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hollandorks · 2 years

Text

middle of the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter four

summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye. No spoilers for the Batman movie.

a/n: Listen I’ve already written almost eleven chapters of this nonsense and having a blast. So I’m keeping the momentum going and posting another chapter! I’ve been seriously having so much fun writing this. Enjoy this nice, long chapter. I thrive off reader feedback so please feel free to drop a comment, ask, or even yell in the tags if you reblog! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged in future updates. Also if you don’t see your tag and requested one, some won’t work for me!

Series Masterlist

word count: 3374

But she couldn’t deny that she wanted, just a little bit, to solve the mystery of Bruce Wayne.

The third time y/n saw Bruce Wayne, he was standing in the center of the foyer looking absolutely bewildered.

She had worked for him nearly two full weeks. It was a Friday. She was nearly done with the second floor and had started on the library. She wasn’t looking forward to the weekend this time, though. She’d be back at the Iceberg Lounge that night as well as the next night. But at least she had been able to deposit her first paycheck during lunch. She had a nice payment ready to take to the Penguin.

“Mr. Wayne?” she asked softly. His head snapped up. Of all things he was…blushing? Today he was dressed in a smart suit that was tailored to his tall frame. He looked…good. More than good. Now she was the one blushing.

“Good mo–afternoon, y/n.”

She blinked. She hadn’t realized he knew her name.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Wayne?”

“Bruce, please.” He gave a twitch of the lips that she thought was meant to be a smile. “I–no. I was just admiring the flowers. I’m on my way to a meeting.”

Her cheeks heated in earnest now. She had placed a fresh bouquet of flowers–purchased on the way back from the bank on her lunch break–and arranged them on a table centered in the foyer. The manor was in desperate need of light and color.

“They look nice,” he continued softly. He lightly touched one of the flowers with a fingertip. He shifted almost awkwardly under her scrutiny. He put a pair of sunglasses on. “Have a good night.”

And then he was gone again.

For someone so reclusive, he sure didn’t seem to be home a lot, y/n mused.

As she got ready for work at the club later that evening, she made sure to tuck the envelope of cash into her bra where it would be safest. She put on makeup, her own version of armor, and made sure her hair was done just so. The Penguin wasn’t hands on with his employees, but he did expect a certain level of excellence from everyone. And it started with looks. Her button up shirt was tight with a couple of buttons undone, her black skirt shorter than she would have liked. And her uniform–and those of the other waitresses and bartenders– was a lot more modest than those of any dancers, performers, and everyone who worked in the VIP club downstairs.

She took a taxi from the gates of Wayne Manor to the nearest subway station and rode from there to the Iceberg Lounge. She tried her best to ignore the catcalls her work uniform garnered as she rode. She was used to it.

After being let in the back door of the club by one of the bouncers, she was escorted straight to the Penguin.

He lounged on a cushy sofa in his office. There were glass windows that muffled the noise of the music and overlooked the club below. The scars on his face were thrown into sharp relief with every flash of the lights.

She held out the envelope. “This month’s payment, plus three percent interest.”

The Penguin counted it quickly, then sat back as if he had absolutely no care in the world. She supposed he didn’t. Not when people like her brought people like him envelopes of cash to keep themselves alive.

“Bruce Wayne’s paying you good to keep his bed warm then, eh sweetheart?” He chuckled, and the peanut gallery of thugs around him chuckled right along with him. Including the asshole who’d bruised her cheek a few weeks ago. “No matter, long as I get my money back some way or another. Get to work. You’re at the bar with Jack tonight.”

“Yes sir,” she said through clenched teeth. She hoped the hate didn’t show on her face. She wanted to hit him. She wished she were someone like Batman, able to take care of herself and hurt men like the Penguin. Men who deserved it.

But all she did was smile pretty and get to work.

Her shift passed achingly slowly. As she worked she wondered if the regular patrons were spreading rumors about her. Were they whispering that men who touched her got punched in the face? Or were they whispering that she was Bruce Wayne’s whore? She wondered if any of the goons upstairs had started whispers about her new job.

She felt eyes on her, all around her, their gazes heavy and unsettling as she cleaned a glass. She imagined she heard them whispering. If Bruce Wayne paid her, what could they get her to do for money? The people who frequented this club were not good people, no matter what jobs they held during the day. Police. Lawyer. Councilman. Doctor. Politician. In this club, they were all the same. They were all men who thought they were owed certain things. Things they paid men like the Penguin to give them.

The glass in her hands shattered.

With a muffled curse she bent to clean it up. A thin slice opened on her palm and began to sting from the residual alcohol. A drop of blood beaded on the wound and shone red in the strobing lights of the club.

“Clumsy girl,” a man drawled from the bar. “Though I can’t say I mind the view.”

She could feel his hungry gaze on her backside. It felt like hot grease on her skin, slipping and sliding and burning her. The club went quiet, drowned out by the rush of her own rage in her ears.

When she straightened, bloodied palm clenched in her good hand, she realized that the club around her had actually gone quiet. As quiet as it could get with blaring music.

On the steps leading up to the Penguin’s office was the Batman.

She blinked furiously. Strobe lights flashed red and white and red again. She saw snapshots of him moving, throwing a punch, catching a blow on his forearm. It was like watching a stop motion movie. Like watching flashes of a dream. Penguin’s bodyguards were stopping him from pushing his way up the stairs to the office.

He was here, in the Iceberg Lounge.

In the next flash, the Penguin was there. He was smiling. They exchanged words. Or maybe Penguin spoke while Batman listened.

Within a minute, Batman was following him up to his office.

What could Batman possibly be doing here?

“Now that’s something you don’t see everyday,” the same sleazebag slurred. He smiled up at her from where he drooped over the bar. He had thick eyebrows and a receding hairline. “Reckon he’s coming to buy something?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Y/n scoffed. “I doubt it. He’s probably threatening my boss.” She hated calling him that, “her boss.” But here, image was everything. And words counted for that, too. She owed an extra twenty thousand for badmouthing the Penguin to one of the other girls back when she’d first been hired, after her mom died. It was one reason she was always careful here. And one reason she didn’t trust any of her fellow employees. They traded information for the Penguin’s favor, for the smallest chance of their debts being lowered, without a care for anyone else. She couldn’t blame them. If she was any more desperate, she would do the same thing. So instead she kept to herself.

“Hey, you’re bleeding there, baby,” the man cooed. “Let me take you somewhere to patch you up.”

She gave the man a tight smile. “No thank you.”

She quickly finished sweeping up the glass and then called to the other bartender, Jack. She held up her bloody hand in a wave and indicated with her other hand she’d be back in five minutes. Jack, she’d learned, was just another of the Penguin’s thugs who happened to know how to make mixed drinks. He was posted at the bar as a sort of undercover bouncer. In case anything happened, he had a pistol under his suit jacket and a shotgun under the bar. And he wasn’t afraid to tattle on his coworkers either.

She shoved her way around the perimeter of the crowd towards the shitty employee bathrooms in the back. At least they were quiet. She grabbed a bandage from her bag in her employee locker and shoved the bathroom door open with her foot.

A drop of dark red blood splashed against the dingy white sink. In the harsh fluorescents, y/n looked haggard. What was Batman doing here, of all places? She wanted to burst into Penguin’s office. Damn the consequences. She’d thought about Batman more times that she cared to admit to herself. She couldn’t get him out of her head. What was he doing here?

She cursed colorfully as she struggled to bandage the cut one-handed.

The door banged open behind her.

“Occupied, asshole!” she shouted over the music that came blaring through the open door. .

Batman appeared as a dark shadow against the single bright white light above them.

It was as if her thoughts had summoned him.

She hated that her heart stuttered the way it did.

“What are you–what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be back here.”

“I could ask you the same thing, y/n,” he said in a low growl. She closed her eyes and let the sound of his voice wash over her. “You work here?”

“You remember me?” she asked.

“Of course I remember you.” He slid his gauntlets off and took the bandage from her. “Did someone do this to you?”

Had someone slipped her something? Why did it feel like a hallucination every time she saw him? The sheer darkness of him, made of shadows, clashed with the brilliance of the fluorescents.

He took her injured hand in both of his. His skin was warm, almost hot. Electricity zinged up and down her arm from the connection of skin on skin. His fingers were rough with callouses but gentle as he fixed the bandage over her torn skin.

She realized he’d asked a question. “I broke a glass.” Dazed, she watched his long fingers deftly patch her up. “Is this a dream? Is a vigilante really putting a bandaid on me right now?”

A corner of his lips turned up in a half smile that was gone in the blink of an eye.

“I recognized you,” he said quietly. He stepped back from her, which wasn’t far in the small bathroom. “I needed to ask if you knew anything about the women who’ve been disappearing.”

She blinked. “What?” she said stupidly. “What women?”

“Three women have disappeared in the past month. Only one body has been found. They all worked here.”

Y/n slumped against the dirty tile wall. “Three?” she echoed. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw of their own accord. She watched, enraptured, as he put his gloves and gauntlets back on. “I don’t–I didn’t know anything about that. Is that why you’re here? Questioning the Penguin?”

“Yes. He swears he knows nothing. Asked why he would waste a valuable resource.”

Her skin crawled at the word. Resource. Not employees. No care at all for the women they were–the women they’d been. Gotham had a bad habit of chewing up women and spitting them back out dead while men like the Penguin looked the other way.

“The Penguin’s a piece of shit,” she spat, “but he’s got a point. He values his employees for what they can bring him. And if I didn’t know them or about their disappearances…” She hesitated. She could get in a lot of trouble if Penguin knew she was telling him anything at all. Trouble that got girls killed. But this was Batman. He wanted to help. He would help. “That means they worked downstairs. There’s…that’s where…worse things happen.”

Batman studied her without expression.

She shouldn’t say anything else. He could figure it out from there. “I have to get back to work. See you around.”

He moved out of the way as she opened the door. She stepped past him. Close. Too close.

She quickly made sure no one else was around before hustling back to the bar.

The creep from earlier was gone now, thank God, but there was an end of the night rush to contend with. Everyone wanted one last drink before the upstairs bar closed. A couple of patrons were shown downstairs while everyone else had to clear out. Y/n’s gaze skipped past them with well-practiced ease. She was used to ignoring faces here. If she recognized anyone, if she ever tried to tie them to this place, she would be one of the women who disappeared.

God, three women had disappeared? There had been no indication that something sinister was happening downstairs. At least, anything more sinister than usual. Something bad was happening downstairs if three women had already disappeared. Y/n had heard about the sort of things that happened down there. The sort of men that frequented the space. The meetings that happened between them. The expectations of the women–and few men–that worked there every night.

As she fielded orders and mixed and poured drinks, she found herself watching every shadow for a sign of Batman. She knew he was long gone by now. But she hoped for one more glimpse of him. Just one. At least someone was looking for those women.

Finally, finally, last call was over and she cleaned up while Jack cashed out the register. All of her tips went to the Penguin, of course. But she wasn’t totally sure they went towards her debts. She was afraid to ask, in case they didn’t.

It hit her then, fully hit her, that those were problems of the past. Just one paycheck signed by Bruce Wayne had already made such a huge difference in her life. Exhausted tears pricked her eyes. She only had to do one more night of this for the next week, instead of five more nights.

She leaned heavily against the storeroom shelves for a minute, letting that sink in.

She finished restocking the bar feeling lighter than she had in years.

As y/n changed and gathered her things from her locker, her thoughts turned to her encounter with Batman. The feeling of his bare hands on hers. The intensity that emanated from him. His quiet, deep voice. She hoped she saw him again.

Her thoughts were still wrapped up in her encounter with Batman as she stepped into the back alley. The bouncer at the back door nodded at her from his post right inside the door. He held his phone in one hand and a small cup of coffee in the other.

Cool air wrapped around her shoulders. The air was as fresh as it got inside of city limits. A hint of autumn came with the breeze. Y/n paused and inhaled deeply. She loved this moment every time she left the Iceberg Lounge. The moment she could shake off the night, forget for a little while that she worked there and why.

Someone roughly grabbed her wrist.

“There you are, baby,” a voice said. “I’ve been waiting half the night out here for you.”

It was the man from earlier. The one who’d had such a good time watching her clean up broken glass. Y/n tried to yank her arm out of his grip. He held on tighter. It seemed as if he’d sobered up quite a bit while he’d been waiting. The bones in her wrist ground together painfully.

“Let me go,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. She moved her other hand slowly around to where the taser waited in her back pocket.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. I heard about your little deal with Bruce Wayne.” So fast she couldn’t act, he grabbed her other wrist. “How much does he pay you for a night? I promise I can compensate you for your time.”

“I’m not for sale, asshole,” she spat in his face. Fear wrapped ice cold tendrils around her heart. She could barely breathe. She’d heard of stuff like this happening outside of this club, but she’d always been so careful. She should have kept her taser in her hand. Kept her gun at her side. She should have punched the asshole at the bar earlier and dealt with the consequences later. “If you want to buy someone, you have to be invited downstairs! Now let me go.”

The man growled and shoved her roughly against the bricks. Pain exploded from the back of her head where it collided with the wall. He still held fast to her wrists. “You bitch,” he practically crooned. His lips nuzzled against her ear. She wanted to vomit. To scream. But this was Gotham. No one came running when someone yelled for help. She had to get free. Had to get to her taser. Had to, before it was too late. Before–before–she couldn’t finish the thought. “Fine. Don’t accept my generous offer. Besides, what’s the saying? Why buy what you can take for free?”

He kissed her full on the mouth just as she tried to scream. He bit her lip, hard, and coppery blood filled her mouth. She thrashed against him. She could feel him pressed against her. Her struggling was making him more excited. He liked feeling powerful.

One of his hands finally gave up one of hers to paw at her chest. She reared back and headbutted him, then made a grab for the taser while he howled in pain and called her every dirty curse word he could think of.

Right as her taser lit up the flesh on the inside of his thigh, he was yanked roughly off of his feet from behind.

Batman’s fist connected with the man’s face once. Twice. Three times. Four.

“You couldn’t have stepped in sooner?” she shouted at the Batman as he tossed the now-unconscious man to the ground. “You fucking–he could have–he–”

Batman turned to face her. Her words stuttered to an abrupt halt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His jaw was clenched so tight she was surprised it didn’t shatter. “I couldn’t tell from my vantage point that anything was wrong at first. I saw him waiting out here, but–”

She shoved both of her hands into his chest. “You asshole!” He didn’t budge in the slightest. All at once the fight left her. She wiped furiously at her neck where the man’s disgusting lips had touched her. She needed a shower. Or some bleach. Or bleach and then a shower. She spit out a mouthful of blood. She may or may not have aimed it at the man on the ground. Then she aimed a vicious kick at his side.

“I’m sorry,” Batman said again in his low growl of a voice. “Although I am impressed with how you handled yourself.”

She huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. It’s Gotham. People who don’t at least have pepper spray are idiots. Especially because you can’t be everywhere at once.” Did she imagine it, or did something like hurt pass over what she could see of his face? Backtracking, she quickly added, “Thank you. By the way. Feel free to hit him a few more times if you want. And thanks for patching me up earlier.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re welcome,” he finally said.

“I should let you get back to…crime fighting. I have to get home.” She didn’t want to leave, but she was starting to feel this long night in her bones. She wanted to sleep all day, sleep until her next shift. She wanted to quit this job. She tried to hide the shaking of her hands by clenching them into fists.

“Be careful, y/n,” he said.

“I will.” She pressed the button on the taser for emphasis and watched its satisfying zap. She thought she caught the ghost of a smile before he disappeared into the shadows at the end of the alley.

She didn’t notice his shadow following her to the subway station, making sure she arrived safely.

Next Chapter

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#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #battinson x reader #the batman #the batman 2022 #rbatz #robert pattinson #not marvel #bruce wayne imagine #battinson imagine #batman imagine #I am obsessed with this fic and I'm the one writing it #literally writing a whole novel on accident #I have six and a half more chapters written already and the rest outlined #y'all are about to be sick of me updating this constantly but I don't care!!#anyways thanks for reading

955 notes · View notes

marsbutterfly · 4 years

Note

Hey there! I been really enjoying your written work. I was wondering if you could write a scenario about porco and his s/o 'getting it on ;) maybe a college AU? if not, just ignore it~

Covalent Bonding

WARNING: NSFW

Summary: Porco is struggling to finish his organic chemistry lab report and comes to you for help. The lesson quickly goes off-topic.

Note: First of all thank you SO much for requesting this, we really hope you enjoy it. I wrote the intro and the outro. All of the smut was written by my amazing wife @tsukidrama ALSO the word count on this is around 5.3k so this is a long boi.

tsuki’s note: ok the porno i watched for research purposes while trying to conceptualize this fic started with the lines “wow, i hope no one comes along to fuck me in the ass and jerk my dick off” and then the girl walks in holding a strap on and says “oh hey, i just came here to fuck you in the ass and jerk your dick off.” i did this for you, anon. i accidentally pulled out all the stops for this, and i regret nothing. i had so much fun writing this, and i am now madly in love with Porco also?? everyone always writes him as such an edgy bitch or a headass dom and i’m sitting over here like....... but he is... a soft baby.... who cries during sex, falls in love, and gives kisses...... just sayin

Colab with @tsukidrama 💕

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version!

“We’ll cover Chapter 23 on Monday.” The professor’s voice echoes through the silent classroom. “Please make sure to submit your lab reports by 11:59 PM on Saturday night. E-mail me if you have any questions.”

Before you finish putting all of your belongings in your backpack, you share a look with Porco, who sits by your right side. He looks just as ready to leave this chemical filled room as you are.

Once you stand up, you feel his hand on your shoulder. As you turn around, he smiles brightly at you.

“Have you done your lab report yet?” Porco asks for the fifth time that week. You let out a burst of laughter. Butterflies soar in your stomach as his cheeks blush lightly, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

“I did the intro and the outline,” you answer, tilting your head as you place a hand on your hips. “You want help with yours, don’t you?”

He starts laughing and avoiding eye contact with you.

“Well I was going to suggest that we could do it together.” He smiles at you once again, and the butterflies in your stomach now travel through all your body. “But I would accept your help, too.” Even though he tries to look tough, Porco has always been shy, especially when it comes to asking for a favor.

You simply nod at him before grabbing his hand, “Let’s go get to work then!”

The setting sun spills into the large, windowed hallway, casting long shadows against the wall beside it. The two of you clatter down the stairs to the level below your classroom, where all the different labs are located.

After peering through the dark window of a lab door labeled: ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, you punch in the security code that unlocks all of the orgo classrooms and labs (courtesy of your professor). The door unlocks with a small beep and the flash of a green light. Porco takes a few steps ahead of you, turning on the lights and checking to make sure nobody else has claimed the lab as a study space.

You sit down at the lab table farthest from the door, and before you sit you take your laptop and notes out of your backpack. Porco thumps a textbook between the two of you as he sits in the chair beside you. He smiles gratefully at you, a gentle red blush still coloring his face. Once you’re settled down, you frown at him quietly.

His face drops. “What wrong?” he asks, eyes filled with worry. You touch his hand and pull your chair closer to him, close enough for you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Much better!” you say, and Porco clutches his chest in relief.

“I thought you were mad at me!” he exclaims, “bitch.” he adds under his breath, but his voice is quiet and gentle, even more so than usual. He shoots you a playful look. The fluorescent lights of the lab makes his hair look blonder than it already is, and you reach up to tuck a strand back into place amongst its slicked-back brothers. You put your free hand on his neck and you notice goosebumps on his arms. A smile on your face, you speak again.

“Where would you like to start?” You look at him and notice he has his thinking expression on, consisting of his lips moving one side to the other and his eyes focused on the ceiling. A few seconds pass before he looks at you.

“Alkanes, alkenes, and alkynes” he says, squeezing your hand. “I still don’t know what the fucking difference is.” You look away, trying to hide your burning, red cheeks from him, but his words still bring a smile to your face.

“Yeah, you better figure that shit out, huh?” you quip jestfully, and exaggerate your squeal as his hands shoot forward to tickle your stomach for your comment.

An hour passes while you two focus on his report. You spent most of that time explaining to him the types of bonds that differentiate aliphatic compounds, and end up just writing the opening paragraph for him. When you flip the textbook to the page that displays a chart that shows differences between the different structures, you can see from the corner of your eye that he very much does not care about the positioning of hydrogens and carbons. He's been staring at you for the past three minutes.

You bite your lower lip gently, though you’re already losing focus as he’s undressing you with his eyes. You take a deep breath and stop typing.

“This isn’t my lab report, you know,” you say, as shifting your body to fully face him. “You could at least grab your note-” But before you could finish your sentence, you feel his lips on yours. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening but, once you do, you wrap your arms around his neck as he touches your thighs.

“I’m sorry. I really do appreciate you helping me with this, but you look so beautiful tonight.” He says, flustered. He looks at you with stars in his eyes. You tilt your head to the left as you try to hide the smile creeping across your lips. You try to look away but you feel his cold fingers touching your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re ridiculous, Galliard,” you say before closing the space between the two of you once again. You can feel him smiling against your lips. He quickly changes the focus from your lips to your jawline, leaving a trail of wet, gentle kisses as he makes his way down.

A quiet moan involuntarily leaves your throat when you feel his fingers against your skin, slipping underneath your shirt. Your left-hand travels from his neck to his head as you disrupt the perfectly swept-back coif of hair. The smell of his hair gel and cologne mixed with the scent of your own perfume excites you even more.

Suddenly, he removes his lips from your skin. You let out an annoyed whine, and open your eyes to glare at him.

“Is this ok?” he asks, touching your hand. Your annoyances melts into a gentle smile as you lift a hand to touch his face. He snuggles his cheek against your touch.

“Yes, Porco,” you reply, “Of course.”

