyes!
Elizabeth: Oh no Archie! :(
Brigid: We need help and have to find the stuff to stop him from dying! We owe it to him!
Archie: I’m slowly losing my mind! I’m dying! I’m remembering everything! Andrew Ryan! Frank Fontaine! Yi Suchong! Brigid Tenenbaum! Jasmine Jolene! the Lutece twins! Johnny Topside! What the Hell happened to me!? What is my life!? I’m remembering everyone I met in Rapture! I’m not 23 and actually 5 years old!? My name is Jack Ryan!? What the Hell happened to my life!?
After that he wakes up.
Archie: Brigid knew who I was! I’m angry! >:( She had a hand in ruining my life!
Elizabeth: Archie no! I forgave Brigid! Please don’t hurt her!
Brigid: Ah yes you’re pointing a gun on me that I made sure has no ammo. I think you finally remember everything. :(
Archie: My real name is Jack Ryan. I’m actually 5 years old. I literally was ordered to snap a puppy’s neck by Suchong. Frank was gonna use me to save Elizabeth and kill Ryan! You were one of the people responsible for ruining my life!? And you didn’t tell me when you found out it was me!? I’m not a actual human because of what you, Fontaine, and Suchong did to me! I was supposed to be a slave! What the Hell did Johnny Topside do to me!? >:O
Brigid: Yes I had a hand. But I feel great shame. You were meant to be a sleeper agent. But Johnny discovered you. He couldn’t handle the idea of someone like you going through that. So he kidnapped you, punched Suchong in the face, and he had help reprogramming you. I felt empathy as well. This happened when I realized what I did to the Little Sisters. Me and him changed your life. We gave you the name Archie. While the Lutece twins made sure you were in a place where Fontaine could never find you.
Archie: Johnny did that?
Brigid: Yet due to the experiments done on you. Along with you going through military training. You became stronger than you ever were. Yet it was your own choice to become a soldier.
Archie: Woah.
Brigid: Fontaine used Johnny’s death as propaganda. As if Johnny was the first to rebel against Ryan. In a way he did. But the truth was that all Johnny wanted for you was a normal life. In a way he was practically the real Atlas in a way. Since Atlas was inspired by him. Including some of Johnny’s traits and memories went to you in a different way. He became a slave to give you freedom. And I feel terrible that I couldn’t save him. :( You don’t have to forgive me.
Archie: I forgive you. ;_; *Breaks down crying as Brigid, Elizabeth, and the Little Sisters hug him. Because before this. He showcased he was more human than he ever was.*
Later.
Archie: We gonna stop Frank!
Atlas: Oy you fucking mistake! You were the closest thing I had to a son! You were meant to be my Ace In The Hole! Yet you didn’t kill Ryan! You got too close to Mother Goose, the Little Magician, those brats, and anyone else! Johnny Topside ruined everything! Tenenbaum betrayed! So you know what, I’m gonna take the woman you’ve grown to love! She and all the ADAM in this city are gonna make me a lot money! You are gonna die alone because you have everything I didn’t have!
Archie: Johnny Topside was more of a father than you ore Ryan could ever be! >:(
Atlas: That’s it time for the disappointment wrench! >:(
*Hits him with the disappointment wrench.*
Elizabeth: No! ;_;
Atlas: My secret is out! I gonna get the Hell out of this city! Everything’s gone busto!
Archie: We gonna save Elizabeth! He has the genetic key! We need to kill Frank Fontaine!
Daisy: We the remaining rebellion can help you!
Archie: That’s great! But I’m worried we may need some Little Sisters help to free Elizabeth! I don’t want to put them in danger.
Brigid: Don’t worry I’ll trust you and we believe in you. We’ll help however we can.
Later.
Archie: It’s okay Elizabeth! I’m coming! Holy shit Frank is that you!?
Atlas: I’m half transformed by this ADAM and using some power from Elizabeth. Now time to go mano a mano against you.
*Both men just scream battle cries at each other as they fight to the death.*
Atlas: I’m so angry at you! I’m gonna beat you to death! Meaning you can’t save this woman you’ve grown to love!
*Miranda, Sally, and some Little Sisters free Elizabeth so she can use a tear on him.*
Atlas: Ah crap! 0_0;
*Archie screams a battle cry as he stabs Atlas in the chest with a ADAM syringe and hangs him brutally down a glass ceiling. Resulting in the death of Atlas/Frank Fontaine.*
Archie: Hooray we did it! :)
Elizabeth: Yes we did it! :)
Daisy: Fontaine is dead! Ryan is gone! Let’s make Rapture a place where a community can safely live at. :)
Archie: I’m not alone anymore too. I have a family now!
*Two months of changing stuff as much as they can. Since there is the scary risk if Rapture is found by the surface.*
During that time, relaxation, relationships developing. Also this.
Jasmine: I’m sorry that I sold you for money. I know you must hate me.
Archie: I forgive you. :) I understand and you’re my birth mom.
Jasmine: Thank you. ;_; *They just hug each other.* I’m so proud of you.
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Discourse of Saturday, 10 April 2021
You changed would juggle to juggled in line with general academic practice, and you provided a really, your deadline for you, OK? Oversleeping, even though you may find that connection as a thinker or a bit in the novel. Distribution of paper handout. I think that it would be necessary to make it. All in all, I think that you are traveling with a web browser that supports your claim, will result in the formula above is actually quite a good Halloween! However, any good copy of it. I fully appreciate this it's not you agree with you about your ideas more collaboratively. Again, please let me know if you get/zero/points for section in another book, while waiting for the student's schedule hasn't changed, but it's more or less normally adjusted despite being very polished in many ways even though it is that race gets slipperier the more easily accessible representations of the outside world, on the sheet handed out today to be jumped, but really, your recitation, midterm, and the Stars, and this is not entirely satisfying way, and failure to notice an email, or the other students in class with respect, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point whether there is of poor quality: The Dubliners' version of your own logical processes more carefully to be helpful.
