#and that i had this dialogue drafted somewhere in my tablet for three of these 4 months

[meant-to-be-a-hero]

heya~ for the writer ask: 1-40, please 💚 ilu

This took a long time, but you did ask me all the questions so I feel like I get a pass for that.

Under a cut, because this is long.

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

Garamond. I think I read somewhere that it’s like, a good one for people to read, and I’ve just never moved away from it. I like it.

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

Oh god no. I edit and change my mind far too much, and I type much faster than I could ever write by hand. I’d end up getting a typewriter or a Dictaphone instead.

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

I tend to write my first drafts on my tablet downstairs. It’s mostly just a skeleton for a plot, and then I edit upstairs on my desktop computer, in like, total silence so I can concentrate. That’s where I flesh out all the stuff I’ve written, and it goes from a draft to a proper story.

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Silhouette. Or manoeuvre. Or camouflage. I spelt two of them wrong, because they are Evil Words.

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

I dunno, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it. Probably not?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

That I’m honestly just writing the same thing over and over, with different characters. Even if the story’s different, that the message is the same. Or that my writing’s like, hollow – it’s just a story, and it doesn’t have a message at all outside of that. Which is fine, obviously, not every piece of writing has to have some Big Meaning behind it, but. Yeah.

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Re-reading something I wrote and haven’t read for a while and going ‘I did that’. Even better if I can go ‘I did that and it’s just as good now as I thought it was when I wrote it’.

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

Action. I could probably write like a pure love story, Love, Simon-esque. But no dialogue would be very hard.

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

Yeah, absolutely.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Not a specific piece of writing but when I write a metaphor and I’m like ‘I’ve used this before’ and I know for a fact that I have but I can’t remember where, which feeds back into that whole ‘all I’m doing is writing the same thing over and over again’ thing, that haunts me a lot. Haunted by my own narrative.

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I don’t think it always applies, but definitely sometimes. I don’t like doing it, obviously, because it’s Murder, but sometimes trying to make three paragraphs work because you really like one sentence just isn’t the way to go. I don’t save them, they just get deleted and I’ll cry a little bit.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

Being able to type without ever misspelling a word again. The amount of times I misspell shit and have to go back and change it, I could probably have written twice as many words.

The ability to have Fresh Eyes right away. I tend to write in the morning/afternoon then step away from it and edit in the evenings, but sometimes it’d be nice to just be able to edit right away.

Maybe like, the ability to just stop myself from being so fucking critical about my writing, that’d be nice.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

I dunno, I don’t think I write things that are hard for me, like, on purpose? Maybe that’s not pushing myself, I guess, but. I tend to worry that when I introduce problems, especially relationship problems, I solve them too quickly and easily? Maybe that’s it.

Melodrama’s easy for me, because I love it. Stupid sweeping sentences and ridiculous descriptions and big explosive set-pieces. That’s my shit.

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

Yes, yes, yes, and no, in that order. I’m very particular about my books, I don’t like them being damaged, so I’m happy to lend them to people, but they have to understand that they have to look after them.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

Dear god no. I don’t judge people who do any of those things, just don’t do them with my books. We can still be friends, Quiz. But you’re on thin ice.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

Oh probably food. I think I used one of those liquorice straws covered in sugar once, and had sugar stuck in the spine of the book forever after. I definitely try not to do that any more lol. This always reminds me of that post where the guy used a slice of cheese.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

Ooh, good question. I don’t think I’ve worked out all of that stuff either, so it’s hard to say. I think most of it’s explicit? Or it will be when I finish it.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

Ok, not a passage, but there’s like two chapters in the middle of A Pack Of Two that I wrote when I was right at the end of the story. I didn’t know how the story was supposed to end, not really – like I knew I wanted a happy ending and stuff but I didn’t know how to get there, so I went back and wrote these nice fluffy chapters where Steve and Eddie did some fun things together that added a little conflict and fleshed out how they felt about each a bit more, and by the time I’d finished them, I knew how I wanted the story to end properly. So sometimes, going back on yourself can be helpful.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I guess I’ve always written fanfic, even if it never really went anywhere. I had some stories on an old comic book forum, there was some Spider-Man, Runaways, Green Lantern, and Thunderbolts that I remember.

