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liitlesunshiine · 4 years

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Welcoming Death

(Demon Dabi x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, mentions of death, degradation, manipulation, suicidal themes, dubcon, slight blood mention (towards the end)

Word count: 3k

Notes: Hi lol ok. Not only is this my first time writing a full on smutty fic but it’s also my first post on this account,, so I am lowkey kinda insecure on my writing. I’m just here for a good time so don’t judge too harshly. Also, Demon Dabi out here vibing with us during Halloween time. Enjoy & please, I mean PRETTY PLEASE w a cherry on top let me know what you think! :)

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It was only in moments of pure despair did Demon Dabi appeared to you.

And today, maybe today you thought. Maybe today you’d finally give in.

“Hello little dove” the demon whispered coolly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you ready for me to take you?”

You laid on your bed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a thong. The demon appeared right next you edging the side of your bed.

He caressed your face with his fingers. Slowing touching and soothing his fingertips across your cheek, the action feeling rather comforting to you.

“Allow me to relieve your sadness dove. I can sense the weight on your shoulders and pain holding you down. Allow me to rid of your suffering and take care of you.” He cooled, nudging his face closer to yours.

You sighed. You were mentally and emotionally exhausted. You knew what he wanted and what it meant for you. If you accepted him, that meant you accepted death. Sulking miserably into yourself you decided to cave in. You were at the verge of sanity by this point. The constant lows that life put you through left you unmotivated and unwilling to continue. You just wanted peace. You wanted this to all end. And that’s how you found yourself patiently waited for the Demon. You sulked over this decision for hours and the only thing that felt right was to finally give into him.

And here you were ready and committed for not only the demon but death as well.

“Dabi, for the past 7 years you’ve come to me in only my darkest moments trying to manipulate me and fool me into giving my away life to you. I know you don’t care about me. I know you’re only here to take advantage and use me.”

You grabbed his face softly. Looking deep into those piercing blue eyes.

“Take me Dabi.”

“I am ready.”

The demon looked lustfully in your eyes. You gently pulled his face closer to yours leading his lips onto your own. Everything was moving so slow. You felt the rough skin of his scars against your chin. He was careful with his movements. The sensation of his ruined bottom lip was rough but the warmth and wetness of his tongue lightly grazing your mouth was enough to issue a slight moan out of you.

You figured since today was your last day on earth you might as well indulge yourself into your humanly desires. You’re only but a weak human girl handing her life away to the blue-eyed demon before you. What power did you have? You were nobody and nothing to this world, so who cares.

He held the hand that you had on his face and brought it to his lips. He opened his eyes with lust heavily influencing them.

“Are you sure this is what you want doll? Do you know this means?” He said all while placing soft kisses across your hand, nibbling slowly up your arm. You no longer cared at this point. No longer had the motivation or will to continue this pathetic life you lived.

“Save me Dabi. Take me. I don’t care, I just... I just want this to end already.”

He hummed lightly. “Then tell me my little human- in fact, beg for me to take you.”

You only nodded and proceeded to do has the demand demanded. Begging softly into his ear to take your life and end your suffering. He was now shifted above you. Knees pinned on either side of your body, keeping you in place. He leaned into your neck kissing it lightly and gently giving it a few subtle licks. He proceeded to grab your neck with his hand while nibbing on your earlobe.

“You’ve put on a fight for so long doll. I was losing hope of ever getting you... Now tell me human how much do you hate this world.” The sensations from his actions were already making you feel high. His seductive voice only making the pool in between your legs wetter and hotter now.

You gripped onto his neck pulling him close you. “I hate this world so much. Plea- pleas.. please take me already Dabi.” You begged lightly.

He only hummed in response. He licked your neck once more before proceeding to lower himself until his face in between your thighs. You looked down on him, his feathery black wings on full display and all puffed out, the light hitting his horns perfectly, if you didn’t know better you’d say he looked like an angel this moment. Regardless of the scars all over his body, with those blue eyes sinking into you couldn’t help but admit to yourself that he was beautiful.

“Dove I can sense the lust radiating off your body, I can even smell the wetness between your legs. Do you crave my touch that desperately?”

“You’re burning so hot for me already; who would’ve known you were such a good and submissive girl for me. I guess it’s only fair for me to reward my human and give into her last dying wish. Would you like that baby dove?”

He was smirking looking at you with one hand holding his chin up and the other doing teasingly lines up and down your clothed pussy. The sensation was so tingling, you already felt out of breath. You couldn’t respond feeling choked up from the light touches. Frustrated from no response, he shoved one finger in between your underwear and bear sex. His finger slowly getting hotter and hotter by the second. You screamed out once you felt the burning sensation and flick of blue fire. Your underwear now burned into two pieces.

“I don’t like silence dove. Don’t make me punish you.” His mouth only mear inches away from your pussy now. His hot breath teasing your cunt. God it felt so fucking divine. It was only his breath that you felt on your cunt and you were already feeling dizzy from the sensation.

“Im- I’m sorry.” You exhaustedly worded out. He hummed again this time the vibration going straight in between your legs. He placed one finger on your pussy, slowly and deliberately sinking it into you. While his finger was moving frustratingly slow than before, he swiped his tongue giving your cunt a kitten lick. You moaned in response and jerked your body up. Which he grunted at and roughly pulled your legs apart pinning them in place.

“Don’t move kitten if so, you’ll upset me.”

You nodded quickly and understandably. It was already taking so much out of you to hold back. He must’ve put you under some type of enchantment. All your senses felt heightened somehow, every touch sending you shivers. Your body felt so light and your mind was becoming hazy.

You held your breath in when you felt his tongue retreat back in. Fuck fuck. He removed one hand from your thigh and began fingering you. You let out the air you were holding in to then grip on of his horns tightly in order to prevent yourself from squirming around. He was smirking at the action. His soft warm tongue and the combination of his rough bottom lip was already sending you over edge, he was deliberately trying to get you to move and you knew it. With one hand on his horn and the other now fisting his hair you arched your back up. Already feeling yourself about to cum. His fastened the movement of his finger inside you, now adding a second one and scissoring your cunt.

“Your clenching around my fingers dove. Going to cum already for me?” He chuckled and adding a third finger in. His pace now rough and fast pulling all three fingers in and out of you. You were a moaning mess until he abruptly stopped, pulling all fingers out of you. You felt the warmth and fullness leave. Dazed and confused you lifted your head to try to see why he stopped, and you were only met with his blue shot eyes piercing you.

“Beg for release Y/N.” He demanded.

And that’s exactly what you did. Once satisfied with your words, he pulled your legs wider apart. It took a moment to register that the length of his tongue was drastically increased. You screamed from the sensation of having his snake length tongue squirm and move inside you. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head and pulled on both his horns diving his face deeper into your pussy. He plummeted his fingers inside and sucked on your clit, awhile his tongue still inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, and you were beginning to feel the warmth of an organism flow throughout your body. You curled your toes up and closed your thighs caging his head.

You rode out your first orgasm on his tongue and his fingers.

You gently released the tight grip you had on his horns and laid exhaustedly on the bed with both arms beside you.

“Now, now doll. We’re not even close to being finished here.” He lifted himself out from between legs and was now hovering over.

Your essence was smeared across his lips. He held his hand out in front of you. Proudly displaying the wetness on his fingers.

“You taste delicious human. See for yourself.” He shoved the two fingers into your mouth. You licked and swirled your tongue, tasting yourself off his fingers. He smiled at the sight.

“Good pet.” He removed the fingers out of your mouth and placed them in his. He groaned loudly at the taste.

“God everything about you is so fucking delicious. Open your mouth slut.” You stuck your tongue out with your mouth open on full display. He roughly gripped your cheeks and brought your face inches away slightly beneath to his, where he then spat inside your mouth. A long string of saliva connecting you both. You swallowed happily putting on the biggest puppy doe eyes you could muster.

You wanted him inside you already. The desperation was written across your face and your body already submitting. He could tell and god was he holding himself back.

“Be vocal pet. Tell me what it is that you want and maybe I’ll be nice.” He placed his forehead against yours still gripping your cheeks tightly. His eyes boring holes into you.

“I- I want you.. in.. inside me.” You said shyly trying to look away only to be brought back into his intense gaze.

“Your essence is smeared all across my face and you’re still acting trying to act modest?”

You blushed, feeling yourself get all hot and bothered from his voice alone. “I’m sorry.” You responded looking deeply into his eyes. He hummed and brought your lips into his.

“Let’s see you continue to be a good pet for me human. I’ll take you soon don’t worry; you’ll be mine and leave this filthy world.”

You nodded and kissed him in response. You felt his tongue waver in and explore your mouth. You heard him beginning to unbuckle his belt and you pulled away slightly looking at his naked chest. With a bit of confidence and desperation you leaned in and helped him pull his pants down all while he watched.

“Desperate for my cock pet?”

Your mouth was watering at the sight. His dick on full display, you never seen anything like it no human could ever be the length that this demon was. You found your face inching closer and closer to it, until his pulled your hair back rather forcefully and brought himself face to face with you again.

“I’m the one taking you here. Lay back human.” You found yourself feeling slightly disappointed with the urge of wanting to taste his dick in your mouth.

“Don’t look so disappointed doll. We’ll have an eternity to spend together soon enough, you’ll have your chance to taste me.”

You laid your head back into the pillows. Questioning to yourself what he meant by an eternity since you’ve assumed, he was going to be killing you after this is all said and done. He placed himself in between your legs, lining himself up.