He nods, the faintest glimpse of a smile visible across his lips before he moves in to kiss you once again. One arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer, his other hand quick to travel from your face to underneath your skirt. He plays with the waistband of your underwear, trying to slip his hands lower. You softly hold his hand in place.

“Wait,” you say, a mischievous smile creeping onto your face, “I have an idea.” Porco wordlessly tilts his head and looks at you, incredulous. He looks confused yet adorable.

“I have something. From last time,” you continue, pulling away to dig in your backpack. You toss aside a notebook and a pencil case before you find the drawstring bag you’re looking for. You pull it out by the strings.

“Ta-da!” you say, presenting him with the bag. His eyes go wide with realization.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

You nod, accidentally smiling a little too brightly.

Porco chuckles nervously, a dark blush spreading across his cheeks. “Here? In the lab?” he asks.

You nod. “Here. In the lab.”

He looks at you, then at the bag, and then at the door and the closed blinds covering the windows. His eyes come back to you, and again to the bag, then to finally lock with yours. His face is burning even redder now, but he nods.

“Okay, let’s do it,” he agrees, “I trust you.”

Excitement stirs deep in your gut. You pull open the bag and take out its contents to place them on the lab table. It thuds lightly against the table, bright pink textured silicone standing out against the dark wood. From its well-defined head to its base, the dildo sits about six inches long. A metal ring holds it in place against a black nylon harness, with another inch or so of silicon balls underneath. A small, half-empty bottle of lube clatters next to it along with a couple of brightly colored condoms you snagged from the free bowl in front of your RA’s door.

Porco looks away, nervously scratching his neck as you pick up the harness.

“Come on,” you tease, sticking your leg through the maze of straps and buckles, and then the other. You pull it all the way up, securing it at your hips underneath your skirt, which tents around the pink phallus betwixt your legs. “Now… do I need to tell you to bend over?”

He shakes his head and shoots you an eager look, quickly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. His jeans hang loosely around his hips as he rests his forearms against the lab table, stretching out and arching his back, ass on display.

You admire that shit for a moment before you press yourself against him from behind. You kiss his cheek, and softly brush your lips against the outer shell of his ear, relishing the shiver you feel travel down his spine.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, grinding his ass into your hips. You giggle, bucking your hips into him playfully as you kiss his cheek once more.

Your hands rest gently on his hips as you slip your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Once they’re hooked around your fingers, you gently pull them over his ass. He doesn’t even give you time to get it halfway down before he reaches down with one arm to pull down his boxers as well. The giggles come back to you as you help him free himself of clothing.

“Don’t laugh,” Porco whines, covering his eyes with his hand, “it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re just cute,” you assure him, “I’m not making fun.” The cap on the bottle of lube pops open with a snap, and you pour a generous amount of it on two of your fingers. You take a step closer to him, setting the lube down on the table as one of your arms snakes under his shirt to wrap around his chest. The other slides down his spine, over his tailbone to trace the curve of his ass. Porco’s breath hitches in his throat when your fingers reach their destination, softly prodding at the entrance.

“Ready?” you ask, speaking softly in his ear. He nods vigorously, breathing hard.

“Please,” he says. So you give him what he wants, and slowly push in your slicked fingers.

Porco just gasps in response, his head dropping below his shoulders. He isn’t nearly as tense as he was the first few times you did this, and your fingers easily sink to the second knuckle. You gently move them in and out. With your other hand, you gently trace your thumb against the soft skin above his solid pectoral muscles. Gently, you plant a kiss on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” you ask, rubbing his chest.

He turns his head towards you, his face flushed. “Totally fine,” he says breathlessly, and you feel him opening his legs wider to accommodate you.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, shifting your weight to a more comfortable position. Porco tilts his head to look at you. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with wide eyes. You move your fingers inside of him, trying to find the angles he likes. You press against something you find promising, and he confirms it with a sharp intake of breath.

You thrust deliberately and carefully, and once he starts to get more into it, you begin to scissor your fingers ever so slightly. Porco gasps, and gently rocks back against you. His eyes slip closed, his lip parted and his blush darkening in his cheeks and spreading down onto his neck.

“Y-you can put another one in,” he mutters, so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Hmm?”

Porco grunts in frustration. “You know exactly what I said, you asshole!”

You can’t help but smile as you oblige his request. You slow your pace as you ease in the third finger, but the combination of lube and his enthusiasm makes it a short-lived adjustment. He grinds into your hand, and you tilt your fingers to again find that sweet spot inside that elicited the little gasps and moans he was trying so hard to muffle. You soon begin to move more freely, thrusting nearly all the way inside. Your fingertips twitch inside of him, and to your absolute delight, he lets out the sweetest and most delicate moan, though he tries to muffle it with his fingers. His shoulder blades jut into the air as he pulls his own hair, hips squirming.

“Fuck,” he says into his hands, “fuck, you’ve got to give me more.”

“What do you want, Galliard?” you ask, though you’re fairly confident that you know the answer.

“Damn it, put it in!” he exclaims, still muffled. “Fuck me, Y/N...”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say in a tantalizing manner, smiling cheerfully as you reposition yourself behind him. You squirt a generous amount of lube into your strap on, careful to coat the length entirely. Your hands lay gently against his hips, lining yourself up with him before you use one hand to guide the head of the pink silicone dildo into place.

“Okay,” you say, partly to ready yourself, and partly (mostly) to ready him. Porco whines in anticipation, and you don’t deny him. He spreads his legs just a little wider to lower himself, and you rise up on your toes to meet him.

You push your hips forward slowly, making sure to listen for signs of discomfort. Porco moans, this one poorly muffled and loud. One of his hands slaps against the table for support.

“Don’t stop,” he says, his breath hitching in his throat, “please, don’t stop.”

No discomfort, then. You continue on.

Your fingers tighten their grip against his hips, digging into them for leverage as you thrust your hips. Despite the fact that you aren’t quite as tall as he is, or you aren’t as practiced in your thrusts as he is when he fucks you, you like to think that you’re good at what you do - based on the low moans and intermittent gasps and whines, Porco certainly seems to be having a good time. After all, he let you fuck him again. And in the lab, at that.

Porco shifts positions, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared in between his legs. You notice pressure building between your own, but ignore it in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube. The cap clicks open, and you pull your hips back just long enough to squirt a little bit onto the silicone dick before you push it back in. Another haphazard squirt into your own hand, and you reach around his body, nudging aside his hand to replace it with your own.

“Some for you, and some for me,” you say, snorting at your own joke. Porco just moans in response to your touch, biting his knuckles.

Your hand wanders up from his hips, fingers wandering up to brace against the muscles on his back, through the shirt (but better than nothing). Still wandering, your fingers rake through his hair from the back, twisting the blonde locks hard enough to tug, but not painfully. Porco’s shoulders slump, his arms and head both flat against the table top.

You let go of his hair, raking your nails down his back until you dig your fingers back into his hips. You pull out slightly, readjusting your foot stance for a better angle and shifting so that you can better reach around to stroke his cock.

When you push back in with the new angle, Porco lets out another exclamation of pleasure, much louder this time than any of his previous vocalizations. Warmth pools between your thighs at the sound, but you can’t help but get a little bit nervous at the idea of actually being caught.

“Shh,” you hiss. Between his (admittedly, wonderful) noises, the slapping of your thighs and the creak of the wooden lab table, you’re pretty sure that anyone who walked within 10 feet of the door would know exactly what was going on behind it.

Porco mumbles something unintelligible, and he doesn’t make any attempt to clarify. You quicken your hips’ pace while your hand stays tight around his cock. You rub your thumb over the tip gently before stroking down the entire length. The lube is slippery, and it makes you work to keep your grasp - your grip tightens as it slides almost entirely out of your hand, and Proco loudly groans again at the increased pressure.

“Shh,” you reiterate, more forcefully this time.

Porco groans, lifting his head to look at you. “Oh… You shut the fuck up.”

“Ooh, sassy. Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” you chide, lightly smacking his ass with your free hand.

“Do not talk about my mother right now,” he says, voice strained.

“Mm,” you agree. Your hand cups around his ass before you allow your fingers to drift up the curve of his back.

His cock twitches, and you again rub your thumb around it’s head before you go back to pumping along the shaft, twisting your hand the way that you know he likes.

“Oh,” Porco whimpers. His cock pulses in your hand, and you stroke him hard and fast as you feel the rest of his body going rigid. “Oh fuck.”

His back arches as he cries out, shuddering beneath you as his cock spills hot cum over your hand. You slow your hips’ pace and rub his back soothingly. You press your cheek against his back, the closest you can get to him.

“I got you,” you say over and over again as he twitches below you. “I got you.” Another rope of cum drips down your hand. Where his arm overlaps yours, he holds you to his body tightly. You notice that he’s still shaking, so you continue to rub his back.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, you raise your hips and pull the dildo out slowly and carefully.

You touch Porco’s back softly and hug his shoulders from behind. “You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, turning his head to face you. His face is flushed and sweaty, his normally impeccable hair skewed out of place in every direction. He looks at you with glazed-over eyes the size of the moon. You lean in to kiss him.

Porco pushes himself up from the table to cup your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply, with passion. You smile as he kisses you.

“What’s so funny?”

You nuzzle the tips of your noses together. “I’m not laughing, I just love you.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can feel him smiling too.

The two of you stay like that for a moment - kissing, and of course, Porco’s hands (predictably) end up wandering underneath your shirt. As he explores the expanse of skin beneath, you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressing his leg between yours. Your breath hitches as he nudges the strap on harness up in a way that a strap brushes right up against your clit. His hand finds your breast, and circles your nipple with his thumb.

“Again? Already?” you ask, bemused, but still very willing to be convinced.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he pouts, still thumbing over your nipple torturously, “You got to fuck me.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s scared of getting caught!” you exclaim, and gasp at the sensation.

He takes a moment to think, and his hand moves back down to your waist. “I would rather be caught fucking you than be caught with you fucking me.”

You laugh while you shrug your shoulders, then loosen the straps from around your hips. The harness falls, but you catch it on one of your ankles and toss it on the table near your bag. The pink silicone dick points upwards, the shaft glistening with lube.

“Okay,” you agree, slipping your underwear off and tossing it the same way next to the strap on. “You can fuck me.”

Porco’s lips curl into a smirk you know all too well. You prop your elbows up on the lab table, sticking your ass out in the same position you fucked him in.

“No, no. Turn around,” he tells you, “I want to see your face.”

Your fingers lightly cover your mouth in embarrassment. “Awww, Porco. You love me…” you tease.

He blushes and looks off to the side. “Shut up. Of course I love you.”

“I love you too,” you remind him soothingly, stepping into his grasp. His arms snake around your waist, and you rise up on your toes to kiss him. It doesn’t take long before his hands wander to slip underneath your already hiked-up skirt.

You flatten your hand against his chest, and as his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs, your fingers curl, and take a fistful of his shirt with them as you gasp. He kisses your cheek, and makes his way down the side of your neck. You squirm against him, slapping your hand against the table blindly until your fingers feel that familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper, and you pull away from him with a huff, and then yank his shirt.

The two of you stumble backwards into the counters at the back of the classroom, with you guiding him. You spin him around so that his ass is backed up against the counter.

“Get up,” you say, releasing your hold on him and gesturing.

Porco laughs as he looks behind himself, then uses his arms to boost himself up to sit on the countertop. He slides a box of microscope slides closer to the scope they were meant for.

“We would be so fucked if we broke those,” he says.

You look at him hungrily as you tear into the serrated plastic edge of the condom wrapper. “You’re gonna get so fucked anyway.”

He smiles before lunging to grab you beneath the arms, tugging you up on the counter with him. You laugh and kick your legs as you scramble to balance yourself on the smooth linoleum.

“Technically, you already did fuck me.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna fuck you again.”

Both of you burst into laughter as you straddle his lap. You throw the condom wrapper off to the side, and focus on rolling the condom itself down Porco’s cock. Once your hand reaches its base, you lift your hips to position yourself above it, but Porco’s hand touches your wrist to stop you before you have the chance to lower yourself down.

You look up at him expectantly, only to be pulled into another kiss. Immediately, you forget what you were doing as you feel yourself being wrapped up in his arms, his smell, his lips. His hands wander up your body, flattening against your stomach and cupping your breasts. You shudder as his thumb circles around your nipple again, and you instinctively grind your hips into his. When Porco finally breaks the kiss, he reaches between you to line himself up.

Some kind of noise rushes out of your throat when he finally guides your hips down, and you finally get the gut-punch you had been aching for as you let your knees slide apart further to take him in. Thighs trembling, you brace yourself against his shoulders for support until you can’t go any further. He guides your hips back up again, and then again until you find the strength to move on your own.

Once you’ve established a rhythm, Porco kisses you again, sloppily this time. You grind your hips down, and he groans into you.

“Mmphh,” he mumbles into your lips, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

As you bounce up and down, you swivel your hips in tight circles. Porco keeps one hand on your waist and lifts the other to grasp your breast, twisting the nipple just enough to make your eyes roll back into your head.

“Tell me more about it,” you tell him, voice cracking. You double down on your efforts, bouncing faster and now squeezing down around his cock.

Porco digs his fingers into your skin, and bucks his hips up to meet yours. “You feel so good. If I hadn’t — fuck,” he chokes as you bounce down particularly hard, “—if I hadn’t just come, you’d already have me in pieces.”

Another bounce and purposeful grind of your hips and his head drops forward with a whimper. You smirk, though you know he can tell you’re coming unraveled, too.

“I can get you there again.”

Now that he’s worked up again, that beautiful flush has come back to stain his cheeks. You feel yourself losing purchase as you move against each other, but you don’t care.

“You sure as shit will if you keep going like that.” Porco gasps, thrusting up into you hard, and you couldn’t control the noise that comes out of your throat if you tried.

The both of you are breathing heavily, moving against each other with an increasing desperation as you both get closer to finishing. Porco’s hands are back at your waist, gripping so hard that you fear it may bruise, but this only encourages you. Your arms snake around his neck, and you cling to him as you press your forehead to his. Your fingers rake up into his hair, pulling gently and further knocking it out of place as you wrap your fingers in the long strands on top.

You whimper as you feel the pressure inside of you building, every stroke inside you stirring up more and more inside of you. Your body moves on its own against him as you feel yourself reaching the edge. Everything from the sweat sticking against your skin, to the way he pulls your body into his like you’re all he needs, excites you. You love the way you’re completely wrapped up in him, with his touch against your skin and his smell in your nose and his cock bottomed out in you, pulls you over the edge.

He kisses you as you come, muffling the moan that rips itself from your throat. He wraps his arms around you tight, though he doesn’t slow his pace. You do your best to keep your legs open for him as your orgasm hits you. You crumple into him, toes curling as he thrusts up hard into your oversensitive core.

Within seconds, Porco buries his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a choked groan. His cock twitches inside of you as he comes for the second time that evening. You stroke his hair, gently kissing his temples as he finishes. His arms tighten around you, and you rest your head atop his.

You stay like this for a minute or two, enjoying each other’s presence as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. Once strength returns to your body, you reluctantly move your hands onto his chest for support as you push yourself up, shifting your right leg to the other side of the counter, you feel his dick leaving the warmth of your body as both of you let out one final moan.

As your feet hit the floor, you watch Porco quietly struggling to get the condom off and a gentle giggle escapes you.

He meets your eyes and you see his blush darken.

“The lube is making this harder than it should be.” He says quietly. You bite your lip, holding in a laugh. Hopping off of the counter, you walk towards your backpack and look around the inside for a few seconds before finding a small towel.

“Porco.” You call his name before throwing the cloth in his direction. A smile never leaves his lips as he grabs it midair.

“You really came prepared, didn’t you?” He says. You simply shrug your shoulders before flashing him a smile of your own.

“Of course, you never know when you’ll get to peg the boy you’re desperately in love with.” You say as you focus on fixing your own clothes.

He stays quiet for a few seconds before murmuring something underneath his breath. “Huh?” is all you say, trying to get Porco to repeat himself.

“You’ve never said you were desperately in love with me before,” he says as he wraps the (finally) removed condom in a piece of paper he took from his own notebook, “or that you were in love with me.”

You feel your cheeks burn as you look away, trying to avoid his gaze. “I thought it was obvious. We say ‘I love you’ all the time.”

Once his pants are back on, he quietly walks towards you before reaching for your hand. His cold fingers are soft and gentle as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I don’t know, it feels different for some reason,” he says softly.

You nuzzle your face against the side of his neck while wrapping your hands around his back. A sense of calm washes over you.

“But I’m in love with you too,” he whispers, and twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. You lift your head to press your lips to his. He kisses you like you’re the only two people in the world, and his smile against your lips makes your heart skip a beat.

After a few seconds, he pulls away and looks around the lab. On the counter, can see the perfect print of his ass cheeks in lube. He shakes his head and reaches for the towel yet again.

“We better clean this place up a bit,” he observes, and you nod in agreement.

While Porco focuses on making sure there is no lube (or cum) left on any surfaces, you put the dildo back in its bag, along with your study materials.

It takes a few minutes, but soon enough the room looks exactly like you found it. All you need to do is put Porco’s laptop away when suddenly you two are reminded of the reason you went into the lab in the first place.

“Shit, my report!” He says as he covers his mouth with his hand. You slap your face, and just one look at him tells you that your work isn’t over yet tonight.

“Let’s go to the library so that we won’t get distracted again.” you tell him, “and we’re going in a communal area because if we get a study room we’re gonna end up fucking again.” You grab your backpack and walk towards the door, the blonde-haired boy following closely behind, carrying his laptop in one of his hands.

“Aww, would that be so bad?” Porco teases.

“It would be bad for your chem grade.”

Neither of you say anything as you descend the final flight of stairs, but as you are about to leave the building, you feel him lacing his fingers with yours. A blush creeps over your cheeks as you walk right next to him, making sure that, not even for a second, your hands will drift apart.

Porco has been here for you ever since you enrolled in college, rooting for you and taking care of you. In your head, you make a promise to yourself to never let him go. Not only because he’s the perfect man for you, but also because there’s nothing you love more than the expression on his face while you fuck him in the ass.

One more look at him, and you turn ahead to face the lights of the street ahead of you, getting lost in your thoughts as you walk towards the library.

You appreciate all the time you spend with him and deep down, you pray that this lab report will take even longer than you think it will, all so you can stay close to him for as long as you can.

#porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot smut #aot x y/n #aot x you #snk x y/n #snk x you #porco x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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mikauzoran · 4 years

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The Ascendancy of The Plan ™ (re: Mikau’s WIPs)

So, I feel like I’ve gotten a lot accomplished in the past few months since I last did one of these status updates. Most of the stories I ended up writing were much longer than anticipated, and I’ve had a lot of ideas just pop into my head that I hadn’t originally been planning, so this list isn’t going to look very different from the last one, but I promise that I have accomplished things, and there are some new projects in the works. ^.^;

I’m currently posting the final chapters of Among the Wild Things and Betting Against the House. Below is a list of works I have planned for the coming months. Let me know what sounds interesting or what you’re excited for.

Anhedonia: When Adrien Met Marinette: (Adrienette, post-reveal/pre-relationship, roommates) So, I’m taking a screenplay writing class, and we’re studying the scripts of several movies to get a feel for how the writer evokes different cognitive responses from the audience. One of the movies is When Harry Met Sally. I’ve never seen this movie, but apparently it’s about two friends finally ending up together after some trials and tribulations. It’s about never giving up on finding love and happiness...only I’m feeling depressed at the moment, and I don’t want to hear about true love because I’m lonely and despair of ever finding someone to share a life with. So I’m using my feelings to write a story. ^.^ Naturally. XD

It’s post-reveal/pre-relationship Adrienette. They’re roommates, and there’s been a misunderstanding because Marinette didn’t tell Adrien how she felt about him after she found out he was Chat Noir, and he’s told her that he’s over her because he thinks that the only way to preserve their friendship (since she’s already turned down his advances as Ladybug, so, obviously, she wouldn’t want him as Marinette either). It has a happy ending, and they straighten things out because I still believe in finding true love and happiness. XD I’m a sap like that, and these two deserve happiness.

Ladrien Present: (Adrienette, Ladrien) I’m still trying to write a story where Ladybug brings Adrien’s birthday party to him. ^.^; I have half of it written (the Adrienette half), and I have an outline for the rest. I just...need to sit down and make myself write it. I’ve seriously been procrastinating on this one. I don’t know what my deal is. -.-;

Marichat Prompt: This is an overflow prompt I received as part of my Productive Procrastination Prompt Giveaway. It’s about Chat Noir visiting Marinette and it somehow coming up in conversation that Marinette has always thought of Chat as a player. For some reason, this makes Chat really angry because he can’t stand her in particular thinking that about him. I thought this story out a couple months ago, but I didn’t write it down, so now I’ve forgotten, and I’m going to have to think up the plot all over again. XD

Alyadrino Prompt: Someone sent me an Ask that said, “Snuggle party makes me imagine what if nino and alya accidentally did to adrien what luka and marinette intentionally did to him in shades 12″, and I thought, “…Oh, all right. Why not?” I had a basic outline of what I wanted to do with this story a couple months ago, but I didn’t write it down, so now I have to figure it out all over again. Oh, well. I have the basic idea, I think.

Lukadrigaminette: At the beginning of the month, I thought, “I should do Valentine’s Day stories!” I ended up writing a Marichat one, and then I had this idea. It’s not Valentine’s Day related, so I decided to shelve it for later. So, several years ago, my friend and I concocted this scheme to bake for our respective crushes and win their hearts that way. It’s a really fond memory for me, and I’m turning it into a Lukadrigaminette story. Luka and Kagami join forces to bake for Adrien and Marinette in order to win their love.

