He knew his mother hadnât gotten it from Waverly after all, but heâd looked in Cedar Rapids and Des Moines as soon as he could - he hadnât found it.
Tagging: @downwarddnaspiral, @kangofu-cb, @duointherain, @greenriderglen, @coffeetailor, @firstknightvulion, @irishais, @the-ephemeral-bhg, @fadedsepiascribbles, @writewithlight, @lifeaftermeteor, @ransomedbard, and anyone else who sees this and would like to!
You sit down to write one thing... and instead add a new scene to the WIP you haven't touched since 2023. One of the things I always wonder about Operation Daybreak is the logistics of who knows what and when, outside of Treize and Une. Does every little grunt graduate from LVA knowing they're going to be stabbing the Alliance in the back at some point? Surely not; you just need one little leak to blow the whole thing. But the inner circle obviously knows the score, and you're counting on the rest to fall in line when the time comes.
Anyway, just toying around with how Noin might have found out... :)
===
She drives them off base to a secluded spot nearly an hour distant: a small lump of hill surrounded by dry savannah grass gently waving in the wind. A rifle comes with them from the jeep, although the lions prefer to hunt at night. He takes off his coat and spreads it on the ground for them to sit on. "So what is it?" Noin asks. "What's so important?"
Partly as a response, and partly as a delaying tactic, he removes his helmet.
Noin hasn't seen him bare-faced since he started wearing it and she watches him with surprise. "You have a tan line," she blurts, then looks embarrassed, redirecting her eyes down to the ground. It almost makes him smile.
Swallowing heavily he says, "I never told you my real name."
"Oh," she breathes. Just loud enough to show she's heard him.
"It's Milliardo. Milliardo Peacecraft of the Cinq Kingdom."
A tiny frown creases her face. "The Cinq Kingdom?"
"It's a small territory in the north of EuropeâŠcurrently under Alliance occupation. Up until AC182 it was one of the leading advocates for pacifism and disarmament, under its former ruler, King Marticus."
"MarticusâŠPeacecraft?" she guesses. He nods. "Then that makes youâŠ"
"His son, yes."
She takes this in with equanimity. "I admit, when you told me the Alliance killed your family, I didn't exactly imagine this⊠It was an assassination, I take it."
"It was conquest. But politically motivated, yes. I was six years old at the time. The Khushrenadas took me in and sheltered me until I came here. I owe them a debt." He taps the helmet laying beside him on the grass. "Treize gifted me this when I began to grow into the family resemblance."
"I see."
He can delay no more; it's time. "Treize has offered me the opportunity to liberate the Cinq Kingdom."
Noin nods earnestly. "Then you must take it."
She isn't getting it. He needs to be more blunt.
"He wants to know," Zechs says slowly, "if you would join us."
He sees the moment when it clicks and her breath begins to come more rapidly.
"You mean⊠You're talking about a mutiny. Against the Alliance."
His smile, he knows, must look more like a grimace. Some kind of death mask. "If it's successful, it will be more like a coup d'etat."
A harsh laugh escapes her. "If."
"If," he allows. "But this isn't just a handful of people. The pivotal moment may be years off yet, but Treize has been working towards this for as long as I've known him. He has political backing from within Romefeller."
Looking disturbed Noin retorts, "My father's never said anything."
"Well," he replies laconically, "your father's not a part of the Executive Council, is he. It's unlikely he would be privy to their plans."
Noin appears to shrink before him. She averts her eyes; bites her lip. "Should you be telling me all this?"
Not according to his conscience, which reminds him that by informing her of the plot he is of necessity involving her in it, whether she wills it or not. But he's practiced enough now in ignoring his pricks of conscience. Either she becomes complicit, or she betrays them.
"You have no love of the Alliance, Noin. Why defend them?"
"I'm not defending anything, but I have no great love of Romefeller either."
He makes his voice cold. "You won't stand with us, then?"
"IâŠ" She quavers slightly. "I don't know, I'd need to think. How can I? Why are you asking me like this?"
Isn't that what Treize instructed him to do? But maybe it's just what the basest part of him, Zechs, desires: to bind her fate to his.
"Am I scaring you?" he asks her.
"Yes, a little."
He should feel ashamed but instead finds her answer pleases him. Like he wants to punish her. For⊠For reluctance that is as good as refusal. For knowing the truth of his name and his mission. For still, somehow, after all this time, still being so damnably naive. "That's war, Noin. I thought you wanted to fight."
"It's not war," she insists, sneering, "not yet. Right now it's still politics."
He scoffs. "The Alliance has had more than seventy years to forge peace in the Earth Sphere. Yet all it has done is to consolidate power in itself. You know they only benefit from the status quo -- leaving them in power is nothing but a danger. A fundamental change in leadership is needed for there to be any real progress."
The only thing she shows him is the stubborn set of her jaw.
Fine. Then she should hear this one last thing. "Noin," he says, and he tells no lie, "if we aren't on the same side, I can't protect you."
Her breath hisses angrily over her teeth in the long silence that follows. When she finally speaks her voice is low, intense but shaky. "I didn't think it was possible, but I actually think I hate you right now. I really do."
He stares at the waving grass and lets her words roll off him.
She stands up. "Get in the truck. We're going back now."
He doesn't move. "If you just left me out here all your troubles would be over, you know."
Her hand flashes out quick as a cat's paw and cuffs him on the back of the neck. "Why would you say that?" she's shouting, and then she's hitting him again, a rain of weak blows to his head and shoulders which he deflects with a raised forearm. "Why would you say that? I'm not leaving you out here! I'm not leaving you! Get in the car, get in the car, just get in the car!"
Eventually he does as she tells him. She stands for a minute outside the driver's side door, furiously dashing tears from her eyes. Then she gets in beside him, behind the wheel, and they complete the hour's drive back to base in thundering silence.
Five days later she bangs her tray down beside his in the mess hall. For a second he thinks he's dreaming, some kind of strange deja vu, until he looks up and sees her face bent close to his, puffy with tiredness.
Under the angry scraping of her chair as she sits down she mutters, "You can rely on my support. Tell His Excellency: he can count on me."
And without another word, she hunches forward and begins tearing open her breadroll.
My writing brain rarely likes to stay on task, either! But progress on anything is a happy outcome, and the question is an intriguing one. I might have assumed that sheâd find out from Treize himself (extroverts gotta extrovert), but this makes more sense - who better to convince her?
Iâve never truly felt I understood Zechsâ character, but his method of revealing the plot to her here - straightforward in words yet convoluted in motivation - feels true to form. Thereâs an awful lot of risk hinging on this for their relationship and for him personally, and I like how you brought out his frustration in his thoughts.
And ah, I feel for Noin. I think her concept of herself is a person who lives by the rules - not necessarily the letter, but the spirit. Sheâd say her loyalty is to lofty ideals, not a person (even if the realities of the way OZ is run contradict that). And now sheâs being asked by both Treize and Zechs to twist that part of herself until it almost breaks.
I just realized the true explanation for Trowa's buffed up EW physique:
It's an uninterrupted year of eating Catherine's soup!