“It almost feels like you’re burning hotter than I am. Such a submissive pet. You’re such a good human for me.”

You moaned at the sensation of him moving his tip up and down the folds of your pussy.

“So wet for me pet. How badly have you been lusting over me human? I should’ve taken you sooner.”

You continued moaning and sighed in response not being able to think of anything other than his cock teasing your entrance. He forced your legs apart and enlightened his fingertips on fire. Your body jerked up at the sudden pain and yell escaped your lips. He gripped you by the neck and was squeezing it tightly.

“What did I say about being silent pet? Don’t fucking ignore me when I speak.”

He shoved you back into bed, all while shoving his cock in with one simple slide. His grip on your throat preventing you from releasing a sound. He was thrusting into you brutally with a quick set pace. You were scraping and scratching all throughout his back. His wings puffering back and forth. He was penetrating you with such force it gave you little to no chance to try and accustom yourself to his size. You felt his cock practically reaching your stomach. The sensation was too much, while the first thrust elicited pain out of you, you couldn’t help but to deny the pleasure that was ripping all throughout your body. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move or even speak. You laid there clinging onto his back with his hand roughly gripping your throat still. He pulled back slightly to lick a rolling tear off your cheek. His tight grip loosing from your neck now.

“How do you feel human? How does the cock of a demon feel in you?” He bit your earlobe.

“Yes- so so good. Pleas- please don- don’t stop.” You couldn’t form a coherent sentence let alone think of one. The pleasure was so intoxicating, you didn’t know if what you said was even understandable, but you refused to stay silent in fear he’d burn you again.

“You’re clenching around me human. Cum for me.” Already reaching your limit you allowed the organism to wash through you. You moaned and puffed. His thrusts only getting faster and harder. You gripped his inner wings, the point where his wings connected to his back. He groaned and his movements slightly haltered.

“Don’t do that pet.” He grunted in your ear. You assumed it must be a sensitive spot for him. The sound he made when you touched them was heaven in your ears. Wanting to hear it again, you gather some confidence and gripped the spot harder, this time eliciting an unfiltered moan from him. He chuckled in your ear.

“Disobedience won’t go unchecked pet.”

You felt his hands waver down to your ass. He gripped both your ass cheeks while sparking some fire out of his hands. You screamed from the pain. Holding onto him tightly, he removed one hand to bring it back with a hard and fiery slap. This time instead of screaming you let out a loud moan, the pain slowly oozing into pleasure. The continuation of his deep thrusts and hot hands all over your body, resulted in yet another organism to wash over you. You released the hold from his wings feeling absolutely dazed, tears and sweat coating your face.

“Cumming without permission pet? You’ve disobeyed me twice already. Seems like I’m going to have to have to punish you and teach you some manners… guesss we’ll save.. that for another timee..”

His thrusts were becoming sloppy and he was slurring a few of his words. You apologized for disobeying him rather than staying silent. He gripped your face pushing it to side, leaving your neck completely exposed to him. With two final thrusts from him, you felt ropes of cum enter you. The warmth making you feel full and satisfied. You laid there exhaustedly, waiting for his next move.

He licked your neck softly.

“You did so well for me pet.”

He kissed your neck.

“Are you ready for me to take you now?”

Without waiting for a response, you felt his fangs protrude out and instantly puncture the side of your neck. The blood oozing out was captured by his warm tongue. He gave soft licks around the area numbing the pain. Your sight was now becoming black and your mind slowly losing consciousness.

“I hope you’re ready to spend a new life of eternity with me Y/N.”

Was the last thing you heard before closing your eyes and accepting your assumed death.

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scandeniall · 5 years

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Just Friends // Kuroo

pt 2 (kinda but not rly)

Tell me how this isn’t a relationship. That was the story of Kuroo’s life. Proven time and time again whenever he had you right on the verge of being something more just for you to pull away again. “Tetsuro,” you sigh out, eyes narrowing at the tall man currently trapping you against the wall. Any other time this position is more than welcome, but not when it stopped you from getting the hottie’s from across the rooms number. It happened so fast- one minute you were laughing and flirting with some guy in your business class, and two seconds later you felt a body pressed against your back and arms. Needless to say, you probably won’t be hearing from whatever his name is very much.

“Y/N,” he mocks back, one hand sliding down the wall to rest on your waist, fingers fiddling with your belt loop. “Come home with me. You know I’ll make it worth it” his other hand goes to unfold your arms and grab one of your hands. Before you can give in to him you’re interrupted by one of your friends. “Y/N! Finally, I found you! C’mon, we’re about you play never have I ever and I already got your drink.” You slide from under Kuroo, however not letting go of his hand before nodding at your friend. You don’t miss the way her eyes linger on your intertwined hands before smirking and looking at Kuroo. “You too Kuroo. Bokuto already has your drink.” You couldn’t help laughing as he groaned before saying he’d meet you all in the living room in a minute. Shrugging, you let go of his hand and start walking through the long hallway with your friend.

“So you and Kuroo huh-“

“We’re friends.”

(Y/F/N) put her hands up surrendering as you two make your way back into the crowded, and hazy living room. “I didn’t say anything yet,” to which she just received a “whatever” as you looked around for somewhere to sit. Your eyes catch one last spot right between Bokuto and the edge of the couch. You grab your own drink before settling next to him before offering to hold Kuroo’s drink as well. “Y/N. I haven’t seen you all night,” Bokuto beams at you and you can’t help but smile back. His energy really is contagious. “I’ve been around-“

“yeah she’s been around with Kuroo” one of your other friends laughs from the couch across from you. “Screw you,” you retort back wishing you weren’t holding two cups so you could properly flick her off. You hear someone else, maybe Akaashi, say something about speaking of the devil himself before you feel a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“One of those for me,” he smirks nodding at the drinks in your hand. Instead of answering you take a sip of whatever shitty mixture you got from Bokuto, making a disgusted face at the cup. “Yeah, this one is definitely yours. Shitty drink courtesy of Bo.” Ignoring a hey, from Bokuto you stand up to not only hand Kuroo his drink but to let him sit on the couch. His legs were much longer than yours and the cramped floor would probably be hell. After he situates himself, you prepare to just sit on the floor next to him but instead, are tugged into his lap almost spilling your drink. You sigh his name for the second time that night lightly elbowing his abdomen, before turning so that you’re almost sitting sideways and resting back on the arm of the couch instead of him. “What,” he lazily speaks, “I’m not letting you sit on the floor when there’s a perfectly good seat right here”

“Can we just get this damn game started already”

As the game progressed, Kuroo noticed your mood change several times. From mildly annoyed, to giggly as you got more alcohol in your system. During that time he allowed himself to get a little more touchy than he normally would have in public. From kissing your bare shoulder, to inching his free hand from your knee you now rest on your thigh.

“Alright never have I ever had a dirty crush on multiple people in this group,” some random person called out and at that almost everyone playing took a sip. “Oya? Who’ve been dreaming about Y/N” you heard kuroo question as he rested his cheek against your arm. Instead of answering you teased back. “Wouldn’t you like to know. What about you? How many people here have you dreamed about.” At that kuroo laughed and shrugged, ”Doesn’t matter now. I want you.” You couldn’t help but smile and try not to let his words affect you while also ignoring the hoots and “aws” from others around you. “Just friends,” you pointed out to everyone ignoring Kuroo’s smug look as he just shrugged at his friend’s own questioning glances.

“Alright everyone,” Bokuto clapped. “I got a good one! Never have I ever fucked anyone in this room” You looked around at everyone in the living room noticing half of your friends take a sip, including Bokuto to which you heard Yaku say something about why would he say that if he has. You took a sip of your own drink feeling Kuroo’s eyes on you. You glance at him to see him sip on his own drink before leaning up so that you’re able to feel his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “I’m currently doing that aren’t I.” You bite your own lip at the rhetorical as his hand that had been resting on your thigh squeezes. “I guess you are aren’t you,” you whisper back, hand resting on top of his to move it down towards on your knee instead.

As the night progressed, both you and Kuroo had abandoned your cups, the game, and your friends deciding to take a breather outside. You remember objecting when your friends offered to wait on you two when someone mentioned bringing the weed out. Instead, you found yourself straddling Kuroo on top of a hammock in Yaku’s backyard. Hands cupping his cheeks, you cut him off in the middle of some story to gently press your lips against his. “Can you shut up and kiss me,” you tease pulling back only enough to speak. He could still feel your lips brush his with every word. “So much for you being sleepy,” he mentioned the reason you two had even ditched. Before you could respond he pressed his lips back against yours, a kiss much needier than yours had been. He couldn’t help but groan as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, his hands going slipping from your hips to grip at the curve of your ass prompting you to grind down on his crotch. The party going on so close to you had been forgotten as kuroo was the only thing present in your mind and you in his. Pulling away, you lowered your head towards his jaw beginning to trail kisses down his neck. Hands tugging his messy hair you’re careful not to leave any marks despite every fiber in your being screaming to do it. After all, you’re just friends. “Go ahead. Leave a mark,” you say up, eyes widening as kuroo groaned out.

