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literateconglomerate-blog · 9 years

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Love Wins: Grace Arias (06/28/15)

In honor of the Supreme Court decision on June 26, 2015, I’ve started a series of stories depicting what the Power-ups and Trade-offs’ LGBTQ+ characters did when they heard the decision. First up, a homicide detective receives an early morning phone call and news she did not expect.

For the first time in a long while Grace can actually sit to enjoy a cup of tea, perched on the counter in a way she’s always forbidden her children from doing. Summer means Aaliyah and the kids take their time waking up in the morning, but she doesn’t mind all that much. It means she can do almost anything she wants in these early hours. More still, it’s a welcome break from the hectic environment of the station, or the cacophony her house falls into when school isn’t there to keep everyone occupied.

She wouldn’t say she’s basking in the silence, but it’s a near thing, leading her to nearly fall off the counter when her phone rings. Glancing irately at the Caller ID, she almost throws the thing across the room. Technically, it’s her day off, but as her partner so often reminds her, homicide waits for no man.

“What do you want, Gregson?” she asks in lieu of salutation.

“Have you heard?”

Grace leans her head back against the cupboard. “Heard what? Use proper nouns, Tony.”

“Turn on your TV, Arias.”

“Why the hell should I? Do we have a case or not? Otherwise, I’d like to enjoy my quiet before the children wake up.”

She could practically hear his temper fraying over the line. “Look, Grace. Just turn on whatever news channel you prefer. Probably not Fox, unless you want the headache.”

“This better be worth it, Anthony, or I’m coming to your apartment to castrate you myself.”

“Cross my heart, partner. You’ll be thanking me soon enough.”

Vaulting from the counter, Grace crosses the short distance from her kitchen to her living room. “Give me a minute. The kids managed to misplace the remote again.” She finds it a few seconds later, wedged between an armrest and a sofa cushion. “Turn it to the news, you said? Why can’t you just tell me?”

The frustrated sound he makes sounds almost like a tea kettle going off. “You have to see it. I promise it’ll all make sense.”

“Don’t give yourself a heart attack? I’m on it.” Luckily for her partner’s continuing cardiac health, she and Aaliyah had been idly watching some late night news last night before heading to bed. The first thing she sees, scrolling across the bottom of the screen: SUPREME COURT LEGALIZED GAY MARRIAGE IN ALL 50 STATES. Images of kissing couples, rainbow flags, and general

“Oh my God. You’re shitting me, Gregson.”

“Sadly, I don’t have the paycheck of someone who controls MSNBC.”

“It’s real.” Her free hand makes its way to her cheek, where she finds them already damp and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t hear tears in his voice too. “It’s finally happened, Tony. I mean, we have a long way to go, but this…How long have we waited for this?”

“Too damn long, Grace.”

In a moment, she’ll wake her wife and tell her the news they’ve waited their whole lives to hear. In a moment, it’ll be time to celebrate.

“You’re coming over tonight and we’re going to break out the special scotch. The “close a big case” scotch. Eight o’clock sharp. Be late and face Aaliyah’s wrath.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good.”

They take a moment more, stare at their televisions, and watch as history is made.

#isabel #p&t #power-ups & trade-offs #lovewins #scotus #lgbtq #fluff #friendship #superheroes #drabble

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literateconglomerate-blog · 9 years

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Prompt me!

I’ve been really bored and uninspired lately so I’m taking writing prompts because I can. It can be anything and everything: original fiction, fanfiction, whatever. So if there’s an otp prompt or something you want to see just send it my way and I’ll see what I can do with it!

The only thing I won’t write is smut, but other than that, I do pretty much everything. Also, I won’t write fic for fandoms I’m not a part of, for the obvious reason that it would suck. (you can see a list what I watch and read here). If you want to see what my writing is like check here for fanfiction and here for original fiction.

I figure this is a good way to share my writing with everyone and get some inspiration so bring on the prompts!

#isabel says things #prompt me #go ahead do it #i'll love you forever

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literateconglomerate-blog · 10 years

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I wrote a thing based on this thing! You should read it. Warnings for strong language and mentions of violence and blood. Also, obvious death.