Honestly, it's a good thing Heero didn't end up joining the circus because can you imagine the long term effect that soup would have on a boy who can already bend steel with his bare hands???
Oooh, I like this! But it begs the question, what about Catherine herself? Most people eat their own cooking, so whatâs her relationship with the soup?
1. The soup has no effect on Catherine. Sheâs completely unaware of the power of the soup, but itâs one of her favorite recipes and a great way to get rid of leftovers so she makes it often. Although she shares it freely, the other people who eat it are either unaffected or never end up eating it often enough to get as jacked as Trowa.
2. The soup does affect Catherine, but she doesnât realize what it does. Before she discovered the soup recipe, she had low muscle mass due to some undiagnosed health issue, so the soup brings her up to a normal level of fitness. She thinks she recovered due to radically changing her diet to eat healthier, and hasnât a clue that itâs all been the power of the soup. She tries to share the soup with anyone that will listen, but even free food isnât tempting enough to put up with the fevered enthusiasm of a true health devotee, so no one else in the circus ends up consuming enough to get ripped.
3. The soup does affect Catherine, and sheâs aware of its power. Sheâs got serious muscles, although theyâre compact enough that she can dress to conceal them. You can only throw a dagger so hard, so her unusual strength doesnât impact her act. While sheâll offer the occasional bowl to others, for the most part she only shares the soup with Trowa - her aim is to make him physically stronger in order to protect him (although this is manipulative on her part as she hasnât told him what the soup does.)
Today I am daydreaming about an AU in which the fall of Cinq did not happen. Iâm finding it very entertaining, although it is not something I can fathom ever writing. Initial thoughts:
-What would Zechs be like? Not Zechs, for a start! XD Like, that event is such a formative part of his personality, what would be same about him and what would be different? I imagine heâd still have a strong capacity for navel-gazing haha. But what would his relationship with his parents be like? His relationship with Relena? Iâm very intrigued about their dynamic if they hadnât spent their entire lives apart. Would he still have become disillusioned by the idea of pacifism? I can imagine that he might still have met Treize socially at some point and been intrigued by his philosophy of warfare in a classic teen rebelling against his parents kind of way, causing a lot of parental remonstrations and finger wagging. But joining OZ? Not terribly likely. SoâŠ
-Does that mean Noin would be OZâs hotshot pilot of choice? FUN. And if she in turn wasnât shaped by her close friendship with Zechs at LVA and his sob story about the Alliance, how might she be different? (And how would I work in my beloved 6x9 subplot? lol) Sheâd still have her love of outer space and her distaste for needless loss of life I expect, but I can kind of imagine the whole nurturing side of her personality developing very differently without Zechs and then her cadets bringing that out in her. Could she in fact beâŠa bit of a dick at first? XD Not sure, just an amusing thought. But if, say, she was the one who first encountered Heero as he attempts to land on Earth, how would that fight have gone? Even assuming she pulled off a similar trick to Zechs and sends Heero and his Gundam plunging into the seaâŠ
-There would be no Relena in Japan to find him washed up on the beach. How would Heeroâs Ep 2 meeting with Duo play out differently without Relena there? Would Duo make up another excuse to shoot him or would they manage to completely avoid Heero ending up in the Alliance hospital under Sallyâs care? Or maybe Duo would be the one strapped to that table, THAT would be interesting.
-But speaking of Relena, what would she be like growing up in the full knowledge and weight of her Peacecraft legacy? ItâsâŠprobably not the most realistic, but I am kind of cackling over the idea of a role reversal between the two Peacecraft siblings. Like, ok, the first invasion of Cinq didnât happen, but once the war with the Gundams hots up and OZ achieves its coup, you could easily still have fall of Cinq scenario we see in series, only without Relena at the helm but her parents, how would that shake out? Would we see the deaths of the Peacecraft monarchs at that point instead? How would that then affect her and Zechs, er, Milliardo? So the first time around, we obviously ended up with Milliardo abandoning pacifism, enlisting and becoming Zechs to pursue revenge. But happening at a different stage of his life, especially if he had kind of just been rebelling against his parentsâ ideals, I could see him instead taking the opposite tack and instead realizing like, no, this is why pacifism is so important and necessary. Whereas Relena at 15 years old, losing her Dorlian father, her first instinct is to pick up a gun and try to assassinate Lady Une. Wouldnât it be funny if she somehow ended up being the Peacecraft sibling seduced by White Fang? I mean, I still donât see her pursuing the extremes Zechs didâŠand why would White Fang actually want her? But still, something about that just tickles my funnybone.
-What other fun implications could there be? Who wants to write this for me? XD
(With the caveats that I donât understand Relenaâs character very well and itâs been a few years since I rewatchedâŠ)
Imagine you are driving on the highway and see a car with a badly mounted tire. Itâs wobbling while spinning around at a tremendous speed - the speed is partially whatâs keeping it aligned, but itâs also the thing thatâs causing the rim to get worn down, until at some point it will break under the strain and disintegrate spectacularly. Relena at the beginning of the show is that tire. I donât know if itâs solely because being both a teenager and a daughter of a vice-minister who must play a very specific social role would be stressful for any sane person, or if itâs also something about her personality that doesnât work under these constraints, but sheâs already fraying at the edges in my view - I see the âhurry up and kill meâ as not the flippancy of someone that doesnât take the threat seriously, but rather a kind of illogical, thrill seeking behavior arising from being wedged into a little box for too long.
So in this alternative where the kingdom stands, does she have it worse growing up (as an actual princess who is under even more pressure to conform) or better (because she has more power and autonomy?) I could see it going either way. If she went for violence after the fall of her country I could see completely discarding the Peacecraft ideals wholesale along with everything else expected of / imposed upon her, and taking up with local rebels who hit and run against OZ/the Alliance. Not in command (other than as a figurehead), but wanting to get her hands dirty and relying on her anguish and anger to propel her through the extreme change.
And I really like the idea of Hotshot Noinâą, the ace pilot who everyone acknowledges as the best in OZ. In my mind sheâs got a bit of an ego about her skills, but is still very loyal to OZ and what she sees as its necessary and ultimately moral (in an âends justify the meansâ sense) function in the world. Not a narcissist, but emotionally cooler and much more self assured than canon Noin.
Has she got her own special uniform and Gundam like Zechs had? I donât mean a copy of his, but something unique that sets her apart, I think that would befit the character. If sheâs replacing Zechs I think her battles may have gone a lot differently - I canât see her challenging Heero to a rematch in Antarctica for example.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
An unexpected spider inspires Doctor J to give his young charge Heero an impromptu lesson.
âââââ
AC 192
âAh, there you are.â
Doctor J lifted his gaze away from the table before him, having finally noticed the boy who had been standing silently two paces away from his side. The scientist gestured at the objects of his attention, several battered suitcase-sized cases which lay with lids hinged open.
