about The Shattering

Jul. 18th, 2017 03:01 pm
seventhe: (Edge/Rydia: no return)
[personal profile] seventhe
This is an experiment with writing. Basically, I've taken one of the many modern/urban fantasy worlds I've build in my head, dropped a couple barely-formed characters into it with a plot idea that might be 7 words long on a good day and pressed Go.

The things I post are barely edited. They may have typos. They're not majorly-high-quality writing, in which I've lovingly labored over sentences and synonyms. They contain far too much punctuation and will probably systematically abuse italics. They're not going to be perfect.

What I want to see is if - and how well - I can build something interesting, something resembling a story, out of these incomplete ideas and fragmented entries. This is word-and-story brainstorming. It's an experiment. I want to try to make something really cool (or at least decently cool) from this nearly nonexistent framework, and see what happens, and where it takes me.

The process is simple: I open up DW during a break at work, and let my brain and fingers go. Whatever happens, I read it over once or twice to correct anything truly offensive, and then make myself post. It's casual, just to practice writing and practice creating to try to get back into the habit.

So, that's what's going on here.

the shattering's world )

For readers of this journal: you are welcome to read and comment and interact, or ignore, as much as you would like. Feel free to ask questions, point things out, make suggestions - whatever, I will love any feedback.

(part 2)

Jul. 18th, 2017 01:56 pm
seventhe: (Quistis: smile)
[personal profile] seventhe

(part 1)

I struck something invisible and ended up tumbling out of the magic onto the front lawn, landing in an awkward heap. Hey, it happens sometimes: in this case, May and Arston had probably changed the wards and I'd have to retune myself. Or, I thought, as I slowly sat up from my pile-of-trash pose and noticed the blinding glow, something more powerful is blocking puny magic like mine without thinking about it...

blinding light )

owlmoose: (avengers - captain america)
[personal profile] owlmoose
Title: Public Service Announcement
Fandom: MCU (The Avengers / Spider-Man: Homecoming)
Rating: Gen
Wordcount: 588
Characters: Steve Rogers
Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Spider-Man: Homecoming (no plot spoilers). Set about two months after The Avengers.
Notes: My inspiration for this story is a bit spoilery for Homecoming, so I'll put my notes behind the cut.

Here are the spoilers )

Summary: Next time, Steve Rogers will be more careful when he agrees to lend his name and likeness to a project.

Also on AO3
---

Several hours into filming, Steve Rogers had to admit that this job wasn't the worst he'd ever done. )

help

Jul. 13th, 2017 05:13 pm
seventhe: (Rydia: whyt)
[personal profile] seventhe
i'm trying to finish another prompt-fic with MAH BOI LARSA (a next chapter to the one i wrote a few weeks ago) but this sequel is tumbling around itself and i'm unsure of it so plz advise in comments:

do i

a) finish what i have and post it as done - it needs maybe another 200-500 words to be FINISHED - even imperfect, which it really is, it's a fic, and guess what penelo and larsa can smooch as many times as i want

b) scrap the oddly tumbled word vomit and start over with something cleaner that will be what i want this piece to be

c) give up entirely and write penelo/larsa coffeehouse au trash

d) do a different prompt-fic and come back to this next week

e) [something else you're going to tell me in the comments]

Doing the things a spider can

Jul. 13th, 2017 12:15 pm
owlmoose: (avengers - assemble)
[personal profile] owlmoose
I had been up in the air regarding whether I would see Spider-Man: Homecoming on opening weekend. Like many MCU fans, I've been resentful of Marvel's willingness to shoehorn the character into the franchise the second they got the rights back, especially in comparison to their mealy-mouthed excuses for not making a Black Widow film at the height of her popularity. Add in the annoyance at yet another white-dude-centric film and yet another Spider-Man reboot, and I was ready to put this film deep on the back burner. Maybe I'd see it later, like Ant-Man and Guardians; maybe I'd wait for video, like Doctor Strange.

But then. Despite his last-minute inclusion, Spidey was one of the best parts of Civil War. And then advance word came out that they weren't doing an origin story, and that they would follow up on Civil War's promise of Peter Parker as a legitimate awkward teenager. And then the early trailers were super-promising. Finally, the reviews started to come out so positively that T wanted to see it on opening weekend. So in the end I decided I couldn't say no. And you know what? I am really happy I did.

[twitter.com profile] kaytaylorrea put it perfectly in her early reactions: although the world doesn't need more white teenage boy coming of age stories, if we must have another Spider-man reboot, this was the best way to do it. Tom Holland may have just turned 21, but I 100% bought him as a geeky sophomore, torn between wanting to do normal teenager things and his desire to become a full-fledged Avenger, surrounded by other high schoolers trying to figure things out -- especially his best friend, Ned, who is a pure delight, and Zendaya, whose snarky, no-bullshit performance as Michelle made her a favorite character. Tony Stark's extended cameo adds just the right level of connection to the rest of the series without overwhelming the show. Adrian Toombs/Vulture as played by Michael Keaton is easily a top-5 MCU villain: complex, sometimes sympathetic, with realistic motivations, and genuinely threatening without feeling unbeatable. The third act fell apart somewhat, as third acts of superhero films often do, but the beginning grabbed me so, so hard that I can forgive its later flaws.

To talk about why requires some spoilers. So I'll put them behind a cut. )

I also appreciated watching a genuinely funny superhero movie that did not punch me in the face with gratuitous sexism and abusive relationships (I'm looking at you, Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant Man), the comparatively diverse cast, and the hints of what might come in future installments. (Zendaya and Jacob Batalan (Ned) and Donald Glover had better be back, or I'll sit on Marvel's doorstep until they are.) And possibly the best post-credits scene in the history of post-credits scenes.