Transitioning to Past Tense - by Isabel

Fuck.That’s it all there is to say, pure and simple. After all, you aren’t reallyone for mania or monologues. Some might call you stoic, but you don’t really think that’s the right word. You’re careful. You just know the power of an overblown emotion, a misplaced word, and you’re careful not to give anyone that leverage over you.

But if you were really careful, you wouldn’t be here right now. Careful people don’t let their guard down long enough to let goddamn assassins get close enough to stick a knife in their abdomen. So, maybe stoic is the right word, because you sure as hell weren’t careful.

Your assassin, damn her to all hell, was good. Too good. With a bullet lodged somewhere in your shoulder by a careful sniper in the rafters and a long knife shoved into your stomach, you won’t make it to see tomorrow’s sunrise. Hell, you won’t make it to sunset, and that’s in maybe fifteen minutes. You’ll be lucky if you have any more than a handful of them, and that’s only if God decides to smile upon you today. Given His track record in that department, you aren’t going to count on it.

Your cellphone sits in your pocket, a final taunt from the girl who has just murdered you. The ambulance will take at least ten minutes to find you in this mass of warehouses, especially since you can no longer remember which one you’re in, memory foggy from the blood you’ve already lost. Ten minutes you no longer have.

Still, you dig it out of your pocket anyway. It beeps out a charming little reminder: low battery; 19%. You giggle at that—not at all hysterical, of course—but it quickly turns into a hacking cough that splatters blood over the already stained concrete floor. 19%. Even with your phones pitiful battery life, you won’t need that much anyway.

If you’re going to thank God for anything today, it’ll have to be speed dial. You save precious seconds not typing in those six other numbers, simply pressing 3 and letting it ring. Please pick up, you think, at the same time realizing; Mom is going to kill me for not calling her. You would laugh at the irony of that too, if you hadn’t already learned how much it hurts.

It doesn’t sound into infinity as you feared. After five nerve-wracking rings, he picks up. “Hey, sweet cheeks. I was just about to call you. What do you want for dinner?”

“Don’t call me sweet cheeks,” you gasp out. God, why does everything hurt?

“You okay, dear?” A moment’s pause. “Shit. I know you hate terms of endearment. Is that any better?”

“Yes.” Keeping things as monosyllabic as possible, that’s the way to go. It’ll make goodbye easier.

On the other end of the line, he chuckles and for a moment, the insistent throb of pain is replaced by warmth. “Which question are you answering?”

“I don’t know.” Words get harder and harder. One at a time.

“How about you answer this one: are you okay?”

You will not cry. People like you—the stoic, the careful, the something—they do not cry. “Ask me something else. Please.”

“Why?” You live for the moments of confusion in his voice, because the next step is desperation, and you don’t want it to get that far.

“Just need to hear your voice.” I don’t want my last words to you to be a lie.

He’s wary now. “Why are you being so sweet? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” You wince, half from the pain, half because he’s managed to make a liar of you yet.

Of course, after all your years together, he knows that voice; the one you put on when you’re being held by hostage-takers in the south of France and he texts to ask you about your day, or when you’re stuck in an elevator in Taiwan with the mark and a broken leg and he calls because ‘babe, I can’t remember the Netflix password’. “Don’t lie to me.”

You sigh theatrically, and it feels as though your lungs have shriveled to zero capacity. You manage to suck enough oxygen to speak but it’s not going to take long until you truly can no longer draw breath. “You want to order Chinese, don’t you?”

He hesitates a moment. “How did you know?”

“Because you had that meeting with the Unitech execs and whenever things go well for you, you eat sesame chicken from that place down the block. Not the one that gave me food poisoning.”

“How did you know things went well?”

“Because you’re you.” You attempt a shrug but your shoulder screams its protest and the knife in your stomach isn’t much quieter. Your free hand migrates toward it, ready to pull it out, but logic prevails. You need little more time, and removing it will ensure your entrails decorate this bloody warehouse floor before he finishes his next sentence.

“Well, what’s wrong with Chinese? You haven’t decided to hate it again, have you?”

“I-Italian.” The world begins to go hazy around the edges, all the nebulousness of drunkenness without the fun. “And wine.”

It seems you don’t need verbs to make your point clear. That’s why you work so well together. Or is it worked? Verb tenses always seem to go wonky when you’re dying. “We can do that instead. We still have that nice bottle your sister gave us for your birthday. Tonight’s as special an occasion as any.”