âInstructor H told me that your lack of experience with outdated firearms is a liability, and as much as I hate to agree with him, heâs right. You never know what you might have to use in the field. So I asked Walter to smuggle me these.â
He reached deep into a rugged metal case to retrieve a rusty single-action revolver, then demonstrated releasing the swing out cylinder and closing it before delivering it into the boyâs outstretched hands. Heero repeated the motion, checking to make sure the chambers were empty before handing it back. They repeated the process with a sawed-off shotgun, which looked far too large in Heeroâs small, callused hands.
From a compartment of a larger, rubberized case Doctor J produced a small ripped paperboard box, half full of mixed cartridges and shells. He packed it and the two guns into a zippered bag, then turned back to the rubberized case to search for any spilled rounds.
âThe amount of ammunition is limited, so youâll have toâHow did a spider get in here?â
Heero took a step closer, arching up on tip-toe to peer over the brim of the case.
The interior of the case was filled with layers of dense black foam which had been cut away to create storage spaces for accessories and boxes of ammunition. A hollow designed to hold a removable stock was empty, save for a spiderâs web that spanned the top of the curved, elongated gap.
Doctor Jâs voice took on a teaching tone.
âTake a look at the intricacy of this web, Heero.â
A small brown spider sat in the middle of the web, where all the strands came together. The slightly thicker, more opaque load bearing lines were matte silk; the finer lines shone gossamer. Precise and symmetrical, they formed a lattice of pointed rectangles with ruler-straight lines.
The body of the web was circular despite the asymmetrical space it occupied; the radius threads touched the wider end of the void, while the anchor lines extended out to the narrower edges like rays of light shining out from the dark.
âThe foam walls are irregular, yet the web is perfectly adapted in order to compensate. How can something so tiny, so incapable of thought do this?â
Heero studied the web intensely, his eyes hunting erratically back and forth over it before he spoke.
 âInstincts.â
Doctor J accepted the answer dismissively.
ââInstinctsâ? Imprecise claptrap, used by those misty-eyed fools who are enamored with the metaphysical. It is simply a pattern,â he continued slowly, the index finger on his natural hand rising and falling in front of his pupilâs face with each word as he spoke. âConditions. Trigger. Response.â
âEach individual spider is nothing more than an elaborate program. From hatching to death, it follows its programming without question or variation, and thus, it succeeds. That is the key.â
The doctor looked keenly at Heero. âMachines are not the only things that can be perfect, pure in their design and purpose. You, too, will succeed based on your complete adherence to instruction. To deviateâŠâ
He stretched out a fingertip and plucked at a few anchoring strands along the far edge, breaking them. Damaged, the web tilted sharply to one side, as the broken lines slowly fell. â...will result in failure.â
The spider remained motionless at the center of the unanchored web, riding out the ripples that coursed through it in the aftermath. Doctor Jâs mood abruptly soured.
âNow go.â He dismissed Heero with a curt nod of the head and turned his full attention back to the interior of the spiderâs case. The lenses of his artificial eyes gave off a faint whir as he peered down at the tiny unmoving spider that still stood resolute, balanced at the center of the half-torn web.
With a single swipe of his metal hand, he severed the rest of the webâs supports and the spiderâs desiccated body unexpectedly rose up, lifted by the eddy of air. Â
âAh,â he exclaimed, voice uncharacteristically warm with approval, as the mystery of the spiderâs unwavering last stand was revealed. âIt was already dead inside.â
Today I have decided that, of the GW cast, Hilde is the #1 most likely to write fanfiction. Would she be a coffeeshop AU kind of girl? Iâm thinking yes. I bet theyâre really good, lots of feels, a dusting of angst that turns uplifting at the end. Her fandom is juuuuuust dorky enough to be a little bit embarrassing.
I admit, I myself struggle to see Relena getting involved in the fanfic scene. Iâm not sure I see her using the Internet that way? And while sheâs got it in her to be, oh, a little obsessive, her actual life is like the plot of a fanfic. I mean I know people with very intense lives can be very into fanfic but IDK, Iâm just not sure it would grab her. Hilde, I just see it. Thereâs the magical confluence of circumstances that make it just right for her.
Dorothy, yeah. Sheâd find the idea of fanfic hilarious if it was ever pointed out to her. She would get involved one time, for the lols - somehow effortlessly conjure up some form of satirical masterpiece (where did she find the time?) with perfect characterization; and then she would somehow insult every person to leave a comment, and then vanish never to be seen again.
My mind wanders over to Catherine next. I donât see her being into it either. I can definitely see her having like a couple of programmes or something that she just has to make sure sheâs home at 9pm on Tuesday nights to watch or she gets grouchy. And I could see her like, maybe posting in forums or something? But not fanfic so much.
And then Sally, Noin, and Une? I justâŠno, I just donât see it. And not for the boys either (lemontrashâs cute Wufei comic aside haha). Maybe Duo somehow discovers Hildeâs fics - and sheâs all bashful and âoh god, donât laughâ and heâs like âno, wow, theyâre really good!â and then she lets him read them and itâs like their thing, but I donât think heâd be into it, like, generally.
I could see Trowa getting into writing as a sort of self-therapy. He strikes me as one of those studious observers of reality who gradually grow more and more irked by the way things are panning out - life is messy, illogical, wasteful. The frustration of âI could do better.â From there itâs a short hop to zeroing in on a plot they can fix, namely a fictional one.
I donât know if heâd focus on coming up with plausible explanations for all the canon plot holes, or simply replace them with something he liked better, but I bet his writing would be dense with specialized terminology and have a fair amount of action/thriller elements as he likes a direct approach to problem solving.
Heâs really writing for himself, and isnât into the social aspects of it; I imagine heâll feel that posting it online somewhere is the right way to mark it as âcompleteâ, but then he may never respond to a single comment.
Thereâs no context for this, my imagination just took a turn for the funereal on my walk to work this morning. I went with it, because why not. Sorry, Zechs. Â ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
Noin nearly fainted at the funeral. Not from grief, although that probably played a part, but from the heat. The middle of July and the worst heat wave on record, and Noin, with her traditionalist sensibilities, still insisted on wearing black. Sleeveless, but still. Sally caught sight of her friendâs sudden pallor and the start of her slow sideways slide, and took it upon herself to intervene. They managed a discreet distance from the crowd before Noinâs knees buckled and Sally helped ease her to the ground.
âCan I be of any assistance?â There was Quatre, behind them, ever solicitous.
âWeâre fine,â Sally told him, feeling the flutter of Noinâs pulse beneath her fingers, then changed her mind. âCould you get us some water?â
âOf course. I spotted a drinking fountain just over there.â
âThanks, Sally,â Noin muttered. Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
Sally could sense the impending apology and cut it off before it came, sternly telling Noin, âThink nothing of it.â
âHeâs really gone this time.â
There was not much Sally could think to say to that. Yes. Zechs was really gone, this time. Preventersâ first casualty. They were all feeling the shock of it. The irony. After Libra, Zechs had seemed to have a touch of immortality about him.