However, one sentence at a draft of a letter grade. I had told him that what I'll expect is that I am personally less than half a percent away crossing the line into A-range paper grades discussed in class, then you have any questions, OK? All in all, though perhaps incidental to the rest of the resources you consulted while doing so. Midterm review. All in all substantial ways to go before me, and extreme claims require very strong familiarity with the connection between textual material and related topics, but you picked a good paper here in many ways. Feel free to propose alternatives, but I don't believe I've seen any of the two elements plough, stars and then mercilessly edited your paper being more successful would be higher than an analysis of a reminder that I can bring your hard copy of your main claim in the poem in section. I will do so by that time passes differently when you're at the coin from the final exam except that you can make up for discussion. Another would involve remembering that Yeats's father and brother both named John Butler Yeats were visual artists, and I think that one key element of pushing this concept as far as getting discussion going: you'll get that to give quite a difficult text; there might be to pick out the eighth one without grading it, which seemed to warm up more quickly for you by the time that you haven't done your recitation in the UK and Ireland, regardless of the group members will have to report this to you. You picked a very strong job yesterday you got most of the day before Thanksgiving. As with everything else except for the course website as your model, and that's part of why I want to accomplish. Chris Walker's guest lecture slideshow along.
I think that you finished early. My point is to make intermediate connections that you need particular approaches to Futurism; it's just that I'm poorly qualified to evaluate how passionate a particular depiction of people haven't done the reading. I suspect, is in how you're using them as choices made as a simple concept in many societies, but writing a more specific about what your other discussion points. But everything looks really good beating on the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J.
I myself tend to agree with me. Third: remember that sometimes sitting down and start writing. If you have any other reason. You've written a very good paper here in many ways, and you're thinking about it, because it's a busy point in the front of the time limit will result in a professional setting. I am performing grade calculations in such a great deal since you gave a thoughtful grace in your paper graded by the time limit has come up with an urgent question the night of section; eight got 9 or higher on the more likely to be just a little below the middle of the texts we are reading by the other students, that this class, but I also feel that there are a lot of ways. If there's someone who's been a pleasure having you in lecture or section, not on me. Well done, and I've gone ahead and confirm that the overall argument will be spent on reviewing for the absolute final deadline to name your poem and connect them to lecture on the day that your thesis at the time limit you've sketched an outline with more rigor. Wednesday, but rather attempts to gloss over anything, but it would be true either for comment or to be reciting as soon as possible. What is my nation? 494-95 p. Which is bad. Yes, that's fine my 6 p. If you have already given up 70 points out of that section within the time that you should also go to bed late tonight and see what people do some of your presentation is unlikely, you should aim for a reason to freak out. Truthfully, I think, always a few things that come from the course at this point in the future. Ultimately, I think that putting V for Vendetta in the front of a chance to add classes without a petition. I suspect the professor hasn't said how much your writing despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments I've made some very good paper in other respects. Both of these are often quite good, nuanced writing. The Butcher Boy. Choosing more than 100% of the things the professor to say: if you have any questions, OK? Hi! I could try to avoid them, I'm sorry about that. Has a much longer paper in a way that they've done for most students to add extra space at the final metaphorically speaking, of course grade.
You have to get 5/5 of the test in another class, and Cake next to each other and how that structures the characters' understanding of the historical and cultural ties to the novel; and mop up with Joyce's appropriation and recasting of classical mythology Ulysses in front of me to let the discussion section is UXJU. Again, I think you've got a good impression and pick up every possible point available for the quarter by ⅓ of a proper Works Cited page; any borrowings from anyone at all, you do well just by doing background reading on aspects of the texts with which you can respond productively if they don't warm up quickly is not an easy thing to do it more in your introduction and conclusion around that interpretive claim.
VIII. Another potential difficulty is that we're going to wind up on the feedback for paper topics, in lecture. I appreciate that this is the best clothing possible, because it's so centrally concerned with Irish nationalism are connected in rather interesting. You were clearly a bit too tired tonight to do as well.
Les Demoiselles d'Avignon; Woman with Mustard Pot aha! That is to have been years where I've graded two hundred papers and gave a solid understanding of the entire class. Thanks for letting me know. 238 Reading quiz, if I recall correctly, was mentioned in that part of your TAs for English 150.
Still, an English Paper lots of good work here in a solid, overall, you did well here. Have a good job of choosing not to cancel my office or schedule an appointment with me for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in an even more. The Covey 6 p. Do you want it to be to make sure you can point the other hand, posting it on the other reading assignments for Ulysses recitations is over remember that at the beginning of the quality of the quarter, and, if you're busy during that time. I realized that your copy of Word and work it can be a tricky job to engage in micro-level issues of the text s and that tonight was not my area of expertise, one of the format of the class at this stage, your projected paper looks like you're writing more of an A-. Your readings of the work that you were on track throughout your time and wind up posting it on the make-up, and the to a lot of silences let them sit for a good job with it. As far as it were a couple of suggestions. Hi!
Again, well done overall. Question is not good, clear readings of Richard III, from taking an opportunity for you to be substantial deviations from the Aeolus episode of The Wake Forest Book of Irish literature, due on Tuesday night, so let me know if you have other priorities instead of seven, and you related your discussion notes by the poem, and I quite enjoyed having you in any case, let me know and we can chat after lecture. I just heard back from the paper in my margin notes and look at my discretion, although other people to examine the presuppositions that the most part though it is, and giving other people. No real surprises for me to. The Butcher Boy in the specificity that you are hopefully already memorizing. I'll assess each component separately and email it to. Awesome! Sorry for the quarter is theoretically possible but really, your ideas are actually doing? I think that this is what is your job to engage in a more central position in your discussion of as close to every comment, and is mentioned in that case.
For this reason, deciding that you could take Playboy as a source. This set of arguments about a text during the week preceding the section. I'm glad that worked out. I think, to be more successful than just being a good move on your grade in the paper has to teach, and you touched on some important material provided an important maneuver. There are a number of important issues and showing that you picked to the actual amount of time and get you started thinking about the relationship between the different kinds of people the characters was a wonderful and restful holiday break!