“Tetsu-“

Your warning fell on deaf ears. A smack to your ass cut you off, kuroo smirking at the louder than intended moan that slipped out. “Y/N-“ he mocked for the second time that night. “You already have me. My friends know. Your friends know. Go ahead. Mark me and let the world know”

Before you could answer back to that the door to the yard opened and you heard an angry Yaku, “Can you two not fucking break my hammock. Matter of fact- don’t even fuck in my house” the two of you looked at each other unaffected, before bursting into laughter. Ignoring his rants about now having to burn the hammock you look down at kuroo with the eyes he’d fallen for. The hint of lust previously present, dissipated and now you looked at peace. And a little sleepy, something he’d confirmed at the yawn you let out. Before leaning down to rest your cheek against his chest.

“C’mon (Y/N). Let’s get you home,” you heard Kuroo whisper as his hand rubbed lightly up your back.

“Only if you stay the night”

“Only for you”

A/N: alright so this the first reader insert anything I have written in 3 years and my very first for 2d characters so I'm sorry if its rough and kuroo is OC. I wrote this in one sitting and am posting it same day despite it being the middle of the night. This is me getting my feet wet in fic writing as I'm working on 2 full-length fics (one kuroo and one oikawa)This was supposed to be fully based on Relationship by Anthony Ramos but its deadass only loosely inspired. I might make this into a series idk really. Anyways this will also be posted on my ao3 also yall can feel free to follow my anitwit: damnitdazai

#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo imagines #kuroo tetsuro x reader

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

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Loser Like Me - Intern!Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

GIF Credit: X @crawlingmist @mandy23b @wltz-bby @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad

Babe you’re platinum all the way

Author’s Note: Before we even begin - Mini Series for sure! Also I’ve never seen anyone do this before me, so here we are!

I know by now if you’ve been following this blog for any length of time you know how much I love this man. With my heart and soul. However - there’s a particular scene in the movie I just... really don’t like. It’s the Intern scene. I won’t go into a whole lot of detail, but it hits me deep on a personal level, and I hate that it’s played for laughs. I thought it needed some ‘rectifying’! And came up with this little series. 😊 I really hope you enjoy taking this journey with Nolan, as much as you have my others!

Disclaimer: RPO characters/storyline not mine / whilst following what they did with him in the movie, some of this will be influenced by Lacero (because of course it will!)

I wanted to write a quick note about his age! I headcanon every Mendo that does not have a canon age as the same age Ben was when the movie was shot. So... For RPO that’s about 46/47. Making Nolan 47 in 2045. The intern scene takes place in 2025. Making Nolan, as stated in the fic, 27.

Premise: Nolan Sorrento has a head full of dreams that he’s sure will be actioned by the OASIS creators any day now. But fetching coffee is all anyone at Gregarious Games thinks Nolan is good at. Lucky for him, you see things a little differently...

Words: 6397

Warnings: In general - people being douches to Interns. / swearing

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Yeah, you may think that I'm a zero But hey, everyone you wanna be Probably started off like me You may say that I'm a freak show But hey, give it just a little time I bet you're gonna change your mind

All of the dirt you've been throwin' my way It ain't so hard to take, that's right 'Cause I know one day you'll be screaming my name And I'll just look away, that's right

Push me up against the locker And hey, all I do is shake it off I'll get you back when I'm your boss I'm not thinkin' 'bout you haters 'Cause, hey, I could be a superstar I'll see you when you wash my car

Just go ahead and hate on me and run your mouth So everyone can hear Hit me with the worst you've got and knock me down Baby, I don't care Keep it up and soon enough you'll figure out You wanna be, You wanna be A loser like me

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The alarm went off at 6:40am. As it did every day – but Nolan Sorrento was already half way ready, and had to skid out of the bathroom to snap it off, before any of his neighbours complained again. Sometimes he just couldn’t sleep – and he felt it probably wiser to just get up and get on. Sorrento’s head was full of ideas, ideas that he knew would help him make it big someday. Hopefully right here where he worked, at Gregarious Games… once he got a job that wasn’t an internship, that was. And - when he wasn’t fetching coffee, or running papers, or trying to book meeting rooms and call other people that worked around the company as requested by those higher up - Nolan would sit with his notebook and plot out what his future would look like, and the tech he would use to get there, whether it be available right now, just within reach, or something that one day he’d be at the forefront of making. He dreamed, because right now that was all he could do. Nolan had a job and that was enough to be thankful for, he had his life… which was more than could be said for some people. Sweeping back into the bathroom he studied himself in the mirror for a moment with a small sigh. He liked to give himself a daily pep-talk, because there wasn’t anyone else that was going to do that for him either. ‘Okay, Nolan, you got this. For real this time – they’ll ask you to fetch coffee and then you can walk in and be like… Guys! Your OASIS project – what about if you did this-!? How can they not love it? Maybe they’ll bump you to tech? Maybe they’ll make you a partner!’ It hadn’t worked out for him so far, but he could dream – maybe today was the day! He gave himself a firm nod, running his hand through his thick dark blonde hair to neaten it (at least the highlights were going to look good once he got into proper lighting!) and then dashed from the bathroom again; throwing a suit jacket on – that didn’t match his outfit but was good enough – he looped his pass around his neck, grabbed his keys and his satchel before heading out of the door. No time for breakfast, he’d think about that later! First things first; getting into the office. It was still nerve wreaking for him to walk up to that office with coffee; it used to give him shakes just thinking about maybe getting the coffee order wrong, but now he knew he had that down. Nolan knew that Gregarious Games was on the verge of something not just great, but phenomenal. People all around the company treated it’s two founders like Gods, and Nolan knew exactly why – he was doing the same. They were creating the seemingly impossible; giving people an escape from the hell that everyone was living. The longer he was here, the more Nolan gained confidence – Morrow at least knew his name now, and he was also privy to the fact that not everyone got to interact with these two as much as he did. It came to the point where he actually liked being asked to fetch coffee for them, because he’d get to try out a new idea. “-What about this-?” “Maybe later, Nolan, thanks for the coffee…” “But I really think the OASIS could just use-” “Thanks, Nolan. Really, but it’s a busy time.” “Well maybe-” “Nolan…” Then he had to walk from the room with a deep breath and try not to get so disheartened. No matter, there would always be tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that… on into infinity. But Sorrento smiled gently, one day he’d come up with something that would be so mind-blowing they would have to listen to him! And he was getting close, he was sure of it. With that thought, he jogged back down the stairs, confidence sky high. “Oh-! Nolan-!” He turned to the voice calling him, “Yes?” “Could you come help me with something… I’m not exactly sure what I’ve done wrong on this presentation… I just can’t fix it…” “Sure-!” “OH. And, whilst you’re at it, would you mind picking up my printing? Thanks, Nolan!” He blinked several times watching them walk away passed the printer, and then sighed again – well, he still had a ways to go yet…

Nolan was aware that there were people in this company who didn’t like him, that thought he was strange. The pop culture he consumed was obscure at best, or... not obscure enough at worst. Nolan liked the modern stuff, the early millennium. The remnants of Y2K... where everyone lost their heads thinking computers and clocks would all stop working. Apparently, that wasn’t highly valued, and everyone thought that the 80s was where it was at. Nolan wasn’t sure of that himself, and thought maybe most of them were just posturing because that was the era that Halliday and Morrow were obsessed with. It made sense; they’d grown up in that time. Nolan was just far more nostalgic for things he’d grown up with - than a time he didn’t even really know.

Other people he figured didn’t like him for other reasons, but he’d never quite got the opportunity to find out what those were. Only that it felt a lot like being shoved up against a high school locker again. And he was 27. There were a couple in particular that liked to get physical; only this time they decided to do it when he was carrying two full cups of coffee. “Whoops-” “Shit! Sorry-!” As if he sounded anywhere near it. “It’s okay though right, that’s your job, you can just make more.” If he wasn’t already on a time limit, “And clear that up whilst you’re at it.” “What do you get a full employee badge for making coffee anyway?” “Oh no-! You read that wrong mate, it’s just an intern one.” “Ah-! Not permanent then? Coffee can’t be that good-!” “Less permanent now-!!!” Nolan bit his lips together, because he knew what would happen if he retaliated, these two were full time employees that (probably) had way more important jobs than he did. He knew which one of them was more likely to be walked out of the door after a confrontation, and he needed this.

“Do you two assholes want to leave him the fuck alone-!?” They all turned, to an impatient looking woman standing with her arms crossed. And this would be a moment that, although he didn’t know it yet, would go down in history in Nolan Sorrento’s life. For this was the moment he met you. You could not have been glaring at them both harder - and felt that for the man stuck in the middle, it was pretty fortunate that you walked by. “Y-Y/N-!” “Don’t give me that, why don’t you go bother someone else-!?” “But he-!” “Is trying to get coffee from point A to point B, I didn’t realise Gregarious games hired children these days that would be such a hindrance. Why don’t you get back to your desks and do your jobs-!?” They didn’t dare argue with you – skulking off, although muttering profusely. And Nolan was nearly speechless, but also realised there was coffee all over the floor: “Ah-! Ahhh-! Shoot-!” “No, no, no...!!” You moved towards him, hands gently pushing him back to standing; “I got this, you go make them again...!” “No, no, I can’t leave you to-” “Nolan, it’s okay... I got this...” He stopped suddenly; now he would know if he’d seen you before. He would. Nolan was good with things like that. He opened his mouth, but you ushered him back towards the kitchen; “I’ll help in a moment, just let me do this!”