âI donât understand,â said Noin, âwhy he couldnât have chosen to live. I will never understand.â
Sally dug her fingers into Noinâs arm in a paltry attempt at comfort, but she was saved from having to come up with something to say by Quatreâs return. She knew words would never be enough, not for someone like Noin, who loved so deeply. Quatre had found a little plastic cup and filled it to the brim. Noin sipped from it gratefully and seemed refreshed.
âAre you ready to go back?â Sally asked her. When Noin nodded, they walked back together, all three of them. A few curious looks were cast in their direction, but Sally met these head on and that seemed enough to put a stop to them. Noin turned her eyes back forwards, towards the casket, while Sally and Quatre wordlessly took position on either side of her and each held out a hand.
Stop writing these heart wrenching Noin pieces then leaving me hanging wanting more, itâs too much for meeeee ok?!! This snippet was so satisfying in all its angsty goodness. I wonder who else could step in to comfort her? *whistles*
@lbro009 I imagine that you are imagining something along these (perfectly innocent) lines? And now I am all done and I will try to get back to work on one of my real projectsâŠ
At the reception following the service Noin seemed to feel the need to play hostess, although Sally could see no reason for this. The event was being held in a hired function suite on Preventersâ dime, but that did not stop Noin from interjecting herself with the caterers or fussing over peopleâs empty glasses. Whenever she was not distracting herself with whatever triviality she thought warranted her personal attention, she could be found with Relena. The two of them sat close together, out of the way, hands gently clasped and heads bent together. It was difficult to say who was giving comfort and who was being comforted.
Sally lingered even after most of the other guests had begun to leave. Wufei had begun to check his watch and send her increasingly frequent, pointed looks, until she finally waved him off, mouthing that she would see him at the shuttleport. He was always so obsessed with being early, that one, everywhere he went. He didnât look impressed with her, but Une seemed to understand, or at least, she made no move to chivvy Sally out the door.
Eventually, Trowa materialized at her elbow. âAre you sticking around for Noin?â he asked her. âWufei said you two had a mission.â
Sally gave him a suspicious onceover. âI told her Iâd be her ride home. What of it?â
âI can take her.â At Sallyâs surprised and, if she were being honest, somewhat offended look, he gave her a comically wide-eyed stare, holding up his hands in an elaborate display of innocence. âIâd take good care of her.â
âShe ought to be with a friend,â Sally retorted, âwhat are you offering for?â
Trowa shrugged. âHeero asked me.â
âHeero did?â
Trowa flashed a tiny, conspiratorial grin. âRelena doesnât want her to be alone, so he promised to find someone trustworthy to look in on her tonight. It seems Heero considers me to be eminently trustworthy.â
âHmph. Not sure how much I buy that; youâve got shifty eyes, you know, Barton.â
He let out a laugh at that, then turned serious. âLook, Iâm staying at a hotel across town; itâs on my way. The spaceportâs in the opposite direction. Iâll see Noin gets settled in all right. We can reminisce about Antarctica.â
Sally didnât get the reference. She glanced down at her watch. It was getting late, she had to concede, but she was still reluctant.
âIâd do it even if Heero hadnât asked me to,â Trowa added, and in that, at least, he sounded so sincere that Sally decided to believe him.
w o r d s ! ! (not from anything Iâm supposed to be writing, but still wordsâŠ)
Noin was quiet in the passenger seat. Trowa followed her example; there wasnât, after all, anything he could say to make things better. She gave him a forced smile when they pulled up outside her door and thanked him for the ride. âIâll walk you in,â he told her, switching off the ignition and climbing out with her.
Noin stood on the curb for a minute, looking up at the house. It did not look inviting in the dark. You could almost tell, just looking at it, that the pall of death hung over the building. Trowa put a comradely hand round Noinâs shoulder and gently angled her body into his. She put up a token resistance to the hug, then sagged against him, shoulders shaking. She hadnât cried during the funeral. Maybe there wasnât anything to say, he thought, but he could offer this, let her wet his shirt with tears.
âSorry,â she muttered, her face still pressed awkwardly into his chest.
âDonât be,â he told her. Zechs wasâŠwhatever he was to her. Whatever it had been, it had been important. That was all that mattered, really.
After a moment she pulled back, turned her face so he couldnât see the red blotches on her cheeks, and scrubbed away the lingering wetness. He followed her up the front steps, half expecting a brusque goodnight, but instead she lingered by the open door, not quite looking him in the eye.
âI could make some coffee,â he suggested. âYou look like you could use a cup.â
Somehow that startled a wet laugh out of her. To her surprise as much as his, judging by her face. Well. Nice to know she still could. Shooting him a grateful look, she stood aside to let him in. âDecaf, if you donât mind. God knows Iâll have enough trouble sleeping tonight as it is.â
âSure thing. Iâll bring it through.â
Heâd never been in this house before, but snooping through other peopleâs shelves was a habit he cultivated. He made a game of guessing whoâd picked out which coffee mugs, Zechs or Noin; who the half-empty box of muesli belonged to. They used a cafetiere rather than a drip filter. Trowa filled two mismatched mugs, sniffed the small jug of cream he found in the fridge and glanced over the rest of the contents (tupperware containers full of leftovers in the top half and some fresh produce in the lower drawers; not a takeaway container in sight), then followed the trail of lights Noin had switched on into the living room.
Sheâd taken off her high-heeled shoes, but then, like a wind-up toy running abruptly out of energy, seemed to have lost track of what she was doing; he found her standing lost in thought in the middle of the room. She jerked back into life at the sight of him, forcing a smile and gratefully accepting the cup he handed her.
âI put a little something extra in,â he warned her before she took a sip. âTo help you sleep.â
She sniffed at her mug, caught the scent of alcohol. âBourbon?â
He produced the flask he had tucked away in his inner jacket pocket and gave it a shake. âItâs traditional, Iâm pretty sure.â
âIs it? Well, I wonât say no.â She cradled the steaming mug in both hands, bringing the warmth up to her face and holding it there for a minute before taking a sip. âItâs good,â she told him approvingly, loosing a quiet sigh.
âMind if we sit?â he asked, gesturing back to the sofa.
âOh. Yes, of course.â
Sheepishly, she followed him and sat, tucking her legs underneath her. Trowa loosened his tie and flicked open his top button with relief. Silence spooled out in the space between them, and when he glanced over at her he saw that Noin had gone blank and still again. Until she caught him looking; then it was another false-bright smile before she buried her face in her coffee mug. He rubbed at the side of his jaw where the dayâs stubble was starting to come in and wondered at the right words to say.
âYou know, NoinâŠweâre not enemies anymore; itâs okay for us to see each other at our weakest points sometimes. Itâs happened before.â He could still remember it clearly, the hateful feeling of crouching in the hard-packed snow in front of her, the way sheâd seen him shake. She hadnât used it against him, then or since. âYou donât have to play at being fine for my benefit. But⊠I get it if you need to be alone before you can let yourself mourn. I can go if itâs easier for you.â
Another sidelong glance showed her looking stricken, so he looked away again to give her a chance to compose herself.
âDid you spike your coffee too?â she asked in a husky voice verging on tears.