Plagg and Wayzz Prompt: I got a comment on one of my stories that said, “Can you do a top wayzz bottom plagg one? Preferably in universe and in human form. Doesn’t have to be smut.” First I thought, “What the bloody hell?” because it was a comment on a Lukadrien story, and that’s all it said, and I thought, “Well, that’s random.” I’ve never really written Wayzz before, but this gave me the idea for a story where the team is up against an akuma that somehow separates them from their kwamis, leaving the heroes unable to detransform and the kwamis in defenseless human form. What I came up with really doesn’t have anything to do with the prompt other than Plagg and Wayzz will both be in human form. It will probably just end up being a Lady Noir identity reveal piece, honestly.

Supportive Adrien Lukadrien One-Shot(?): I haven’t actually pinned this story down well yet. ^.^; I was just thinking that I wanted to write something where Adrien is the one supporting and encouraging Luka, since I typically write Luka being a supportive presence for Adrien. I was thinking that the scenario could be that Luka is feeling down because Marinette still loves Adrien and things aren’t going well between Marinette and Luka, so Adrien takes Luka on an outing and confesses his love and they live happily ever after or something.

The only thing is that a different scenario is trying to creep into this story. It’s really weird. It’s post-Papillon defeat, and Adrien is twenty-four (Luka is twenty-six). He’s been in kind of rough shape the past few years since his father was arrested and he lost his family and home and fortune. He couldn’t finish university, and he’s been travelling around, trying to find work and make a life for himself. He ends up back in Paris, broke, and auditions for a band because he happened to see a flyer advertising for a new lead vocalist. It just so happens that it’s Luka’s band, and Luka ends up finding out about Adrien’s situation and taking him in and feeding him...but that scenario is just more Luka taking care of Adrien, and that’s not what I wanted to write. XD It also feels like multiple chapters, and I don’t want to go there. Oh, well. We’ll see what happens.

Adrien Trapped in AU-Land: (Adrienette, canon universe featuring AUs) My idea is based off of a writing prompt submitted by @graaythekwami on the @miraculousfanworks Discord server: AU where all the characters wake up in a different AU every chapter, fully remembering what happened in the last AU. My idea is for Chat Noir to get hit by an akuma (probably named Escapist or something equally dumb ^.^) who traps Adrien in a series of alternate realities (AUs) until he realizes his feelings for Marinette and manages to break free.

L’Amour de Loin: (Lukadrien, post-Papillon defeat, Félix wingman) I did a sneak peek for this here. This was one of the two “Winter Lukadrien Pieces” mentioned on my last status update. Adrien is living in London with his aunt and cousin three years after Papillon’s defeat and arrest. He’s in rough shape and hasn’t kept in touch with anyone from Paris. One day, he gets a text from Luka out of the blue, and they rekindle their friendship. Félix acts as wingman to ensure that it turns into something more.

Adrienette Hanahaki: Awhile ago I did an ask game about a trope I’d like to try writing, and the one I came up with was Adrien with Hanahaki disease (The one where you start coughing up flower petals due to unrequited love making flowers grow inside your lungs). I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided I’d like to actually write this story. My basic outline is: Adrien starts showing symptoms, and Gabriel badgers him about whom he’s in love with, and Adrien just blurts out, “Marinette!” And Gabriel threatens Marinette into dating Adrien, and they start fake dating but then fall in love.

Happenstance and Magic: Marichat May 2019. Marinette and Chat Noir adopt kittens together, and Adrien tries to get Marinette to see that he’s not perfect but still a worthwhile person deserving of her love.

I’ve been thinking about this one, and I think I’m going to cut the number of prompts I actually use. Once I’m done with the other stories, I want to sit down and make a more thorough outline of what I want the story to be and which prompts I’m going to use to get me there.

The Seduction of Adrien Agreste: This is part of the Springtime in Wonderland (Daisy/Jabberwocky) series. It deals with Luka and Adrien experimenting with physical intimacy to see if they can reach a compromise where Luka and (asexual) Adrien are both comfortable and have their needs met.

Things Currently on the Backburner:

The Rejects Club: Predominantly Marichat with Adrienette. Chat Noir and Marinette unexpectedly grow very close very fast as they open up to one another after Marinette overhears Adrien seemingly dismissing her as a romantic prospect. Identity shenanigans at farcical levels ensue.

I can’t really deal with Rejects right now. I’m feeling super overwhelmed by basic life stuff, so I don’t really have the mental or emotional energy to put into a story where I don’t know how many more chapters there will be until the end. I’m thinking that what I have planned will take at least another one or two hundred thousand words. This thing is just so massive, and I’m not in good enough mental heath to deal with it right now.

Springtime in Wonderland: Yeah, no. See the paragraph directly above. This is another one that’s going to take another couple hundred thousand words to complete, and I just don’t have the stamina in me right now. I’d rather focus on smaller projects that actually feel attainable. I’m trying not to burn myself out.

And that’s it for the moment. I’m sure I’ll come up with plenty of other stuff between now and the next time I do a status update post, but is there anything that you’re particularly interested in? Let me know what you’re thinking.

Thoughts? Feelings? Suggestions? Opinions? ^.^

#Adrinette #Adrienette #Marichat #Lukadrien #Lukadrigaminette #Alyadrino #Lady Noir #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Luka Couffaine #Status Update #Mikau's WIP

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cynwritess · 4 years

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My Outlining Technique As A Pantser

I despise outlining with every fiber of my soul. I don’t care how much people persist you need an outline, I will put it off to the very last minute and do it very half-assed. Even in school, its straight to the first draft. Outlining requires a very precise skill of breaking things down as small as possible and my mind simply does not function that way. It’s literally all or nothing. Unfortunately while this may work for writing school essays, it’s not exactly a good idea when it comes to a book. Writing a book requires structure and precision because you need to carefully place information, have an idea where your characters are going, tedious yet necessary things. Fortunately, I’ve come up with a way to outline without completely frying my brain.

Characters.

I almost always start with the characters first and build the world, other characters, and plot around them. If you have a name in mine, perfect! Go ahead and use it! If you don’t have a name, don’t dread scouring through dozens of baby name websites. Give them a place holder name or better yet, give them a role/title. I’m going to use one of my current characters (steal anything about her and I’ll send demons after you). When I first created Selina I only had a vague aesthetic and the idea that I wanted her to somehow be attached to spirits. Her name didn’t come to me until 25k into the story, but I had to refer to her as something so I used a conjunction of a place holder name and calling her “Reaper of Souls”. This way I know exactly who I’m referring to. Also, this helps me know what path my character needs to go down. Reaper of Souls is who she’ll become, but its definitely not who she is when the story begins. It makes me thing: What steps do I need to take to get her there? This is where you can start brainstorming character arcs and give them trauma.

Another essential part of creating characters in my opinion is giving them “role models”. Personally, if this is a brand new character I’m creating off the top of my head its hard to write them because I know nothing about them. I don’t know their sense of humor, who they would and wouldn’t get along with, their inner monologue, etc. Now you have to be careful with this and make sure to mold them into their own unique characters at the end of the day, but you can use other already existing characters to help begin the process. When creating Selina I knew vaguely she needed to be connected to spirits. What characters do I know like that? Jodie from Beyond Two Souls is a good one and Zelie is a bit of a different twist to it but still the same general idea. But wait! Selina’s vibe doesn’t match either of them. So in this case I might look at Jude Duarte for inspiration for her personality. Nitpick all your favorite things about different characters and use that to your advantage! It gives you the jolt you need to really begin to explore who your character is.

Always do the main character first, then follow with the supporting character or villain. In my opinion, the main supporting character and villain should be foils of the main character in order to get the most out of each one, because you’ll be able to see different aspects and different arcs they could’ve/will have. Once you have those three characters you can create the others as you progress with your story.

Setting.

This can either be really simple or your worst fucking nightmare. For me, it’s a mixture of both. If your story is taking place in the real world then this can be relatively simple even if you’re creating your own town/city. If your town has a very specific location like a town square or maybe there’s a river running through it, then just google “towns with a river going through it” for a start. If you have a specific town in mind you can also google the map and start dissecting different aspects of the town and incorporating it into your own. You can even use your own town for inspiration! The town my story takes place in is made up, but my hometown actually resembles it quite a bit so I’ve been using it for references. So far, its been working out pretty good.

Now if you have a high fantasy setting... I wish you the best of luck. I’ve only written one high fantasy story when I was twelve and... well clearly its never seen the light of day for a reason (partially because I deleted it, partially because there was absolutely zero world-building). I’m sorry to say my skills have no improved much since then. I’ve dabbled with the idea of high fantasy worlds and honestly my only advice is to look at other fantasy maps and draw inspiration from that. Narnia, Ravka, the ACOTAR world, the shifting isles of Elfhame, the Avatar universe, Orisha, to name a few. You’ll also have to look at some basic geographical stuff like the climate, but overall you have pretty much free reign over how your world looks. This is the one part I feel like you can’t bullshit if you don’t want your story to seem halfway. Really go in with the details even if its just for you. The more fleshed out your world is, even if its set here in the normal world, the better.

The main issue.

This is pretty much a given but you do need to have some sort of idea who the main antagonist is/what is the big issue your characters are fighting. If you’re writing a series then chances are book one will probably focus on an entirely different issue before the big one is revealed. There’s not really much advice I can give for this because it’ll be tailored specifically to your story. I don’t think your antagonist has to be fully fleshed out if you’re going to be introducing them very late, but do have a general idea who or what it is, their goal, and why your character feels the need to stop them.

Usually you’ll notice the problem in the beginning of the story isn’t the ultimate problem, its just a gateway to it. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a subplot but I guess technically that’s what it is. Think of Percy Jackson. The main issue of book one is him being accused of stealing the lightning bolt, but the ultimate issue was the war with the titans. Or The Cruel Prince. The main issue was Jude feeling helpless and wanting to create a place for herself in the faery world, but the ultimate issue was those attempting overthrowing the entire Greenbriar family from the thrown.

This kind of goes without saying, but there has to be a strong motivation for the character to stop them or it just won’t work. You don’t see characters going after the antagonist because nothing in their life isn’t threatened. There’s always a motivation, something to fuel them even if done so reluctantly. For example, Zelie from Children of Blood and Bone was sick and tired of constantly fighting and being the hero, but she did it anyways because she was the only one who could truly help the maji. Or you can take a slightly antagonistic approach and look at Kaz from Six of Crows who did what he did out of greed for money, power, and revenge. Usually when I begin my stories, I only have a vague idea as to why my main character is joining the fight, which is perfectly fine. As long as you have some sort of idea and begin to build on it as you write, you’ll be probably be fine.

Brainstorm.

I cannot for the life of me sit in front of my computer and write a bland summary of what it is that is going to happen in my book. Sorry, but I am simply not built that way but it also makes writing your books ten times harder as well. I’ve found a bit of a cheat. For one, brainstorm. Get a general idea what some of the main events you want to happen are. Do you want a character death? Does a specific location need to be mentioned? Is there subplots or character arcs you would like to explore? Is there any themes you’d like to explore? Jot them all down, along with your word count goal. You probably won’t be able to incorporate all of them in one book, but at least you’ll have an idea what path you’re going to head down in terms of your story.

And now onto my actual cheat. Because I’m a pantser who hates outlining, I usually jump into my stories without knowing what direction they are going. Recently I’ve discovered that I can outline the first five chapters, write them out, and give myself complete free reign. I’ll explore all sorts of character personalities, different beginnings, different writing styles, different scenarios, different relationships, anything I can realistically include in the first five chapters of my story. Then I’ll go back and edit it. Don’t completely delete anything, always save it in a separate file! I’ll go back and decide which characters are unnecessary at this point, what plot points can be introduced later on, what writing style suits this story, things like that. Then from there, I’ll go back to my outline and make any appropriate changes before proceeding to write the rest of the draft as normal (WITHOUT GOING BACK TO EDIT). The reason why I do this is because I need a solid base to begin my story, otherwise its so easy for me to go off track and begin to tell a completely different story. This way I’ll know exactly what I’m going after, I’ll be able to explore and get to know my characters and setting, and it’s enough chapters that I can even begin to incorporate the main issue at hand.

#creative writing #creativewriters #author #writing inspiration #writing #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #fiction #fantasy #writing tips #storytelling #my writing #character inspiration

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respectable-username · 3 years

Text

I'm starting to worry that I literally will never finish my big (well, big for me anyway) writing project as I already feel the general Hermitcraft hyperfixation beginning to fade. The fic writing has been going on-and-off since December last year and is already diverging from canon that's come to pass since then.

So to force my own hand so that all that work doesn't go to waste, I've decided that I'm gonna start just posting it.

This weekend, I got the first chapter, cut off the first scene, and finally finished the required rewrite. It still needs a little more work, but hopefully I'll be able to post it as a shorter prologue soon.

And by soon, I mean the next couple of days. Possibly tonight if I get the focus time to fix up the last couple of gaps.

Which is kinda scary. This thing is by far the most I've written on any project ever by a large margin. That by itself is big! My writing process has been non-linear, letting me write scenes out of order and go back to earlier scenes to add setup for scenes that come later. But that means I haven't been able to post as I go. The concept of actually posting, thereby locking in a chapter to not be changed any further, is absolutely terrifying!

But at this stage, I've got every other scene in the fic either written or outlined except for the resolution, so there shouldn't be any more unknowns to add back to the start. It should be safe to start posting.

But ugh there's still so much work to do! The rest of the first chapter needs a total rewrite (just because it was the first fic I wrote so I've learned so much about how to write since). Chapter two is mostly ready, but two scenes need a big change, mostly because for some reason I completely misjudged Joe's character when writing it. Three again is mostly done, but one of the scenes needs significant cutting down. You can currently really tell I just learnt a lot about bees for that section and wanted to show it off 😅. Four needs some modifications to the end, but I've already tuned most of it. Five... is mostly just outlined. It's gonna be a pain to write. The interludes are mostly good, but one of them needs rewording. Six and seven have half their scenes done and the other half need finishing. Eight is outlined but not started. And nine... I've got the start outlined, but I've no idea how it'll resolve!

(Of course, the split of scenes to chapters might also change, so it's likely these won't line up to finally released chapters. But I think it should be pretty much set by now?)

But hopefully actually starting to post will give me the second wind I need to actually finish it all. I'm so proud of so many of the scenes and I just really want to share them!

So, yeah. Sorry for ramble. I'm just so excited to finally be almost at the point of sharing some of this big project with the rest of the world! I'm super proud of this sprawling, 18 Hermit story and just really hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I've loved writing it.

#IGITD fic #res rambles

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gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Kagami and Nino plan a surprise party for Adrien's seventeenth birthday. With help from their friends, nothing can go wrong this time. Nino's even invited an extra special guest who's sure to make Adrien's night. (Nino & Kagami & Adrien friendship, with a side of Ladrien)

Word Count: 3101 | Chapter 1/3

Notes: written for @marinetteplztakeabreak through the @mlbforblm charity drive! The donations go directly to Color of Change, an online organization for racial justice centered on the Black Lives Matter movement. I highly recommend checking them out and reblogging/donating the mlbforblm posts if you’re able! I have one fic slot left as of 7/23/2020, and many other talented writers and artists are offering incentives as well! There’s even a giveaway going on; see the mlbforblm blog for more info!

XXX

“Hmm.” Kagami’s brow furrowed as she stared at Nino’s Operation: Totally Swank Party binder. The two of them sat on a bench in the park, where she had agreed to meet him after slipping away from her fencing lesson. “Bribing the bodyguard is a proven technique. Get me a list of action figures his collection is missing, and I’ll have them by tomorrow.”

“Way ahead of you, dude.” Nino tore a piece of notebook paper out. He’d done his research last night after a long phone call with Adrien. “Glad I can count on you.”

“Of course.” She neatly folded the paper and slipped it into her jacket pocket. “I’ll have them shipped to your apartment. Do you have a plan to dispose of his babysitter?”

Nino sighed and flipped to the page with a doodle of Nathalie with horns at the top. It was a much more tentative outline than what he’d prepared to deal with the Gorilla. Hopefully Kagami would be able to help him with that.

“Nathalie’s whole job is to suck out all the fun in my bro’s life. We’ll never be able to throw this party with her in the picture.”

He’d tried the past three years. From Hawkmoth transforming him into the Bubbler, to Nathalie locking him in a closet, to Gabe himself nearly arresting him for trespassing, each had been a total bust. At this point Adrien probably wasn’t expecting Nino to try.

But Adrien was his best bro. Nino would never give up on throwing him the most poppin’ party ever.

Plus, this year, he had a secret weapon. One that even Kagami didn’t know about.

“You seem quite prepared.” Kagami squinted at the page. “You’re sure Max can play his part? The Agrestes use my mother’s security technology.”

“Positive. He and Markov can hack anything.”

Max had already wired into the speaker system last time they threw a party for Adrien. Of course, on Adrien’s birthday, the mansion would be too obvious a target. That’s why the plan just required getting his bro out of the house altogether.

“I’ll trust you, then. What exactly is my role?”

Nino grinned, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You, my good bro, will be sneaking Adrien away from his fake fencing lessons. Adrien says you’ve done it a thousand times, and his pops still barely knows who you are. You’ve got like, some kind of invisibility superpower.”

“I simply have practice. That’s all.” She took his pen and began making notes in his binder. “Nathalie will realize we’re gone approximately forty-five minutes after we leave. The Gorilla has set patrol routes for finding Adrien when he goes missing, which I can map out for you.”

“If he takes the bribes, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Kagami was already sketching out a map of the city on a clean sheet of paper. Geez, how did she remember all that? He doubted he could even draw the path from his apartment to Alya’s.

“I don’t want to take any chances. We cannot fail Adrien. Do you have a venue reserved already?”

“Huh?” Nino scratched under his hat. Kagami was pretty rad, but it was hard to follow her train of thought sometimes. “Oh, right! I was thinking the hotel. Now that Chloé’s not a total jerk—”

“No. Too obvious. Nathalie will find us within the hour.” Kagami frowned and tapped the pen against the back of her hand. “The ice rink will be our best option. It’s out of his bodyguard’s patrol zone, and it can accommodate all of Adrien’s friends. We hid there all the time when we were dating, and no one ever found us.”

“Sure, sure, there’s just one problem.” He grinned nervously and tapped his fingers together. “I, uh, don’t know how to skate.”

Kagami tilted her head and. “Really? No matter. His birthday is twenty-one days away. You have plenty of time to learn.”

Over her shoulder, he watched her write “Teach Nino to ice skate” in her crisp print.

“Uhh… well, I guess that works.” Hopefully everyone else knew how to skate already, or they could just enjoy the food and cake from the seats surrounding the rink. Nino could technically do that too, but he didn’t want to miss hanging out on the ice with his best bro.

“I’ve seen you parkour with Alya. You seem like you’ll learn quickly.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Nino chuckled. “Just get ready to watch me starfish out there.”

Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “If it proves too difficult for you, I can try to find a backup location. I doubt one exists that will fit everyone you’ve listed, though.” She flipped back to the guest list, which included all of their classmates from the last few years, Adrien’s whole fencing team, and a few other friends like Luka and XY. Pretty much everyone Adrien had ever interacted with was on the list.

Except for one special guest, but Nino had left her out on purpose.

“No, no, it’ll be fine! I’m just joking, dude.”

“Oh.” Her face pinked a bit. “How are we going to deliver the invitations without alerting Nathalie or Adrien’s father?

“I’ve started planning that too.” Nino flipped forward a few pages. “The most important guests—ones who aren’t gonna snitch on us—will get their invites a week in advance. The rest will get theirs by text on the day of. If they can’t come, they can’t come.” It was the best solution he’d been able to come up with. He was sure that even if people did have plans, most would drop them for a chance to party with Adrien Agreste.

“Hmm. It still feels too obvious. The fencing team in particular may give us up.” She frowned before scratching a few names off the list. Well, she was on the team herself; she would know better than anyone who could be trusted. “You’re right though. This does seem like the best plan.”

Nino grinned. One nice thing about Kagami was that when she gave a compliment, he knew it was sincere. If she agreed with his birthday plan, then it was as close to foolproof as it could be.

“Sweet. I think that covers everything for now.”

“A very productive planning session.” Kagami nodded before holding out her fist.

Nino laughed and bumped knuckles with her. After a year of hanging out with him and his bro, Kagami was finally getting the hang of fist bumps.

“Meet me at the ice rink at eighteen hundred on Saturday. We’ll begin your lessons then.”

She closed the binder and handed it back to him, then stood and walked away.

“Skating lessons with Kagami, huh…”

This was either going to be a legit time, or he was going to make a total idiot of himself.

XXX

“Come on, Nino, you’ve got this!” Alya called encouragement as she and Marinette lapped him again. He frowned at their backs. How was it that even Marinette, certified clumsiest girl in Paris, could be a better skater than him?

“Focus, Nino.” Kagami snapped her fingers. She stayed near him, slowing her pace even though she could’ve skated rings around him. “Your girlfriend’s praise will only become reality if you practice proper technique. Keep your weight centered.”

“Right, right.” He pushed off from the handrail and tried not to flap his arms. This time, he made it a solid twenty seconds before he slipped and went skidding across the ice. His hat slid off in the opposite direction, but Kagami quickly retrieved it.

“Don’t try to go so fast. Catching up to Marinette and Alya isn’t your goal.” Kagami’s advice was blunt, but helpful. Nino didn’t mind her getting to the point. He knew his skating needed work, and no matter how many times he fell, she didn’t lose patience with him.

It was nice that Alya was so far ahead, honestly. It meant she didn’t see him look like a total dorkasaurus every time he fell.

I’m doing this for Adrien, he reminded himself each time. He didn’t need to be a pro skater. He just needed to be able to stay upright.

“You make it look so easy.” He frowned as Kagami glided backwards.

“I’ve been skating since I was six. It makes a relaxing hobby.”