You shake your head before you realize he can’t see it. “No. Eat your chicken. But order some fortune cookies too.”

“Why? We both hate them.”

So someone can tell your where your life is going to go without me. You don’t say that, of course. Might as well play at normalcy while you still can. Or at least, make sure he can be normal when you’re gone, whatever the hell that even means. “Because your taste buds are replaced every seven days.”

Here it is: the desperation. “What does that even mean?”

“Things change. Sometimes, we like new things because of it. Sometimes we have to.”

“Do I have to?”

God, you don’t want to answer that. The world starts to go dark around the edges and you’re fairly certain you can’t: your voice won’t let you and you just don’t have time. But there is one thing “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do. How couldn’t I? You were the best, angel.” He’s crying now, isn’t he and God, doesn’t he realize the irony in what he just called you? This was not at all how you planned this to go. You guess normal goes out the window when on the pinnacle of death, and so do plans and so does everything because you’re losing your goddamn life.

“We were good, weren’t we? We were so good.”

“We were the best. We could still be.”

“No. We can’t.”

“Can’t you call for help?” You learn in that moment, as you have so many times over the years, that stupid questions do exist, but you can’t bring yourself to be furious. If you’re being honest—and what’s the point of lying to yourself when you’re about to die?—you would ask the same thing.

“No.”

This is what it boils down to. Five years spent waltzing around each other, then seven more doing the dance together. After all that loving, fighting, kissing, crying...this is all you get? A phone call and a few words? And what use are words anyway? They aren’t permanent. This phone call isn’t. The memories. Those years. None of it. Death is the only thing he’ll remember you for and it isn’t fucking fair!

“You deserved better.”

You can practically feel him shaking his head over the line. “No. You don’t get to decide that. Nobody gets to decide that but me and I deserved you! Only you.” He’s so quiet. Or maybe that’s just the world fading ever so quickly away.

“Well, I didn’t deserve you. But you loved me anyway. And I loved you so much.”

“Love. You love me. You told me you’d never stop.”

You did. But you can’t stop death either and that’s decided to come before infinity. But maybe, you can pretend this time. After all, you’re not quite dead yet. “I won’t. I love you. Present tense.”

“Then stay with me.” You hate hearing him beg you like this. At least you can take solace in the fact you won’t have to much longer. Taking what seems to be your final breath, lungs aflame with lack of oxygen and heart flaring with grief (for yourself or for him you are unsure), you find it doesn’t help much at all.

You should have been more careful. With that assassin. With your heart, because now you’re crying and that was the one thing you promised never to do. Through your tears, you manage, “I’m so sorry, darling.”

“Don’t apologize, please. Just don’t—”

Your phone dies just before you do. It’s the last thing you have a chance to be grateful for.

Transitioning to Past Tense (Writing Update 2/20/15)

Person B knowing they’re undoubtedly about to die within the next few seconds, likely from the gaping wound they’re bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A and carry on a casual conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before their time runs out.

#creative writing #writing #look i wrote a thing #literateconglomerate #tumblr prompts #otpdisaster #short stories #spies #assassins #dying #death #second person #romance #love #isabel

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literateconglomerate-blog · 10 years

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Safe Across the Border Part 2: #019 & #020

We've decided to scale our updates back to once a week and you'll probably see a fair few more letters, just because we have a huge backlog of them ready for your enjoyment. So here are two more (finally), that kick off a more plot-filled part two! Check for part one on our various other sites until I can get them posted over here. Enjoy, share and tell us what you think in an ask!

-Isabel

#019

3/34

Dear Kaleb,

I’m not sure when this will reach you, but it is late spring here. I have found a courier to deliver things across the border. Not government approved, of course, but desperate times…It took a bit of sleuthing in the Journey District, but many people had the same idea, so it didn’t take long. I hope those letter readers don’t miss going through our correspondence! I hope you won’t have trouble returning your letter. Some stupid war won’t stop us from speaking.

Most people here are trying to stay out of the war. The Night District guards are mostly lenient. Nobody wanted war. Sure, there are a few angry people in the streets, but they are quickly silenced by passersby’s glares or a move by the guards.