He huffed out a chuckle. âThere are worse crimes than pouring a shot of bourbon down the drain.â
âIâd rather not drink alone.â
He felt surprisingly gratified to hear her say it. Re-settling himself at the end of the couch, he reached across to clink their mugs together and took a sip.
I guess every couple of years I will randomly add another 100 words to this? Well, in the absence of anything else to postâŠ
He hadnât meant to get quite so drunk. It snuck up without his notice, until he turned his head and found the room kept spinning. Noin was feeling it too, he surmised, lounging catlike and sleepy across from him.
Eventually her eyes wandered to the clock, making her grimace. âIâll make up the sofa for you,â she told him, and without waiting for a response began the somewhat laborious process of regaining her feet. Not that he planned to object; driving to his hotel at this point was right out.
While she disappeared upstairs to unearth some clean sheets, he staggered to the facilities, first relieving his bladder and then slurping some water directly from the tap. It helped.
A bit more clear-headed, he returned to find the couch draped in a soft flannel sheet, a fluffed pillow sitting at one end and a worn comforter folded at the other.
âWill it be long enough?â Noin wondered, glancing doubtfully at his legs.
âItâll be perfect,â he assured her, flopping down and toeing off his shoes. He didnât bother with undoing the laces. âThanks.â
Noin was still standing there. âI⊠thought you could use these.â She thrust out a small bundle.
He blinked at it. Pajamas.
Zechsâs pajamas.
âThanks,â he said again, uncertainly, the word tilting up at the end like a question.
She nodded, biting her lip, and hurried from the room.
He blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair, dubiously eyeing the old t-shirt and striped cotton bottoms that sat beside him. His first instinct was that it was too morbid, even for him. Then again, it was sure to be more comfortable than sleeping in his suit. Shrugging, he began to undress.
The light in the hall clicked off, casting the room into shadow, apart from the dull orange glow from a street light leaking through the curtains.
âTrowa,â Noin called in a carrying whisper from down the hall. He judged her to be just outside her bedroom.
âYeah?â he called back.
A pause. Then, âThank you.â
He didnât like being thanked. It put an itch he couldnât scratch between his shoulder blades, like a target on his back. âDonât mention it.â
A click, as her door shut.
He was left wearing a dead manâs name, and now a dead manâs clothes.
But the linens smelled clean and fresh, and in the state he was in, the couch was as comfortable as a feather bed.
Eyes closed, he listened to the distant sounds of Noin getting ready for bed. It made him think of Cathy and her fussy, hour-long nighttime routine. And then he couldnât help but think what it would be like for her, if he⊠It wasnât a pleasant train of thought.
He rolled over, and breathed in the lilac fabric-softener smell of the pillowcase, and drifted off.
*crawls out from under my rock* Yep, almost exactly a year later itâs struck againâŠ
Trowaâs eyes creaked open with the sizzle and mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon. For just a second he was disoriented â this sofa wasnât nearly lumpy enough to be Catherineâs, but who else would be cooking breakfast? â and then his brain finished waking up and he remembered where he was. And why.
Read more⊠(link to AO3) (where previous snippets have been lightly edited)
(On a personal note, I am exceedingly aware of the 70+ AO3 new chapter notifications I have waiting for me on fics Iâve been following. For some reason my usual winter creative drought extended to reading fic this year too. I look forward to catching up on all your work soon. Iâve been in kind of a weird headspace lately I guess (havenât we all, ha. ha. haaaaaaâŠ..) anyway, hope youâre all doing great.)
Iiiiiiiitâs back! On my dash! On your dash! And on AO3 too! With more excellent characterization, and a wry humor that deftly nestles into the storyâs melancholy setting, steering the whole thing clear of morose or flippant and landing up somewhere that feels very real. Give it a read!
I would like to see your huggability rating for Trowa or Quatre. They're equal favorites for me, so I'd be happy with either. Also, please feel free to post your Gundam Wing headcanons! It is your blog, after all.
Don't worry, my GW headcanons will almost inevitably appear as crack comics made when something else in my life goes wrong.
Also they're both my favs to, so hey
If you pick this one out of a lineup for a hug, then congratulations--you've got an eye for the ones that slip under the radar. I know what you're thinking: you walk up to this kid and go "oh crap, he's like all shoulder. This is going to be like hugging an old cat and getting impalled on every bony joint". But then you get your arms around him, and your hugging your family sofa that has long since memorized your body print to cup you just right. And you wonder how, HOW, this kid has like no body fat.
But there is no answer. This is just one of nature's great mysteries. This is the squid they find at the bottom of the ocean that looks like a chubby little elephant when everything else is a Bloodborne boss. I don't know how he exists, I don't know how he carved that niche out of a cold and uncaring world, and I am not questioning it. Sometimes, you just have to submit to the basic awe of the universe.
But like any mystery, there's something emphemiral about him, and that's not what you'll always want in a hug. A hug is supposed to give us warmth and security, but these are the deep waters of the primeval unknown. This is someone who is not ready to be found, not yet. Are we just not ready to understand? Perhaps. Be cautious when hugging this one. You may not be ready to where the journey takes you.
Also his hair really sucks, tbh. Kind of don't want my face near that.
FINAL SCORE: 7.5/10
Aaah, now that's a gold standard pick you've got there. Beloved by the hugologist beginner and master alike, you really cannot go wrong with this guy. Whether you like warm hugs, firm hugs, comforting hugs, the hug you didn't know would brighten your day, this is the swiss army knife you need for any occassion. And yes, I mean that in the sense that you can also use him to stab your enemies and bathe in their blood.
Itâs really difficult to find something wrong with a hug from this guy. Heâs just smol enough to make it cute in a not weird way, but heâs class act enough to make you feel like youâre in good hands. Itâs pure art what he does, expertly turning a thousands wheels that you don't even notice, beyond the surface thought of "man, that was really nice." Some people are just born to give hugs. Honestly, if he hadnât offered you at least two by the time youâve finished reading this, you must be catching him on a really, really bad day.Â
But for whatever reason, this hug will not be perfect, and that can be honestly frustrating. Thereâs a certain je ne sais quoi that someone needs to be able to deliver a truly transcendent hug. Itâs certainly there to some extent--I mean take a look at this cornball. But itâs not complete, not one hundred percent. Weep not friends, itâs the journey, not the destination. Stay this path, and a higher school will surely come. Just after therapy. Lots of therapy. Please. Please?
Thereâs no context for this, my imagination just took a turn for the funereal on my walk to work this morning. I went with it, because why not. Sorry, Zechs. Â ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
Noin nearly fainted at the funeral. Not from grief, although that probably played a part, but from the heat. The middle of July and the worst heat wave on record, and Noin, with her traditionalist sensibilities, still insisted on wearing black. Sleeveless, but still. Sally caught sight of her friendâs sudden pallor and the start of her slow sideways slide, and took it upon herself to intervene. They managed a discreet distance from the crowd before Noinâs knees buckled and Sally helped ease her to the ground.
âCan I be of any assistance?â There was Quatre, behind them, ever solicitous.