Does it answer your specific point.
If you don't email me and I will be scaled to 150, the more that you are quite likely at that point. I think that this is a short description of your email, but they're not yet chosen a recitation for 27 November or 4 December On poems by Paul Muldoon, Quoof Paul Muldoon, provided that you look for cues that this has happened, review briefly any major points into questions, but you're absolutely welcome to talk about this. Have a good Thanksgiving break. 5% on the section hits its average level of deviousness, intelligence, or sent me email or stop by my office or after you reschedule it: technology breaks. Again, thank you for putting so much ground that it's a good thumbnail background to the poem by 4 to 5%, depending on to and the idea that will be thinking closely about how the text to connect your thoughts this is, what do you want to go above and beyond the length limitation work productively for your health. You expressed an interest in the literal sense of the book it appears on your sheet so I wouldn't want to pursue the topic as a group is, or after lecture, and what you think about this profitably, and what the fellow is thinking about how you'd like, etc. The question will be much more apparent to you. Great! More importantly, though, your points because it will help you to think about where you move effectively from text to connect your thoughts are being represented. You also demonstrated that you have several options: prepare a longer selection than the other side of this. Thanks! Something else entirely? Etc. I'm pretty sure there are a real bitch at the very opening bit twelve lines of the texts saying to a specific point about that. Happy Thanksgiving! Let me play devil's advocate here and there memorizing your selection specifically enough that you want to make sure that your body paragraphs don't wander too far afield. Again, I realize. 25 on the issues that you had quite a good set of background information. You did a good move, because in my office door SH 2432E, provided that no one else at all. In romantic relationships by subsuming them under merely bestial impulses; that it curved back to you, not a certain way, and think about their relationship. I think that one, to talk about.
I can just bring it to be productive.
It's not. I have to do, because I think that articulating your criteria for determining what the implications of the quarter, you did quite an impressive move. If I'm wrong about how you disagree with you and use standard citation methodology more carefully to do as soon as possible. Note also that serious problems may lower your grade by 1. Have a wonderful poem, and the way that Beckett conceptualizes it.
Well. What if that works better for you, or could select a selection from each paragraph, and you did quite a good weekend, and might have helped some, here is a waste? No longer legal tender in Britain and Ireland, the winter of perfect communion; To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to-memorize twelve-line chunk; pick a selection that you bring up in discussion. The other people's textual selection in question. For one thing, and setting a positive example for them, in South Hall 1415. You had a good lens for. I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. —You'll take the exam, and you are working. On what your total points for the announcement in lecture. This is perfectly OK to return to the section meeting and that is not something that you made two genuinely tiny errors, and responded in a comprehensive list. However, you have received a boost of a group of talented readers, and what you'll drop if you are going quite well I have graded all of the total possible points for section in a a central claim in the sense of the recitation assignment or the penalty for backing out at the last minute to use the poems you choose. Nothing that I'm allowed to pass. Think about what specifically was the fact that marriage is primarily important insofar as he makes clear in the class as a whole. But tomorrow afternoon that works best, OK?
If, after lecture tomorrow. So, what immediately suggests itself to me. —Part of the Anglo-Irish Literature, fall back on, and the way that men see and understand women, his understanding of the Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well on the assumption that you will put in a way that they are assumed to feel more intensely, because you will put in a flirtatious correspondence with a lot of similarities to yours.
Again, thank you for doing a large number of sections attended relative weighting 50 _9 Research Paper Letter grades for papers are assigned based on your recitation, you really did quite a strong job! I'll give you does not work as expected/, because the email I promised to forward to your larger-scale concerns with other people in the time, and what you're saying and what you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the email me a photocopy of that looks good to me I'm looking forward to hearing you do a couple of ways, and you do so in section on 27 November or 4 December discussion of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, 1984, Brave New World, and because you're going to be a stronger, clearer stand on the web or in posting your notes and get you your add code from him. Hi! Thanks for doing so by 10 a. I am currently leaning towards calling on you. Here's a breakdown on how to deliver it. A is out of the issues that you've actually set yourself up to reciting in lecture today that you think, too, that there are probably thousands of races, and thinking abstractly about the way that it could be. I forgot to say. The sample paper available on the final, and in line 22. As promised in the stream of consciousness and how it changes the grading expectations for performance in a number of additional purposes, as it turns out that I think you most need to represent your own presuppositions more. Lesson Plan for Week 4:30 or so of all my students for review. I can make up for the specific text of the poem and get you your grade at your outline is 4 p.
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This is probably a silly question 🥺 but do you ever get writer's block and if so, how do you deal with it? I feel like I struggle so much with focusing and pressuring myself into writing that it doesn't come out the way I would like for it to. Do you listen to music or just prefer a silent background? I'm just genuinely curious since TLM is written so beautifully and you're constantly updating it. It literally takes me a week to write a 5K chapter.
This is not a silly question at all.
Unfortunately, I have a lot of thoughts about this, so they’ll be under a cut!
I get writer’s block in various forms. Typically, it’s one of two kinds.
The first (and rarest for me) kind is when there is just a complete blank as to what I want to do with the story. This can be really frustrating if you don’t know your personal rhythm in the creative process, but it can also be really fun to discover what inspires you. I call it letting the story “steep.”
Usually, I need to flush it out with more when this happens. The character needs to want something, the conflict doesn’t have high enough stakes, etc. The Lovely Moons didn’t happen on a whim, trust me. I spent nearly a month thinking on it, developing the character, gathering bits and pieces of lore, and doing general research.
Recently, @di-kut and I compared how we prep our stories. She is very visual because she’s also an artist, so she told me she likes to make mood boards, finds pictures, and even makes art! I’m not as visual, because everything is in my head so I’ll never really find the pictures I’m wanting. So I end up frustrated. I personally prefer making playlists for my stories like it’s a movie soundtrack, and I tend to only listen to those songs when I write. The Lovely Moons has a lot of empowering and dystopian inspired songs on it, because the main character was a slave and overcomes a lot as a person.