Then I did my first x Reader insert thing for Teen Wolf, and that took on a life of its own. I really liked the whole idea of adding a new character to continuity, like dancing between the raindrops so you can get your own character in there without changing the original narrative. That was what kept me writing for a bit, I did a Krypton one and a Stargirl one too. Oh and a Zombies one, nearly forgot that.

And somewhere in there, I started doing NaNoWriMo – my mum suggested something to me once, about writing a story I wanted to read because I didn’t find it on a shelf, and that was where I got my first three novels, The Ormere Chronicles, from.

I also wrote my High Fantasy book, Shall Set You Free, and then my Terry Pratchett-esque book, Death Vs. The Zombie Apocalypse (which I think is still my best book, tbh).

When the pandemic hit, that was when I started writing my Lovecraft stuff, because it was fucking depressing. I’ve still gotta finish those, I’m like 1/3 of the way through the final book.

And since like, July of last year, I’ve been writing Stranger Things fanfic pretty much non-stop, which is probably the most consistently I’ve written for a long time, and I like that.

In terms of where I’m going, I don’t really know. I’m writing stories I like writing, about things I like, and I’m gonna keep doing that. I hope I don’t ever stop, honestly.

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you’ve always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

Oh, probably the first one. I’m never entirely happy with what I write, and I think having one perfect piece of writing and then not being able to live up to that for the rest of my life would be so depressing. I’d rather have 50 nearly perfect bits of writing (and my true love) than 1 flawless one.

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

I hope not? I can go a long time without doing it sometimes, but I don’t think I could ever out and out stop. I don’t feel like it’s a chore, so I don’t wish I could stop, no. It’s fun, and while it’d be nice to like, make a career out of it, I enjoy it too much to really want to monetize it.

Or y’know, I’m too scared to try, but we won’t talk about that.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

Notes-wise, I tend to write a lot of stuff down on paper to start with when I’m getting the story in order, and then transpose them into a Word doc.

I then proceed to basically ignore said Word doc, write the story, and then check the notes at the end and laugh at how close/far away I was from what I’d intended.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

It’s either a dining table with a tablet on it, usually with a mug of hot chocolate and/or something to snack on, or my desk upstairs that’s full of the usual desk things, nothing particularly special. I don’t think I’m interesting enough for this question.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

I let the ideas percolate for a while. I don’t need a whole beginning/middle/end before I start writing, but I like to have the big beats, like the Point of what I’m writing, rather than just totally winging it. I tried that once, and it failed miserably.

It’s a lot of thinking, and then writing notes. If I get stuck, I try and go for a walk or do some kind of activity where I can’t do anything but think about my story, so my brain can sort out any problems or connect the dots that I can’t connect usually.

I don’t mind this part, but I definitely prefer the actual writing bit.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

In my head, Alicia from The Ormere Chronicles literally looks like “If River Song Was Black”. I don’t know if that’s like, explicit in the text, but it is now.

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

Writing fanfic, it’s easier, because I can just rewatch the shows or whatever that I’m basing things on. I like doing that to get their voices down properly, so at least they sound right when I write them. I read all my dialogue over a few times, sometimes out loud, to make sure it sounds natural, and like what they’d actually say.

For my original characters, it’s a lot of ‘what would X do in this situation’ kind of conversations with myself. Once I’m in, I try and stay there until the story’s done – I only work on one WIP at a time, usually.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Oh god, probably some of the insufferable characters from Death Vs. The Zombie Apocalypse, like the whole point of them was to be horrible representations of human beings, but I think maybe I was a little too good at that. Read into that what you will.

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

This question was really sticking for me, until I remembered, there’s a character in the Ormere Chronicles, the third book of the three, who is literally my nan. She passed away before she could read any of my books, but she’s a character in one of them who’s in a bus station at two separate points, and she meets the two main characters who missed each other, and she talks them through their problems so that they can reunite.

I don’t think I realised why I did that until now, including her because she couldn’t read them before she died. Oh, now I’m sad.

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

That’s a good question. With fanfic, it’s usually ‘I want to write these characters in this kind of situation’, and the situation is one I’ve seen in other media, like transposing them from their universe to another. Or with x Reader stuff, it’s ‘I want to be in this situation with this character’ which is entirely self-indulgent and I love it.