Sorrento didn’t know what else to do but wait for you in the kitchen, by now he probably could have gone outside and got a coffee order, but in you walked, throwing away whatever you’d used to tidy up the spillage. “Good thing I like the smell of coffee...” You wiped your hands and turned to him, with a gentle smile; “Sorry about those guys. They’re self-entitled assholes who shouldn’t have the jobs that they do. Alas, I am not a hiring manager... are you alright?” “Oh, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” You nodded, “I can see that.” “F-forgive me, Y/N...” that is what they’d called you, “but...” “Oh; I’ve heard all about you - Nolan Sorrento. And your ideas!” He looked away for a moment, aware that he was blushing, “But also that you make one hell of a cup of coffee...” that just made him blush harder. “You also do a little bit of work in my department, so I’ve seen you around. I could use a mind like yours, y’know? Maybe I’ll have to get you in for experience...” You nodded to the half-made coffee; “I’ll help, if you teach me how the boys upstairs like it.” “Oh... y-yeah sure...” Nolan moved aside as you crossed the kitchen, “What’s your department?” “Technology. So, they do all the ideas and spec and testing, and my team codes it. We also run all diagnostics on errors, though the less we see of those the better!” “Your team-!?” “I like manage like 2 people, it’s nothing.” But Nolan was staring at you like all his wildest dreams had come true. “...Wow. That’s... that’s incredible-!” “If I could get the right people in my team, it’d be more so...” You eyed him curiously, “And somehow you’re only an intern?” “I’ll take what I can get.” You giggled “Until one of the big plans comes off?” “Yeah I guess...” That faint shade of pink was back “I admire that.” “What?” “The confidence to tell Halliday and Morrow your thoughts. The imagination it takes to have ideas like that. It’s cutting edge stuff, Nolan. I couldn’t do that - I am more... the girl who executes the idea. And turns your dream into a virtual reality... but I don’t have such a knack for original content.” You gave him another sweet smile that had him turning quickly back to the coffee; “Now why don’t you teach me how to do this - and I’ll explain why it’s a little late.” “Y-yeah... lets... do that!” ***

Overall Nolan was pretty harmless, he kept himself to himself and did every task that was asked of him. You made a point of finding him to say hello, and chat to him for a few minutes every time you passed his desk. And you noticed that when you approached him he always looked quiet and subdued, but by the time you moved on he was joyful and animated and it always hurt you to have to move on. Still the smile on his face didn’t fade after that. He was full of endless enthusiasm, and more importantly than that – something you felt Gregarious aught to be paying attention to – he was hungry, if work didn’t come to him he’d seek it out, Nolan certainly wasn’t afraid of doing that. Every so often he’d be walking by with someone and you’d catch a snippet of another great idea that filled his head – but more often than not was met with “That’s great, Nolan, but…” You were amazed to see this didn’t deter him; sure he’d look disappointed, but he didn’t give up. Sorrento’s attitude and personality intrigued you, and one afternoon when he was leaving for another coffee run, you made a point of walking with him. That soon became habit, as did joining him for lunch. It didn’t win you a lot of friends, and more often than not you’d be asked ‘What the hell are you thinking!?’ ‘Yeah, Y/N! You actually have talent!’ ‘Nolan Sorrento is never gonna amount to anything. He’s pushing 30 and all he does is make coffee.’ You didn’t understand why, or how, anyone in this office could pick on him. And why everyone just let them get away with it. Your defence of him was ruthless. “He’s a fucking INTERN, not a coffee boy – oh my god! It’s about time someone actually taught him something about the business. Nolan’s got a head full of ideas and if no one else is gonna utilize him, I fucking will – because it only takes one job ad or someone to recognise what he has and he’ll be off to IOI!” “They can have him.” “You know what, screw all of you! When Nolan’s running this place and you’re all begging for jobs, I hope to God he remembers what you did to him.”

Nolan was wasted here. But you didn’t want him to be wasted here; he was at times a little too unconventional for your game makers, given his little corner of pop culture (not that he’d opened up to you a lot about that, but occasionally you got a glimpse of it by what he referenced and laughed at), or a little too ‘business’ for your co-founders - monetization was practically a curse word… Yet Nolan had a mix of talent that barely anyone else in this company did, and no one was giving him a chance to use it. Worse still to you – an Intern, who should be learning everything the business has to offer and be given every opportunity to get stuck into it, was doing not a lot more than fetching and filing paperwork. And sure, you were younger than him, but you wanted to take this into your own hands.

“Hey!” A smile was already present on his face before he looked up; “Hey!” “You busy today?” You folded your arms on top of his desk divider; Nolan looked a little shifty; suspicious of you for a minute. “I mean, I got plenty to be getting on with…” You gave a disappointed sigh; “Aw, see I really needed your help with something.” “…Really!?” He wasn’t about to hide that shock – Nolan hadn’t done anything directly tech related for your department before, and that was your exact remit. “Yeah, but if you-” “No, no!” He stood, “I’d love to help, that’s what I’m here for, right?” You couldn’t help yourself, and giggled, “Did you just become un-busy?” “…Yeah. Yes, I think so.” Nolan placed his hands in his pockets with a grin, and waited for you to tell him what to do; “Awesome, let me show you around tech central!” You beckoned him to walk with you, “And for the record, no, I was pretty sure intern meant you were also here to learn, and I’ll be damned if I don’t teach you something. How’s your coding?” “Not a strong suit.” “What did you study?” “Uh… Business and economics… just touching on computing as a minor… why?” You turned back to him very nearly shocked; “At College!?” “Uhm. Yes?” He’s a College grad and we have him paper pushing, my God, no one is ever hearing the end of this! But you just nodded, “What’s the dream Nolan?” He became bashful, looking away from your face for a moment, as if he didn’t dream – or as if every dream he’d been working for was suddenly stupid; “Uh. I…” “C’mon, everyone has one…” You touched his arm delicately, “Hand on heart, ten years from now, when you’re close to 40, where do you wanna be?” Sorrento looked a little affronted by your close to 40 remark but held his tongue; “Uh. I guess, I’d like to be in charge of a company like this one.” “Good man, right answer.” You swept him into another room – a neat row of 5 desks on one side, and one on the other – no barriers between you – the single desk was covered with paperwork; in the centre a flashing image, highlighting what various coding pieces were about to address in game. You indicated for him to sit at a desk in the row of five, and joined him. “And you?” “None of my dreams are really to do with work…” You shook your head, “I mean, sure I’d like a couple of promotions but I’m kinda okay where I am – as long as I still love what I’m doing. I’d just like to help people, you know? And the OASIS might help people… So,” you breathed, “I’d like to make people happy, and I don’t know how measurable that is, but I think I’d feel pretty good in ten years’ time if I managed that!” Nolan watched you for a second, and your gentle smile, and wondered if you’d even realised that for him at least you’d already completed that goal. Maybe he’d keep that back, for now – but he knew that in ten years’ time he wanted to look back on this moment with you and say “I was your first! You might not know, but it was me!” *** You set him a series of tasks and challenges and, as you did so, explained his way through them, who they were for and the effect that doing them would have on the business or the OASIS itself. Your team kept to themselves but you’d let them do that for now, the group was a little insular and he was an outsider right now, they’d warm to him; you worked with nice guys – not like the assholes who behaved like grade schoolers. Every so often, performing your own tasks, you would ping Nolan a calendar invite. “…What’s that?” He would ask you, and you would tell him “Oh! That’s a meeting with the Head of Marketing… Finance… Engineering… PR and Communications… HR…”, the list was endless – but if you had to create an intern program for him for yourself, you damn well would. You were a little more social and a little more pushy, so you knew you could get him working in all the teams and on projects that actually meant something – starting with your own, then he’d have something to show for it. All he needed was a little boost and a shot to his confidence and Nolan would be away; it was already obvious that he believed in his ideas enough – now you wanted to give him the knowledge to back it all up, and finally let him use what he already knew.