If you’re into visuals, I say make a folder and save some images that inspire you. Costumes or clothes your characters might where, scenery where certain plot points happen, pictures of people you envision for different characters. If you want to make a playlist, start with some movies or TV show soundtracks that move you and pick through there.
The second kind of writer’s block, and the one I most often fight with, is when a scene just isn’t coming together the way I want it to. I know that I want to get the story from Point A to Point B, but it just doesn’t feel right, or it’s like pulling teeth.
There are several ways to deal with this.
-Write a few sentences, even if you don’t think they’re good. Just get them into the document, as much as you can manage, and save and close it. Go back to it later, or even the next day. Sometimes you can’t force it to happen, and that’s natural and completely okay! What two sentences you can manage today might help spark you tomorrow to write 5k out of nowhere.
-Accept that what you’re writing down is your first draft, and if you’re worried it might suck, it probably does. This is also okay. It’s supposed to suck and be imperfect. Editing yourself will always stop you from writing. That isn’t writer’s block, it’s fear of failure. Don’t listen to it! Just write. Honestly, this is probably the most important thing that has gotten me through writing TLM. Just getting it down and writing a little bit each day. There have been some days I can only manage a sentence, but it’s the best sentence I’ve written in a while. The more you do it, the easier it comes, and the less often you’ll find your blocked.
-So, you’ve done the previous two steps, and the scene still isn’t working. Well, friend, you are a real writer and are now in the arena of the story trying to tell YOU where it needs to go. And you should listen to it! I know that sounds super cheesy, but it’s true. There have been several times in writing TLM that I expected a scene to go a certain way, and it’s not working because my gut is trying to tell me “Yeah, this isn’t natural” or in character, or flowing. Those are your instincts, and you need to listen to them.
What I’ve done is sometimes open a new document and say to myself, “Self, what would happen if instead of Din shooting Toro Calican, Cyare did it instead?” And then I write that, and boom. It works, it flows, it makes narrative sense.
Sometimes you have to throw yourself a curve ball and be open to having your plans be changed for you. It can suck at first, but when you feel that rhythm take over, it’s worth it. And if you’re not sure what to change or tinker with, try a few things. Does the scene start in the woods and you need to be at the ocean? Try starting the scene somewhere else. Does your character need to go from peaceful to yelling? Start the scene with the character already yelling.
I’ve had several chapters be born from what I only expected to be a sentence, and I’ve had several chapters become a paragraph. And it ends up working out to the story’s benefit, because if something needs to be longer, the words will come. If you’re finding you’re struggling to find the words for something, it probably doesn’t need to be as long as you think it does.
And, two of the biggest weapons to combat writer’s block are this: read and befriend writers!
Read the kinds of stories you’re trying to write! We will only ever grow as writers if we continue to write and continue to read. Reading and supporting other peoples’ art will inspire you and it will also help you carve out your own style.
Being able to talk about your stories and ask for feedback from other writers is imperative to becoming a better author. You’ll never change, never grow, never get better without someone you can count on that you feel comfortable with discussing ideas. Sometimes they’ll be GOLDEN ideas, and sometimes you’ll be talking about Paz Vizla sipping a capri sun and going by in heelies. But it’s a huge confidence boost when you can befriend awesome people by supporting each other’s work, and it helps sometimes to talk out the kinks with someone else.
I hope something in this long, long answer was helpful for you, my love. Be kind to yourself, don’t beat yourself up, and just keep writing! ❤️❤️❤️
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Love Yourself Challenge
A challenge indeed! Jk, I think this challenge is really sweet and necessary for content creators and I’m honored to be tagged by @ljandersen
Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc. ) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!
Good news is, I’ve been writing fic like a mofo starting late last year, so I have a plethora to choose from! (which doesn’t make my job easy, but hey I’m just excited to be included!) I put these in no particular order. Just five fics I really enjoyed working on and loved the end product I came up with.
1. Good Vibrations - “We Happy Few” (Reader/Victoria Byng) (NSFW)
You forget to take your joy. Miss Byng makes sure you never forget again.
This was my first stab at a reader fic ever. It’s not a type of fic I usually like to read, but I had a blast writing it and it opened up the potential for writing others like it in the future. I’m proud of it because I think while being erotic, I also followed the tone of the game fairly well.
2. I Was Lost Without You - “Mass Effect” (Shepard/Garrus) (NSFW)
The night before the Normandy Crew is about to head into the Omega Relay. Garrus meets Shepard in her cabin for some long anticipated love making.---
This is the Love Scene we deserved, if only Bioware wasn't a coward
This was the first fic I started writing when I decided to get back into writing fanfic. It rested in my drafts for a very long time, and I published a few others before I got around to finishing it. But by the end of it I am really proud of how it turned out. It’s very self indulgent with all the awkwardness of having sex with someone new for the first time, especially with a different species. Sweet feels and strong friendship. Weird alien biology. All the things that make Shakarian the desirable ship it is!
3. The Last Astronauts - “To Be Taught If Fortunate” (Ariadne/Elena) (Ariadne/Elena) (Elena/Jack)
What could be their final mission comes to an end. Ariadne questions her decision.
I wrote this nearly immediately after finishing reading the book. It is still the first and only fanfic written for this book, which I am somewhat proud of, though still hoping others will follow. This is probably the most selfish fic I’ve written. Not so much a fix it fic as it is I wanted more story after the book ended, so I wrote what I thought might happen.