He snorted. “How is anything about this relaxing?”

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re thinking too hard. It makes you hesitate, place your weight incorrectly. You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Yeah, you know I’m DJ-ing for the party.” He had no clue why Kagami was asking, though.

“Skating has a rhythm. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable timing your strides with music.”

He tapped his chin. “Y’know… that’s not a half bad idea.”

“Not half bad? Does that mean only half is good?”

“No, no, the whole idea’s good! It’s just an expression.”

He slipped his headphones over his ears and picked one of the slowest songs on his playlist. It was a waltz in ¾ time; hopefully that wouldn’t trip him up.

“Alright, here goes.”

He took a deep breath and pushed off from the wall.

One-two-three, one-two-three. The music was smooth as the ice under his skates. Kagami kept pace with him, smiling as he counted the beats under his breath.

Something about it did feel different. Maybe it was that he stopped overthinking; maybe it was just the magic of music. Either way, he went the whole six-minute song without falling on his butt.

“Not half bad.” Kagami smiled. “...Did I use that right?”

“Heck yeah, dude.” They fistbumped.

“Way to go Nino!” Marinette gave him a high five as she and Alya caught up.

“Thanks for teaching my boyfriend, Kagami. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing, Alya.” Kagami’s cheeks turned red. “We’re all working together to ensure Adrien’s birthday is perfect. Teaching Nino is just one step in that plan.”

“Well, I still think it’s really cool of you. Oh! And speaking of the party, my mom says she can cater. I’ve already sworn her to secrecy.”

“Awesome! What about you, Marinette?” Nino took his headphones off to better hear the conversation, but his legs still knew what to do. “Are you gonna get Adrien a totally rad birthday cake or what?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” She nodded. “I’ll just have to drop it off before the party.”

“You’re still sure you can't come, girl?” Alya asked her.

“No, sorry. I promise I would if I could, but I—I’ve already made a commitment. But I’ll have the cake here on time, I swear!”

“And one of his fifty birthday presents, right?” She nudged Marinette with her elbow. Marinette nearly fell, but Nino wasn’t sure if that was from Alya’s bump or her words.

“I—I don’t have those anymore!” Her shoulders slumped. “It turns out, planning presents fifty years in advance works a lot better if you can see the future. They’re all out of style by now.”

Alya laughed at that. Nino couldn’t help noticing that Kagami had gone silent, though, her gaze locked on the ice in front of them.

“Something wrong, bro?” He asked her.

She shook her head. “Adrien’s party won’t be perfect if Marinette isn’t present. I thought she of all people would understand how much she means to him.”

Marinette gasped. “I… I’m sorry, Kagami. Adrien does mean the world to me, and… I promise, I’ll make it up to him.”

Nino was forced to stop as Kagami grabbed the handrail and locked eyes with Marinette. Some kind of silent conversation seemed to pass between them. He looked to Alya for help, but she just shrugged. By now he thought he’d understand the girls, but maybe some things would always be a mystery.

“See that you do. He deserves that much.”

This wasn’t some kind of love triangle over Adrien again, was it? Kagami had stayed good friends with all of them after she and Adrien broke up. Marinette was probably still crazy in love with him, but that was nothing new.

“It’s okay, dudes. The party’s still going to be perfect. I’ve got a special surprise planned for our favorite bro.”

He winked at Alya, who grinned back. She’d been the one to help him pull it off.

“A surprise?” Marinette clapped her hands together at the same time Kagami raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t factor any surprises into our plans. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“It’s not much of a surprise if everyone knows, is it?” Nino said. “But you’re right, I should have told you, Kagami. I just wasn’t sure if it would be awkward for you, knowing who Adrien’s crushing on now and all…”

“It’s not an issue. Adrien is a wonderful friend. That is more than enough for me,” Kagami replied.

“Adrien’s... crushing on someone?” Marinette asked, her eyes wide.

Oops. Kagami might have taken it well, but Nino should’ve waited until Marinette was gone.

“What’s the scoop, babe?” Alya raised her eyebrow, and Nino threw his hands in the air.

“I thought you already knew! Why do you think we worked so hard to get Ladybug to show up for his party?”

Marinette caught hold of the hand rail before her legs slipped out from under her.

“Adrien has a crush on Ladybug?”

“Oh. That’s all?” Kagami asked. “I’ve known that for months.”

“You have?”

“Was it supposed to be a secret? He keeps posters of her in his fencing locker.”

Marinette still looked like she was blue screening. Alya glared at Nino, and he gave a nervous smile. What was he supposed to do? Kagami had a point; the dude wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Anyway.” He coughed. “Our bro likes Ladybug, and she’s coming to his party, so he’s going to have a totally cash money time.”

“Cash money? You’ve been hanging out with Luka and XY too much, babe.”

Marinette giggled at that. She got her feet back under her, and they started skating in unison again. So… she wasn’t that upset? Whew.

“Oh, speaking of XY, I gotta get him here to help set up the special effects,” Nino said. “I already got permission from Phillipe. We’re going all out, courtesy of the actual cash money Kitty Section and XY’s last collab made.”

“How did we end up friends with so many rich people?” Alya mused under her breath.

“It sounds like the plan is in motion, then,” Kagami said.

“Yeah, it’s going to be perfect! Adrien will love it.” Marinette grinned. “Thank you two for putting all this together.”

“Anything for my best bro.” Nino shot her finger guns.

“He deserves a party worthy of his friendship,” Kagami added.

And he was going to get one. This year, of all years, Nino refused to let anything go wrong.

XXX

Three weeks later, on the night of September twenty-first, Nino paced the blue chairs surrounding the perimeter of the ice rink. His friends wove between the chairs, setting up tables of food and games. His turntables were already in place at the head of the rink, and XY was hooking them up to the speaker system.

“Nathalie’s schedule?” Nino asked as he passed Max.

“Hacked and adjusted.” Max flashed a thumbs up.

“Great job, dude.” He clapped him on the shoulder before moving on to Rose and Juleka’s station.

“Presents?”

“Stacked and organized!” Rose saluted.

“Sweet. Make sure to leave some extra space, there’ll be more where those came from.” He continued his path to where Chloé was lounging in a chair and scrolling through her phone.

“Chloé, status report.”

“No trace of Adrikins on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, or YouTube.” She flipped her ponytail. “You should check your tone, though. I’m not some peon you can just order around.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. Classic Chloé. At least she was taking her job seriously, though. “Thanks for all your hard work.”

“You’re welcome.” She smirked.

Her job was one of the most important. If the media caught wind of Adrien’s location, the party would have to split before he even got here. To prevent that, Max had jammed the wifi and cell service so that only his computer, Chloé’s phone, and Nino’s phone had wifi. If anyone wanted to post about the party on social media, they’d have to wait until after it was over.

Everything was looking perfect. There wasn’t much else to do but wait for updates from Kagami.

19:00. Arrived at the court. No sign of Adrien.

19:04. Adrien has arrived. Bodyguard bribed and driving away.

19:05. En route to ice rink. Adrien was suspicious, but believed my excuse of buying him birthday orange juice.

Nino shook his head with a smile. How did Kagami type all that without Adrien noticing? At least everything seemed to going smoothly on her end, too.

He started pacing again. According to Kagami, a casual stroll from the school to the ice rink took twenty minutes. It was longer than Nino wanted to wait, but the location had to be far enough away to avoid notice.

His phone beeped again. He unlocked it to see a selfie of Kagami and Adrien smiling wide, though Adrien was practically unrecognizable in the oversized hoodie and bright blue wig Kagami had borrowed from Juleka.

Alya’s chin rested on Nino’s shoulder. “Aww, look at them. All grown up and ready to rebel.”

“Psh, Kagami’s been rebelling for ages. Adrien could still learn a thing or two from her.”

“Oh look, she sent another one!” Alya clicked his phone.

In this photo, the two of them were pulling funny faces. Adrien stuck out his tongue, while Kagami puffed out her cheeks and gave him bunny ears.

Nino laughed and put an arm around his girlfriend. “We did a great job with them, didn’t we?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled before zooming in on the background. “Looks like they’re in front of the parking lot. They’ll be here any time now.”

Sure enough, Kagami texted, 19:25. Two minutes away.

“Right!” Nino gave her cheek a quick kiss before running to his turntables. He snatched up the microphone, and his voice blasted through the speakers. “Alright, dudes! Adrien’s about to walk through those doors, so everyone hide!”

Their friends dove behind tables and chairs. All of them except XY, anyway.

“What’s the point, dude? He’s gonna see all our sick lights.” XY pointed to the laser lights next to the turntable.

“That’s why we switch them off,” Luka said, pressing the button. The rink fell into darkness.

“Ohhhh.”

Nino pulled the two of them under the table with him just before the double doors opened.

#what an ice surprise #fic tag #miraculous ladybug #kagami #nino lahiffe #nino #tali writes #mlbforblm

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kamandzak · 3 years

Text

Into the Great Night - Chapter 2

I started writing this book about a year ago and finished it ~7 months ago. Performing a big rewrite and this chapter is so dismally beautiful I can’t keep it to myself.

Context: Andrew Garland’s boyfriend of eight years has passed away and he is struggling

Recommended listening: Compass and Miracle by Two Steps from Hell

It was foolish of me to think it would be any better at Tessa’s house. Merely leaving the place Greg and I had cohabitated didn’t mean our past would leave me; that my grief would leave me.

It was no better sitting on Tessa’s couch as opposed to my own.

It was still lonely. It was still joyless.

It was still too cold.

If that was my new normal…. If that was the life of which I would be forced to live for the rest of my days, I preferred to die.

Tessa was worried. Beth was worried. Sara and Clara were worried. They all had the right to be. Mom and Dad still hadn’t reached out. I couldn’t say I was mad about it.

For the first month I carried the same daily, depressive routine: Wake up, shower, watch videos, eat, shower again, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Nothing to disrupt the morose mentality I held from the moment my eyes opened until they closed. Even in my dreams I continued being sad. I couldn’t escape – trapped forever.

Jake’s constant messages of concern did nothing but send me sinking deeper and deeper into hazy nothingness. Peppered with queries about when I planned to emerge onto the gaming scene, along with the occasional ludicrous statement about how he understood my stuffy brain, each message was deleted as it was read. There was no reason to have those hanging around, reminding me why I was in Reno and not where I had once dreamed of making a life for myself.

Whenever I closed my eyes, Greg’s face appeared in the dark. Maybe I was napping; maybe I was finally sleeping fully through the night; maybe I was simply blinking. Always, he was there.

Sometimes it was a fleeting glance of what used to be the best part of my life. Sometimes I dreamed of things that had already happened, or things I wanted to be that would never come to light.

One night, I dreamed we got married. Waking up was almost as painful as watching him die.

Tessa was worried I’d off myself. It wasn’t like we talked about it or anything, of course, but I could hear her and Beth sitting over tea every weekend, hushed mutterings coming from her dining room table or her room or her little porch. My grief had thrown a wrench into the lives of those around me, Beth worrying about my life when she normally would work on lesson plans for her rambunctious class of first graders. When she was feeling brave, Tessa would ask why I kept my secrets down deep for so long. That right there was why.

I had suffered from depression before but what I was feeling wasn’t just unadulterated sadness; it was a fierce, far more complicated set of emotions leading me to exist in a far more dangerous mindset than I had ever been in before. Instead of having an urge to kill the part of me that is making me feel so unbelievably yet nondescriptly sad, I wanted death. Death, full stop.

Mom and Dad and Sara and Clara and Beth and Tessa weren’t good enough reasons to stay alive, and all I wanted was to see Greg just for another minute. I wanted to give up a life with my own flesh and blood just to see him again. I would have given up all the time in the world for one more night of SNL and inside jokes with a man who made me feel like so much more than who I actually was; a unextraordinary nerd with awkward social tendencies and difficulty communicating. With Greg I felt like I was more than just me; without him, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

“Andrew! Your phone!” A crumpled ball of paper bounced off my head as Tessa’s voice cut through my outer shell, the sounds of my phone following her words. My phone beeped loudly, the tell-tale sign of a Facetime call on it’s way, and I dragged my finger across the screen to accept before I read the name. Each bodily movement seemed to take ten times longer than Before. I was living seconds behind reality.

“Garland.”

Jake’s face popped onto my screen. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1….

“Hi.”

“You look like hell.”

Jake’s mouth stopped moving before I even put together the string of letters that made up his blunt statement.

“Mm,” I managed.

“You in Reno?” I nodded. “I’m heading out that way this weekend. Never been to Vegas believe it or not. Figured I’d go explore. Have you seen anyone since everything happened?

“Andrew, want anything from the gas station?” Tessa stood in her door frame and as I shook my head she left without another word.

“I’ll take that as a no?”

“Yeah, no. No, I haven’t seen anyone. I don’t want to see anyone.”

“What if they came to you? So you didn’t have to leave where you are?”

“I’m not about to let a stranger into my sister’s apartment.”

“We’re not technically strangers at this point, right?”

“Why are you so hell-bent on meeting face-to-face?”

Jake paused, inhaling loudly, wheezily, in a way that reminded me of Greg; then again, everything reminded me of Greg whether it had anything to do with him or not.

“The best thing that came out of the worst time in my life is now I can be empathetic to other people going through the same thing.”

The tiniest part of me wanted to know what he’d been through but the larger part didn’t have the brain power to care because what actually mattered didn’t exist anymore. I didn’t think Jake was purposely jabbing at open, festering wounds for the sake of cruelty; he was just caring for me.

I didn’t want his caring. I only wanted one person’s caring and couldn’t get past the knowledge that I'd never have it again.

“Let me know if you want someone to talk to. I’m only in Nevada for a couple of days. I won’t mind stopping. Really.”

“Mm.”

“I gotta go. Message me.”

The screen went black. Please Rate the Quality of your Call, a prompt stated, with the outlines of five stars beneath. I did no such thing.

I wasn’t about to message him, even if I had a reason to do so. I wasn’t going to be messaging anyone because all conversations led back to Greg. How was gaming going? Was I still in Los Angeles? Was I still going to be on YouTube? All questions would eventually wind up being about him and the more I talked, the more I would have to remember. The more I would have to remember, the more I would have to feel, the more I would hurt.

It started happening when I arrived at Tessa’s; my need for answers led me to the internet and introduced me to the term dissociation; I would simply leave my body. Up to the ceiling I seemed to float as if filled with helium, watching what was taking place below. Tessa waking up and making breakfast before going to her gaming room; her video editor Reese chatting with her about her upload schedule; Beth coming and going; myself sitting in the same spot on the same couch day in and day out.

I didn’t know why it was happening, the only reasonable explanation being that I so desperately didn’t want to exist but was too much of a damn coward to kill myself. In the end, dissociation seemed like the best option. Just remove myself painlessly from my surroundings. Was certainly better than the alternative. It was peaceful, exiting the current plane and living somewhere else if only for just a few minutes.

Live. That was the key word. I was still technically alive, my heart still beating and my stomach still digesting and my eyes blinking and lungs expanding with each breath. The human being my brain commanded was still moving. My mind was developed enough to operate on autopilot, doing the dumb things it had to do to keep everything in stasis. I ‘lived’, for lack of a better word.

When I did gather the courage to look up what I was feeling on the internet, nothing made sense. Nothing could be remotely tailored to fit my situation. I could relate to none of it. These people with their inspiring stories and memoirs written in loving memoriam, and benches dedicated to loved ones… their experiences seemed to minimize what kept me awake at night. How were they able to do that? How could those strangers make me and my emotions feel trivial without even knowing me and without me actively posting in detail what was happening in my head? As hard as I tried to imagine those brave widows and widowers and left-behinds feeling the way I did, their stories always wound up being of getting over that tremendous loss.

I didn’t want to get over it. If I got over it I would lose Greg forever. I’d already lost him once.

The grocery lists of things I could do to help myself mocked me as I read the advice of people who claimed to know how to recover from the un-recoverable. Write them a letter, authors would write in silly, curly-cue fonts before giving me a whole page to write the letter, as if I was going to sit down and put pen to paper and tell Greg about something I saw that reminded me of our first date. List all the good times, one said, with bullet points for me to fill out five moments, as if every moment we had together wasn’t the best of my life. Find someone to talk to, another whimsically suggested as it reminded me that keeping my feelings inside was dangerous. As if I didn’t already know it was ripping me apart from the inside.

They didn’t tell me how to start a letter to Greg where all I could do was say how much I missed him. They didn’t tell me how to find someone to talk to when I didn’t want to talk to anyone about anything. They gave me five fucking spots to talk about good times as if our six-year relationship could be reduced down to that many moments and no more.

They said all of it was doable; they said that when the lost their husband or wife or boyfriend or girlfriend or best friend or grandparent or dog or whatever, those were the steps they took to recovering and moving on.

They weren’t me, though. They weren’t me and they weren’t Greg and they weren’t the set of circumstances under which we had lived. Even if half of the equation was there, the other wasn’t. Maybe their loved one was sick. Were they sick with the same ailment, or one that carried similar stigma? Did they purposely risk illness for the sake of their significant other or family member or friend? Did their risk become reality because fate can be an unnecessarily cruel mistress? Did they love the other person so much they shortened their own life?

The door opened and couch shifted as Tessa’s hands landed on the sides of my face.

“Andrew”

I cracked at her voice, her icy hands wrapping around my head and pushing me against her. Worming my arms under hers, I clung to her small shoulders, weeping into her jacket sleeves. Eyes screwed shut I gasped for air, seeing Greg in the darkness as he mirrored the same breathy sounds. While mine were of sadness, his were of death – the only sound of him I could manage to remember despite being together for so long. Tessa pulled at my non-resisting body and we sat together, tangled in a heap of coats and scarves and unwashed hair. Much like when we were young – when we didn’t understand what the world was about or why we were with the people we were with – and Tessa would protect me, we sat close, her love drowning out the pulsing drone of fear and hatred and sadness and anger rushing through my mind as it struggled to comprehend the incomprehensible.

For several minutes, we sat in silence.

“Andrew.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” “And,” she finally pushed me off her body, holding me in front of her. Cold air hit my hot face, adhering the salty wash of tears to my skin, “And you can talk to me about anything you need to. I know you don’t want to. I know you think you’re strong enough. Maybe the only way to become strong is to not be.”

“Where do I s-start?” I hiccupped.

“Let’s get the team together,” she began, rising slowly and pulling me up with her. “Maybe they can help.”

“But-.”

“No one knows you like we do.”

Hours later, beneath the door of Tessa’s bedroom, I heard her. I heard them.

“You guys have to get here as soon as you can. Please.”

“What’s the matter, Tess?”

“I think it’s happening…. I think the numbness is wearing off. He’s starting to feel things again. It’s not that I don’t want to be here when it happens. I just don’t want to not have you guys here with us. I don’t know what do to.”

Greg’s death wasn’t supposed to be affecting my sisters as the sounds of their video call trickled through the under-crack of the door. It wasn’t supposed to be affecting Jake or anyone else but me and the Davis’.

It was a stupid thought and their voices continued, muffled by my sense of inadequacy. Of course it would be affecting other people. It started doing so the moment Tessa posted my video. It started affecting the girls the second I told them I was having an emergency and they needed to come see me. What I hadn’t wanted was exactly what I had dug myself into when I welcomed other people into the hell-circle I was stuck in.

I didn’t want them to come see me. I didn’t want Beth to take time off and Clara to leave Frank and Sara to leave Duncan to come take care of me. I was twenty-four. I should have been able to take care of me.

The front door opened several hours later and I looked up with a faux look of surprise. Out, I sent them telepathically. Please go.

“Why are you here?” Tessa rolled her eyes at my question.

“Boy, don’t pretend like you weren’t listening on my Zoom call with them,” she cracked a smile before reading the room and immediately coming back to our reality. “You know why.”

“We’re just afraid that there’s more to address than just your changing grief,” Beth began and bile began rising in my throat. It was only a matter of time really, before they put two and two together. I guess I had thought it would take a little longer. Her hand landed in the middle of my back, leading me to the same sofa where Tessa and I had broken down together.

“Don’t worry about me,” I began confidently. “I’m just-.”

But then I coughed. I coughed and coughed and the more I tried to regulate my breathing, the harder it was. Choking; gasping.

Hands rubbed my back while others pushed me down and a another lowered a glass of water into my field of vision. Sip, choke, swallow, repeat until I could finally shakily inhale with difficulty.

Looking down at me were four sets of beautiful, worried eyes with which I could barely stand to keep contact.

Clara spoke,

“Stage three.” “What?”

“That’s what you’re in, isn’t it? Frank just… just lost a patient and when I asked him, especially when Tessa told me about all of your shakes and fevers, he said he thinks it's stage three. I think I believe him.”

I was at a complete and utter loss. In my molasses-filled, sloths-paced brain, grief at the loss of Greg drifted beside my own secrets and the suffering of my sisters, bouncing off of one another like oil and water.

“You don’t understand,” I finally said.

“Don’t understand what, exactly,” Tessa asked pointedly, further questions and opinions trapped behind pursed lips. I could practically see them stabbing her mouth, begging to be released.

“Everything!” I exploded. I hadn’t been truly angry yet; up until then anger had taken too much effort. What energy grief didn’t zap from my system the HIV stole for its own selfish purposes. “It’s all connected, isn’t it?” I asked, huffing out laughs like a mad scientist whose madness had taken over the scientist within. “I can’t tell the world about me and Greg because I’m afraid of people finding out I’m not straight. Then I’m with Greg and he’s so afraid of never having love and I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life, so then we take a risk and guess what? Protection fails. The risk becomes reality and I get HIV but I can’t talk about the love or the disease because it’s been ingrained in me since I was a child that people who get sick with this illness get it as recompense for their actions. I don’t believe it when I look at Greg but when I stare at myself in the mirror all I can hear is Dad’s voice. I go to clinics occasionally but only outside of town and without people I even sort of know because I’m afraid subscribers who have never seen my fucking face will recognize me and assume I’m going there for a reason I don’t want anyone to know about and guess what? They’re right! I don’t want them to know about going to get HIV treatment because I’m afraid of people finding out I’m not straight.”