By the end of the first day Nolan was a little worried that he hadn’t finished all the tasks you had set, and as your team packed up and left for the night, he looked nervous. “Nolan, you okay?” “…I mean I… I still have a few things to do- I-I’ll finish them, I guess I might just be a little late.” You sighed; “Nolan, you’re an intern, honey – you don’t get paid overtime, just finish them tomorrow – It’s fine.” “…T…Tomorrow.” He swivelled his chair to you but didn’t dare look hopeful, “You want me back?” “Yes, of course I want you back, I told you I need you right now! With all that’s going on so close to launch we’re getting stretched pretty thin, and what better place for you to get stuck in than the midst of all this! I mean you’re getting coffee for ‘em, might as well get your line of code in the finished product too, right?” You stood, slipping your jacket on, “That desk is empty, by the way. I don’t really like the idea of you sitting alone out there…” Blush dusted his cheeks again, “You sure they won’t mind?” You scoffed; “Nolan, by the end of the first week they won’t even notice you didn’t sit there before today! Now come on! Go home!” You were right of course, and by day three your team of two were saying good morning to him, and asking how his evening had been. It took Nolan a little while to answer, because he just wasn’t used to it. By the end of the first week it was ’We’re just heading out for coffee, would either of you like anything-!?’ which you liked, because yes, someone should be asking him which coffee he wanted instead of him fetching it. And by the end of week two you were all sitting together at lunch, and when everyone took a five-minute break, Nolan got to participate in office banter and shit talking. “Guys! May I remind you that our office doesn’t have a door-!” “Oh come on, Y/N! You out of all of us are the one most likely to go off on these idiots!” Nolan turned to you, “You do have a tendency to come back from meetings, throw your notebook down and proceed to tell us how much you hate everyone.” “OHHH!!” The other two started howling with laugher, “OH! He’s got ya, Y/N!” “First off I hate all of you! Second, I also hate that you’re all right-!” But you liked this, and you already knew it was doing wonders for him. Sure, from time to time people would swing by and ask if they could take him off you for a second, and he did still do the infamous coffee run; but you let him go at his own discretion. What you were happy to see, was that his old desk started clearing, and Nolan’s files and notes, and everything he’d had on it managed to find its way into your little side room. That’s when coffee started appearing on your desk every morning. Nolan was always in before you, and had clearly expertly memorised your coffee order. At first you thought it was a simple and sweet one off, but it kept happening. Upon telling him he really didn’t have to do it for you, Nolan would smile and say; “Oh! It’s really the least I can do. After all, look at all you’ve already done for me…” Still, you became grateful to see the cups, and as you sat contentedly with them before you started the day you always noticed him beaming out of the corner of your eye; you only liked to pretend you didn’t. About three weeks into Nolan’s stint with you, the project you had him working on was nearing completion, and your intern was fretting about if you’d have him move. “Nolan, you don’t need to panic – you can still sit with us, there’ll still be plenty for you to do here. Besides like I say, once we finish this everyone is going to want to work with you anyway – and seen as you’ve had most of the introductions, there will be things from them to work on – so you can get your holistic business overview!” He’d been through most of the meetings that you’d set up – and as you suspected, some of them weren’t even aware there was an intern to give any work to, leaving the program entirely in your hands. Your boss didn’t seem to mind too much, and it wasn’t interfering with what you were doing otherwise. Eventually you just let Nolan get on with the meetings himself, and given his background all you seemed to gain from it was positive feedback. ‘He’s great!’ ‘I know. But tell him that!’ You thought he was ready for his big break; and breaks didn’t come much bigger than this one; “Hey, Nolan, you’re on first name basis’ with Halliday and Morrow right?” He raised an eyebrow curiously, “Yeah, I guess.” “I got a feeling you know this project pretty damn well by now.” The two in the corner turned to give positive affirmation to this statement. “Uh huh?” He tipped his head, intrigued as to where this might be going – although the looks on their faces told you they already knew; “How’d you like to help me present it to them next week?” ***

If this was the chance that he had been waiting for, then it was huge. Nolan didn’t show it, not on his face, nor in his stance. He was two steps ahead of you on the presentation but he always asked if what he’d done was okay, and everything you told him to add or take out he considered very carefully. “You didn’t have to do this all yourself, you know.” “I just wanted to take pressure off the team. I dunno, if one person works on it, I guess it also looks a little more polished.” You let him have that, and what he created in the end was one of the best presentations you’d ever seen. Using space effectively, but also very minimalist. “Slides don’t matter so long as you explain them, that’s the backing. You’re the draw.” “Someone paid attention in class-!” He beamed at your recognition, “Yeah. I did.” So it was no surprise to you that he presented well. Except Nolan didn’t just present well, he presented to Halliday and Morrow like a professional – and at every moment you got, you allowed yourself to simply be in awe of him. Where was this man when everyone else was being a total jerk? The different between Nolan now commanding the room, and the soft-spoken intern who liked to float his ideas around desperately when given even the smallest margin of opportunity was staggering – they were poles apart and even his smile was confident. If this was a technique Sorrento had perfected, he was damn good at it – but part of you wanted to steal a little of that confidence and inject it into his personality. The presentation ended, and you both took questions; the more technical they became the further you were in your element, and you got to close out by yourself. It would have all been perfect, had someone not thrown in a comment about Nolan finally talking about someone elses ideas. You decided to let it go just this once, because you probably couldn’t have been prouder of him. Nolan had done much the same to you as you had been doing to him when it was your turn to do the talking – and with all your focus elsewhere he couldn’t help but stare at you. He could do it for an elongated period of time when he was standing here; with the type of smile on his face that he assumed you only saw in really sappy old movies. At first he thought it was just nerves, you were kind and sweet and friendly and for the first time since Nolan had started he felt really included in Gregarious. That was before you dragged him into your team, and he knew that from this project alone – and the way you continually alluded to his work even through this presentation – that you were getting him all the exposure he would need. But it wasn’t just a nervous disposition, it wasn’t just because you saw him and what he was capable of, but you made him smile. Really smile. And that smile was on his face from the minute he set about getting ready for work, to late at night as he was falling into bed. Even just looking at you now Nolan consciously realised how much he did think about you – how much more you made him enjoy work. You’d done so much for him and he realised he wasn’t even sure the right way to go about thanking you. Still, Nolan wasn’t so sure he just wanted to thank you. Would you even be interested in being anything more than friends with him? – that just came with the risk of losing you completely. And for a second that hurt, because Nolan couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it. Not even when he felt this strongly; saying anything jeopardised his happiness. Right now, he couldn’t afford that. Even if you said ‘just friends’ - surely things could never be the same… It made his question answering a little distracted, but then, even you seemed a little unfocused until you got into your stride; then his smile came back, and Nolan got to watch you do what you did best. *** You left the room and immediately punched the air “YES! YES! NOLAN! YOU DID IT!!!” You shook his arm, “Oh my god-! You were so good!” You were elated; not only had he been particularly commended on his effort, but several people in the room had already asked if he could help them in their areas. Nolan accepted them all, of course, because he knew as well as you did that once he had all the tools and proved himself, those ideas in his head were one step closer to being a reality. And then maybe Halliday and Morrow would finally put them to use in the OASIS. One step at a time Nolan – he breathed – you made it this far but you have a little while to go. Your dreams have to wait a little longer, but… she gets it, finally someone gets it! Nolan laughed nervously, “Yeah it… it was pretty great-! It felt good, for sure. And you were impeccable, I need to brush up on my technicalities.” “You’ll get there. But you-! Where did that come from? How do you even present like that!? You gotta teach me, I’m not a natural presenter at all.” Nolan wasn’t one for letting you compliment him without continuously fielding them back. You both had to compromise and take credit here-! “WHAT-!? No, no, you present really well… I just… I dunno I guess I kinda find standing up there and throwing a project out to a waiting world kinda… easy.” You couldn’t help but agree with him, thinking on it for a moment, maybe that’s why he was known so much for ideas around here. For the way Nolan would always pitch them; even though his personality would make him out to be a quiet wallflower who did as he was told. Your team were waiting for you when you got back, and seeing you both joking together made them look at one another with knowing smiles. They wondered if you even realised it yourselves yet. You’d been oblivious before, they’d seen it – but Nolan was positively swooning. Yet, you were giving off vibes like you were interested. They’d grabbed a spare packet of confetti from the last time one of the team had a birthday, and as you both entered the room laughing they were staring you down. “I feel like we don’t need to ask, but how did the presentation go-!?” “Well, really… REALLY well!” Nolan flashed a grin, causing them to give each other the same knowing look before laughing themselves and throwing confetti everywhere. “Congratulations-! We knew it!!” For a minute he looked at a loss and you were laughing, quickly explaining the significance of throwing confetti whenever anyone did a good job – although you also had black confetti tucked somewhere for a slightly more ironic version of the celebration. It just made things in the team a little more fun. “OH.” He said, as if he immediately understood and ‘of course how could it be anything else? Teams always do this!’ - but Nolan did smile. “I guess it’s back to it now, right?” “OH NO!” Sorrento also noted your team had their coats on, “You don’t think you’re getting away with just confetti – do ya Nolan-!? It’s celebration time-! We’re going to the BAR!” “Oh?” He wanted to say the bar wasn’t really him, that he was a one drink and go kinda guy, and that really he ought to be saving any money he made and not drinking it… But you were pulling your jacket on too and that made him torn. Again they turned to each other, and they almost wanted to lock the both of you in here until you figured it out yourselves, so they did the next best thing. “Well, you two come when you’re ready.” “Guys, it’s gonna take us like five seconds…” You scanned your emails quickly, but as nothing was urgent opted to sign off. “No, no! Take your time!” “Besides, you know how crowded it gets down at Campari’s, Y/N, we’ll get a table!” “First rounds on me!” You shook your head after them, and turned back to Nolan, tentatively pulling on his coat. “You know, you don’t have to come.” “No- I- It’s for us right, I feel like I should.” “Nolan, it’s alright, really – I’m not the greatest drinker, I’ll have one and head home. Okay, maybe I’ll get a round, it’s my team but… honestly, if bars aren’t your scene.” Nolan shook his head vigorously, blonde hair flying for a moment, meaning he had to scrape it back off his face, slight blush maintained; “No. I want to come. Maybe we can leave together and just have one, right?” “That’s good with me.” You smiled, “But trust me, you do not have to stay.” By the time you got outside they were long gone, and you debated for a moment calling a taxi, before you decided it was better to just walk it and use the exercise. “Man-! I forgot something-!” Nolan turned to you as you suddenly stood stock still on the pavement, “Do you wanna go back?” “No.” You shook your head turning to him, “I forgot to tell you something.” His face immediately turned puzzled, and he straightened before leaning slightly away from you; “What?” You took a deep breath, before beaming, “How proud I am of you. And what you’ve achieved. That I’m just… lucky to have a friend like you… really lucky. We’re pretty like-minded, but different enough for it to work. And I really like being with you Nolan, it makes me happy. I’m probably the happiest I’ve been in a long time and… relaxed and… wow… oh my god…” Your smile faded slowly and your eyes widened, you weren’t looking at his face, or in fact anything at all and you could forget about talking. All you’d succeeded in doing was confusing him; his heart did nothing but sink at the word friend, and for a minute Nolan decided he would have to accept defeat… But suddenly you were talking like him – like the way he felt about you – and it was pouring, until you stopped. Why had you stopped when there was so much more to say? Or Nolan hoped there was – but then did he dare even hope-!? He didn’t hold his breath. You pulled your eyes back to him, and suddenly everything made sense. EVERYTHING made sense, and maybe you were trying to repress it, or you didn’t want to see what you thought you saw. Perhaps you just thought it’d be inappropriate considering, and you didn’t want people thinking you were helping him because of your feelings – but because Nolan Sorrento was worth helping. Now you were standing on a street in the middle of Columbus, Ohio, staring at each other and one thing was clear to you; Nolan projected his feelings. But Nolan wasn’t acting on them. No matter.