âWeâre fine,â Sally told him, feeling the flutter of Noinâs pulse beneath her fingers, then changed her mind. âCould you get us some water?â
âOf course. I spotted a drinking fountain just over there.â
âThanks, Sally,â Noin muttered. Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
Sally could sense the impending apology and cut it off before it came, sternly telling Noin, âThink nothing of it.â
âHeâs really gone this time.â
There was not much Sally could think to say to that. Yes. Zechs was really gone, this time. Preventersâ first casualty. They were all feeling the shock of it. The irony. After Libra, Zechs had seemed to have a touch of immortality about him.
âI donât understand,â said Noin, âwhy he couldnât have chosen to live. I will never understand.â
Sally dug her fingers into Noinâs arm in a paltry attempt at comfort, but she was saved from having to come up with something to say by Quatreâs return. She knew words would never be enough, not for someone like Noin, who loved so deeply. Quatre had found a little plastic cup and filled it to the brim. Noin sipped from it gratefully and seemed refreshed.
âAre you ready to go back?â Sally asked her. When Noin nodded, they walked back together, all three of them. A few curious looks were cast in their direction, but Sally met these head on and that seemed enough to put a stop to them. Noin turned her eyes back forwards, towards the casket, while Sally and Quatre wordlessly took position on either side of her and each held out a hand.
Stop writing these heart wrenching Noin pieces then leaving me hanging wanting more, itâs too much for meeeee ok?!! This snippet was so satisfying in all its angsty goodness. I wonder who else could step in to comfort her? *whistles*
@lbro009 I imagine that you are imagining something along these (perfectly innocent) lines? And now I am all done and I will try to get back to work on one of my real projectsâŠ
At the reception following the service Noin seemed to feel the need to play hostess, although Sally could see no reason for this. The event was being held in a hired function suite on Preventersâ dime, but that did not stop Noin from interjecting herself with the caterers or fussing over peopleâs empty glasses. Whenever she was not distracting herself with whatever triviality she thought warranted her personal attention, she could be found with Relena. The two of them sat close together, out of the way, hands gently clasped and heads bent together. It was difficult to say who was giving comfort and who was being comforted.
Sally lingered even after most of the other guests had begun to leave. Wufei had begun to check his watch and send her increasingly frequent, pointed looks, until she finally waved him off, mouthing that she would see him at the shuttleport. He was always so obsessed with being early, that one, everywhere he went. He didnât look impressed with her, but Une seemed to understand, or at least, she made no move to chivvy Sally out the door.
Eventually, Trowa materialized at her elbow. âAre you sticking around for Noin?â he asked her. âWufei said you two had a mission.â
Sally gave him a suspicious onceover. âI told her Iâd be her ride home. What of it?â
âI can take her.â At Sallyâs surprised and, if she were being honest, somewhat offended look, he gave her a comically wide-eyed stare, holding up his hands in an elaborate display of innocence. âIâd take good care of her.â
âShe ought to be with a friend,â Sally retorted, âwhat are you offering for?â
Trowa shrugged. âHeero asked me.â
âHeero did?â
Trowa flashed a tiny, conspiratorial grin. âRelena doesnât want her to be alone, so he promised to find someone trustworthy to look in on her tonight. It seems Heero considers me to be eminently trustworthy.â
âHmph. Not sure how much I buy that; youâve got shifty eyes, you know, Barton.â
He let out a laugh at that, then turned serious. âLook, Iâm staying at a hotel across town; itâs on my way. The spaceportâs in the opposite direction. Iâll see Noin gets settled in all right. We can reminisce about Antarctica.â
Sally didnât get the reference. She glanced down at her watch. It was getting late, she had to concede, but she was still reluctant.
âIâd do it even if Heero hadnât asked me to,â Trowa added, and in that, at least, he sounded so sincere that Sally decided to believe him.
w o r d s ! ! (not from anything Iâm supposed to be writing, but still wordsâŠ)
Noin was quiet in the passenger seat. Trowa followed her example; there wasnât, after all, anything he could say to make things better. She gave him a forced smile when they pulled up outside her door and thanked him for the ride. âIâll walk you in,â he told her, switching off the ignition and climbing out with her.
Noin stood on the curb for a minute, looking up at the house. It did not look inviting in the dark. You could almost tell, just looking at it, that the pall of death hung over the building. Trowa put a comradely hand round Noinâs shoulder and gently angled her body into his. She put up a token resistance to the hug, then sagged against him, shoulders shaking. She hadnât cried during the funeral. Maybe there wasnât anything to say, he thought, but he could offer this, let her wet his shirt with tears.
âSorry,â she muttered, her face still pressed awkwardly into his chest.
âDonât be,â he told her. Zechs wasâŠwhatever he was to her. Whatever it had been, it had been important. That was all that mattered, really.
After a moment she pulled back, turned her face so he couldnât see the red blotches on her cheeks, and scrubbed away the lingering wetness. He followed her up the front steps, half expecting a brusque goodnight, but instead she lingered by the open door, not quite looking him in the eye.
âI could make some coffee,â he suggested. âYou look like you could use a cup.â
Somehow that startled a wet laugh out of her. To her surprise as much as his, judging by her face. Well. Nice to know she still could. Shooting him a grateful look, she stood aside to let him in. âDecaf, if you donât mind. God knows Iâll have enough trouble sleeping tonight as it is.â
âSure thing. Iâll bring it through.â
Heâd never been in this house before, but snooping through other peopleâs shelves was a habit he cultivated. He made a game of guessing whoâd picked out which coffee mugs, Zechs or Noin; who the half-empty box of muesli belonged to. They used a cafetiere rather than a drip filter. Trowa filled two mismatched mugs, sniffed the small jug of cream he found in the fridge and glanced over the rest of the contents (tupperware containers full of leftovers in the top half and some fresh produce in the lower drawers; not a takeaway container in sight), then followed the trail of lights Noin had switched on into the living room.
Sheâd taken off her high-heeled shoes, but then, like a wind-up toy running abruptly out of energy, seemed to have lost track of what she was doing; he found her standing lost in thought in the middle of the room. She jerked back into life at the sight of him, forcing a smile and gratefully accepting the cup he handed her.
âI put a little something extra in,â he warned her before she took a sip. âTo help you sleep.â
She sniffed at her mug, caught the scent of alcohol. âBourbon?â
He produced the flask he had tucked away in his inner jacket pocket and gave it a shake. âItâs traditional, Iâm pretty sure.â
âIs it? Well, I wonât say no.â She cradled the steaming mug in both hands, bringing the warmth up to her face and holding it there for a minute before taking a sip. âItâs good,â she told him approvingly, loosing a quiet sigh.
âMind if we sit?â he asked, gesturing back to the sofa.
âOh. Yes, of course.â
Sheepishly, she followed him and sat, tucking her legs underneath her. Trowa loosened his tie and flicked open his top button with relief. Silence spooled out in the space between them, and when he glanced over at her he saw that Noin had gone blank and still again. Until she caught him looking; then it was another false-bright smile before she buried her face in her coffee mug. He rubbed at the side of his jaw where the dayâs stubble was starting to come in and wondered at the right words to say.