“Andrew-.”

“We keep loving each other because hey, once I’m sick, we might as well, right?”

“Andrew-.”

“And then Greg dies. Greg fucking dies and I can’t tell anyone because I don’t have anyone and the only reason I don’t is because I spent the first seventeen years of my life having it ingrained in my mind that if I don't date, marry, and have a family with a beautiful woman, I’m damned to a life of eternal suffering.”

“But we-.”

“I can’t tell the gaming community because then Dad could find out. I can’t tell you guys or Mom because I feel bad that I kept it a secret for so long but I had to keep it a secret so I could stay safe and love the man I loved because I knew he didn’t have all the time in the world. So now I’m one serious infection away from dying because I didn’t do serious enough treatments to start with because I was so afraid of people finding out I’m not straight,” I nearly screamed, throat raw, standing up and spinning around to face my audience. “How the fuck am I supposed to deal with all of this?”

From all four sides, warm sweaters hit my torso as each sister came from a different angle and held on tightly, two of them shaking against me with emotion. Long nails raked through my hair, hands rubbed my back and arm and nape of neck; hair tickled my nose. Cold, dry lips pressed against my forehead.

When I dared to observe who was directly in front of me, Sara had tears running down her slim cheeks.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” I whispered. “All it’s doing is making you sad.”

“I would have been sad when you first told me, Andrew. Nothing keeps human emotion from happening. But you’ve kept it in for so long, and the longer it builds up the more explosive it is when you finally release the valve. If you told me six years ago that you were in love with a boy and were scared, I would have been so proud. I would have supported you in whatever you wanted to do… however you wanted to live your life. If you told me whenever you found out about being sick that you were sick, I would have been devastated. I still am. It’s just… complicated now,” she petered off as the others nodded in agreement.

“I’m not mad at you, in case you think that,” Clara spoke. “I don’t think any of us are. In a way it’s nice to finally know all your dirty laundry so we can be here as a family. I know you have your reasons for doing what you did. We all do. There’s a lot to sort out. A lot to do. A lot of catching up that has to take place.”

“There’s no timeline for this stuff,” Beth began and before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth,

“AIDS, Beth. A. I. D. S.”

“Grief, Andrew. G. R. I. E. F.”

“Awesome,” I mumbled. “How am I supposed to do this?”

“Not alone. We need to get you a doctor here,” Tessa said with a sad expression that, for a brief moment, I wanted to smack off of her face. “I haven’t seen you go since we moved. You don’t want to, but we don’t want to lose you.” I wanted to lose me but that was beside the point so I kept the words inside. “I can’t lose you,” she managed and faint sounds of stifled sadness cut through the quiet.

“I know you want to go,” Beth said as Clara and Sara ushered Tessa away from the scene. “Not to the doctor, but to him. You want to go to Greg. Right now what we say won’t change that. Nothing we say will change how you feel. Nothing feels worth living for right now and I know that. When you go through something like this, you can tell other people you really do know what they’re going through. We aren’t worth living for right now and I understand that. There isn’t much we can do, but what we can do is make sure you’re eating and at least taking some medication. There isn’t much more to do right now than sustain yourself. Let us help.”

“Okay.” “You loved him. I understand that,” Beth whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “And you both did what you could with the time you had. Life’s unfair. I don’t know why things happen to people the way they do. I’m sorry.”

“Why wasn’t my best good enough?”

“Oh, Andrew. It was. I promise. There are just some things we can’t control. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

#writer #writing #novel #novelist #author #kamandzak #into the great night #grief #tw suicide #tw dissociation

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my-lady-knight · 4 years

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Favorite Reads of 2020

I take back everything I said last year about how 2019 was a comparatively bad reading year for me. 2020 was even worse. I only read 48 books, I could barely focus on reading even when I did find a book I liked, and, just like last year, I ended up with fewer favorites than usual. Starting in August I’ve been having trouble reading any written media that isn’t TOG fic. And some of my eagerly awaited releases by favorite authors ended up being disappointments (Deeplight by Frances Hardinge and Phoenix Extravagant by Yoon Ha Lee).

2020—the year that keeps on giving.

I sincerely hope 2021 will be a better year in all respects, including my reading habits, but, as with everything else, who knows.

Regardless, here’s my list of favorite reads of 2020, in chronological order of when I read them:

Network Effect by Martha Wells

I’d read the first four Murderbot Diaries novellas when they first came out and enjoyed them, but I didn’t fall head-over-heels in love with them. Maybe because they were novellas, and too short to get fully invested? Possibly. As it turns out, Network Effect is the novel-length fifth entry in the Murderbot Diaries that turned me into full-on squeeing fan—SecUnit, aka Murderbot, continues to be its delightfully acerbic, antisocial self, SPOILER makes another appearance and oh how I’d missed this character, the supporting cast is fun and endearing, and the novel-length story means there’s time and space for the brand-new corporate espionage/colonization/alien civilization murder mystery to unfold and spread its wings. (Sounds like a Sanctuary Moon plot tbh). SecUnit is possibly my favorite non-human fictional character atm, and I am now fully on-board for every and any new story in the series.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

When I first heard about this book and read the words “time travel romance”, I immediately went, “Nope, not gonna read.” I don’t like reading time travel stories, and honestly, I was imagining it to be something like The Time Traveler’s Wife, which granted I haven’t read but also sounds like it’d be the opposite of my cup of tea.

And then I went to a reading where Amal and Max took turns reading chapters – letters written by Red and Blue, enemy agents who repeatedly taunt and thwart the other’s plans to ensure their side is the one to win the time war and who can’t resist smugly outlining just how they’re staying one step ahead of the other – and the prose was witty and gorgeous and clever and intricate, and Red and Blue were snarky and arrogant and talented and fun. I had to read it. And I ended up loving it, this enemies-to-lovers story that is a meld of fantasy and science fiction such that they’re indistinguishable from the other, where the past is as equally fantastical and alien and imaginary as the future, where Red and Blue’s power play transforms into something different and scarier and more intimate than either of them imagined.

To Be Taught, If Fortunate by Becky Chambers

Becky Chambers has done it again, writing a gentle, hopeful story about humans working together out of a share a love and fascination for scientific exploration and wonder for all the possibilities the entirety of space can hold. With the advent of both space travel and technology that alters human physiology to allow them to survive otherwise inhospitable environments, a team of four astronauts and scientists have embarked on a mission to ecologically survey four distant planets and the life forms that inhabit them, from the microscopic to the multicellular—not to conquer, but to record and to learn and to share the gathered knowledge with the rest of Earth. In the meantime, lightyears away, Earth is going through decades without them, and the four of them must also contend with a planet that may have forgotten their existence—or that’s abandoned the entire space and scientific exploration program.

Reading Becky Chambers is the literary equivalent of sitting down with a warm mug of my favorite tea on a bad day – I always feel better at the end and like I can imagine a future where humanity does all the wonderful things we’re capable of doing.

A Song for a New Day by Sarah Pinsker

I started reading this book right as NYC was gearing up to go into lockdown, which should have made this a terrible choice to continue reading since part of the premise is that a combo of multiple stochastic terror attacks and a brand-new, deadly plague upend the world as everyone knows it by causing the U.S. to pass laws that keep people physically apart in public for their own safety and make concerts, theatre, and any other kind of artistic gathering obsolete.

But that’s largely just the set-up, and the real story is that of Luce Cannon, an up-and-coming singer-songwriter who played the last major concert in the before times who twenty years later performs in illegal underground concerts, and Rosemary, a younger music-lover who’s only lived in the after-times, and who’s taken a new job scouting out talent to add to the premier virtual entertainment company’s roster of simulated concerts.

It’s a love letter to live music and what it feels like to connect and build community via music in unusual and strange and scary times, the energy involved in making music for yourself, for an audience, exploring the world around you, imagining and advocating for a better tomorrow, and embracing the fear, the possibility, and the power of change, both good and bad. This was the book I needed to read at the beginning of the pandemic, and I’m thankful I ended up doing so.

The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2019 edited by John Joseph Adams and Carmen Maria Machado

When I end up loving half of the stories in an anthology and greatly enjoying all but two of the rest, that’s the equivalent of a literary blue moon for me. My favorites included the following;

"Pitcher Plant" by Adam-Troy Castro

"Six Hangings in the Land of Unkillable Women" by Theodore McCombs

"Variations on a Theme from Turandot" by Ada Hoffmann

"Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Memphis Minnie Sing the Stumps Down Good" by LaShawn M. Wanak

"The Kite Maker" by Brenda Peynado

"The Secret Lives of the Nine Negro Teeth of George Washington" by P. Djèlí Clark

"Dead Air" by Nino Cipri

"Skinned" by Lesley Nneka Arimah

"Godmeat" by Martin Cahill

"On the Day You Spend Forever with Your Dog" by Adam R. Shannon

Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

No one is more surprised than me that Harrow is on this list, given that I am one of approximately three people in the universe who did not unequivocally love Gideon the Ninth.

And yet the sequel worked for me.

Maybe because this time I already knew and was used to the way the world and the Houses worked, and I knew to not take anything I read for granted because I could be guaranteed to have the rug pulled out from under me without even realizing. Maybe Harrow’s countdown/amnesia mystery worked better for me than Gideon’s locked room mystery. Maybe the cast of characters was more manageable and fewer of them were getting murdered left and right before I got a chance to get used to them (and some of them even came back!) Maybe it’s that Harrow blew open the potential and possibilities Gideon hinted at and capitalized on just how fucking weird and mind-blowing the whole premise is in a way that felt incredibly and viscerally satisfying.

Also SPOILER happens three-quarters of the way through. That was pretty fucking awesome.

Ring Shout by P. Djèlí Clark

P. Djélí Clark is a master of melding history and fantasy in ways that are in turn imaginative and clever (his fantastical alternate-history, early 20th-century Egyptian novel A Master of Djinn is one of the books I’m most looking forward to in 2021), while also using fantasy to be frank and incisive about the history of American antiblack racism (as in the above linked story in The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2019). Ring Shout combines the late-nineteenth and early 20th-century history of the rise and normalization of the KKK with Lovecraftian supernatural horror, in which the release of The Birth of a Nation summoned literal monsters (called Ku Kluxes) that became part of the KKK’s ranks. Maryse Boudreaux is a Black woman who’s part of a grassroots organization hunting both the monsters and the human members in order to keep the Klan at bay. However, there’s soon to be another summoning ritual atop Stone Mountain that will unleash even more Ku Kluxes into the world, and Maryse and her friends are running out of time to prevent it from happening.

Maryse is a fantastic character, as are her two friends—brash, unapologetic Sadie and WWI veteran, weapons expert Chef—her mentor and leader of the Ring Shout group Nana Jean, and all the other members of the group who work and fight together as a team and a family. Maryse’s past and the journey she goes on in the book to uncover the truth and stop the summoning is harrowing and heart-stopping, the supernatural elements are both horrific in and of themselves while also undergirding the real-life horror of the KKK and the hatred they engender. It’s smart, it’s fun, it’s eye-opening, and it’s also being turned into a TV show starring KiKi Layne. It’s really, really good.

The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley

“Stick to the brief.” This is the maxim given to Dietz and all the other soldiers who join the war against Mars, where soldiers are broken down into light to travel to and from their assigned battlefields instantaneously. Only Dietz isn’t experiencing the jumps like everyone else – Dietz, like Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five, has become unstuck in time and is experiencing all the battles in the mission briefs out of chronological order, to the point that Dietz starts to build a picture of a war and a reality that’s been sold to Dietz and everyone else on Earth as pure fiction.

I’ve always appreciated Kameron Hurley’s stories, but this is the first book where she fully succeeded at writing the book she set out to write—it’s fast-paced science fiction thriller in the form of a loaded gun that takes brutal aim at late-stage capitalism, modern military warfare and the dehumanization of everyone involved on all sides, the greed of ungovernable governing corporations, nationalistic and military propaganda, the mythology of citizenship and inalienable rights, and it’s viscerally bloody and violent without being grotesque in the way all of Kameron Hurley’s books are. Especially important for me, I loved that Dietz went through the entire book not being gendered in any way, shape, or form (those last five pages didn’t exist, what are you talking about), and I love in general that Kameron Hurley is committed to writing non-male characters who aren’t less violent or fucked-up or morally superior to men just because they’re not men.

Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga

Middle grade is a hard sell for me these days, as are books in verse, and I wouldn’t have known this book existed if it weren’t for the Ignyte Award nomination list earlier this year. As it turns out, this book, the story of Jude, a pre-teen girl who wants to be an actress who leaves Syria and the encroaching civil war with her mom to go live in the U.S. with her uncle and his white wife and their daughter while her dad and older brother stay behind, is full of beauty, curiosity, humor, confusion, grief, pain, and joy, and the poetic prose is both lyrical, nuanced, and perfectly fitted to Jude’s voice. I devoured this book in one day, which is the quickest amount of time it took me to read any book this year, including novellas.

Darius the Great Deserves Better by Adib Khorram

The first book Darius the Great Is Not Okay was one of my favorite books in 2018, and I’m ecstatic that the sequel is equally as amazing.

It’s been approximately half a year since Darius went to Iran, met his maternal grandparents in person for the first time, and found his best friend in Sohrab, and in that time he’s come out as gay, joined the soccer team, got an internship at his favorite tea shop, and started dating for the first time. Darius is also working through some things though—when and if he wants to have sex with his boyfriend, his grandfather’s worsening illness, his dad’s recent depressive episode, his emotionally distant paternal grandmothers on his coming for an extended stay, the fact that he’s getting to know and growing closer with one of his teammates who’s best friends with Darius’s years-long bully, and a bunch else.

Darius the Great Deserves Better has the same tender and vulnerable emotional intimacy as the first book, more conversations over tea, new instances involving the mortifying ordeal of being a cis guy with a penis, even more Star Trek metaphors, and so much growth for Darius as he works through a lot of hard situations and feelings, and strengthens his relationships with all of the people in his life he loves and cares about. I can’t think of any other book that’s like these two books, and I love and treasure them dearly.

The Space Between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson

I had zero awareness of this book until a bunch of SFF authors started praising it on Twitter a couple months before the release date, and I was intrigued enough to get a copy from the library. I loved this book. I happened to be reading it right at the time of the presidential election, and it phenomenally served the purpose of desperately-needed distraction from the agony of waiting out the ballot counts.

It’s book about the power behind borders, citizenship, exploitation, and imperialism, set in a late-late-stage capitalist future, in which a prodigy invented the means to access and travel to slightly divergent parallel universes to grab resources and data – but only if the other universe’s version of “you” isn’t there. It’s the story of a woman named Cara – poor, brown, born in the wastelands outside the shelter, security, and citizenship privileges of Wiley City – who’s comfortably employed to travel to all the parallel worlds no one else can visit, because all her counterparts in those worlds are dead from one of the myriad ways Cara herself could have died growing up. It’s the story of Cara traversing the muddied boundaries between her old life and her new one, the similarities and differences between her own life and that of her counterparts, as well as the figures of power who defined and shaped her and her counterparts’ existences, and solving a mystery involving the unexplained deaths of several of her counterparts and the man who invented multiverse technology.

It’s a story of the permeability of selfhood and self-determination, and complexity of power dynamics of all kinds – interpersonal, familial, collegial, intimate – and the interplay between violence and stability and identity, and how one can be both powerful and powerless in the same dynamic. It’s a story with literary sensibilities that is unequivocally science fiction, written with laser-precise prose that flays Cara open and puts her back together again.

I worry this description makes this book sound dry and removed when reading this book made me feel like I was coming alive every time I delved back into it. This is a book I cannot wait to reread again to experience the brilliance and skill and thoughtfulness and emotion of Micaiah Johnson’s writing. I have no clue what, if anything, she’s writing next, but I have a new favorite author.

Honorable Mentions

Catfishing on CatNet by Naomi Kritzer

With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo

Stormsong by C. L. Polk

The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin

Sisters of the Vast Black by Lina Rather

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh

The Haunting of Tram Car 015 by P. Djèlí Clark

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke (I feel bad putting it here and not in the first list – it is undeniably a modern classic and a brilliantly crafted book! But I had zero interest in any of the Italy chapters, and I found the way he finally figured out how to access fairy magic by essentially making himself mad to be both disappointing and narratively unsatisfying.)

War Girls by Tochi Onyebuchi

For my yearly stats on books written by POC authors, in 2020 I read a total of 24 books (one of which was co-authored by a white author), which is fewer than last year (30). However, because I also read fewer books this year overall, this is the first year ever that I achieved exactly 50-50 parity between books written by POC and white authors. I honestly wasn’t expecting this to happen, as I stopped paying deliberate attention somewhere around April or May. Looking over my Goodreads, the month of September ended up doing a lot of heavy lifting, since that’s when I read several books by POC authors in a row for the Ignyte Award nomination period. But also, it does look like the five or so years of purposefully aiming for 50-50 parity have materially affected my reading habits, by which I mean even when I’m not keeping my year’s count in mind, I’m still more likely to pick up a book by a POC author than I was five years ago when I had never kept track at all. My goal for next year is to once again achieve 50-50 parity and to not backslide.

#long post #book recommendations #book recs #favorite books of 2020

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missmaxime · 4 years

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17! 18! 30! 32! 38! <3 <3 <3

Thank you for these! 🥰 17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback? I don’t. Well, not immediately. I try to distract myself for at least half an hour to an hour after posting because by the time I post I’ve already gone mental from finaFinalreRerereadFiNaldefDEFDEF.def x34 and I need to calm down. But after that I compulsively refresh AO3 (for the Beth/Rio tag) and depending on the time of day I start replying to comments or wait for it until morning. I don’t re-read my own fic until at least the day after (and inevitably fix some v obvs spelling mistakes I got blind for during edits). 18. Do you have a WIP that you keep telling yourself you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably a lie? A little while ago I would have maybe said Wild at Heart, but I recently started editing the new chapter and now I’m feeling that story again (I got a bit lost with it over season 3, and it’s a long fic I’m not really used to writing – I had no oversight in my notes and outline and ugh). I think when I do publish it might have a bit of a different tone, especially because I think I progressed a lot over the past six months as a writer. But I have by now accepted that I will never re-write those earlier chapters, so I’m just going to move on and continue the story. BTW. If someone can recommend a/their Word Processor to get a better oversight in longer WIPs, please do! There’s no published WIP I won’t get back to from what I see now. I have a few in my WIP-folder that are a lost cause, main reasons are either because I either forgot I wrote it to begin with, or because I don’t like my style or plot anymore. 30. Post a snippet from you’re a current WIP without context - no more than 300 words. From a WIP I definitely won’t abandon, but one that’s also taking me crazy long to write (because world-building):

Annie swallows everything down, but keeps the bowl of candies protectively close to her chest. “I can’t believe they reached out to you twenty years later,” she says, plopping down next to Beth. “I can’t believe they subpoenaed me.” Annie sits up. “Technically they summoned you—” Beth gives her a look that immediately shuts her up. “You know, it’s good they did. They probably got a notification that you got rid of your Dean-shaped baggage and thought: Presto Matcho, and let’s go!” “Maybe I don’t want to be matched up.” “Relax, sis. Just go out on a date, get those cobwebs cleaned out if he’s a seven or up, and move on with your life!” “Annie!” “You’re right, maybe don’t be that picky, make it a six.” Beth’s all fired up to blow a gasket when a man with a bird tattoo sprawled on his neck enters the waiting room, accompanied by a dark-haired woman in a suit. They’re in a heated discussion, going through a pile of papers that’s full of marked segments and bookmarks. Beth’s getting a bit lost in thought, looking at him when she feels Annie leaning her head on her shoulder. “I served him too,” she whispers in Beth’s ear, pulling her back into reality again. “You!” she hears the guy say, pointing at Annie, who immediately throws her hands up in defense, totally forgetting she was holding the candy bowl which immediately tumbles onto the ground, scattering its contents over the floor. “Hey, I’m just here for my sister, don’t come at me bro!” she tries to laugh it nervously away. He doesn’t think it’s funny. But his gaze lingers on Beth a longer time than might be appropriate before turning his attention back to the woman beside him. 32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from? I can have different favorites varying on the week / day. It usually changes when I post a new fic. Sometimes I’m not even super in love with a line when I post it, but it grows on me when I re-read later. So just three random ones: Regardless of his repeat observation of ‘you’re so tight, baby’, she’s definitely not going to indulge him with the Snoozefest Saga of her sex life of the past decade. – from Stuck in the Middle It’s a decision he almost immediately regrets. Apparently, Elizabeth is very convinced of her (faulty) navigation skills. And mind you, he has an essentially AI-worthy navigation system build into his (“Is this what you drive? Don’t you think it’s a little… out there? Like, surely you don’t really need something so preposterous to arrive in?” she had laughed cutely after that, but he felt slapped in the face – and not the kind he might be paying her for) G-wagon. – from The Girlfriend Experience “Yeah,” he smiles. “We real good friends too, aren’t we?” he says suggestively. (It’s just, he can’t help it, knows it’s dumb and petty but ugh. He’s suffered through Mick’s eye-rolls enough after returning from a No Elizabeth Murder Night again. The other guy casually looking up from polishing his custom ninja throwing stars - don’t start about it, it’s a whole thing, and Rio’s convinced the man can’t even get them into a wall a three feet away if he wears that one jacket - waiting for Rio to cock his head and ask: “What?” “Nothing,” he had replied, dipping a cloth into the jar of polish. “’Nothing’?” Rio had repeated – a little more petulant than he intended. “What are you, my wife?” Ever so slowly, the corners of Mick’s mouth had turned upwards. “Heard spot’s taken.” Rio may have keyed Mick’s car that night.) Beth smiles back stiffly. - from I See Your True Technicolors I don’t know, I really like doing these kinda scene-in-scene (or sentence) things, I don’t know if this has a name. 38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)? Hmm that kind of depends what part of the process we’re talking about. Let’s roughly break that up in three parts: 1. Working out the idea (8/10): Really, really chaotic. This is just days or weeks of just flashes of ideas and plotpoints and lines of dialogue shooting through my brain. Haphazardly writing those down in various docs, on paper in between my work notes, or in the notes on my phone. When I finally know the rough outline of the story I go into; 2. Writing the fic (4/10): I’m a super chronological writer, I really move from scene A to B to C until I finally arrive at Z. But when I start writing I often only really know A, D, E, J, O, Q, Z – the rest will just grow or appear organically as I write. Sometimes it does mean I won’t write for a few days because I circle back to step 1 for a certain scene. A good example is the Artic Hunter Fairytale Beth tells Jane in Chapter 2 of I See Your True Technicolors. I knew up front I was going to write a scene where we would see how this seemingly unweighted moment for Beth – she’s just telling a nighttime story – had a massive impact on Jane. There were some themes and motives I felt like needed to make an appearance: the more tangible reason of Jane’s quest, how young kids often hold their parents’ word as truth, and I needed it to be a true heartfelt moment between Beth and Jane. But before I wrote the first line of that scene I had no idea that would be the scene that it became. So I do outline a bit, but I need to create enough room for myself for moments like that to happen. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about writing. It’s a bit of an organized mess within a tighter frame/outline. 3. Editing (7/10): I’ve really been perfecting my Editing skills over the past 6/7 months – it’s not perfect, but you live and you learn. I spend more time working on the fic after I ‘finished’ it, really ramped up the spelling and grammar checks (I love you Word editor, but I also hate you), and take more and more care to make sure that all my dialogue feels IC ánd distinctive enough per character (especially the latter I feel like lacks in earlier WAH chapters). So, work in progress, but I feel pretty confident in this one. Again, thanks for sending these! <3

#asks #writer asks #fanfiction #my fanfic

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

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Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humour, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

Let me know do you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Updates every Wednesday/Thursday. Don’t worry I’m posting the second half of this chapter later today cause it’s too long all in one part and Tumblr doesn’t seem to like it when I post stuff too close together. So have the fun with the fluffy part!