If things get worse, we’ll probably move east out of the city temporarily. A lot of families have tried that. Still, it seems wrong to abandon the city. I want to stay as long as I can. Gods help us.

~Marisol

#020

04.11

Dear Marisol,

Receiving your letter was a great comfort. It’s been a long spring without your letters, I will admit. Our city has descended into a militaristic state. Soldiers patrol the street, keeping an eye out for Catalysts and anti-war protests alike. I don’t think the irony of that is lost on anyone here. There have been whispers about conscription in the near future. Luckily, I am still not old enough to be drafted, but my parents and Kara are. They won’t take both of them, because Conrad and Essy are still so young, but the thought is still scary.

Despite this, life goes on. I decided on magic theory for my specialization (how surprising) and we’re learning charm creation by working spells of war. It’s interesting, but I feel I would enjoy it more if I didn’t know what they are used for. Though still rigid in their formula, they offer more opportunities for…imagination, for lack of a better word. Until now, I didn’t know there were this many forms of destruction.

I really hope you don’t have to move out of the city. I know how much you love it there and though it probably doesn’t mean much, I’m sorry my people caused this. Hopefully, it doesn’t get any worse and you’ll be able to stay.

I’m sending this letter with a family moving back to your kingdom. There is a mass exodus of people who moved here going back to escape the prejudice. Hopefully I can get letters to you like this until I find something more stable. As for those letter readers, I do feel sorry for them. They’re missing out when things are finally getting interesting, granted, in the worst way possible. We must have been pretty boring before.

Stay safe.

Your friend across the border,

Kaleb

#isabel says things #safe across the border #writing #creative writing #letters #letterverse #joint update #posting schedule

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literateconglomerate-blog · 10 years

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Not Our Things But Good Things

Hey everyone! This is not an update, but while you wait for me to finally put something up, you should definitely read this story by our friend amadgirlwithablueboxtogallifrey2. It's called "when the time comes darling tell me a story," and it's fantastic.

It's written in the style of letters, much like Safe Across the Border and tells the story of a girl dealing with her depression by writing letters to a stranger who knows first-hand the tragedy depression can cause. It's a work in progress, expected to be about 15 chapters and it's really good so you should go check it out. It also has an official Twitter account because our friend is way more together than we are. Seriously, just click the links below; you won't regret it.

Actual Story

Official Twitter

-Isabel

#isabel says things #suggestions #when the time comes darling tell me a story #news #amadgirlwithablueboxtogallifrey2 #recommendations

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literateconglomerate-blog · 10 years

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Ringing It In (Writing Update 1/17/15)

Happy new year everyone! Now, I know I am a terrible person who should have updated like two weeks ago and never did. I’m super sorry about that. I’m incredibly busy right now and Julia is in the same boat. So let’s just say we’ll update when we can.

Also in 2015, we're going to try a new thing where we post the text of the story right to this blog, under the break where the links would be. Hopefully, this makes it easier to read our stuff. This may or may not change back; we'll see what happens.

Anyway, enjoy a belated, romantic New Years story with about two adventuring princes/boyfriends ringing in the New Year! (Like it? Hate it? Want us to go back to the way it was before? Drop us an ask letting us know!)

-Isabel

Ringing It In

Night descended upon the world with the force of a giant's footstep. One by one, stars bore through the velvety indigo, glittering like diamonds over the slowly cooling desert. A walled palace jutted, tall and proud, from the ever-shifting dunes. On a sand-covered outcropping of stone, two men sat a few feet apart, an unopened cask of wine between them. Their faces were travel-weary and weathered. One, with dark hair and the pale skin of the northern kingdoms, wore a strip of fabric tied around his eyes, a collection of angry scars hinting at the horrors beneath. The other, of a darker desert complexion, kept looking at a pocketwatch, ticking down the hours until the fast approaching new year.

The first, a young prince called Miles by those who knew him well, reached up with a trembling hand to untie the blindfold that kept false shadows from driving him mad. His companion, Yosef, reached out an uncertain hand to assist but only made it a few inches before drawing back entirely, knowing his help would not be welcome.

"What does it look like?" Miles asked, breaking the silence between them, as he untied the blindfold shielding his eyes. Though at this point blindfold was perhaps too strong a word to describe it. After months of hard travel across the grasslands of Vrinid and the deserts of the Khesian Empire, all that remained of the once sturdy material was a collection of tatters.