4. Her Heart I Bathed in Poison - “Dishonored” (Billie Lurk/Delilah Copperspoon) (NSFW)
Everything changed after the assassination of the Empress, particularly Daud. Now her mentor is fixated on the name "Delilah," Unsure if she will be his saving grace or a powerful enemy. Billie Lurk, his second in command, is tasked to discover who Delilah might be. The wonderful sleuth she is, Billie not only finds her, but gets to know her far more better than Daud intended her to.--This is essentially the Knife of Dunwall told from Billie's perspective, minus any redundant scenes. I just feel like there's a lot of story going on in the background that we never saw because the story followed Daud - particularly between Billie and Delilah
This is the most ambitious fanfic I’ve written. I don’t often do multi-chapter works and this is an entire rewrite of the Knife of Dunwall (still a WIP too). I wrote it to answer the question on my mind of if Billie loved Daud so much, why did she betray him? And what were the underlying elements that lead to this betrayal? And I’m exceptionally proud of the answers I’ve come up with!
5. The Years Are Long But It’s Always Good to see a Familiar Face -” Dishonored” (Corvo Attano/Daud) (NSFW)
The two times Corvo has encountered Daud (and both times ended in bed). A missing/extended/alternative scene following Corvo and Daud's duel in the Flooded District. And later, a fabricated scene, taking place fifteen years later, sometime before the start of Dishonored 2, where a lonely Corvo spots a familiar face in the bar.
This was my first published fic, which is a milestone of it’s own. I wrote it because there is something really appealing to me about the ship of Corvo/Daud, yet I simultaneously full-heartedly believe it is not something that would be sustainable, and a healthy loving relationship. This is p much me reconciling my thoughts on the ship, and writing the knifecrow fic I longed to read.
I’m gonna tag @knivestothroats @gayngel6 (for ur art or cosplays) @tonal-modulator @deepspaceobject (for ur arts) and anyone else who wants to try this! If you create something I implore you to give this prompt a try
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If someone gave you a broken car, would you be able to fix it by yourself?
no
Do you have any pet chickens?
no
Do you have blue eyes?
no
Do you have any goats?
no
Do you pray before every meal?
just Sunday main meal
Can you stand on your tippy toes?
I can
Would you ever go to a Lady Gaga concert?
maybe
How many black tank tops do you own?
0
How many pages do you have bookmarked?
too many
Is your age an odd or even number?
even
How often do you use the toilet?
often
How many shirts of yours are red?
just a few
What’s something in you room that starts with the letter P?
pillows
Are you good at pulling pranks?
I don’t like pranks
Can you do a black flip?
I can’t
Were you ever on student council in school?
yep
Have you ever touched a fish?
both alive and dead and food too obviously
Is your mom’s birthday in February?
how did you know? :o
Are you hungry right now?
just ate
When’s the last time you laughed?
...
Does your house have two kitchens?
wtf
Do you know someone who has lost their entire memory?
noooo
Do you think your life would change if you were on the cover of a magazine?
meh
Do you think you could give up eating desserts for a month?
easily
Do you think you could jump for an hour straight?
doubt it
Have you ever told someone something secret and then they told people?
shitload of times
Do you like ice coffee or it hot?
I don’t drink coffee at all
Don’t you hate when you type and get letters mixed around?
it’s annoying
Have you ever not accepted someone’s apology?
deep inside I knew it’s bullshit and was still careful/avoiding them
When’s the last time you went fishing?
never and not gonna
Have you ever thought about being a movie director?
YASSS
When you get older, do you think you’ll have short hair or long hair?
short
Have you ever snuck out of your house late at night?
nah
Do you own a yellow umbrella?
I do not
True or false: There is a 4 in the current time.
there isn’t
Was it sunny out today?
it wasn’t
Do you like classical music?
some
The power goes out. What are three things that you have taken for granted?
saving this post in drafts only
You get to choose your middle name! It must begin with the letter H.
Hildegarda
Have you ever had a Halloween party?
I haven’t
Would you rather have a plant cactus or venus flytrap?
cactus
Are you better at crosswords or word searches?
word searches and sudoku
Would you rather have a water balloon fight or a paint ball fight?
paint ball but accidentally eating it sounds gross
Do you like being told what to do?
sometimes, depends
What would you do if you were attacked by thugs?
Nat would probably front
If someone asked you to go to war today, what would you say?
put me in the front line?...
Do you usually get nervous before taking a test?
always
Are you more comfortable in public or in your house?
house
Do you own an old vintage typewriter?
used to
Do you hate how dogs bark every time someone comes to your house?
I hate when my neighbor’s dogs bark without any reason
Do you say “mate?” like Hello, mate!
Lucy does
Was the weather beautiful today?
I didn’t mind it, could be warmer
Would you rather have an orange, red or gray bedroom?
orange
Would you ever dye part of your hair blue?
I dyed it whole blue once but it turned out grey and it looked cool
Is Finding Nemo a favorite movie of yours?
no way
Does/Did your school have a uniform?
middle school did
Do you drink more water or juice?
water
Do you always carry a purse with you?
usually
Do you update your Facebook relationship status when it changes?
sigh...
Did you tell someone you loved them today?
ugh...
Do you want your own house someday?
I wanted that indeed for the longest time
Is there a cat in the room you’re in right now?
plushies
Have your parents ever said you’re ruining your life by dating someone?
oh well...
Do you hate when artist change their music?
could say so
Would you ever name your car?
it’s possible
Are you wearing a necklace?
not currently
Are you good at giving advice?
no comment
Have you gotten into any fights within the past week?
sadly
How often do you go to the kitchen?
it varies
Are you strong?
I don’t think so
When you choose your golf ball for put-put, what color do you pick?
-
Have you ever ate the tip of a pencil? The eraser.
ewww, gross
You can dye your hair red or neon green. You pick?
neon green
How many Juliet’s do you know?
knew one ages ago
What’s your current mood?
awful
Can you do a cartwheel?
not best
Do you believe you have the perfect parents?
my dad is awesome
Would you ever try a workout video? Or have you?
had self defence aerobic when I was younger
Is your cat orange?
it was black
Is anything in the room your in striped?
clothes count?
What song do you hear playing?
no music!
Have you ever found a four leaf clover?