You stepped forward, minimal gap though there was between you - because of the way you walked together, shoulders almost always brushing - closing instantly as you pulled him into you. Pushing up on your toes your lips touched his. Nolan froze – he wasn’t even sure of the way he should react. Well – in his head he knew plenty, hold you, pull you closer, kiss you back at the very least!, but his brain would not compute the actions to the rest of his body; he was shocked. Because this was really happening. Nolan could count the number of girlfriends he’d had on one hand, one finger even and it’d never been serious. He also didn’t need both hands to count the number of kisses he’d received – and if he was honest, how many of those were real? How many of them were dares the other party never really wanted to be involved with in the first place? Sorrento didn’t want to dwell on that, and closed his eyes, but if he didn’t do something you would let him go and all too soon. That thought compelled him to wind his arms around you. His kiss back was tentative, as he made sure that was okay to do, but you didn’t pull away from him – encouraged Nolan held you a little tighter. His stomach was full of butterflies and when he thought on it later, all his dreaming didn’t even come close to this feeling – more nervous and more confident than he’d ever been in his entire life. Part of him wanted to go back to his apartment, slam the door and scream in joy (perhaps not, though, that’d only have the neighbours threatening him again) – maybe he could just do that in his head. But right now, Nolan was holding you, and that was all that really mattered. You let each other go gently, both a little breathless, both a little blushy, and both with no idea what to say next. “N… Nolan?” “Yeah?” “I…” “I know…” but his voice pitched, “Me too.” You giggled, finally stealing a look back to his face; “But I meant it.” He nodded, blush rising, “I-I know that too. You said… everything I’ve… wanted to say.” You nodded along, and both of you laughed as conversation became silence once more. Nolan took a deep breath; “Let’s… uh… they, they’re probably waiting for us.” “Yeah. Yeah, good shout!” But as you continued to walk, this time Nolan held his hand out for yours, and felt elated as you took it, entwining your fingers with his. He knew he would have to take this one step at a time – but his confidence was suddenly sky high, and Nolan felt about ready to take on the world. You watched him walk for a moment, how he even seemed to hold himself better – strides giving him the look of a man on a mission. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched Nolan Sorrento literally change in front of your eyes. You’d been in relationships before, and although that wasn’t what this was yet, you knew that you were in for a wild ride no matter where it headed. But one thing was for sure, you were going to give him the adorably sweet picture-perfect romance that he deserved.

--- Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed! 😊💜

#Nolan Sorrento #Ben Mendelsohn #Ready Player One #Nolan Sorrento x Reader #There will never be enough Nolan Sorrento on my blog #AMANDA - I can't unsee Cody Ko and this feels like cursed information!!#Special Shoutout to Amanda and Joss for the hair discussion!#150!!!#linzi writes #smol bean drabbles #Thank you Amanda for beta reading parts of this... All the way back in March!#Actually theres a lot of wisps of your ideas from our conversations in here...#It... it gets ropey in places but it's got a strong beginning and strong points SO...#Hopefully you enjoy the baby intern-!!#She's a little Lorena but it also feels like Lorena with the personalities flipped

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colawinston · 4 years

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“ i ain’t no fortunate son, no...”

a/n — hello, hello. I’m here with a little fic for you all, something simple and sweet and maybe a little shitty.

A Sodapop Curtis and vague reader fic for @radiantcade. Idk, I hope you enjoy it :)

we’re also going to totally ignore that hinton said soda dies in vietnam cause fuck that shit

He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been.

Coming home had been...a hassle almost. Sure, it was better than trekking through miles of hot, shrouded forest, scared shitless and waiting for the next bullet to whiz by or mortar to come sailing through the trees and drop in the midst of them, waiting for the next ambush or false alarm or snap of a branch. Yeah, being home was far better than being stuck in the near ceaseless rain and heat and barrage of casualty, even if it still held its own set of completely different issues. Sodapop couldn’t really bring himself to complain, though. He was grateful he made it home, grateful to be alive, goddamnit.

It just felt...different. Verging suffocating. He enjoyed the fact he could step off a bus and immediately be near bowled over by his kid brother, arms tight — Lay off the man, Ponyboy, Darry had barked, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words. Lay off my kid brother, Soda chided, just as heatless, though far more playful. He enjoyed the fact he could catch up on his brothers lives, greeted by his old friends and take in what they’d been up to in the last two and a half years he’d been gone.

Ponyboy had grown up, was damn near as built as Darry by this point, but still the soft mess of a kid he’d been when he’d left. He played football, was set to graduate, go off to college and do something important with himself. Darry still worked on houses, but had found himself a gal, a sweet girl named Joanie, and he was real smitten with her, got bashful when Soda asked if he was gonna pop the question. But he wasn’t the only one. Seemed like everyone had found them someone, Soda had noted. Steve, who’d gone off to college ‘round the time Sodapop left (which had kept him from the shit storm of a draft that Sodapop found himself plucked from), and had himself a pleasant college girl — her face sweet, hair kept neat and her clothes impeccably clean — not someone that Sodapop would have thought would end up with Steve, but life was full of surprises. Two-Bit ended up with Marcia, Randy Adderson’s now ex-gir. Took a ride on the wild side, Two-bit had grinned, tipping back a beer. He looked cleaner — they all did. Weren’t damn near as greasy as they had been, wore new clothes, looked as though they’d really gotten themselves out of a rut.

But they all still converged in the Curtis home, crowded together around the coffee table smushed in between the arms of that old couch.

That was all good, felt fine, but the suffocating part was, well, talking about the very large elephant in the room. The war. What he’d seen, what he’d done, just the barrage of questions and unwavering interest in things he’d rather not brag about, talk about, think about. How many of them vietcong did ya kill, Soda? Heard they was sending ladies off for you boys while stationed out there, weren’t they? Get anything good? Still as charming as ever...But he supposed they didn’t quite understand. They knew the horrors, the happenings, what went on, but they didn’t understand. And he’d brushed it off, gave them some bullshit response and smiled and sat back. Conversation had moved away from him and onto something else, and he was left staring at the wall, chest tight and suffocating.

He didn’t sleep well. Hell, he hadn’t slept well in a very long time. Although comfortable, his bed felt foreign. The silence of the house deafening despite the chirp of crickets outside, and every soft creak of the house sending a jolt through Sodapop, his fists clenched in the sheets, eyes locked firmly on the shadowed ceiling. Among the delicate noises of night, he could hear his own heart, occasionally Ponyboy or Darry stirring, a cough or a shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, only for the same shuffle to retreat down the hall and a door to click shut. He didn’t sleep, once bright eyes and crooked grin now a murky pool of green and teeth barely shown, the smile itself barely meeting his eyes. He was plagued, and he hid it.

Which was unlike him, but if he was being honest, it felt wrong to push these things onto his brothers — the two of them had enough to worry about without the extra baggage of something they wouldn’t understand. Maybe Ponyboy would be soft about it, sympathize. He’d gone through his own bit of trauma years back, struggled in his own way afterwards. Soda had helped then, so why wouldn’t he ask now? Was he that much of a coward to admit something was off, something wasn’t right with him. He knew what to expect when he’d gotten home, he’d heard the rumors and the tales of those who’d come home from the second world war. But that couldn’t be him. He did want it to be him.

But he kept up his image, because being home was nice. He’d gotten a job back at the station, something to keep himself preoccupied. It wasn’t the same as it had been without Steve there, though pretty girls still flocked his way, got him to smile, flirted back and forth. Hippies, mostly. Not that he was particularly interested in them. No, he was still set on a broad he’d been seeing back before was shipped off. One he wasn’t sure if she knew he still existed. Not until she came by the station one day, in one of them fancy new Pontiacs: blood red and loud as hell. She noticed him near immediately, jaw dropped and not a moment of hesitancy before she flung herself around him — a lot like Ponyhad that day he’d stepped off the bus.

“Sodapop Curtis, I didn’t know you were home!” She had squealed, and pushed him back an arms length, as if to get a good look at him. He gave a bashful smile, averting his gaze and shrugged.

“Haven’t been back too long. Sorry I didn’t write. You back home for a bit?” He’d asked her, keeping the subject off him.

She was a college girl, much like Steve’s pretty blonde girl. Smart as hell and pretty to boot. Her soft features hadn’t changed much, eyes still bright as ever and lips spread into a familiar, comforting grin. She’d smacked her hand against his chest, pushed him slightly. “I am. Why? You wanna take me out sometime? Like you used to?” She asked, bubbly as ever.

“I just might, if you’re willing,” He grinned right back. The first grin he had since he’d seen his brothers, his old friends.

And take her out he did.