“We will have to get a new one of these once we resume travel,” Yosef murmured as it was handed to him, tucking it into his satchel before scooping out the salve Frau Holle had concocted for them as a reward for his work in her house. He handed the jar off to Miles, who made it very clear from the moment Yosef gifted it to him that he could make use of it himself and did so efficiently. This night however, Miles let it sit in the palm of his hand, opting instead to stare blankly up at the glittering desert heavens.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear me. I'm no fool, who would forget an unanswered question moments after he asked it. What does it look like?"

"I'm afraid you will have to be a touch more specific. There are quite a few its in this world."

Miles sighed, running his thumb over the cool crystal of the phial. Yosef wanted so badly to reach over and take one of those warm, worrying hands into his own, but he knew that would probably lead to a swift punch in the face. He had left the young prince, alone in a world where he could not see, for weeks. Though he had only the purest intentions, it was not up to him to decide if...when he was forgiven.

Miles turned to Yosef, sensing and shifting as the brilliance of his companion's desire attempted to incinerate the feet between them. "What is there not to see? I want to know of everything: the way the sun strikes the sand dunes as it rises and sets each day, the color of the fireworks as they usher in the coming year in a few hours. I want to know it all."

"You will one day. We will return your sight and we will journey back one day so you can see every inch of the empire, your Highness."

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "If anything, I should be bowing to you. You're the one poised to take charge of the entire Khesian Empire."

Yosef almost shook his head but quickly decided to scoff loudly instead. "This empire was never going to be mine. I would be an atrocious king. The empire is far better off with Elmira or Lisandra wearing the crown."

Miles' response cut deep. "I'd have to agree. A king needs to make decisions based upon the good of the people, not running off to whatever strikes his fancy."

Yosef deserved that, he knew it, but it did little to lessen the sting. He bit back. "And what of the lofty dreams of the youngest Aldrairan prince?"

"And what dreams would those be?"

"The reason we set out from Aldrair in the first place? Or have you forgotten what you set out to collect all those months ago?"

Miles scooped up a handful of the desert sand, squeezing it tight and feeling it trickle from his grip, each fine grain standing out in hyper-relief against his skin before spiralling back to the ground. "What do you mean by that? Claiming the youngest son's boon?" He shook his head, overgrown hair brushing his ears. "It's a fiction, of that I am sure. I was not meant to win riches and save the world just because I had the blessing of being born third. How am I to save a world I can't see?"

Yosef cut too deeply, and Miles pulled his bony knees closer, as if trying to absorb them into himself. Cursing his pride, he closed the distance between them and laid a gentle hand on the other man's jutting shoulder. "You have done the world so much good already. My sister will forever be in your debt due to your sacrifice for her tower maiden And think of all the others we assisted before them, in the year passed since we left Castle Aldrair. In the year on the horizon, we shall do even more."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence." Miles flashed the smile in his direction, the one that made all the ladies (a quite a few of the men) in his brother's court swoon but even then, he could not help the tensing if his shoulder where Yosef touched him.

"There's no need to put up pretense with me."

"You're the one who lied first, darling. I'm just taking my time in returning the favor."

Yosef's fingers tightened around his shoulder. "How many times do I have to apologize for the same thing? I went to Frau Holle to try to undo the curse Gothel used to steal your sight! I was trying to help you!"

Miles whipped in Yosef's general direction, heart thumping as his shoulder wrenched painfully from his grasp."I don't need your help or Frau Holle's or my brothers' or anyone! I am fine on my own."

"Whether that is the case or not, I don't care. You're supposed to walk to the ends of the earth for the people you love. I won't stop doing so just because you believe yourself above my help."

The silence that crashed between was frigid even in the warm desert night. Miles rubbed at the gooseflesh raised on his arms. He could not remember being this cold, not since he woke up in a world of shadows. He wanted more than anything to feel the other man's arms around him as Miles tried to hold onto the memory of his love's face. But as the year slipped away, and the hope, so did Yosef. And like the desert sand, the harder he tried to grasp it, the faster it slipped away.

"Are you going to say anything at all or shall you continue proving my point?"