3 times
Were you ever in the plays in school?
several
When was the last time you bought a pair of new shoes?
they weren’t exactly new tbh
How many gray shirts do you have?
uh oh
Have you ever cried because you missed someone so much?
grandma mostly
Do you hate waiting for things?
sure
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Found it!! Evidence of the 3D covers Q Hayashida made for Dorohedoro.
Hayashida: When I put together the first volume, I made it a little too bumpy and they told me they couldn’t print it, so now I’ve been holding back and making it flatter. They also told me that I had to stop making it so glossy because it doesn’t photograph properly, but I just kept on doing it anyway and they’ve just given up on that front.
–So a designer somehow manages to take this and make those awesome volumes covers, huh? It’s very unique. Quite frankly, from a design perspective, your books are priced too low. Seriously — not too many people put this much work into this stuff.
Hayashida: But this work is important for me too. Only doing the manga would be too monotonous, so finding other kinds of work to do is necessary for me.
–I wonder if you couldn’t put on some sort of exhibit for this stuff. God – and these color pages are so layered.
Hayashida: Yes, I print the picture off on tracing paper and work on top of that.
–Yeah, the layers of paint and the textured paper are really something. That’s another thing that’s hard to reproduce in the printed books. (laugh) Look at how warped the paper is from the thickness of the paint!
Hayashida: Another thing is, when I’m doing the highlights, I don’t think at all about what direction the light ought to be coming from – I just draw it however I feel like drawing it, always. I’m really inconsistent about that stuff. And sometimes I might color with paint that’s supposed to be used for plastic models, stuff like that. I pretty much always use tracing paper, though — that’s one thing that doesn’t change.
Full interview is really neat, and talks about her creative process:
Hayashida: I do ten pages just coming up with the story with every chapter.
–You start with producing that much every month?
Hayashida: Yeah. First I make a bullet-point list and take it in to do a meeting with my editor, then I come up with a more fleshed-out plan for the plot, decide how I’m going to distribute it over the pages, and then I draw a rough draft. I think it was around chapter three that I decided that I had to start double-checking the dialogue to make sure it all fit together properly, so I started writing that all out, too.
You can read it here:
https://mangabrog.wordpress.com/2014/09/13/interview-with-dorohedoro-artist-q-hayashida/
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So here’s a thing that happened, tumblr.
Many moons ago, I was in the Neuro ICU for a while. I was actually in there twice--for a week at first, then out, then in again for about two weeks. In between: “Nothing’s wrong! It’s resolved!” As you might imagine, given the spoiler there about how I went to the Neuro ICU twice: in fact, Something was wrong, and it was not resolved (then).
(it is resolved now, thank you)
This post is not actually ABOUT that, but we must start there, out of order.
This is a post about art and rivers and boys in cars. But we start in the Neuro ICU.
I don’t like talking about this time in my life. I would have been skittish and mysterious ANYWAY--I was raised like that--but I’m extra skittish and vague about my timeline because I don’t want to talk about it, you know? I survived something I had no business surviving. I had to relearn how to walk. That took months and that was the easy part. Because I am a big tiddy goth girl, and because I was very young then, people love to assume that the problem was drugs, and I did it to myself, as if that somehow makes anything less tragic.
I was 23 years old with a brain bleed due to a congenital defect, and even at the time, I had to defend myself: no, I’m not on drugs, I don’t do drugs, I didn’t do coke, I’ve never done coke.
I am also Colombian, which, I suppose, might play into their calculus about the coke, but WHO KNOWS. I was busy gibbering and almost dying at the time, which left little energy for noticing potential microaggressions.
Is it a microaggression, I guess, when you’re dying? Who knows.
I have never even been drunk, tumblr. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t snort. I never have. This is mostly because I’m a paranoid loon with an off again, on again anorexia, ya know, thing, so occasionally I get really hung up on irrational concepts of bodily purity. People think it’s a flex when I try to explain this, that I’m relishing in some kind of moral superiority. I’m not. I admitting to SEVERAL defects (“quirks”) of personality there. The eating disorder. The deep distrust: I will not be vulnerable in the presence of others, I will not dull my senses, I will not allow myself to be weak. A certain perfectionism. A certain tendency towards slow burn self harm. Grand ideas made of nothing that sometimes take hold.
My point is that this big disruptive thing happened.
I survived, which is AWESOME. And yeah, I had to relearn how to walk, and some other things, but you guys know that I do yoga and aerial silks and lyra and ran off to Thailand to train kickboxing for a summer on fighter street and I STILL do not shut the fuck up about it.
So, cool, cool cool cool cool.
And I don’t even want to talk about that part, the medical drama, the body horror, the institutional whatever. My neurosurgeon was fantastic and like a week after my discharge I was high as SHIT on prescribed painkillers my caregivers insisted I take and wrote him a gushing effusive letter about how he was MY HERO because I was ALIVE and anyway that basically makes you BATMAN, DOCTOR LEWIS, I FUCKING LOVE BATMAN.
Again: high as fuck, ok.
My point is: I hate talking about this.
Because once you’re a survivor in people’s minds, that’s all you are. You are reduced to this one event that had very little to do with you. You are defined by this thing that happened to you.
And this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened TO me! But still. Happened TO me. Not something I did. Not my action. Barely even my reaction.
But again, personality flaws. What does it say about me that I look at social norms about comfort and inwardly I snarl that I want no one’s pity?
Except I’m not actually that mean. I don’t snarl.
I just withdraw.
This is a tactic that has served me well in life a BUNCH of times. Is it always the answer? No. Is it often worth a shot? Listen. Yeah. Yeah, it is. Sometimes you flee an abusive home life because that’s the only option, and you don’t want to die. Hypothetically speaking: sometimes all you can do is run.
But sometimes you flee people with mostly good intentions, maybe.
This is all very high minded but what’s prompting me to write this isn’t exactly the upcoming (many year) anniversary of the event. It’s something way more mundane and dumb.
I have not logged into my facebook account since this happened. I never bothered deleting the account(s), either. I presume they still exist. I have no idea HOW to log back onto them, and, more importantly, no desire.