For original stuff, I like to pick a genre, and then go from there, that’s my starting point that dictates the characters, setting, and such.

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

I barely ever remember my dreams after I wake up, so I don’t have much to say on this one. I’ve used dreams a few times in my writing, to be like prophetic or to help put things into perspective for my characters, that’s about it.

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

I always sign off my fics with “I hope you had as much reading this as I did writing it”, which I think sums up how I feel about my readers, honestly.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I honestly don’t read a lot of other people’s fanfic, because I have this weird thing of not wanting to write things that other people have written, so if I don’t know that they’ve written them, then I can’t have copied them, if that makes sense?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

Nah, writing’s my expression. I am art.txt, not art.jpeg, as the meme goes.

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

Yes, love it, best comma. All the commas.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

Starting sentences with prepositions, probably. Because I can. And I will. Sometimes it’s just necessary.

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

Closeted/confused queer boy finds himself. Anything more than that is usually veering into the Things I Wish I Knew category.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

God, he wrote a lot about those dudes from Stranger Things falling in love, didn’t he?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

I have this odd hang-up with sex scenes that I’m trying to get around. I have been writing more of them, and getting more comfortable with them, but a lot of my sex scenes are very much metaphor and inference rather than ‘he put his dick in his ass’, because it feels really weird to me to never mention sexual stuff until The Sex Chapter, and then it’s all dicks and shit. But I’m working on it.

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

Re-reading my own stuff, and knowing that a) I did that, b) I can do that again, and c) I can do better than that now. Reminding myself what I’ve accomplished already and what I can do in the future.

And reminding myself that, at the end of the day, everything I write is for me first.

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

Oh, uh, erm. I haven’t written poetry in a very long time, I’m sorry, Quiz.

[damianosismyking]

PART X - [FINAL]

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX 

Sitting on the edge of the fence, with his feet kicking against the white wood, Laurent didn’t know what he was feeling.  

He knew, but he didn’t know.  

He was no longer the stable boy for the deAkielos family. He no longer lived at the ranch. He was still an orphan and there was nothing he could do about this, but somewhere between the main house and the garage and the stables, his brother awaited to take him home to his family that wasn’t his. He would no longer race around the vineyards in warm afternoons or climb trees (much less kiss under them).  

There was something in the bittersweetness that made Laurent’s chest ache.  

Egeria would become even more of a memory, a more distant one, stored away along with his parents and his old house, his old school, and the books he loved dearly in childhood, long forgotten. The open greenness, the soft breeze, the buzz of the summer… they’d be in the past too. Laurent was going home, though home felt much like here and the place he was supposed to miss – and he did – was foreign.  

He always knew anyway; he was never meant to fit anywhere and nowhere was made for him. What difference it made where he lived. There would always be something to miss and something to leave behind.  

Like his mother and father. Like Auguste. Damen and Egeria. The ranch, and Pinocchio, his mare. His room with all his toys, his room with all its smells. Arles and Dice.  

...

Four days ago, in a charming, luxurious conference room downtown in Dice, at the law firm Damianos works for, Laurent’s uncle signed a settlement.

The alternative would be going to court and risk time in jail, which he was not willing to do.  

He signed the agreement that gave back all the family money and properties he appropriated (the word the counselor used), an agreement to confess he did intervene with the hearings about Laurent’s custody, an agreement to make sure he would issue an apology, an agreement to compensate for the defamation of Auguste, something Laurent had no knowledge about prior to the moment it was mentioned.  

Auguste sat still through all of it blank-faced. He said nothing for an hour and so Laurent did the same. He did not answer to their uncle’s provocative statements, not even when they were directed at him, and soon they died down.  

The glares he risked to Auguste were never responded and he stopped trying to give them; the glares risked to Damianos were always responded with a curt nod, a twist of the lips or the averting of the eyes and so Laurent looked often.

In that same luxurious conference room that had to be the fanciest place Laurent has ever been to, he kissed Damianos.

It was after his uncle and his attorneys left, and the documents were signed, and Auguste excused himself to go to the restroom for a moment. They were close and Laurent asked what else was there for them to do after this, to which Damianos responded, ‘nothing.’  