Now, the two of them hadn’t ever really been a ‘thing’. They’d been friendly, talked a lot, eventually started gettin’ affectionate but he didn’t think either of them wanted to put a label of things. She hadn’t, having gotten into that new age idea of goofing around, just living her best life, not worried about settling down, just kicking up dust and running on. He thought that way too, or he thought he thought like that. He thought that maybe settling down was a bit of a joke, something for older folks who knew what they wanted, but sometimes it’d felt like he was just....coasting by on the fumes of her own ideals. That he was just jazzed and caught up in the feeling of her fun, her change, her life. Sodapop was always one to get drunk off life, and she gave him that tugging feeling that drag races had, that dancing around did, and he’d soaked up every moment he could get of it, which was why she was settled against him again, pressed into his side in his bed, delicate fingers playing with his own. Darry and Ponyboy weren’t in the house, which was the only reason she’d come over — he’d allowed her over — and things had led to them snuggled up like they used to be. They lay quietly, Sodapop keeping one arm around her and the other bent at his side as she played with his fingers.

“It fucked you up, didn’t it, Soda?” She eventually broke the silence, voice light as a feather, almost sounding sad. “I can see it, y’know. You don’t smile like you used to,” She reached up to cup his face with one hand, body shifting to be able to get a better look at him. He kept his eyes off her, green-blue gaze locked on the ceiling like it usually was. His body stiffened, hand on his belly curling into a fist. She was the first person to prod him about it, maybe to immediately notice it. Given, he’d kept up his attitude to the best of his abilities and been working, his brothers had been busy with their own things. What was he really supposed to say to her? He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the obvious conclusion she’d come to himself.

But it came out as a soft “Yeah,” His chest rising with a deep sigh, eye flitting to meet hers. “It did.” He admitted, voice thick, low. His throat suddenly felt dry, stung in the way it would as if he were trying to hold himself back from crying. Sodapop held her gaze for what felt like hours, just until her lips pouted and she had her cheek against his bare chest, hand tucking against his body.

There was another bout of silence, and her soft voice broke through the silence again. “You’re gonna be alright, Sodapop, I promise.” It was firm, knowing. She’d always been like that, positive to a fault almost, but he believed her. She’d always been right about things — about her getting into school, Steve, too, Pony getting on well with some of his new friends back after Johnny and Dally had died, about Darry getting another job when he’d lost the other one. She’d always been right, and he had no reason not to be.

Stroking a hand over her hair, he gave a short nod, eyes back on the ceiling, his vision blurred. “I’ll be alright.” He agreed. With you, sat on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to put that on her. She was going back to college soon, would be busy with her friends and forgetting about him until she came home again, so he wasn’t going to pressure her into thinkin’ she needed to care about it. “I’ll be alright,” He repeated.

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop / reader #rumblincadefic

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notquiteaghost · 5 years

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there isn't enough nonbinary jon sims content, here is... well i started writing this as headcanons but this is really a not!fic about nonbinary jon sims. it’s 3′300 words

it contains: nonbinary trans masc autistic jon, jongeorgie, lesbian georgie, trans guy martin & tim, trans woman sasha, team archives trans solidarity, and not-insignificant amount of internalised transphobia and references to misgendering & general cis people bullshit

(also ftr i am heavily basing jon's experiences here as a nonbinary autistic person on my own experiences as a nonbinary autistic person) (this is like 80% projection) (what else is fandom for!)

also on AO3 if you prefer your 3k of bullet points to have better spacing

tiny baby [jon] who knows she isn't very good at being a girl but doesn't have the words to articulate why

her grandmother thinks kids clothes should be durable and practical so even tho jon is not a kid who climbs trees or plays football, her wardrobe is exclusively straight jeans & 'boys' t-shirts & large jumpers

she keeps her hair roughly shoulder length because that's the length it's always been but strangers still 'mistake' her for a boy a lot. this makes her feel a way she again hasn't got the words for

when she starts secondary school she continues to dress 'masc', never starts wearing makeup, never gets any interest in dating, generally fills out the checklist for everyone else assuming she's a lesbian

she knows she's definitely not a straight girl, so she shrugs and decides sure, she's a lesbian. it's a moot point, mostly, seeing as even if she did have any interest in dating she's the only gay person her age she knows

but she does get involved in some community support stuff – she spends a lot of time in the library as a teenager, and one of the librarians is a lesbian who takes jon under her wing a bit

coffee mornings and book clubs and things like that. sixteen year old jon and a dozen queer women all in their late twenties at the youngest. they joke a lot how often they forget jon isn't also a thirty-something

(this is that autism feel of having no interest in your peers but getting on great with adults)

and then she goes to uni, and then she meets georgie

georgie is a Very Out lesbian. she goes to clubs, she's heavily involved in the lgbt society, she has a rainbow flag hanging in her bedroom window. yknow.

jon likes her a lot, and still isn't really sure if it's romantic or not, but assumes that's more due to being gay than anything else

(no one has told jon about asexuality yet)

so when, one night when they're meant to be studying in georgie's room but instead are mostly drinking shit cheap wine and complaining about their professors, georgie looks at jon with this soft look on her face and asks to kiss her, jon says yes

and then they date

they're both living in one of those massive student houses with a thousand bedrooms crammed everywhere and only a kitchen for a communal space. georgie has lived there since coming back to finish first year, and jon moved in halfway through second year after a somewhat disastrous flatmate situation

so after they graduate, moving in together seems like the natural progression of things even tho they’ve only been dating for two months

jon is still, when asked, identifying as a lesbian and using she/her, but is also still dressing what other people now call butch. she always feels kind of weird about that term, but again, just chalks it up to the mess of complicated feelings being a gnc lesbian does genuinely involve

and then, finally, jon meets some actual trans people

jon has, circumstantially, known trans people. thanks to georgie, jon goes to a lot of lgbt soc things, and is passingly familiar with most of the lgbt people on their campus

but there’s a big difference between nodding at someone when you see them in the library and having an actual, proper conversation about gender

so, jon goes to a lot of social events because georgie does. without georgie, jon would probably not leave the house except to go to work and to the library (jon is not doing postgrad. jon’s library habits do not particularly reflect this)

mostly at these events, jon sits in the corner and reads, and only talks to other quiet antisocial people, while georgie circles back periodically to report on her social butterfly escapades

and at one, one of the other quiet antisocial people is a trans guy

he’s called harry, and he asks about the book jon is reading, and after they’ve been talking a while he says, “sorry, you probably get this a lot, but what pronouns do you use?”

jon just blinks at him and says “what”

“well, i’m trans, so i’m always really cautious about assuming,” harry says, easily, and this does not answer the question jon was asking

jon.exe has crashed

she(?) eventually says, “uh. she? i’ve never– she”

and harry, who has spent the last forty minutes discussing dante with jon and is already sure they’re going to be friends, says “want the trans 101? you’re making a face like you need it”

three hours later georgie finally reappears with the intent to actually interrupt (she’s drifted past periodically, but jon was always deep in conversation with harry, so she left them alone) and get going, and jon gets harry’s email address and is then very quiet as they walk arm-in-arm back to their house

just as they turn onto their street, jon says, “i, ah. i think i might be trans?”

georgie, who has for the past couple months been having something of a crisis after realising she definitely loves jon but she isn’t in love and she can’t figure out why, says “oh thank god”

jon, very bemused, “that wasn’t the reaction i was expecting”

“i think we should break up,” georgie replies, and jon stops walking. they’re four feet from their front door, but it’s late, no one’s about, so georgie decides sure, they can have this conversation in the street

“you– because i’m trans?”

“i love you, i really do,” georgie steps closer, takes jon’s hands in hers, “but i’m not in love with you. and it was driving me crazy trying to figure out why, but if you’re not a girl–”

“i can’t tell if i should be offended by this or not,” jon says, somewhat dazed, “i’ve been trans for an hour, georgie, i don’t know if this is transphobic yet”

georgie laughs, and presses a kiss to jon’s cheek, and says “it’s nearly midnight, we both have work tomorrow, let’s table this for later. we can look up names and what word i should use when i complain to other people how you always leave your shoes in the middle of the floor when we aren’t both on the verge of passing out”

and that sounds reasonable, so jon nods, and kisses georgie on the mouth, and then they go inside

the next day jon stops by the library on the way home from work and checks out almost every baby names book they have. georgie comes home and he’s sat at the kitchen table making a spreadsheet

“you don’t have to make it this complicated, you know,” she says, hooking her chin over his shoulder to read what he’s already got. the spreadsheet has a lot of columns.

“it’s my name,” he retorts, and she hums agreeably, then points to ‘jonathan’, which has relatively few ticks in any pro columns (god, this nerd), and says, “isn’t that your grandfather’s name?”

it is. he doesn’t talk about his grandfather a lot – doesn’t talk about his family a lot full stop, but she knows, even though he died when jon was still a toddler, the stories his grandmother told had a significant impact

“my parents didn’t name me after anyone,” jon says, quietly

georgie nods. she doesn’t say they’re not here now to offer an opinion, because that’s far harsher than jon deserves to hear, and it’s not like she ever needs to remind him of it either. he’s definitely already beating himself up for taking so long to come to this realisation there’s no one left around to tell him how they’d have reacted

“i think it suits you,” she says instead, and jon nods, and then she moves away to make a pot of tea and some pasta (it’s technically jon’s night to cook, but she was anticipating coming home to find him already hyperfocused beyond the point of no return)

a week later, jon looks up from the spreadsheet to where georgie is curled up on the sofa reading and says “ugh, fine, you win, you were right”

(georgie hadn’t pressed her point any further, jon is just like that)

“jon?” she asks, and he makes an exasperated noise and nods, then closes his laptop dramatically and stands. most of his spine pops when he stretches

“this calls for celebration” georgie says, also standing, “franco’s or monsoon?”