Chapter Three 1/2: Duck

Loosen Up

May 26th, 2017.

Tiny little sips did Patton take, swishing the liquid around before swallowing each drop. Cautious. Procrastinating. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so embarrassed? I’ve seen you so drunk that if you weren’t a figment of imagination, the police could have been outlining your dead body in chalk the next morning. You don’t have anything to be shy about,” he said. Patton glared at him. “That’s exactly what’s so embarrassing!” He shrieked. “It’s bad enough knowing that happened! I don’t want a repeat!”

“That’s the whole point of this, Pat. I’m here so you don’t get completely pissed like that again. And if you do, I’ll stop you from being stupid.”

…

“I’m always stupid,” Patton mumbled into his next sip. Albeit, it was a slightly bigger sip. Remus would have argued with Patton, but he hadn’t planned a heart to heart and felt rather unprepared. At least he knew Patton had already drunk enough to not think too hard about what he was saying. Baby steps.

Turned out the snowball effect settled in soon after that. The more Patton drank the less he thought to regulate himself so he drank more. Remus discovered that night that Patton became efficiently, drunkenly relaxed at five cans of… whatever collection of concoctions Patton had mixed up.

“Wait Wait Wait Wait Wait! If I’m a figment of Thomas’s imagination, but you’re Thomas’s imagination, does that mean you could, like, make me,” Patton made a charade of what would have resembled an explosion if he still had his fine motor skills intact, “poof? If you wanted?”

Patton had had six cans and was on his seventh.

Remus blinked at him. There was some semblance of sense in that thinking, and Remus did love a good “what if?” question. “I don’t know...” he said. “Why don’t you try?!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. Remus for a split second thought of how adorable Patton’s excitement was—

“Hell no!” He snapped. Patton whined. Sulking, he flopped back down in his chair like a voodoo doll that had just been angrily launched into a wall. “You’re s’posed to be fun!” Patton chugged the rest of his can and didn’t bother to put it down. Instead, it just toppled and rolled out of his lax grasp.

“If it worked then you wouldn’t exist anymore!”

“So?”

Remus also discovered that Patton’s attitude was just as bad as Virgil’s. At least Remus knew his limits now for future reference.

“Well if you stopped existing you wouldn’t know if it worked or not because you wouldn’t exist,” Remus reasoned, and he wanted to scrub his tongue with soapy sandpaper.

“...What if we tried it on Roman?”

“Damn you, that’s tempting.”

Multimedia

August 30th, 2017.

“Heya Remus—” Out of all the anarchy encapsulated in the room, Patton instantly fixated on the razor. The blade devilishly glinted. Patton glared at the offending mustache slayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Patton! I was just—“

“Leave the moustache alone!” Patton pounced, lunging for the shaver, and Remus shrieked a very manly shriek. Plumes of white flew free from Remus’s fringe in the kerfuffle. “Your mustache is special and perfect just the way it is!” Patton said. Wrestling the razor from Remus’s grip, which on further inspection was definitely for shaving your legs and not facial hair, and confiscated it.

“I know!”

What?

“That’s why I need it for my self portrait!”

What?

What looked like very grainy flour caught in Remus’s fringe made it appear silver, enhancing the pearly whites that split his lips into a beaming grin. Patton swore his teeth looked slightly pointier than usual. Each syllable rolled around Remus’s tongue exaggeratedly long before he spat it out. And the crazed look in his eyes looked especially crazed, circled in red like a big mistake.

Oh, he’s high.

Wait, what?

Hooking an arm around Patton’s, a stark gentlemanly contrast to Remus’s distinctly wild hair, bloodshot eyes and suddenly apparent absence of a three piece suit, and yanked Patton to stand before his work in progress.

“I’d ask what you think, but it’s not quite finished,” he said, giddy.

Paint was splattered all across the canvas.

And across the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, and after spending five minutes in the room Patton somehow had some too. (Remus was always more of a catcher than a thrower. Terrible aim.) Focusing on an individual area, it looked like a nonsensical mess. There were handprints, globs of textured brush strokes, and scratch marks. Acrylic and watercolour paints with salt adding texture. Swatches of silk, sprinkles of glitter. The only orderly aspect of the piece was the fact it stuck strictly to a dominantly green colour pallet with accents of blue. Even so, there were hints of pinks, yellows, and purple. Tasteful hints, mind you. Oh, there’s some red, too—

“Is that blood?”

“A happy little accident involving a blunt pallet knife. That’s all.”

As a whole, though, when you stepped back it clearly was Remus’s self portrait. Amongst all the chaos, his outline was clear and confident. Insane smile and all. (Except for his moustache, which seemed to be the final missing piece.)

Patton looked closer. Woven in were more intricate details. Passages from Alice In Wonderland and Little Shop Of Horrors (“You love her madly, don’t you, shmuck” was one he picked out)— other books, musicals, and movies Patton couldn’t name— fit seamlessly into the collage. Everything was written in different, swirly fonts or magazine clippings.

Then he looked even closer. Patton squinted.

“Is that fucking dick glitter?”

“Green and blue duochrome dick glitter!”

It was the most accurate self portrait Patton had ever seen (or ever would). A massacre of common sense. It was his internal tumultuous frenzy in a visual medium. A celebration of self love in a uniquely Remus way.

“I’d frame that and put it on the fridge,” Patton said genuinely. Remus preened. “It’s… exceptional, really.”

But did Remus really have to sacrifice his adorable face caterpillar for it?

“I can’t wait to add the finishing touches!”

“Are you really going to put your own moustache on it?”

Remus burst into rambling only a select few could comprehend. Sentences clumsily overlapped each other as Remus spilled the direct translation of his thought process. And within that mess, the words were crushed like a Pepsi can (Yes, Remus could taste the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Yes, he purposefully drinks only Pepsi), squishing the vowels out of existence. In Patton’s case, though, he was able to translate the garbled soup of consonants roughly to, “One does not simply soil the sacred authenticity of multimedia!”

“Can’t you just...” Patton shrugged. “I don’t know— use some fake fur or something instead?” He argued.

“Ugh,” Remus grunted, “That sounds like something Roman would do. His art is so flat and boring! Always so play it safe, never experiments,” He ranted passionately, throwing his arms in all directions. “And there’s never enough glitter!” He scoffed. Pent up energy drove him in stomping circles. “Too much glitter makes it look childish,” he said, tone swinging into a mock impression. “There’s no such thing as too much glitter! I don’t care if it gets everywhere. I’d happily leave glitter stuck in my teeth rather than some stupid, diet of the week salad! And Roman wants to claim he’s the gayer one?! Huh, bullshit.”

Patton checked if his ears hadn’t conked out. They screeched like microphone feedback. (His ears and Remus.)

“Roman’s such a bitch— I fucking hate him so goddamn fucking much, the cunt.” Remus thrust his hand into the nearest paint can, and readied the colourful grenade.

Patton grabbed his wrist, hastily. Globs of acrylic paint slipped from his fist, reuniting with a green puddle soaked into the carpet.

“Uh-um,” Patton cut in, improvising a distraction, “Why don’t we have a drink and watch, uh... ah, um— Ratatouille?” Fizzing with nerves, Patton cracked a hopeful smile. One Remus couldn’t help mimicking. “A drink of water!” Patton quickly corrected, “and Ratatouille.”

(“Giggle water?”

“Emu, no.”)

“I love that movie!” Remus said, clapping his hands. More green sprayed them in Remus’s brazen excitement.

It worked. Patton breathed a quick sigh of relief.

Beaming, he cupped Patton’s face in his cold, sticky, stained hands. “You always have such good ideas!” Remus gushed. That was a rare, rare compliment. Patton's face blazed. For a second he was sure the paint would evaporate from his skin.

No, his wine red complexion was hidden.

Green handprints drying on his cheeks, Patton watched the movie with Remus just like that. After, Remus finished the painting properly. Instant grief followed shaving his moustache. But when he grew it back, he was ultimately happy with the results.

Next Chapter:

#WAW(B)F?#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #intruality #moduke

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cheerfulmelancholies · 4 years

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Medical Mechanical-Chapter 1

Someone like Diana's father might argue that people's mistrust towards Medical Mechanical was unfounded. They were just paranoid because the things they were offering--the things they were doing--seemed too good to be true. The advances made in medical science were too unbelievable, even when they were proven to work. People didn’t like change, simple as that. The employee benefits of the company were the best one could get but the doubt in their minds still insisted there was some sort of catch.

Diana Ryder, unlike her father, took the stance of the majority of Lakewood when it came to the medical behemoth. She held the super company and everything they did under a microscope. The plant, or 'research facility,' they'd erected in the town had sprung up near overnight and the company was spreading a little too quickly for comfort. Well, perhaps she was being a bit unfair with that belief. It had taken a full three months for the massive, windowless construct to be completed, security details included.

Even now, from her spot on South Mitchell, a street with a considerably lower elevation than the man-made hill the facility rested on, she could still make out the faint outlines of patrolling guards in the fading sunlight. It was weird, unnatural and unsettling that a medical firm would feel the need to have such a place in a small town like this, and Diana never once stopped questioning their bizarre motives.

Her phone buzzed and she shifted her position on her bicycle so she could pull it out of her pocket. Brown eyes narrowed at the words on the screen. A text from her father with the simple phrasing, "Working late again. Food's in the fridge."

She huffed. First off, she was an adult and more than able to cook her own food. Second was the fact that he had just left; her eyes squinted as she watched the front gates slide open to welcome the Eldorado back into their prison. He'd been staying later and later there, and by the time he got home she was either asleep, already in school, or he was too burnt out to do much more than shamble into his room like a drunken zombie and collapse onto the bed, still dressed. They always seemed to need him these days, as if they didn't already have dozens of other employees, and they always ended up having to call him back.

Daniel never complained much about his predicament, though Diana suspected it was only because he was too exhausted to waste the effort. She huffed again and stuffed the phone into her pocket before giving the building another glare. She knew it was stupid, childish even, but she couldn't stand how that damn company had torn her little family apart. A sigh escaped her lips as she started pedaling in the direction of home. She had an essay to write and a book to finish, she may as well get it over with now. It wasn't like she had much else going on.

A few hours and some leftover pizza later saw her staring at the half-finished essay on global warming. The cursor blinked, encouraging her to continue, but her brain was all out of fancy wording. Instead, it remained focused on the time and keeping her ears alert for the sound of the front door opening or another chirp from her phone. It wasn't healthy for her to obsess over this, but ever since her parents split up--separated, her dad would say--she couldn't help but fall into the same rabbit hole as her mother. She'd never liked the way he suddenly threw himself at this job anymore than her mom did, but back then she was willing to leave it alone. She thought he had good reason. She thought she could trust him to know when it became too much; now she understood why her mother had been so frustrated. Looking back, she couldn't blame the woman.

She saved what she had written and closed all the windows. No more point in trying to force the words out, the last time she did that cost her an A. As much as she hated her father's devotion to his job, she didn't want her failure to be what made him focus on her.

As if on cue, the front door opened. She resisted the urge to leap out of the chair and instead called out a simple, "Dad?"

"Hey, pumpkin."

He sounded weary. She glanced at the time again before leaving her room. "You're early," she said, meeting him in the kitchen. "Normally you don't get back till way later." Though six-thirty meant he’d spent over twelve hours at what was supposed to be a nine to five.

Daniel draped his jacket over a chair and got a glass of water from the fridge. After downing half of it, he kicked his shoes off and into the foyer, Diana not too far behind him. Walking to the living room, he said, "Eh, they didn't need me for anything major. Just a quick check up on something." He fell onto the couch and closed his eyes.

"And that something was?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Diana pursed her lips. She could understand the need for secrecy in a government job or something relating to people's personal info, but for a company that was supposed to be about improving the quality of life, Medical Mechanical sure held their cards close. Even when he wasn't working on a big project, her father still wasn't allowed to divulge any information on his work. She'd given up on the argument that they'd never know; his cryptic silence spoke volumes.

Changing the subject, she tried, "Everything going well?" The least she could do was give him an ear to vent to.

"Yeah... Yeah." It took him a moment to make his tone certain. "It's just been... a bit rough sometimes. The usual." He cracked an eye open and saw her face. Her frown.

"Do they always need to work you this much? It isn't like you're the only one there." She leaned against the wall and watched him massage his temples. He got a lot of migraines and headaches these days.

He hummed. "Given my position, pumpkin, I'm kind of the guy they need to call." He resumed tending to his aching head.

Diana remained silent at the comment. In the few years he'd spent working there, he'd never so much as revealed his place in the company. He could have been little more than a pencil pushing assistant or one of the big wigs and she wouldn't know either way. No one outside of the people who worked in that building knew what went on in there. She never could stop the possibilities from running wild and the shroud of mystery surrounding the company and their various 'assets' didn't help.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, I guess," she said, pushing off the wall and going back to her room to try and read at least a few more chapters of that book. "I saved you some pizza." She knew she wasn't going to get much else out of him at this point; the absent grunt confirmed it. She spared one last glance in the direction of the living room before closing the door.

As often as her father came home drained, he never once talked about quitting. It was a far cry compared to the man who once loathed them. At some point, things had changed and he'd been slaving away ever since. Though he wasn't as bright eyed as when he first started, he was still a firm believer in the company's cause.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Finally got around to posting my rough draft for chapter 1. I’m already mulling over a few different ways to improve it, especially since I want to make it a better follow up to a revised prologue.

#MM #Current WIP #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writing #rough draft #sci fi #new story #Medical Mechanical #writersociety

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hockeybabestars · 5 years

Text

New Year, Same Us - Auston Matthews - Eight

a/n: im going out of town for a football game/visiting friends this weekend and i’m not bringing my computer so i thought i would post this early for yall!! thank you to every person who has been keeping up with this story and liking or reblogging! you mean so much to me! i hope yall enjoy the longest chapter of new year same us, to make up for the shortest in chapter seven (yikes!) we’re almost through with this story yall! we have a lil flashback in this chapter! (in italics) and finally have the prompt that started it all! (in bold)

September 18, 2018

Austons P.O.V

“Aus?!” She yelled from her room. “Are you almost ready?”

I had been ready for 20 minutes and was sitting on our couch waiting for her to finish up. “Yeah I’m ready now!” I rolled up my sleeve to get a better look at my watch, “are you almost ready? It would look really bad if my plus one made us late.” I snicker as I heard her heels clack, the light to the hallway going off simultaneously.

I got up from the sofa as she entered, and boy, was I going to have to keep an eye on her tonight. She looked stunning. The light pink dress cinched her curves in all the right places, and her hair was in waves. She was like something out of a dream. She didn’t bat an eye as she went to the kitchen looking for the keys. I came up behind her and dangled them in her face, and before she could snatch them I pulled them away. She reached for them again but I held them behind my head, and suddenly she was all too close to my face. I glanced down at her lips, wanting to kiss them badly but then I quickly diverted back up to her eyes. “You look stunning (Y/N).”

I could feel her breath hitch against my own lips and the minty flavor of her gum hit my nose before she smiled genuinely, her signature smile where her lips tilted a little crooked at the corners, and it made my heart flutter. “Thanks Aus, you don’t look too bad yourself.”

She stepped away and we did a once over of our apartment, making sure we didn’t forget anything. I grinned and opened our front door for her, watching her walk as she went. I locked the door and we went down the hall towards the elevator, “just out of curiosity,” she toyed with a strand of her hair, eyes flicking up to me through long lashes, “how much did your suit cost?” She was smirking at me and I couldn’t resist really. “Wanna bet on it?” The elevator dinged for us to get on and she rolled her eyes, “do I even have a choice?”

“No use fighting at this point babydoll.” I flashed her my signature smirk as the floor indicator ticked down.

“Does that really work on girls?” She played.

“Apparently not on you.” I laughed but deep down I kinda hoped it did.

“It’s because I know you better than you know you.” She stated matter of factly. She did though. That was the scary part. We hit the first level and strolled out, before she added thoughtfully, “did you want it to work on me?”

I felt my cheeks flame, and was thankful she was walking slightly ahead of me, “uhh,” I faltered before gaining my confidence back, “depends on if you wanted it too.”

She stopped for a split second, giving me a chance to catch up before she continued walking, this time leaning into me a little bit, “maybe.”

My heart jumped at that, “Still wanna make that bet?” I opened the car door for her. She thanked me and I hopped in the drivers side.

“Am I betting high or low.” She gave me side eye as she buckled her seat belt and we were off.

“What do you think?” I grinned. There’s no way she gets this. “Do you know your suits? What brand am I even wearing?” I smiled.

I could feel her eyes on me as mine were on the road, and she reached over and ran her finger down the lapel of it, feeling the fabric. I tried to concentrate on the road but she was leaned over the console examining the details of my suit, looking for anything that would give away the designer or price. I needed to think fast, I could tell this would be a long night already and it hadn’t really even begun.

I swatted her hand away, “hey stop it! that’s cheating.” I smiled and looked over at her as we hit a light. She placed her palm flat against my chest as she mocked me, pulling her lower lip into a pout. I could feel my heartbeat pick up and surely she could too.

“Just seeing what I have to work with Aus.” The nickname melted off her tongue like butter and really I only like it when she says it anyway. The light flashed green and I grabbed her hand off my chest, entwining our fingers together and resting them over the middle console. “I’m betting high, what like $7,000? Is that too much for a suit? What is it Gucci? Aren’t you like their poster boy or something?”

I laughed at her accusations and she squeezed my hand a little too hard. “Ow! Jeez woman that hurt. Those are my money makers!”

She swatted at me again, “sorry not sorry. Isn’t like half your closet Gucci or something. I feel like I should know this but I’m really drawing a blank here.”

A smile crept up onto my face. She’s cute when she’s thinking too hard. She always over thinks or over-analyzes everything. It’s like it’s written in her DNA or something.

She looked over at me and I attempted to keep a straight face, “it’s Gucci isn’t it.” I nodded. “$7000 close?”

I kept a tight lip. She turned towards me, “it’s fuckin higher isn’t it!!!” Her voice raised towards the end and I burst out laughing.

“$10,000.” Her jaw dropped, “what do I get since you couldn’t guess it?”

“I can’t believe you spent $10,000 on a suit.” She was in awe, “that’s like a trip to Europe, or a down payment on a car, what are you psycho?”

“Are you really belittling me right now?” I chuckled, “you guessed $7,000 that’s just as high!!!”

“Yeah but-“

“But what? $7000 okay to drop but $10 is too much?” Her face went blank as she tried to process it and I howled as her eyebrows knit together. She was something else.

“I hate you.” She fought to keep the smile off her face.

“Your mouth says otherwise.” She covered her lips with her hands as we pulled up to the venue, she finally pulled them off as we valeted the car. And as we walked into the rustic barn I elbowed her a bit, grinning wildly, “seriously though, what’s my prize since you didn’t guess right?”

She linked our arms as we tried to figure out where we were sitting and smirked at me, “Bragging rights.”

“I bet we could make it a little more interesting.”

“Oh of course you bet huh.”

“You owe me a dance.”

She pouted. “Aus-“

“Nuh-Uh. We’re dancing later, it’s the least you can do.”

I can tell she wanted to press me further but instead she just nodded, “Okay.”