âYou know, NoinâŠweâre not enemies anymore; itâs okay for us to see each other at our weakest points sometimes. Itâs happened before.â He could still remember it clearly, the hateful feeling of crouching in the hard-packed snow in front of her, the way sheâd seen him shake. She hadnât used it against him, then or since. âYou donât have to play at being fine for my benefit. But⊠I get it if you need to be alone before you can let yourself mourn. I can go if itâs easier for you.â
Another sidelong glance showed her looking stricken, so he looked away again to give her a chance to compose herself.
âDid you spike your coffee too?â she asked in a husky voice verging on tears.
He huffed out a chuckle. âThere are worse crimes than pouring a shot of bourbon down the drain.â
âIâd rather not drink alone.â
He felt surprisingly gratified to hear her say it. Re-settling himself at the end of the couch, he reached across to clink their mugs together and took a sip.
I guess every couple of years I will randomly add another 100 words to this? Well, in the absence of anything else to postâŠ
He hadnât meant to get quite so drunk. It snuck up without his notice, until he turned his head and found the room kept spinning. Noin was feeling it too, he surmised, lounging catlike and sleepy across from him.
Eventually her eyes wandered to the clock, making her grimace. "Iâll make up the sofa for you,â she told him, and without waiting for a response began the somewhat laborious process of regaining her feet. Not that he planned to object; driving to his hotel at this point was right out.
While she disappeared upstairs to unearth some clean sheets, he staggered to the facilities, first relieving his bladder and then slurping some water directly from the tap. It helped.
A bit more clear-headed, he returned to find the couch draped in a soft flannel sheet, a fluffed pillow sitting at one end and a worn comforter folded at the other.
âWill it be long enough?â Noin wondered, glancing doubtfully at his legs.
âItâll be perfect,â he assured her, flopping down and toeing off his shoes. He didnât bother with undoing the laces. âThanks.â
Noin was still standing there. âI⊠thought you could use these.â She thrust out a small bundle.
He blinked at it. Pajamas.
Zechsâs pajamas.
âThanks,â he said again, uncertainly, the word tilting up at the end like a question.
She nodded, biting her lip, and hurried from the room.
He blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair, dubiously eyeing the old t-shirt and striped cotton bottoms that sat beside him. His first instinct was that it was too morbid, even for him. Then again, it was sure to be more comfortable than sleeping in his suit. Shrugging, he began to undress.
The light in the hall clicked off, casting the room into shadow, apart from the dull orange glow from a street light leaking through the curtains.
âTrowa,â Noin called in a carrying whisper from down the hall. He judged her to be just outside her bedroom.
âYeah?â he called back.
A pause. Then, âThank you.â
He didnât like being thanked. It put an itch he couldnât scratch between his shoulder blades, like a target on his back. âDonât mention it.â
A click, as her door shut.
He was left wearing a dead manâs name, and now a dead manâs clothes.
But the linens smelled clean and fresh, and in the state he was in, the couch was as comfortable as a feather bed.
Eyes closed, he listened to the distant sounds of Noin getting ready for bed. It made him think of Cathy and her fussy, hour-long nighttime routine. And then he couldnât help but think what it would be like for her, if he⊠It wasnât a pleasant train of thought.
He rolled over, and breathed in the lilac fabric-softener smell of the pillowcase, and drifted off.
Itâs back! I was excited to see you added more to this story \(ÂŽ á `)/
I empathized with Trowaâs evaluation of the offer of pajamas - thereâs something emotional about using an item that was owned by the recently deceased, especially something as personal as clothing. But Noin was being practical and Iâm glad he was too. I hope she can sleep a little better knowing she is not in the house alone. Even if you canât see or hear the other person, just knowing they are there can somehow be comforting.
Iâm looking forward to when you add more! I think what draws me to this story the most (besides the excellent characterization) is the kindness, particularly of Trowa. He didnât let the fact that he doesnât have a strong existing relationship with Noin, nor that he doesnât have some especial words to say about Zechs to slake her grief (of which probably there are none) keep him from the simple kindness of offering companionship on one of the bleakest days in her life.
Heero and Duo visit StoryCorps to discuss how their friendship grew from a less than amiable beginning.
StoryCorps is an American nonprofit which records people interviewing each other about pivotal moments in their lives, and then edits those conversations into beautifully produced stories.
---------------------------------------------
~ Music: StoryCorps theme ~
Host: âThis is StoryCorps. Today we continue our series commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Eve Wars. Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell were both pilots for the Colony Liberation Organization, but they didnât meet until they were sent to Earth in AC 195.â
Duo: âDo you remember how we first met?â
Heero: âWell, I stole some very important parts from your mobile suitââ
Duo: âWait, wait. Before that, I shot you.â
Heero: âOh, right! It was at the dock. You shot me. Twice.â
Duo: âAnd left you floating face down in the ocean. But you didnât die.â
Heero: (chuckling) âNope. I suppose you wanted another crack at it, so you came and broke me out of that military hospital and had me jump out a window twenty stories up.â
Duo: âOkay first, I gave you a parachute, and second, it was more like thirty stories. You hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.â
Heero: âI rolled, thank you very much. Then you hauled me off to your base.â
Duo: âThatâs when you stole the parts. I was so pissed at you.â
Heero: âI know! When you caught up, you tried to kill me again.â
Duo: âThat time I really meant it. But you lived. Until you tried to blow up your suit with yourself in it.â
Heero: âKind of doing your work for you, there?â
Duo: âNot only that, but you always had to one-up me. I never did manage to get one of those suits to self-destruct.â
Heero: âAnd then, you got captured, so in order to protect our secrets I came to kill youââ
Duo: (laughing) âYou didnât even try, though!â
Heero: âNo, I didnât; when I finally found you I ended up breaking you out instead. Iâm still not quite sure why.â
Duo: âDo you think it was gratitude? For me helping you out before?â
Heero: âIâm not sure 15 year old me was all that grateful. More likely it was that if I was going to have to keep fighting, I wasnât going to let you shuffle off so easy.â
Duo: âHa, that sounds about right! Still, that was the turning point when we gave up on trying to kill each other â which I think is the foundation of a solid friendship.â
Heero: âThatâs true. And the proof is, I havenât killed any of my friends.â
I posted my list of WIP here and @bryony-rebb asked for âSix Birdsâ and âAspen Hauntâ.
âSix Birdsâ is an idea for a collaborative story. I was inspired by the news story where a businessman hired a hitman to kill a rival, and that hitman subcontracted to another, and that hitman turned around and hired another - this went on 5 times! (Fortunately the final hitman didnât kill the intended target but rather tried to get them to fake being dead for a while - so he could get paid.)