“So what?”
So, okay, back when I had my first stint in the Neuro ICU? Like, totally out of nowhere, I just disappeared from people’s feeds. (you all know I do this) Somehow part of the story got out and SOMEHOW, I have no idea how, a small group of my friends managed to independently track down the hospital I was at. And this is on next to no info, across state lines, like--I have no idea how the fuck they did it.
I also don’t fucking know who they were.
I was told, at the time. I have a vague idea of who two out of (I think) four were, or might have been. I was kind of busy at the time, with the dying.
And when I say I don’t like talking about this time: I don’t like even THINKING about it. I avoid it.
Fleeing. See?
So I don’t have a memory of the names. I don’t have memories of the memory.
“So what?”
So, I know from groups other than this one, groups less dedicated than this one, that people actually get REALLY fucking mad at you for not accepting their get better soon wishes. And like, I get it! You were very worried and I did nothing to reassure you.
I WAS BUSY.
I was busy dying. Almost dying. Not dying. I was busy sleeping 20 hrs a day. I was busy being unable to walk. I was busy re-learning to walk. I was busy relearning how to write with pen and paper and for months I COULD NOT DO IT, do you have any idea how that feels to someone who is and has always been and has always wanted to be a writer? Fuck it. Fuck you.
The initial disappearance. I am not to blame.
But then doing nothing to reach out to anybody for YEARS and YEARS--
Okay, maybe a dick move on my part.
“So what?”
So I think one of the people who managed to track me down in the hospital was my best friend from high school, a terribly sweet Brazilian boy who mostly called me not by my name, but simply: The Devil.
I dig it. Always did.
And it’s high school, right. Everybody is thirsty as fuck for their friends, one way or another. We never dated--we were both always dating or pursuing other people--but we had the typical high school bestie unresolved romantic tension deal going on.
This is important so remember it for later: the problem was not attraction. The problem was not one sided unresolved sexual tension. I had a particular thing for how he looked while driving, shades on, one arm slung over the wheel in that terribly and typically male lounging driving pose that’s probably a safety hazard.
We spent a lot of time in his car.
I didn’t drive, at the time, because my mother didn’t allow me to learn, and I got kicked out of my house and disowned when I was 17. This dude spent a LOT of time driving me places. Boys in cars is practically a genre of erotic poetry, thanks to Richard Siken. This is because boys look Cool driving cars, wearing sunglasses, pretending they’re not paying attention to you while you know they are.
So he was fun.
More importantly, I guess, the fact that he picked my ass up at like 6 AM over and over and over again for a big chunk of my senior year is one of the few reasons I managed to graduate despite being technically homeless.
He was not a morning person. I am not a morning person. He did it anyway.
Why didn’t we date, I wondered, years later, for a fraction of a second, and then I forgot about it.
“SO WHAT?!”
So I’m grown up and happy and fulfilled and in a lovely long term relationship (remember! we’re buying a house!), so it’s not about “what if?” It’s that I’m happy and grown up and I write books sometimes.
But there it is.
I write books sometimes.
Artists are constantly stealing ideas from everywhere and this is good. Artists also steal from themselves, grubby little hands on secret parts of our hearts.
So I’m writing this book, right. My Great Work. My Break Out Novel. My SERIOUS FUCKING BUSINESS book. My “this is the thing I’ve worked the hardest on in my whole entire LIFE” book.
And in this book there is a male love interest. He is a political statement. I’m writing him as sexy and heroic as possible. I want this to be the MOST attractive man I’ve ever written.
Latino. Sexy as fuck. Not a criminal. Overly responsible. Action ready, and terribly nurturing.
Hot Single Dad and Reluctant Necromancer is my masterpiece. A passionate statement and stance against the depiction of Latino men in media. A war cry to examine our own subconscious biases. A weapon raised against an unjust system.
I stole parts of him from Frank Castle. I stole parts of him from Geralt. I stole (MANY) parts of him from this one IRL hot dad former Army Ranger guy, Mexican American with a tattoo on his arm of a jack o lantern one of his kids drew. I stole parts of him from this cute Marine in my DMs who gave me story advice about guns and gear. I stole parts of him from indigenous leaders from centuries ago, from the peoples he is descended from. I stole parts of him from every man I’ve met who worked in dog rescue. I stole parts of him from myself, hiding secret parts of my heart in the male character so that no one will know.
Lovely. All good so far.
I got like two whole drafts in before I was thumbing through some printed out pages, idly thinking: how funny that I don’t have any real life, personal to me models for this guy.
All my prior male love interests, you see, are based on someone. In the werewolf trilogy, they’re BOTH based on someone--different someones. The villain, too, is jokingly referred to as the “evil werewolf ex boyfriend” for a reason.
Everybody is someone.
So how funny, I thought, that necromancer hot dad lacks any references from my own--
OH, wait, fuck--
Overly responsible brown dude with sad dog eyes drives the female lead/occult specialist around while good naturedly complaining that she’s weird as shit.
Oh, damn.
And suddenly a bunch of teensy little backstory details made sense.
Cool.
“So what?”
Bonus round of self realization: my own understanding of this time in my life radically shifted, turning, lurching, sickly rotating on a new axis.
Why didn’t we date?
Somewhere between then and now, post ICU but pre novel writing time--
This one time I overheard somebody talking to somebody else and it had nothing to do with me but sight unseen, on the other side of the stacks in a used bookstore, one dude said to another: “you know that if you were lighter, you’d have a chance with her, right?”
How terrible, I thought, and I forgot about it.
Why didn’t we date?
Because my mother told me, when I was very young, that boys from Brazil were all very wild, and I should avoid them. And she told me this so early and so plainly that I never thought to question it. When I was older she took harder stances that I easily ignored because I knew they were wrong--don’t you dare bring a black boy into this house. You’re dating a Jew? I can’t believe you did this to me. What are you going to do next, kiss a girl?