“Wow, I didn’t think that would be this easy. I need to win bets more often.” I knew how much she hated dancing. It was because she had two left feet and literally tripped over herself on any normal day. She didn’t like to embarrass herself. The truth was, she wasn’t a bad dancer at all. She could dance fine by herself, especially after a drink or two. But she was clumsy enough that partner dancing wasn’t really her thing. I always try to get her to at weddings and events but she doesn’t budge. She's stubborn as hell, but it’s why I love her. She doesn’t change for anyone. Not even me. I always ended up finding some random bridesmaid to dance with at these things, but tonight she was mine.

We wandered further into the barn stopping for a few pictures together before the ceremony as Paige snapped away on her phone and a film camera as well. Mitch and Steph found their way to us too and soon enough we had group pictures with the six of us, then guys, girls, and finally as we finished up it was about time to find our seats.

The Tavares wedding was really going to be something. Greenery was everywhere and there was a modern feel to their set up even with the more natural elements. I put a hand on (Y/N)’s lower back and guided her to our seats on the grooms side. We were in the middle back and slid into the refurbished white bench with ease, the rest of our group following suit, filing into the row after us. I wrapped an arm around the back of (Y/N)’s seat as she crossed her ankles, leaning into me while we waited for the ceremony to start. A comfortable silence settled over us and somehow both our free hands found each other on their own accord. Soon enough she was playing with my fingers, clasping and unclasping them, tracing the outline of my hand and holding our palms up to watch our hands align. It was something we had done plenty of times before. Whenever we got bored or were watching Netflix or at family events. It was inevitable that our hands would meet. Her hand was a lot smaller than mine, and we quietly played a game of thumb wars before the loud chattering settled down. I could hear the preacher say to rise, so I gently grabbed her hand in mine and lead her up. She was still leaning into me as we waited for the bride to make her way down the aisle.

John and Aryne chose to say their own vows although short and sweet. It was nice. Being here, celebrating them. (Y/N) was the perfect wedding date. She was classy and reserved when needed but could definitely open up and make conversation with anyone who approached her. And soooo many people approached her. Which was crazy because she was the plus one. But that’s just (Y/N), stealing everyone’s heart the way she stole mine.

It had to be obvious at this point. I thought my incessant flirting and annoying her every chance I got would be enough to give her the hint, but apparently not. I thought that living together was another sign that maybe I was kind of into her but she just took it at face value since it was the most logical option. I think I really realized how I've felt this past May. I mean, it was there all along, but I didn’t admit it to myself until then. She started hooking up with some random guy at college, and when I walked into some kid in our apartment it made my stomach lurch. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that sick in my life.

I had talked to her earlier in the day. We were on a long road trip in the west and I was excited to get back and see her.

It felt like maybe things had been changing between us lately, and I wanted to get back and test the waters a little just to see if she even felt a tiny bit the same. It was easy with her. I missed her like crazy, constantly texting to see what she was up to, and sending snapchat updates of what the boys and I were doing, just because I knew she would send a picture back and I could see that gorgeous face again.

Our flight was delayed because weather in Toronto was pretty bad. And we didn’t end up landing till pretty late. I texted her when we landed at 12 that I would be home soon. I never got a response so I figured she was asleep.

What I didn’t expect, when I came home at 1am on a Saturday, was some random guy going through the cupboards in our kitchen with just his boxers on.

“Uh who are you?” I had a sour taste in my mouth.

The guy looked up from his position on the floor, going through the bottom cabinets and I swear almost shit himself. “Oh my god you’re Auston Matthews.” I frowned. Oh jeez a hockey fan, how rare in this city! He shook his head in disbelief and stood up, walking over to me and put his hand out for me to shake. I took it, begrudgingly. “I’m Reese, it’s really nice to meet you, although I never thought it would be like this.”

I scoffed, but he didn’t seem to notice. He found (Y/N)’s post it notes on the kitchen island and pulled one off handing it to me, “do you think you could sign this for me?”

“What the hell is going on here? Reese I thought-” (Y/N) ‘s voice sounded a little groggy, like she might’ve been sleeping, but when she came out of her room, only clad in black lace underwear and a t-shirt I presumed to be his, my breath caught in my throat. One because she looked damn good. And two because she was wearing his clothes and practically nothing else. I felt a fire in my chest. I swallowed hard and tried to remain neutral.

When she finally realized I was home her eyes went wide. “Oh, uh, hey Aus.”

“(Y/N) you didn’t tell me your roommate was the Auston Matthews.” This guy was still here?

She uncomfortably glanced over at me. Yeah me too. “Uh roommate? Try best friend.” I said smugly.

“I didn't see a reason to bring it up.” She said. Ouch that hurt.

“Sorry Reese bro, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, I really need to get to bed and I’m sure your friend (Y/N) here can fill you in on all the dirty details later. Have a great night.” I walked past them and into my room, shutting the door. Trying to get ready for bed without my head exploding from everything that just happened. I waited until I could hear him leave before I went and knocked on her door.

“What Matthews?” I opened it slightly and peered in, leaning on the door frame and watching her fix her bedding a bit, now in another old t-shirt.

“Matthews huh? Can I come in?” She nodded and crawled under the white comforter patting the spot next to her. I sat down on top of it before rethinking this whole situation. “Actually can we go to my room?” I wasn’t really comfortable that they just fucked in here and wasn’t too keen on sitting in the bed that someone else got to touch her in.

She nodded and as I grabbed her hand, I felt tingles. I didn’t dare to look behind me as I lead her to my room. We crawled under the covers and sat against the headboard.

We stared up at the ceiling a bit before she turned to me. “You’re so dramatic.”

I looked over to her and I could tell she was slightly upset. “But I know that’s not exactly the most fun thing to come home to and I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. Were you ever gonna tell me you were kinda seeing someone?” My jealousy got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but let it seep into my voice a little as I ask.

“No not really, you never tell me when you do...So.” She shrugged, and I tilted my head back a little, groaning.

“You don’t tell people we’re friends either?” It sucked knowing that maybe she was ashamed of me for whatever reason. I always told everyone about her. I loved to talk about her and how proud I am of her for working hard in college and her internship which she officially secured, and just being the amazing, kind hearted person that she is.

“It’s different… I- I don’t tell strangers or people I just met or at least until I have a grasp on their personality. I stopped doing that a long time ago. I can never tell if they want to be friends with me, or have a relationship with me, for me or to get to you.”

“Oh.” It sucks, but it makes sense.

“Oh. Is right. Also I don’t want people to be up either of our asses if they're just clout chasers.” She smiled, shaking her head as I laughed, “Just not how I want to spend my time.”

I sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kick him out, that was just weird and I wasn’t expecting you to have company and-“

“Auston. It’s okay. I should’ve warned you in some way, or gone to his place. Maybe this whole thing could’ve been prevented. I’m the one who’s sorry. That situation was pretty awkward.” I don’t want her at some guys place. I want her with me.

I grabbed her hand and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. My stomach churning as I did so, “Stop worrying. Don’t be sorry either. We good?” She nodded and entwined our pinky’s. “Always.” And with that she slipped out of the darkness of my room and back down the hallway to hers. And my heart ached with every step.

Maybe I wasn’t doing enough, maybe I just needed to be upfront.

I took a swig of the beer I was drinking and set it back on the table as I watched her converse with Steph, Paige, and Aryne, Probably complementing the bride on her gown and the allure of the wedding.

Pretty soon we were eating steak, mashed potatoes and wedding cake, and my stomach was all too full when the bride and groom shared their first dance. I looked to (Y/N) to see her swooning at John and Aryne adoringly. She was facing the back of her chair, hands resting on the back of it, and chin resting on her hands. “Don’t you just love those two together?” Her nose crinkled. It was really cute.

I stood and held my hand out to her as other couples started to join in on the dance floor. She looked up to me, eyes slightly glazed from her glasses of champagne, but I knew she was at a good level. Sober enough to make good decisions, buzzed enough to have a good time. “Are you gonna dance with me?” My heart felt like it was racing as I waited for her answer.

She took my hand so I took it as a yes. I lead her out to the dance floor, Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran coming on as we stopped in the middle. She wrapped her arms around my neck and my hands settled on her waist, pulling her close. My stomach churned with nerves and a little bit of excitement. I looked down at her, her head on a swivel, looking everywhere but me. Other people are looking at us and her brow knit in confusion. Her hand was burning a hole where it was placed flat against my chest.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I touched her forehead lightly, then bringing my hand back down and wrapping it around her waist securely.

She looked back to me, eyes widening, “It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything right?” I tried, pulling her back into me as she slowly tried to pull herself away. “That’s what friends are for. And hey, quit trying to leave me!” I laugh, grinning. “Were kind of in the middle of that dance you owe me.”

She smiles back softly but glances around the room again, this time almost self consciously. “It’s just that… I don’t know- I don’t really know how to say it without sounding weird.”

“Are you okay? Is something wrong? You know nothing you say will ever sound weird to me? I’m pretty sure we’ve been through it all.” I leaned my forehead against hers and try to ease her mind but she seems so off. I don’t know what happened because everything seemed normal when we first got here.

She took a breath and pulled back a little looking right at me, “Everyone thinks we’re a couple.” I could see the nerves riddling her features and it made me curious as to why. It’s not what I was expecting, but it made me grin, “I know.”

“You know? It doesn’t bother you?” Her nose scrunched again.

“Should it? Does it bother you? I mean, personally I think I could do worse as far as fake lovers go, but…” She playfully shoved me and we fell right back into place, swaying as the song went on melodically.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” She seemed unsure, but avoided my question nonetheless, looking up at me as if the only answer I could give would be yes. That it does bother me. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I shrugged trying to play it cool, “why would it bother me?”

“I don’t know…” She looked away, back to the surrounding crowd as the song changed. “You’re Auston Matthews.” She huffed. “You can get any girl you want. Wouldn’t people believing that… we’re an item… wouldn’t that get in the way?”

I grabbed her hands in mine, looking down at them. She instinctively clasped them together and my heart warmed as I glanced back up at her. “That’s just the thing.” We had stopped dancing at this point, and I’m pretty sure we were in the way of people trying to dance, but I didn’t mind. “You don’t see me as the Auston Matthews. You never did. You just see me as Auston Matthews, your extremely good looking and talented best friend.” I smirked.

“Way to ruin it.” She laughed.

I gently pulled her closer, “you see me as the dumb kid who broke his arm at your eighth birthday party, and the horrible friend who spilled punch on your prom dress, and the annoying son of bitch who always tries to force you to dance. You never see me as someone who’s untouchable,” I grab her hand and place it over my heart, “you always touch me.” She looked as if she lost her breath, eyes swirling with emotions. She carefully removed the hand that was over my heart and stood still for a second. She looked back up to me meticulously, “let’s get some air yeah?” I let my hand rest on the small of her back and nodded as she lead the way out, one step ahead of me. My heart was pounding in my chest.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the little piece of privacy that we had out here. The air had turned slightly cooler, and I could see her shiver a little, although she would never admit she’s cold. I shrugged my suit jacket off anyway as we walked along the outside of the barn. The sun was starting to go down and the chill in the air picked up. I wrapped my jacket around her shoulders, and used it to pull her in closer to me.

She muttered a thanks and I sucked in a breath. Now or never Matt’s.

But she turned to me sharply, beating me to the punch, “you can’t just say stuff like that you know?”

“Why not?” Her eyes met mine and the wary look on her face told me what I needed to know. I know what she’s thinking. And she means more to me than anyone. She must know that. She has too.

“You could never get in the way of anything (Y/N).” I tucked a lone strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes sparkled and flickered up to mine. “It doesn’t bother me because I don’t want just any girl.” I toe around the subject, hoping she can figure it out before I have to say it outright.

“Well, what do you want Aus?” I want you. Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me ruin a good thing (Y/N). I don’t want to lose us.

My eyes flicker down to her lips. I close my eyes and lean in a little, nudging her nose with my own. Slowly but surely closing the gap between us. I could feel the electricity radiating off her, our lips barely touching before I heard a voice coming from the door. We broke apart, wide eyed, hearts racing, both looking to see who joined us outside.

Kappy looked drunk. And Paige looked like she was dying from laughter. They spotted us and made their way over. I looked back at (Y/N), her cheeks flushed and managing to look anywhere but me, although my arm was still wrapped around her. She leaned into my touch as they approached.

“Youuuuu guyssss.” Kap slurred and Paige just seemed to notice the position we were in.

“Uh Kappy needed some air, but I see you guys did too.” She grabbed his hand and tried to lean him into her for leverage. “We’ll just let you guys have some privacy.”

(Y/N) turned her face into my shoulder as Paige tried to shove Kappy back into the reception. I looked down to her and laughed. She did too, bringing her face out of my shoulder. I would’ve tried to recreate the moment but it seemed like it was lost as she grabbed my hand and tugged me back inside. “C’mon Aus, we should get back.” And I had no choice but to follow.

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #new year same us #nysu fic #toronto maple leafs #hbsimagine #hockeybabestars #friends to lovers #friends to more

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lumiolivier · 4 years

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Life Update of 2020 (Don’t Worry. Just the Good-Good)

It’s been a while since we last spoke, huh, Tumblr? I don’t pay you nearly as much attention as what I should, but I’m scattered all over cyberspace. I show up in the most unexpected places. But what the alternate title of this is:

Lumi’s Post of Shameless Self Promotion (Because What Else is a Blog Good For?)

So, what have I been up to, you may be asking yourself? Or maybe you’re not asking that question and you’re telling me to fuck off. Well, if that’s the case, then fuck you, too. So, hail Satan and have a lovely afternoon madam.

But if you are curious, here we are. Let’s do this in sections. That way, if you could give two shits less about something else I do, then, you can skip to the good bits, yeah? Or whatever it is you follow me for, K? Let’s get into it then.

1.) Fan Fiction:

So, in my last master post update, I hadn’t started posting Castlevania yet. It just recently came to an end last week, so...Brief synopsis and link in three...two...one!

Last of the Belmonts

Eden had lost her mother. The only family she thought she'd ever have. Her father couldn't be farther at the bottom of the barrel in her eyes. Her mother would be the only one who would accept her dhampir nature. That is until she finally starts to explore the other half of her blood, her vampiric half, courtesy of a certain girl gang of full-blooded vampires. However, despite that, she's still half human. Which half will rule her head and her heart?

Just a heads up. If you do read Last of the Belmonts (which I highly recommend. I loved this story so much and I’m so sad to see it go.), there are slight mentions of rape, but they’re far and few in between. Eden, the MC, is a dhampir. And for those who don’t know, dhampirs are a human/vampire hybrid. She wasn’t one of the lucky ones who came into this world by consensual means. Most of them aren’t. But before you ask, NO. SHE IS NOT DRACULA’S DAUGHTER. We find out just who she is throughout the story. But it’s got a little bit of everything in it. It’s got Trevor and Alucard sassing each other. It’s got Sypha trying to mediate between them. It’s got a MC that’s got a chip on her shoulder. I like to call it an alternative season three. Like, the story opens up in Braila after Carmilla’s raid, so...I’m not going to give too much for spoilers here. Just...Read the damn thing if you’re that curious. And I’ve been getting asked about a sequel, but I’m not quite sold on it yet.

But Castlevania isn’t the only fandom I’ve dipped my toe in as far as fic goes. Because...It’s been three years since I last wrote for Death Note and I got a friendly reminder of how big of Death Note trash I was when I fell down a fanart rabbit hole one night and thought, I need to jump back into writing Death Note fic. It’s that kind of a year. What the hell? Why not? And because I was feeling particularly thirsty, I decided I’d write my first Lawlight fic. Which...Again, same as I did for Last of the Belmonts, synopsis and link! BAM!

The Sweet Taste of Silver

Email after email...It only made Light sicker to look at them. Final notice. Past due. Expulsion threats. He knew going to one of the best schools in the country would be pricey, but that's what his scholarships were for, right? At least until they start running out. At least he'll have his internship...And his new employer.

Yeah. It’s what you think. It’s a sugar baby AU. We all know Light’s a sugar baby waiting to happen and it’s an underappreciated AU on Ao3, so I figured I’d add to the rich tapestry it is. But this is still ongoing. It gets updates every Tuesday. This story has been my new lightning in a bottle. It’s gotten a lot of traction on Ao3 and you are definitely more than welcome to it. I never thought I’d get so into writing angsty gays like I did with L and Light, but holy hell. It’s so much fun...Why did no one tell me this would be fun? I don’t know why I needed a sugar baby Death Note fic, but dammit, here we are.

Amongst all that mess, I’ve posted a SHIT TON of Mystic Messenger oneshots (even got my first commission because of those oneshots!). They’re all on Ao3. There’s probably 11 or 12 of them, so I’m not going to post the whole list here. Just go to my Ao3 account. You’ll see them there. But since we’re on the subject of MysMes fics I’ve written over the years, I started doing a rewrite of Man’s Best Intern, too! I mean, the story premise is still the same, but it’s had some tweaks here and there. And that’s damn near catching up to the Sweet Taste of Silver. My babies are all growing up so fast. I’m so proud of them...But the Man’s Best Intern rewrite is going up on Ao3 every Wednesday and Friday.

And the last fic I’m going to throw out here is For the Family. Now, for those of you who remember, last year, I posted a story called Switch about a little girl that grew up in New York mafia falling in love with a sweet, yet salty yakuza boy and getting tangled up with the Ouran Host Club. Well, it got a sequel. Again. Link and synopsis, ho!

For the Family

One year. That's all it took for Rei's heart to find home in another city. But it wasn't necessarily the city that captured her heart. it was the cute yakuza boy that bumped into her in the hallway. And thought she was a dude. Anyone else would've been afraid of someone with that kind of power...but not everyone had that same power. Now that another summer has passed, Rei and Ritsu were ready to go back to Ouran to take on their mutual frenemies: The Ouran Host Club

I couldn’t stay away from them for long. They were too cute. I loved Rei and Ritsu’s dynamic and they’ve only gotten worse. At the time I’m posting this, For the Family is ongoing, too. It goes up on Thursdays and I love this one so much. It’s been a roller coaster already and it hasn’t even gotten to the middle bit yet. This coming week’s chapter may or may not be a shit show.

I know I said that I’d be done with my fan fiction bullshit after my pitch of For the Family, but I also kind of have something cooking up. I’ve been working on a project that’s been completely handwritten for Hetalia that includes both the 1p! and 2p! characters, centered around an OC. I’ve been debating on whether or not to post that one online. Because it’s been mostly me writing it for me to unwind at night. It’s what I’ve spent my last half hour of my day working on and it’s put me in such a good place. Which is weird because the MC spends a lot of time with 2p!France and he’s kind of an asshole. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.

2.) New Schedule Changes? Instagram? Whaaaat?

I know. That sounds like it still pertains to my fan fiction here. It does not! On my Instagram for the last few weeks, I’ve been doing livestreams on Friday nights. It’s mostly just me sitting down and bullshitting with a camera, but it’s been some great fun! For the first one, I made curry. For the second one, I was working on a bullet journal spread. They’re all just very chill livestreams with a little hint of chaotic. My last post before this one? That was from last week’s stream when we were talking about different CMV projects I’d love to make, but I don’t have the bodies to make them. As mellow as they are, they’re also a lot of fun. So, if you’re looking for something to do with your Friday night and feel like hanging out with me, come hang out with me. My IG handle is LumiOlivier. You’re more than welcome to come sit and hang out. If my streams keep going they way they’ve been, maybe I’ll start doing more with them. Maybe I’ll bring them to YouTube. Maybe I’ll do something silly like do them more than once a week.

But that’s pretty much it. I’ve been, like most of you, shut up in my house for the last six months as much as possible. This year might be shit, but there’s been some pretty neat shit happening. And hopefully, it’ll be more of an upswing for the rest of it. So, I’m going to go because I have a chapter I need to do for Wednesday tonight and an outline to do. K, love you, bye!

#long post #life update #where in the fuck have you been Lumi?#shameless self promotion

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

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Ok. So I did something. I completed this fic last month but there were some scenes that I couldn’t stop thinking about, that I’d outlined but had not completely written out. So I ended up writing them out as one shots, just to get them out of my brain. I had such a good time being back in this AU I decided to go ahead and post this to share it with you. So here’s the “deleted scene” of Baz convincing Simon to move into his flat. My thanks to all of you who have been so supportive and encouraging about this fic!

Chapter 17

Baz

I pick up Simon directly from the care home.

He’s pleasantly disheveled. Shirt untucked. Bronze curls drooping over his forehead. A bright spot of paint on his cheek that I can imagine licking off.

Fuck. Where did that thought come from?

Simon slides into the passenger seat and his bright grin brings a flare of heat to my chest. He’s the sun and I can’t keep myself from crashing into him.

I’m leaning towards him before I even think it through and he meets me halfway over the center console, lips sliding against my own, his breath sighing against my skin.

Fingertips trail heat along my jaw as he pulls back and that stray spot of paint folds into one of his dimples as he smiles at me. “Where are we going? You didn’t say.”

“Thought we’d head to your place. Let you get changed.”

“Being mysterious, are we?”

I arch a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know my nefarious plans for you, Snow?”

Simon shoves my arm. “Shut up, you barmy git. It’s only nefarious if you don’t plan on taking me out to eat. I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved, Simon.” I regret the words the minute they come out of my mouth. Because they’re true. They always have been true, but I know the background far better now than I did at Watford.

I know why he was always so painfully thin at the start of term. Why he’d be the first in the dining hall and the last to leave. Why it took weeks for him to fill out again, to lose the gauntness that haunted him in the early days of autumn.

Fucking care homes.

The touch of his hand on my forearm brings me back to the present. “You’re right, I am.” His fingers squeeze through the fabric of my coat. “Stop thinking so hard, Baz.” Simon pats his stomach with his other hand and laughs. “I’ve gained enough weight these past few weeks I should probably back off the snacks a bit. I’ll not fit in my clothes and I can’t be wearing trackies to work all the time.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. It comes so effortlessly to him, setting others at ease. Setting me at ease

We drive in silence, Simon’s hand still resting lightly on my forearm. I shift gears and navigate through the busy traffic to get to his flat.