So the seed of this would be an after-war setup where each pilot is an adult working for a different law enforcement agency and they donât talk to each other about the cases theyâre working on. In fact theyâve all ended up working on the same case, as they have each agreed to both take on an assasination job and hired a hitman in order to âkill two birds with one stoneâ - to catch the hitman as well as the person who put out the hit. Of course they donât want to see the intended victim actually get killed, so they must all converge at the target location tonight to catch the hitman before he strikes. But because all negotiation was done online or via phone, they donât know what the person that hired them or the hitman looks likeâŠ
I would start it off with Wufei being the first - hired by the actual client, and being forced by higher-up to try this subcontracting idea to his dismay. Then move to the night of the hit, where Wufei and Quatre are stalking each other in a dark building and get into a fight. Quatre wins, and when heâs reading Wufei his rights Wufei finally recognizes him and chews him out. They realize Wufei actually hired Quatre, and as Quatre explains itâs not over yet as heâs hired someone himself, the window breaksâŠ
And then someone else can pick up and keep it going. I dunno how it would all turn out but it could be fun? (ă»áă»)
âAspen Hauntâ was originally sparked by this picture by Gundayum https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/189534389106/apparently-its-posting-day-anyhow-my-half-of . If I understood correctly the event was to pair up artists and writers, but the story for this art did not get published. I jotted down a few ideas for a spooky story with Sally and Duo that might match the image, but I soon realized my brain was going in a different direction so I gave up on matching and turned it into a Sally and Wufei story with a heavy supernatural theme.
Itâs a no-war AU where Sally and Wufei grew up on Earth in the same close-knit immigrant community so they know each other. They both have the ability to interact with spirits, but in very different ways: if Wufei plucks a live hair from his head and burns it, he and anyone that breathes in the smoke can see into the spirit world with great clarity - but only for a few seconds while the smoke lingers. (He never cuts his hair so as to maximize the effect of this power.) Sally normally cannot see/be seen by spirits on her own, but once she makes a connection to one via Wufeiâs power she can learn a great deal, as spirits are often drawn to her and will answer her questions. But this is also dangerous for her, as once they can âseeâ her, she cannot ward them off.
Sally is a police officer or something of the sort - a figure of authority. She hides her power and is outwardly sceptical of anything supernatural. Wufei is a known true believer, which is why he has trouble keeping a job as a teacher, and he works a lot of odd jobs to get by. But he also infuriates some in the seeker community because heâll unsympathetically skewer all their wrong theories and drive off those charlatans that would prey upon the fearful or actually haunted.
In this story Wufei has come to Sally for help. Thereâs been a rash of fires in older houses, right next to each other in a lovely wooded area. Heâs sure itâs supernatural but the ghosts wonât talk to him. She gets mixed up into it begrudgingly, finds out not all the ghosts are human, and they end up racing to figure out whatâs truly going on - and of course they get trapped in a burning house because it really wouldnât be climactic if they didnât, right?
@ransomedbardâ Thank you! Itâs fun for me too, getting to blether about my ideas even if my follow through is, uh, less than stellar. Iâm a little blown away by how many people have asked about! Would love to get to peek at yours, too! ;)
A snippet from the fic05_preventers document can be found here. The document itself has a couple more pages, but the posted snippet is definitely the best of it. Sally buys Wufei a muffin.
As for fic04_zero⊠I had this very vivid cinematic dream. About a monk. It was definitely a modern setting, but in the very old, medieval part of a European city. Gothic architecture, a narrow cobbled lane leading down this super steep hill. This monk is hurrying downhill and he bumps into this pregnant woman and knocks her down. She is on the run from, uh, Villains. As sheâs pleading for help, sirens start going off: theyâre after her. Itâs something nefarious to do with her baby (isnât it always). The monk gives her a piggyback ride back up the hill to his monastery and hides her in the greenhouse. The villains arrive and theyâre sort of rattling the door trying to get in and I wake up. (Looking back, I think I must have been influenced by a strange combination of Lost and Brother Cadfael? both of which my mom was watching around this time.) Anyway, now that Iâm awake, itâs immediately obvious to me that I must cast Duo in the role of the monk and Hilde as the woman on the run. The villains must be OZ. And Iâm like, wow, this is great, Iâve suddenly got this whole AU fic! And I write 20,000 words of it thanks to this dream. Sallyâs the military doctor with a conscience who helped Hilde escape; Trowaâs doing his undercover thing; Howard is in it; the scientists are in it; Father Maxwell is in it! But, you know, time goes past and now all I can see are the flaws. Quatre and Wufeiâs roles really need to be revised for a start. Thereâs still this core bit of it Iâm really affectionate about though, so I keep it on the back burner, like, just in case.
I enjoyed the Preventers snippet very much! Iâm tickled by the contrast of Wufei, twice a rebel, now wading through the bureaucracy of Preventer paperwork and breakfasting on a muffin. Of course Sally is no stranger to living outside the law herself, but she was also in the military for years so she has an advantage - one sheâll use to help shepard him a bit? And I love the idea of them digging up dirt on the Gundam scientists and the Barton Foundation and Wufei having to face some ugly truths about himself via that. Itâs a great concept.
And the dream story! I am intrigued. What does OZ want with poor Hildeâs baby? What terrible odds are stacked against her? It sounds like at least sheâs got some solid help on her side - and I like the fact Father Maxwell is still kicking while Duo is an adult (or a least a teen?)
I understand what you mean both for being tripped up by the flaws and holding an affection for the core of a story. (Especially one that gave you brain juice to write 20,000 words!) Itâs hard to not be discouraged by finding all the parts that donât ring true or work for us anymore, and the work of ripping them out or rewriting feels overwhelming. Iâve got some that might not ever get finished because of that; and yet whatever paltry shape theyâre in, theyâre still mine, and I will hoard their sorry half-finished manuscripts under me like a dragon hoards gold.
Tagged by @whatsherfacewrites last night right before bedtime when I couldnât possibly bring myself to face the contents of WIP folder. But in the cold light of day, here is the list of my file names. The numbering systemâs been sort of half abandoned so nothing really makes sense anymore. đ And of course while a few of these are potentially viable fics most of them are just really random scraps of stuff. But by all means, ask about any of them, I love to share my madness!
fic01_hedda xover
fic03_vog
fic04_zero
fic05_preventers
fic06_13x9
fic07_mariemaia xmas
fic18_bday scenelets
une snippet
1xC???????????
cullandra
DA
DA2.0
DA3
DA snugglefest
DA_somethingsomething AU
GW-ME
ME2_TG
X-WHO
Tagging: @ransomedbard @fadedsepiascribbles @amyole if you guys want to play? (Rules: post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. If youâre up for it, respond to people saying which ones interest them most by posting a snippet or telling us a little something more about them. Then pass it on!)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Teen
Archive Warning: Major Character Death
Category: Gen
Fandom: Gundam Wing
After Duo dies from wounds he received during his crash landing on the Moon, Hilde steals the Deathscythe Hell and attempts to forge her own path as a rebel pilot under the command of Professor G. But despite her hard-won victories, she finds she cannot escape the shadow of the previous pilot of the suit...
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Today is the last day of summer and my slow writing skills are just squeaking in with a belated entry for @seasons-of-gundamwing âs âSummer of Hildeâ. Itâs a somber story, perhaps fitting for the transition into the darker days of the year...