So: fun time, happy to have seen it. Happy that Marvel made it? I'm not sure I would go that far. But within the universe of choices that Marvel actually made (instead of the big picture choices I wish they'd made instead, I'm glad they went this particular direction.

Happy Zodiac Age!

Jul. 13th, 2017 12:47 am
owlmoose: (ff12 - ashe)
[personal profile] owlmoose
I started playing yesterday and got a couple more hours in tonight. The music and voices are remastered wonderfully, and the graphics are quite nice, even if the faces and Vaan's abs are still a little off (but much better than they were before). I cannot wait to sink back into this world again.

(part 1)

Jul. 11th, 2017 12:24 pm
seventhe: (Tifa: bad)
[personal profile] seventhe
I dreamt the end of the world last night. The webpapers all said it was common to dream about the end of the world now, but I'd never had one before. In usual dream fashion it didn't make any sense: I was in "Japan", for whatever reason, even though I've never been to Japan, in a strange tall building half-business-office and half-dormitory in that way dreams do where it makes perfect sense to leave your meeting and go down a floor to take a nap. There were people I knew - I know - but I didn't recognize any of them out of the dream. I was coming from some work meeting and for some reason tucking in a roomful of young boys going to bed - and it all happened. The nukes came down, crashing out of the sky, and even though none of them were even close to us, we could all still see the pillars of fire, the tidal wave of smoke, the scent of ashes...

And of course in the dream nothing rose up, and there was no Shattering: and we all felt something dark and hot and burning roll over us in waves. I guess that's how my dream-self was imitating radiation; not like we knew what it felt like. The children screamed, and I was running back through the building and screaming, my skin scorched like a sunburn, and when I got to my dorm room all of my friends were already black and burnt, scarred corpses tipped over or leaning against each other.

The thing is, you wake up from a dream like that and instantly know it isn't true. Your brain is already running through the litany of logic that you need: seven years ago mankind did in fact try to destroy itself, its homes, its planet, by launching nearly every nuclear warhead in existence in a round robin of angry men; but the earth decided it was sick of this shit - our shit - and stepped in. First the world froze time, trapping all of us in this weird viscoelastic stasis where our minds were aware but everything around us had been stopped. Then our planet took a deep breath, which we all heard and felt - and then it shattered what must have been a barrier between its - its power - and us.

No one knew the earth had been protecting us from her magic for so long, although the scientists say it makes sense in retrospect, considering the times magic has leaked through a crack and broken the known laws of physics. But that layer shattered like so much glass - the Shattering - and the power that rushed through vaporized every single explosive that had been fired, and all that hadn't, and just wiped from existence every known warhead and weapon that could damage her.

Then the earth - well, we still don't really know how or why, but the prevailing theory is that our planet needed to tell us something (tell us off, in my opinion; humanity is a gigantic gaping asshole) and it used the history it had: the power coalesced into archetypes of worship, ancient and modern, anything the earth thought mankind might revere and follow. It created the Incarnate, the avatars, the graced: gods and goddesses, angels and devils, from all creeds and all times. Those chosen became vessels for whatever archetypical power had chosen them, and thus began the only way the planet had for us to communicate with her: the best way she had to create protectors that could speak with her voice.

So now, even through apparently everyone had dreams about the end of the world, it hadn't really ended at all - shifted, irrevocably, the complacency with which humanity had lived shattered as well, but not the end. In seven years, I had never dreamed about it. I'd had my share of stupid dreams, sure, but my subconscious had been happy to leave well enough alone - until last night.

I sat up slowly, because even though my brain was doing a great job reciting the facts, I still had this odd feeling in the pit of my belly: almost nauseous, like a physical sense of doom. People said you were supposed to pay attention to your dreams now, with magic out and about, but whatever this had been I didn't really want to pay attention to it.

Coffee would help. I wrenched myself out of the covers and into the kitchen.

I was halfway through the mug and a game on my mobile when it rang. Unknown number, huh. I almost ignored it, but it looked somewhat familiar and that nagged at me. (I haven't memorized a phone number other than my own since I was a small child, so what?) Plus I was still feeling residual existential dread over my dream, and I was mad because I was out of bagels. So I picked it up. "H'lo?"

"Mor," Arston said breathlessly, "I need you to - you need to come over, okay?"

"Arston?" I asked, even though I recognized his voice, and from there remembered I hadn't added his new number to my phone. "Did something happen? Is May okay?" Arston was May's roommate; May was my best friend, had been for almost our entire lives, and had been fighting off a major flu for a while.

"It's May," he said, and my heart dropped - I heard him swallow, and then he continued in an incredibly small voice: "I think she's becoming Manifest?"

"Manifest?" I squeaked, suddenly feeling vertigo. "Incarnate?"

"I - I don't know, Mor, can you please just get over here?" He took in a deep breath, and then exhaled. "She said your name, asked for you."

Shit. Incarnate or not, May would be asking for me, because no one else in her shitty family was going to be any help with any of this. "Yeah, Arston, I'll be there as fast as I can..."

"Good." He hung up.

I realized I was shivering. The foreboding feeling of my dream had mixed with my panic over my friend and created a weirdly toxic adrenaline cocktail. I needed to get to their house - driving would take twenty minutes, biking about the same. If I could calm myself down, I could transport.

My magic wasn't that old - it showed up about five or six years ago, right after the Shattering, but it had taken until about two years ago for it to have solidified enough for me to make use of it. I sat down the coffee mug, checked on the cats' bowls - they would be fine, and took a deep breath. Clasped my hands before me, fingers extended along opposite wrists. Set my intention in my mind. Called up the magic, carefully, focusing only on the spell, trying to shove everything else off into the corners where it could wait. Then I pulled my hands apart, and before I could doubt myself, pushed myself head-first into the glimmering opening the movement had created.

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