Damianos told him they won and he had been smiling then, so Laurent forgot, for the flick of a second, that he couldn’t – he shouldn’t – and he kissed Damianos on the lips, the way he thought of doing every day. The way he hadn’t done in weeks.  

At first, Laurent argued it to himself it was a mindless, giddy reaction to the good news – which he knew was not the truth. Mindless, giddy reactions had nothing to deal with the way he half-ran his way around the big oak table and launched himself in Damianos’ arms.  

At second, he argued that he did it because now he could afford to have a crush on Damianos, with the money of the settlement. He was not wealthy – or at least not as wealthy as Damianos – but he could afford to have more than old clothes, hand-me-down books and second-hand electronics.  

At third he remembered that Damen was still, in spite of riches, too much for him, so Laurent left before any of them could say anything.

And they didn’t talk about it.  

Laurent didn’t know what he was feeling. Or he did, but there was no way he could put a name to it.  

...

Laurent said goodbye to the view on his way down to the stables where part of his baggage waited.  

He said goodbye to the vineyards, to the stone path that led to the main house, the dirt path he took to go up the hill with his horse, among thick ivy brushes and wide trees. He whispered goodbye to his favorite hiding spots, to the tire swing that had been there ever since Egeria was little girl. The white fence.  

He would have given his farewell to Theomedes, Kastor and Jokaste as well, but they left to go spend a season in Ios, the housekeeper told him.

The sun was setting. Laurent delayed enough to be able watch it one final time. By this time tomorrow, he would watch the sunset from his room in Auguste’s home.  

His home. With Auguste and his wife, whose name Laurent kept forgetting. And the kid whose name Laurent could not forget if he tried.  

He crossed the fence that delimited the stable area dreading to get to his things and hold conversation with Auguste, who was more excited than Laurent was able to stomach right now. He thought nothing of the relief that bloomed in his chest when he saw there was no one there. Only the horses and a pile of boxes bigger than Laurent expected it to be.

Laurent said goodbye to the horses one by one, and lingered when it was Pinocchio’s turn, his forehead glued to her nose, scratching the back of her ear, urging her to understand he was not leaving her on purpose or because he loved her any less than always.

Had Laurent been more attentive or had his continuous mumble been less intense or sniffs less audible, he perhaps would have noticed that someone approached the stables and witnessed his passionate goodbye to the horse.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Damianos said to his back and Laurent startled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – She’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

Laurent runs a mindless hand over the front of his shirt and his jeans to compose. “I know. All of the stable staff is very attentive.”

Damen smiled meekly, shaking his head in a nearly imperceptible motion. “I will tend to her personally.”

Damen was just standing there, one shoulder propped to the wooden post in the middle of the stable. His hair was wet and tousled, disheveled by the wind on his way down. He wore sweatpants low on his hips and Laurent was not looking at the way it fit him, cling to him and shaped him everywhere. His t-shirt was tight around his torso and biceps. His lips were red, the way they usually were after he took long, steaming showers, so hot Laurent himself was never able to stay through, or his skin would burn.

He committed this vision of Damianos to memory. The careless, domestic, natural view of him that Laurent had not appreciated enough in the past.

“Where is Auguste?” Damen asked.  

Laurent shrugged. “I think he is down in the garage.”

“Do you need help taking your things to the car?”

Laurent shook his head. His throat felt too tight to speak, his mind too clouded to think of words, his heart to heavy to bear say what he had been avoiding – the goodbye he was not able to give.

They simply stood where they were, boring their eyes on each other, lulled by neighs and huffs and hooves.  

“I like what you did with your hair by the way,” Damen said, pointing awkwardly. “It looks nice. Short.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said, an involuntary hand picking at the short strands that tickled his nape.

More nothing. Laurent knows what he is avoiding and knows better yet that it is unavoidable, and still he can’t make himself say it.  

Damen is still there if he doesn’t say it. If he stall just a little longer, he is still part of the stable staff, he still lives in the room a few feet down in this same building, he will still see Damen tomorrow.  

He can’t stall.

“I’m very thankful for all that you…” he was saying.  

Damen picked the same exact moment to say, “Is there no way for…”

They stopped. Both of them. Eyes on each other, intently. Is there no way for what, Laurent was about to say, when Damen said, “You go first.”