"You know nothing of how I feel and don't try to pretend otherwise."

"Then, tell me."

Miles bit his lip, the acute pain drawing his mind away from the painful topics the statement ushered in. But the presence of two solid hands enveloping his let him know he would not be allowed to lay this to rest. "I'm not above your help. If anything, I don't deserve it."

Yosef's grip slackened. "What?"

"You deserve far more than the affections of a cursed, crippled princeling. You deserve someone who can tell you you're beautiful and actually know of they're telling the truth. You shouldn't have to go traipsing across half the globe to find a cure for a fool who isn't sure what you look like anymore, who can never see you...who isn't sure he can love you as purely as you want him to." The last few words dropped to a whisper nearly lost on the howling desert wind.

Miles expected the other man to draw away, disgusted that this was who he gave up an empire for. Instead, a scuttling sound and the inches between them were all but vanished. The two were so close, he could feel their knees touch and Yosef's soft exhales against his cheek.

"I think it is up to me to decide what I deserve and I decided a long time ago that it was you."

Miles shook his head. "But if we love each other so much, then it's not supposed to be like this! You're supposed to cry tears of true love in my eyes and then it's all supposed to be okay. What does this say about us?." He leaned against Yosef's, burying his face in his shirt.

A warm arm snaked around Miles' shoulders pulling him closer. "I think it says you I have read different stories. That is the job of the beautiful princess, is it not?"

"Screw princesses."

"I should hope you are not doing that, especially while I am quite close. That would make things a touch more awkward between us, do you not agree?"

Miles smiled against the hard plane of Yosef's chest. "Shut up, you dolt."

"Would you speak to a king in such a flippant manner?"

In contrast, Yosef's joking tones, the next words Miles spat were bitter as the flowers of a green-stemmed icrusblossom."You're sitting in the dirt next to a crippled disgrace of a youngest brother. Oh how the mighty have fallen. You traded in your throne for me, the prince foolish enough to let a witch get the upperhand. I'm not the person you supposedly fell in love with. Do you regret it yet?"

An arm slipped from his shoulders and before he realized what was happening, a gentle hand nudged his chin up. He could feel Yosef's exhale ghost across his face. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he felt razor sharp stare slice through him. "I suppose we must rehash this one final time. Know this. I regret nothing. You are exactly the man I fell for. Brave, reckless, ridiculous, honorable, beautiful and a galaxy of other words only the gods know. This is true whether you have your sight or not. And perhaps one day, if we are very lucky, you may see the truth in my eyes when I say this."

"I forgive you, for everything. Gods, how did I manage to stay angry for so long?"

"Because we were both too pigheaded to realize this was a simple case of misunderstanding with a dash of hero complex on both ends."

Miles chuckled. "You are definitely Scheherazade's great grand-whatever because you have a way with words that makes me not want to kill you. Now stop using them and kiss me 'til the new year decides to grace us with it's presence."

A clink as Yosef checked his pocketwatch."That is hours from now."

"I know."

"I suppose I can find that agreeable, my liege." Yosef must have gotten closer, as his lips brushed Miles' ear. The prince could think of at least one other place they would be better served.

"Seriously, don't call me stuff like that. That's way more kinky than I'm ready for. Also, less talking, more kissing. You're not supposed to begin a new year angry and since we fixed our issues, I plan to ring it in the best way possible: kissing you until neither of us can breathe."

"That sounds agreeable. As you wish, sir." Yosef's lips cut off any protest he might have made of the honorific. Surprisingly, Miles didn't mind as much as he probably should have.

In their preoccupation, they didn't at all notice the bright bursts of magic over the castle turrets, marking the dawn of a fresh start. But neither man minded. After all, Miles couldn't exactly see them enough to enjoy them and this was far more interesting.

But as he heard them in the near distance, Miles was struck with a thought. Yes, he had more than his fair share of luck in the newly dead year, if the man before him was anything to judge by. But hope had been renewed at the first chime of the clock. Somewhere inside, he resolved to see this new born year, and Yosef's face, no matter what sacrifice it took.

#isabel #news #schedule #nocturnes #lgbtq #fantasy #creative writing #fairy tales #new years #holidays #long post #literateconglomerate #romance #disability #blindness #super long post #short story

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