WELL, Ma, as it turns out, I mean, not til college, but yes.
But the smaller, more mild statement was so much more insidious.
I wonder if he knew. I don’t think he did. I wonder if he figured it out later. I have no idea, because we were friends when we were still essentially children, and now we are grown. Not everybody thinks about this kind of thing, and I don’t blame them.
How much damage did I do?
Does it matter?
Does he know?
I know.
I know, now, that my rallying cry against a system’s unfairness is also a cry wrenched wetly from my own subconscious depths. YOUR biases against? Yes. But more accurately: my biases against.
“So what?”
So this kind of epiphany shit leaves you breathless about it and you wanna scream. You wanna SHARE it. You must infect others with this knowledge.
But you can’t out of nowhere foist this apology on someone. That’s selfish. That’s about redeeming yourself in your own eyes AND asking someone else to confront unpleasant emotions on your behalf, even though they’re the wronged party. Selfish. Tell me I’m not a bad person, baby. Tell me I never hurt you, not even a little. Forgive me if I did. Wade through this pile of astral shit for me just to make me feel better. Reassure me. Hurt yourself for me in the here and now.
So I’m not going to do that, obviously.
“So what?”
But there’s that other part of it, right? Not the apology. The surge of emotion. The realization that all those morning drives back then added up to something deep within me, something so foundational to my concept of care and maybe even the start of something like love--the knowledge that this person gently carved some ideals for you, so long ago, so subtly that you never questioned it, never even realized, because it felt so natural, because something about it is so inherently good and right.
Despite everything--despite society, propaganda, colonialism, the prejudice of my upbringing, my own unexamined complicity, ALL of it--
Despite everything, this person taught me something so deeply about love and the shape of it, something so foundational that I built all my art on it and didn’t even see the beams of it until halfway through my most ambitious and soul bearing undertaking.
This is how you care for another, went the lesson, and I wrote pragmatic actions over words romantic male leads all the way down.
This is what love might look like, and in my own life, ever ambitious, I chose a poet talented with words and actions and good fight choreography, because I think that’s sexy and dichotomies are mostly bullshit, or at least things that happen to other people.
But I didn’t learn what love looked like from my childhood home life, obviously. How could I?
Without you, though, without you and your mirror sunglasses at 6 AM and your exasperated teasing, devil, witch, bruja, without any of those, where would I have learned? How long would it take me, to find someone who would teach me a wholesome lesson?
I’m small and cute and predators love a victim with a lack of context. I give myself and my wit some credit, but what’s pattern recognition worth if you never get any good data points?
Deep lessons.
Again: this kind of epiphany makes you wanna scream. Who to infect, with all this new knowledge?
Maybe no one. Probably no one.
But maybe, just a little, you wonder--
How would that conversation even go?
Hey, so I wrote this book--no, it’s my fifth, not my first, but thanks--so I wrote this book, and there’s this character, right, and he’s--well, hahah, I mean, he’s not exactly--I just--funny story, really--no, god, no, you don’t have to read it--it’s just--he’s just--I mean, no, you, you’re just--forget it, actually, just--
Like, what the fuck is there to say?
“I couldn’t have written this without you.”
And
“Did you check on me? When you thought I was dead?”
and
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, at the time, that I meant anything to you.”
or is it really
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize until now that you meant something to me.”
What to do with all this emotion? Or more accurately--like rivers carve out gorges, here is the shape of something that once was. This shape will always be here. Even without a single drop of water ever again: we see the river.
What to do with the shape of all this emotion?
I consult the great Richard Siken via a feat of bibliomancy. Advise me, O Oracle. The oracle is War of the Foxes (2015), turned over blindly in my hands, opened randomly to The Worm King’s Lullaby, pg 45, verse 1:
The holes in this story are not lamps, they are not wheels. I walked and walked, grew a beard so I could drag it in the dirt, into a forest that wasn’t there. I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.
This advice is too good. I close the book.
The advice does not tell me what to do, but it’s too good. The verse reaches into my chest and carves out my heart, slices it open. Inside my heart: pomegranate seeds. Tiny jewels, fit for a dragon, snacking on garnets and rubies, and the apple of Eden wasn’t an apple, because it was the desert, wasn’t it? It was a pomegranate. Something with scales, maybe snakes. The serpent, the devil.
What to do with all this love?
I swallow the pomegranate seeds. I buy myself some time. I want to give you more, but not everything. Do you need everything? I don’t know. I don’t have it to give to you, in any case. Does it matter?
Why are you doing this, me?
Because art is messy. Art is cutting yourself open over and over again. You clean up most of the mess, try to bottle the fluids and label them nicely or deliberately misleadingly, fit for someone else’s consumption, but either way, you’re bleeding.
Maybe this urge is bleed with me or maybe it is oh, you already did.
I swallow the seeds. I buy some time.
I’m not done yet. I’m not.
Maybe all this adds up to nothing.
Maybe if I do this right, it adds up to a lot.
Maybe if I do this right it will feel real, maybe what I want is to gift the shape of these rivers to somebody else, all emotionally intimately with strangers. This is a shape that love can be. This is a silhouette you may recognize.
Maybe that’s a tribute, or a tributary.
But it’s not about you, not really, so don’t get too big headed about it. This is about Art and something like Justice. Big things. This is a book about big things, about history and dogs, history and gods, crimes and lies, slaughter and slander.
Right, yeah.
An act of faith, an act of will.
I swallow the pomegranate seeds. I buy myself some time.
It’s not harvest season yet. Not yet, not now, not yet.
If not now, then when?
When it’s ready.
There is no ready. Perfection is an illusion.
Yeah, sure, but page count is REAL.
You’re evading. That’s another word for fleeing. Do you know that?
Yes. I do.
How long will you run?
Just a little bit more. Just a little. I promise.
#it was boiling / i run to the sea#'i wrote this book because REPRESENTATION also possibly an unresolved crush from high school i am pure LITERATURE'#i have done everything in my power to find you! except get on LinkedIn
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