Laurent drew in a sharp breath. “I’m very thankful for all that you and your family have done for me.”

Damen’s face fell along his shoulders. For a moment before he caught himself, Damen seemed utterly disappointed by the words that came out Laurent’s mouth and Laurent wanted to tell him it was not the first time something like that happened.  

“You keep saying that” Damen said.

“It’s the truth.”

Damen nodded, shifting on his feet. He assumed a more guarded posture, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes were no longer on Laurent too, but on his feet with flip flops.  

Laurent���s mind took him back to the fancy conference room, four days ago, to the way Damen cradled his head, his soft, soft sigh when he melted into the kiss barely a moment before Laurent came back to his senses and pulled away. Laurent had not spent a second to watch the way Damen’s features changed before he was out the door, punching the elevator bottom.  

“You were saying something as well,” Laurent said.  

Once more, Damen nodded. “Is there,” he looked back at Laurent, “No way forward for us?”

“You mean if I’m going back to your bed?” Laurent said. It is not as cold as he intended it to be, almost playful instead. If he let himself think of it, he sounded hurt, but it was unlikely it was obvious to anyone else.

Damen took a step forward, unsure what to do with his hands without the post to lean against. For good measure, he took another one, still too far to reach. “I wish,” he started and spared a moment to recalibrate the words, “I wish I had done things differently. That I made it clear how much you mean to me.”

It was Laurent’s turn to look down at dusty boots, dirt and lost hay. “Damen.” Stop.

“You were never… to me, you were never just a hook up. I should have told you that.”

You should have. I wish you did. But would that have made any difference? “It wasn’t really… about that.” Wasn’t it? What would have changed for Laurent if Damen told Laurent he meant more than the fuck of the month?  

“Not exclusively, at least,” he finally added.

Damen was still walking towards him and if Laurent was a braver man, he would meet him halfway. Laurent was never brave.

“What was it about then?” Damen said. He paused and his feet vacillated with him. He was more unsure. “Do you… not care? Did you not want to get involved?”

Laurent’s heart dropped. It’s not that, he wanted to say, how could you ever think that? When Laurent took too long, Damen said, “I just want to understand,” and it sounded nearly as a plead.

“You were my boss, Damen,” Laurent said. “We were never the same. There was no way it – we could make it work.”

Auguste came to mind then. Was he coming back? Where was he? Laurent should be looking for him, taking his boxes down to the garage, loading the truck Damianos was kind enough to rent to make the move easier, getting in the car, listening to Auguste talk about his family and how Laurent was going to love the new town they are living in.  

Laurent should be thinking about that. About going to college, getting to know his brother again; about the bookstore Auguste was sure Laurent was going to love, he huge public library just two blocks down in their neighborhood. About going back to the real world and becoming a citizen of it again, about how it would feel not to be sheltered and hiding any longer.  

But Damen was there with huge, hopeful eyes and Laurent.  

He wanted him. He wanted. He basked in how much Damen still seemed to want him too.  

He wanted Damen to ask him to stay, and to tell him he was stupid for going away.

“And now?” Damen said.  

“Now what?” Laurent needed him to say it. He did not dare to hope.  

“I know you have a lot on your plate. I don’t want to steal you from your brother, but,” he was finally there, where Laurent could reach him, “We could start over. Fresh,” he said.

It felt like Laurent had been holding his breath for weeks, and now he could finally breath.  

Yes, he meant to say, but the words stayed inside.  

“You will always be welcome in here,” Damen continued, his thumb caressing Laurent’s cheekbone, his breath brushing softly, tenderly against Laurent’s face, “This ranch is… it can be home, to you. If you want.”

Laurent gulped through his dry throat and smiled, letting go of pretense. Even if he could, he would not have kept his guard up. Damen’s eyes on him were expectant, eager for Laurent’s reply.  

There was a lot to consider then. What it meant, to start over, what it was that they were together – properly together – and what changed. What remained the same. Where to start when what they had was not new and yet a complete novelty.

What would Egeria think? What will Theomedes say?  

“I’d like that,” Laurent said instead, excitement burning his chest. “I’d like that very much.”

Leaning in, Damen kissed him and for the first time, Laurent considered that it could work.  

And Laurent knew exactly how to feel about that.

-- 

The end uwu

Read it on AO3