I’ve spent the afternoon at my place. I tidied up the spare room, made it look more like a bedroom and less like an office. The desk is clean. The bed is made. The wardrobe has ample space and the contents of the chest of drawers have been parceled out to other locations.

There are two large, empty suitcases stashed away in the boot of my car. The backseat of the Jag should accommodate the rest of his meagre belongings.

I’ve not been sleeping well since we’ve come back. The time change is the likeliest culprit but my looming departure isn’t helping matters any.

Neither is Simon’s living situation.

I’d spent half the night pacing in my room, formulating this plan and rehearsing the words to convince him to agree to it. I still don’t know if he will. If Simon Snow is anything, it’s stubborn.

I miraculously find a parking spot near his building again. That in itself says more about the dodginess of this neighbourhood than the boarded-up buildings or piles of rubbish by the bins.

Simon’s already on his way to the front door when he realizes I’m not following. I’ve flipped the boot open and I’m hauling out the two large cases I retrieved from storage earlier today.

“What’re you doing? Moving in?” He looks amused but puzzled.

Here we go.

“Moving you out.”

“What?”

“I’m moving you out of here.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Can we discuss this upstairs please, Simon? Preferably while we pack?”

“You can’t be serious, Baz.”

I slam the boot of the car shut and extend the handles of the suitcases, bumping them along the cracked sidewalk past him. He trails after me, hands in his coat pockets and that mutinous expression I know so well on his face.

He unlocks the front door and stomps up the steps, leaving me alone to navigate the cramped staircase with the two unwieldy bags thumping and knocking along behind me.

I’m panting by the time I reach his floor, sweat rolling off my forehead. And the bags are empty at the moment, not as heavy as they’ll surely be once they’re filled with his belongings.

If they’re filled with his belongings, my brain reminds me. He’s not agreed to anything yet.

I drag myself in and set the cases aside. Simon shuts the door behind me and then leans against it, arms crossed, brow creased. He looks at me expectantly. “Care to clarify this for me?”

I close my eyes. My well-thought-out midnight speeches have abandoned me. All that comes out is “I think you should stay at my place.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” He looks genuinely perplexed.

“Because you can’t stay here.”

“I jolly well can stay here. I’ve lived here for six months, Baz. It’s fine.”

“It most certainly is not fine. I can’t stand the thought of you living here, Simon.” His expression darkens and I know I need to choose my words wisely. Now is not the time to use the word ‘squalid’ even if it is the most appropriate one to come to mind. I shove my hands in my pockets so he can’t see me clench my fists. I need to try a different approach.

“My flat is empty. There’s no one there.”

“I can’t stay at your flat, Baz!”

“And why not?

Simon splutters and blusters. “I just . . . I can’t do that.” His face flushes. “I’ve got a lease here. I can’t afford to leave this place.”

“It’s not about the money.”

Error, my brain shouts at me. Way to fuck it up, Basilton.

Simon pushes off the wall, eyes flashing. “It most certainly is about the money.” His eyes narrow. “I know this might be hard for you to understand, considering your background and all, but I’ve got finite resources. A limited budget. This fits my needs and I can’t just go buggering off to live in Chelsea on a fucking whim, Baz. I can’t do that.” Simon’s chin juts out and he looks away, his voice dropping. “I can’t afford that.”

“I don’t expect you to have to afford it. I told you—it’s sitting empty.”

He’s drawing himself up now, as tall and straight as he can, fists clenched at his sides. His chin juts out even more, and fuck it all, I know this expression. Why is he being so bloody stubborn?

“I’m not taking charity from you, Baz. I’ll not do that.” That’s why he’s being so fucking stubborn. I predicted this, I thought this out last night and I’ve made a bollocks of the whole proceeding.

My shoulders slump. “Please, Simon. Just do it for me. If I have to be away, at least this way I’d know you were somewhere safe.”

The fire goes out of his eyes but he’s still taut and rigid in his stance.

I keep going. “You’d be doing me a favour, looking after my place.”

The skeptical look is back. “Didn’t you tell me Fiona takes care of your place?”

I curl my lip. “Poorly. You’ve met her. How good an idea do you think it is, having her be responsible?”

He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that. You wouldn’t have let her do it in the first place, if you didn’t trust her.”

He’s right and it’s bloody irritating.

This day is getting away from me and I never intended to spend it arguing with Simon. My plans had focused more on snogging than snark.

Desperation is creeping in. “I’ll tell Bunce where you live.”

He scoffs. “She already knows.”

“Has she visited you here?”

Silence.

“Has she?”

“No.”

“I’ll send her photos of the rats and the rubbish bins, shall I?”

“You wouldn’t.”

I tap a finger to my lip. “To be honest, a Google street view would likely suffice. She’ll terrify someone into flying her over to move you out of here.”

“You don’t even know how to get in touch with her, Baz. Stop bluffing.”

“All it would take is a call to Watford to request her contact information. The alumni department is quite accommodating.”

“You bloody arsehole.” His fists are tightly clenched and his face is red. I can practically feel the heat radiating off Simon from here. “Why are you doing this?”

I step across the space between us and put my hands over his fisted ones. I lower my head, just a breath between our faces now. I rub his knuckles with my thumb and then gently rest my forehead against his. “Please.” It’s just a whisper. “I’ll never survive in New York if I know you’re in this manky flat all alone.” My hands slide up his arms, to his shoulders, to his face, cupping his cheeks as I gaze into the intense blue of his eyes. “Please, Simon.”

I can feel the tension in him, the tautness of his shoulders, his posture rigid. I don’t know how to break through that. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb and tilt my head down. “Please.” I whisper that word as I bring my mouth to his, slide my lips along the chapped contours of his own, sink into the warmth of his touch, his tongue, his taste.

Simon’s arms slip around me, pulling me closer, tracing their way up my back. His mouth moves on mine, his breath catching, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He pulls back a moment later to breathe words into the space between us. “Why do you have to be so fucking persuasive, you twat?”

I bury my face in his hair, breathe in the scent of him, closing my eyes so he can’t see the depth of emotion in me. The glimmer of hope that he’s actually going to let me do this.

But, being Simon, he can’t help arguing the point. I should have known.

“I don’t want to mess up your flat, Baz.”

“You’re not going to mess up my flat.”

“You like things neat. You know I’m a disaster.”

“Ah, but now you’re my disaster, aren’t you, Simon?” His lips find mine again and my day is finally on track, as far as the snogging is concerned.

It unfortunately can’t last, as we have a flat to pack up.

Simon keeps bickering with me, even as I fold his clothes into neat piles and he sorts through the detritus on his desk and nightstand.

“You should at least let me pay you rent.”

“Why would I have you pay me rent? The whole point is having a place you can afford, that’s safe and sanitary.”

“I do clean, you know.”

I groan. “I know you do. How about we compromise on tastefully decorated and not in a dodgy neighbourhood? Is that better?”

Simon just grunts in response, but he starts placing his clothes in the empty suitcases so I know I’ve won this round.

“I’ll call Father’s solicitor Monday. It shouldn’t be problem to get you out of this lease.”

“I can’t afford a solicitor, Baz.”

“It’s just Percy. He’s Father’s cousin. He doesn’t charge for family business.”

“This isn’t family business!”

I glare at him. “If you’re moving into my flat, to house-sit for me while I’m in America, it damn well is family business.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re exasperating, Simon, not to mention exceedingly stubborn. Now come on, we’ve not got all night and I seem to remember you whinging about needing to eat.”

His stomach audibly rumbles at my words. I can’t help but laugh.

Simon shakes his head, face flushing, but he doesn’t fuss at me this time. He picks up another heap of t-shirts and tosses them into the open suitcase.

Good.

It doesn’t take us long to sort his belongings. Simon really doesn’t have much. There are a few rickety cast-offs from when he lived with Bunce. I offer to put the items in storage for him but he scoffs at the suggestion. The rest of the furniture came with the flat.

We trundle down the stairs, the suitcases banging and bumping along behind us. I get them loaded in the car and then we go up to fill some boxes—books and personal items, shampoos and soaps and such.

I take a last look around his bedroom. It’s bare and stark, all the colourful items that made it Simon’s stowed away. All that’s left is a cracked mug on the nightstand and a thick candle set by it.

Simon comes in to do one last sweep of the wardrobe and chest of drawers. His finger reaches out to touch the candle. It’s half burned down, not really worth the effort to bring it along, but he picks it up and gently wraps it and the stand it was sitting on in a bit of newspaper, before carefully tucking it in the last box.

Odd.

He shuts the door behind us and exhales. His eyes find mine. “You’re sure about this, Baz? You’re not just doing this to be kind? I mean, I know you’re doing it to be kind, but . . . you know what I mean?” He’s headed for a bluster again.

I raise my eyebrows and smirk. “Now when have I ever been known to show any signs of kindness, Simon? I’m desperately in need of a reliable house-sitter. No kindness to it at all. You’re the one doing me a favour.”

“You are such a terrible liar.” Simon knocks his shoulder into mine. “You’re going to let me pay for the utilities or the deal is off.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But for the love of God, don’t keep the thermostat down to save money.”

“Why not? I can always just throw another jumper or hoodie on, if it gets cold.”

“You’re truly impossible.”

“You like me anyway.”

“That I do, Simon. That I do.”

I feel as if I’m leaving a weight behind me as we pull away from the kerb and Simon’s old neighbourhood fades away in the dimming light.

“So do you want to go out to eat or should we just get kebabs from the corner shop?”

“Kebabs sound brilliant. I’m famished.”

Of course he is.

Simon’s hand finds mine where it sits on the gear shift. His warm fingers rest against the back of my hand and it feels like something clicks into place.

It’s going to be an awful wrench leaving him behind.

I’ll likely be up all night thinking of ways to let myself stay, even though I know that’s wildly unrealistic. I’ll be on that flight two days from now, whether I want to be or not.

And he’ll be here.

Surrounded by my things. And somehow that brings me a spot of comfort.

Simon

I don’t know why I let him convince me. I know it’s not like I’ll be living with him but it feels more intimate than simply house-sitting.

I can’t say my heart didn’t leap when he suggested it. That the thought of moving into a place imbued with Baz didn’t hold a significant appeal.

That it would be the closest thing to being with him, when he was so far away.

But I don’t hold with charity. I’ve made my own way since I was a kid. I don’t need handouts from anyone, particularly not Baz.

Not because he’s posh or well-off or any of that. That’s part of it. But mostly because I’m strict about doing things on my own.

We’re embarking on something here and I don’t want that clouded with obligation or debt. Or a sense of duty.

One thing I can say about Baz—he’s impossible to argue with when he has his mind set on something. We wrangled about it for long enough at my flat. And he’s right. I don’t really have a good reason other than I don’t want to feel indebted and I don’t want this to make things weird with us.

Or with his family. He called Fiona from the bloody car, to tell her I’d be moving in and she wouldn’t have to come round and check on the flat for him anymore.

He had her on speaker which was excruciating.

“I’ll not have to come around? Are you daft, Baz? Who’s going to check on Snow?”

“I don’t need checking on,” I whisper-hiss at Baz.

“Shut up, Snow. I can hear you. Of course you need checking on, you absolute numpty. You’ll never figure out Baz’s coffee machine without me.”

“Don’t drink coffee,” I mutter.

“You will once you try this machine. Does the whole frothy cappuccino thing, it does.”

Baz interrupts her. “Fiona, would you stop nattering on about the coffeemaker, for Christ’s sake. I’m telling you Simon is going to be house-sitting. I’ll leave your number with him, in case he needs anything or something goes balls up at the flat. But other than that, you are off the hook. Freed of responsibility for the place.”

“No loud parties or orgies, Snow. The neighbours are all stodgy old blue-hairs. Leave it to Baz to move to Chelsea and find the most geriatric and bland living establishment in the whole place.”

“Shut up, you hag. Not all of us are pretentious enough to think we’re hip and trendy just by virtue of living in Notting Hill.”

“I swear I don’t know how you turned out to be such a boring twat, Baz. All my effort come to naught.” She grumbles inaudibly for a moment and then resumes. “Call me when you get back home tonight, you besotted knob-head. Ta ta, Snow. I’ll see you around. Don’t run out of coffee. You never know when I’ll show up. That’s a warning and a promise.”

“Fiona. I swear by all that’s holy . . .” Baz starts but she’s already rung off. He turns to me. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be traveling for work half the time or out at the clubs with her chavvy boyfriend and his mates. She won’t bother you.”

“You’re sure?” I think Fiona may be the most daunting thing about this move into Baz’s place.

“I’m sure. She barely went around when it was her job, she’ll be damned unlikely to do it if she knows someone’s doing the work for her. Trust me. She’ll be glad to be relieved of any latent responsibility.”

I hope he’s right.

Baz

It’s an odd paradox, having Simon in my flat, seeing his clothes hanging in the wardrobe, his shoes by the door, his toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. The feeling of having him around is so familiar, even if the surroundings have changed.

It may not be our old room at Watford but somehow, he fits here just the same.

#carry on #travel AU #can't find my way home #simon snow #baz pitch #my writing

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five-wow · 5 years

Text

Author Asks

Rules: answer these questions and tag five other fic writers to do the same.

I was tagged by the wonderful @novemberhush. Thank you, omg, because I love rambling about writing and this is the best kind of opportunity to do so, handed on a silver platter, ahh. 😊

Author Name: Square / Squares / SquaresAreNotCircles

Fandoms You Write For: I’m a fandom hopper! In the past year or so it’s been Hawaii Five-0 (a truly ridiculous amount), Shadowhunters, Venom, Harry Potter, due South and Stargate Atlantis. Other fandoms I’ve written at least one fic for are Twilight, Doctor Who, Torchwood, Glee, BBC Merlin, BBC Atlantis, Teen Wolf, In The Flesh, Star Wars, Supernatural, the MCU and High School Musical. And uh, Alexander the Great/Voltaire fic (which would be... history fandom? RPF?) and one (1) Judas/Jesus Biblefic. If we’re getting really technical, also a tiny little bit of One Direction fic.

It should be noted that all of this is about fic that ended up getting posted somewhere on the interwebs - there are multiple Star Trek (TOS/AOS and DS9) fics lingering in my drafts (!! one day I will finish one of them), as well as some How To Train Your Dragon, The Good Place and Deadpool stuff, and definitely more I’ve forgotten.

Where You Post: Since I made the switch to writing in English everything has landed on ao3, but I used to write mostly in Dutch, so there’s still close to a million words, I think, under my name on quizlet.nl (not to be confused with quizlet.com, which is a very different website).

Most Popular One-Shot: That depends on how you’re measuring popularity! Going by kudos, it’s Tell me I’m perfect (but tell me the truth), a Magnus/Alec Shadowhunters fic. It’s the truth is a really old fic about Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood from Harry Potter that has the most hits out of all my works, and That time Steve kissed every single Avenger (and also Bucky), an MCU Steve/Bucky fic, has the greatest number of comment threads.

Also, since this is an h50 blog: for my fic in this fandom Wanted: partner (in crime) has the most kudos and hits; You had me at meow has the most comments.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: I’m working on one for h50 (going slowly, so slowly), but I don’t have any posted to ao3. I used to write a lot of multi-chaptered work in my quizlet.nl days, and I think my most popular fic there was probably the second fic I ever wrote, when I was fourteen or fifteen, which was a next-gen Harry Potter fic with shifting and overlapping POVs from the three Potter kids. It was kind of, well, not great, but it’s probably what really cemented my writing habit, it’s still my longest fic ever (over a 100k!) and I got my first fandom friends out of it, including one I’m still in contact with to this day, even though neither of us writes much if anything for Harry Potter anymore.

Favourite Story You Wrote: Ohhh, that’s such an impossible question, especially because I’ve been churning out one-shots like I might actually be getting paid for it, so there’s so much to choose from, which is a thing I have difficulty doing at the best of times, holy shit. Uh, I once wrote a 70k Remus/Sirius (Harry Potter) modern college-ish AU in Dutch that I still like; weirdly, I think that Biblefic holds up (also Dutch), and the HSM fic is fun to reread once in a while because of the fourth wall break, as is That escalated quickly, a Percy/Oliver fic. Ooh, and the fic about Shuri and Stucky and a goat!

For h50, it’s even harder to choose, because my preferences change pretty much weekly (a combination of newer fic being shinier, looking back at fic from even just a few months ago and finding things I would have done differently now, and comments influencing the way I personally look at my own fic), but right now, I’d say I still really like the fic where Steve adopts some guinea pigs, the one with the slightly tipsy team bonding by talking about mutual crushes and this 9.11 coda fix fluff getting together thing.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: That Biblefic, haha, because it’s a very complicated topic and my aim was definitely not to offend. People were really sweet about it, though! Mostly, they were kind of shocked it wasn’t crack, but that’s fair, because so was I.

Also pretty much anything I post in a new fandom, really, and low key just... anything at all. I’m always a little scared I tagged something super badly or accidentally copy-pasted the wrong text or unknowingly wrote something super offensive or whatever, despite my double- and triplechecking of the posting form. (I’m also still kind of scared people on ao3 will randomly decide they hate my fic and my writing and me personally (ao3 is really big and very anonymous and coming from the small town that was quizlet.nl even in its heyday, that’s scary), but that fear has abated as I’ve posted more, just because the data is showing pretty conclusively that thought is as irrational as it sounds. Everyone is always so nice, gosh.)

How Do You Pick Your Titles: Mostly, I steal lines from random songs. I have a small pile of song lyrics to use as potential titles, because going on a seperate hunt for every new fic would take most of my waking hours. Sometimes, I’ll use a pun (like You had me at meow or Retail Therapy) or something else that I think sounds good, especially if the fic is mostly comedy and/or has a specific premise that would do well in a title (like Five times the Governor of Hawaii suspects his taskforce leaders are violating fraternization policies (and one time they tell him they are)).

Do You Outline: I’m mostly writing fic of (sometimes much) less than 5k at the moment, so not really. I do sometimes write tiny bits of a bunch of scenes and then fill in the rest around that, which is a kind of outline, in a way. For longer works, I usually make a one page bullet point list of things that need to happen and work from there, because I can’t do really extensive outlining or I’ll just get caught up in the details and lose all of the oversight a tool like that is supposed to give you, as well as most of my enthusiasm for the project.

How Many Of Your Stories Are Complete: Of the ones posted? On ao3, all of them, because unfinished posted one-shot works would require some strange bending of those concepts. On quizlet.nl, I do have some abandoned works, but I think 80% is finished.

In-Progress: SO MUCH. Seriously, just, so much, oh god. I’d really like to write another Stargate Atlantis fic (and I have 30% of one done), and something more for due South, too, and maybe a small Percy/Oliver thing again some time because they were my very first OTP and I kind of miss them, but mostly I have, like, 100+ half written things for h50. I really wish that number was an exaggeration. There’s no way they’ll all get finished, but maybe... a third? Mayhaps?

That One Truly Long H50 Fic that I was already talking about way back in October last year is also eternally “in progress”. The thing is that it has about 25k now, after a year, and I think it needs... at least four times that. Probably. So either I’ll have to stick with this fandom and my slow progress for another three years to have a shot at getting it finished, or I’ll need to find a way to up the speed a little. Maybe I could try working on it for NaNo this November? That would be pretty awesome, but honestly, part of why it’s moving this slowly is because NaNo-style fast and messy writing for this scares me a little, because I might end up writing a lot, decide it’s not what I wanted for it, and become too intimidated to ever edit and/or rewrite the entire thing. But idk, I probably just need to get over my own fears, because I really do want to write Longer Fic again. Short stuff is fun and feels really productive and that’s great, but I miss the actual slow burn and build-up that only 50k+ words can give you.

Coming Soon: Hopefully a lot? For h50, that is. I have no idea what’s getting posted next, because I’m never entirely sure what’s going to be finished next and something really random might come jumping in, but at the moment I’m trying to direct most of my energies at a slightly longer fic I’ve been working on for months (not The Long Fic, a different one), a fic labeled “9.01 memory loss fic”, another one temporarly entitled “Perfect Kauai beach house vacation”, and maybe an ace!Steve fic I’ve been working on, if I ever manage to uh, actually finish that, instead of rewriting three sentences during every round of editing and never actually adding anything to fill in the gaps it still has. There will also be more season 10 codas, in all likelihood.

Do You Accept Prompts: I’ve never done that before in the traditional way, but I’m thinking about it! I’d love to try (and it would be a breath of fresh air, in some ways!), but the main thing holding me back is that I have way too much on my plate with just my own ideas to work off of, and I don’t want to disappoint people. Maybe if I do drabble-ish prompt fills? It’s definitely been on my mind.

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For: I’m excited for a lot of stuff, but honestly, the top spot right now probably goes to the ace!Steve fic. I’m not even sure it’s that good, necessarily, but it’s, idk, really cathartic, I suppose. Seriously self-indulgent in strange but very good ways. I really like writing it. (Second spot goes to the beach vacation fic, because I haven’t actually written that much for it, but it’s been my go-to easy happy place for the last few weeks.)

I’m tagging @love2hulksmash @thekristen999 @stephmcx @girlonastring @flowerfan2 and @pterawaters, which is six people because I can’t count, but I’m about to make it seven because I’m also tagging you, the person reading this (hi there!). Say I tagged you and tag me so I can read it! I know that kind of thing can feel awkward, but it won’t be, because I’m cheering you on. Go for it, if you want to do it. :D

#tagged in #writing #*#question: [requires maybe two words to be answered]#me: [writes two lengty paragraphs]#i guess that also tells you something about what kind of writer i am

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