“franco’s. i’m going to eat a pizza the size of a car”

so then jon is actually going by jon, and using he/him, and isn’t dating georgie anymore but is still living with her and spending most of his time with her and factoring her into all his major decisions

he talks to harry, and other (binary) trans people, and reads a lot of blogs, and after a few months gets a referral to charing cross gic

by the time he starts at the magnus institute, he’s had top surgery and has been on T for years, and passes as cis completely, and he doesn’t know how to articulate it but this is. bothering him.

he’s not exactly… he likes being stealth, he doesn’t need to flaunt his personal life. he can understand the impulse, but he doesn’t share it. his feelings about gender and romance are no one’s business but his own

but. everyone assuming he was a girl itched – being miss simms, georgie’s girlfriend, she, it felt like wearing a coarse knitted jumper. it was exhausting

and, for a while, everyone assuming he was a man was a relief. it didn’t make his skin crawl, it didn’t make him want to scream, it was nice. it felt good.

it didn’t feel right. but it didn’t feel bad, either, and jon has never been gendered in a way that felt right. he thought that was just part of being trans

except. he moves to london, and he starts at the magnus institute, and he wears shirts and slacks, and the long skirts and patterned dresses some of his colleagues wear keep catching his eye the way men in three-piece suits used to, and that terrifies him

he was lucky, in a way, having no family left to care when he transitioned – if anyone reacted negatively, he could just cut them out of his life, and his social circle was already queer enough that was hardly necessary

but that doesn’t mean he escaped internalising a whole swathe of shit about what being trans should mean and how he should act and what he should want and if he wants to wear skirts then is he even a man? was he making it up all along after all?

naturally, he deals with this by ignoring it. he’s a man, men don’t wear skirts, he doesn’t wear skirts, that’s that.

he manages to keep that up until he’s made head archivist, and he’s given three assistants who are all also trans

(he doesn’t know if elias did it on purpose. elias knows he’s trans, of course, because he’s never bothered to get the name on his diploma changed, but the way elias reacted lead jon to assume elias may also be trans. and if that’s true, then selecting only trans people for the archives staff feels like a kindness more than anything)

and, the thing about them all being trans, is even if jon and martin are both rather fond of being stealth, and sasha and tim aren’t used to being out at work, and none of them are exactly friends, they’re the only people who ever come in the archives, so the archives very quickly becomes the Safe Trans Zone

they all vent a lot about cis people. sasha will walk in and the first words out her mouth will be “the next person to ask me if i’d had the surgery is getting their own surgery when i cut their tongues out”, and tim will make a commiserating noise and offer her the pack of donuts martin brought in

so when, on one of the rare afternoons when jon leaves his office to lean against tim’s desk and brainstorm organisational system ideas, martin walks back from the break room upstairs with a scowl and says, bitterly, as he sits back down, “oh so when cis guys wear nail polish it’s inspiring and breaking down gender roles but when i wear nail polish, jenny from HR gets to side eye me and ask if that means i changed my mind, because surely i’m the one who’ll do that and not all the men who didn’t have to do hours of therapy to establish they are definitely, one hundred percent for sure a guy!”

tim and sasha both make the standard commiseration noises, and sasha says something about the supervisor at her last job trying to say it wasn’t appropriate for her to wear trousers, and jon stops listening and runs away moves back to his office

he hadn’t noticed martin is wearing nail polish, is the thing. or, he had noticed it, but he hadn’t thought about it, and now he’s thinking about it. he’s thinking about it a lot

martin had– martin is a guy. martin is definitely a guy, if something of a feminine-leaning gay guy, the kind of feminine-leaning no one ever questions in cis guys, and it hadn’t occurred to jon to question martin, either, even though he’s trans, and. and.

he’s still circling round a revelation he can’t quite make himself have an hour or so later, when martin sticks his head round the door

“you, uh. you alright?” martin asks, incredibly tentatively. it says a lot, jon thinks, about how nice martin is, that he’s asking even though there’s a 90% chance jon will tell him to fuck off “you kind of disappeared abruptly, earlier. i didn’t upset you, did i?”

jon stares at him for a long moment, then says, “can i see your nail polish?”

“oh!” martin’s cheeks flush, just slightly, as he steps inside the office and lets the door shut behind him “uh, yeah, of course. it’s a little chipped, now, but, yeah”

martin’s nail polish is a light, pastel blue. it’s neat, and even, though his nails aren’t that long, and jon thinks he remembers martin saying something about mostly painting his nails to try and get himself to stop biting them. jon’s never really gone for nail polish, but it’s. nice.

“it’s, uh. it’s a good colour, on you,” he says awkwardly. martin flushes even more

“oh, um, thanks? did– are you alright?”

if jon was a different kind of person, this is where he’d open up to martin, and this would be the beginning of them becoming actual friends

jon is jon, though, so he just shoves all his emotions back in the box they escaped from, nods, and says “i didn’t sleep that well, is all. not really up to socialising”

(an aside about s1 jonmartin dynamic: jon is very good at shittalking martin when martin isn’t around, but in the face of martin’s genuine care and concern, he defaults back to a far more friendlier tone than he’s aiming for. he knows, on a level, that he and martin could be good friends if he ever got his shit together, but that is something else he’s currently repressing. he doesn’t need friends! he isn’t desperate for social contact at all! what’s loneliness!)

martin says “ah, okay, i’ll just– i’ll leave you alone, then”, and then jon makes himself focus on work, and then when he gets home he opens the group chat he’s still, thankfully, in with the trans people who got him through his first gender crisis and sends ‘help i don’t know if i’m a guy after all’

three people immediately send back a link to nonbinary.org

and that’s the rest of jon’s evening

he reads through every article. he reads several articles multiple times. he opens several new tabs, and gets a notepad to make a list of books, and eventually remembers to reply in the group chat

a week later, he bites the bullet and writes an email to georgie

nothing long, just, they still tell each other about big life events

and then, another couple weeks after that, when martin brings him tea, he says, “ah, martin, could i– do you have a moment?”

“of course,” martin says, and lets the door swing closed again, “what do you need?”

“i, ah. this isn’t very professional, so, you don’t– you are perfectly welcome to say no, of course, but i. um. would you– come clothes shopping with me?”

(ideally, jon would have asked georgie, but as much as he loves her (still), they haven’t talked properly in years, and she is cis. the best cis person he knows, but still a cis person. and he’d just, rather have a trans person, for emotional support, and no one in the group chat lives particularly nearby anymore) (or, well, some of them are, but when he asked they all told him to get over himself and ask one of his ‘lovely’ coworkers)

(why does he ask martin and not sasha?) (well, dear reader, he is nursing the beginnings of a crush) (not that he knows it. but that’s absolutely what’s happening here. martin is sweet and lovely and jon definitely finds him annoying and overbearing. yes. nothing else. no other emotions.) (his chest feels all weird when martin smiles because he doesn’t like him. that always happens around people he dislikes.)

“oh!” martin says, surprised. “uh, yes, of course, is– is there an event or something…?”

jon takes a moment to stare at the wall above martin’s head before he makes himself say, “i. am non-binary, and i need– different clothes.”

“oh, god, have we been–”

“no, no, this is a, a very recent development. he is still fine,” jon says, quickly, then pauses, then adds, more haltingly, “i think. i might, if – they, as well, maybe? just, to see”

“of course. d’you want me to tell tim and sasha?”

martin, jon thinks, is maybe not all that bad “yes, please”

“cool,” martin smiles, “i’m free this weekend? for shopping?”

“this saturday would be good, yes”

and then jon and martin go shopping! it’s probably not that successful of a shopping trip, because it takes jon like four shops before they admit what exactly it is they’re looking for, but they go to several charity shops and have fun trying to one-up each other with the most ridiculous/inexplicable item of clothing, and at the end of the day jon has three skirts (a knee-length black a-line skirt, a full-length black skirt, and a full-length black skirt patterned with red flowers), two necklaces, and a skater dress they probably can’t get away with wearing to work, but they really liked the way the skirt moved when they spun

other things that happen include lunch at a cafe where the staff definitely think they’re on a date and only martin notices and also martin is dying, both of them only managing to walk past a secondhand bookshop twice before they cave and go inside, and then emerge half an hour later both holding three books (two poetry anthologies and a sci fi novel; a psychology book and two history books), and martin somehow talking jon into trying on skinny jeans and then, again, leaving this mortal coil

jon doesn’t buy the skinny jeans, which is for the best really

the first time jon wears one of the skirts to work, sasha does a victory lap around the archives because “hell yes skirts are so much more comfortable, and now you swish! tim you should get a skirt. skirts for archives uniform”

and jon is still a prickly antisocial bastard but now he’s an outly nonbinary prickly antisocial bastard, and sometimes they walk into the archives at 2PM smelling of tobacco and holding a bottle of vodka, and then the archives staff all do shots and dramatic readings of the most ridiculous fake statements, because sometimes that’s how you cope with cis people, and that’s! valid!

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #georgie barker #martin blackwood #jongeorgie #yelling at clouds #fic tag #draw jon sims in skirts. thank you.

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youknowmymethods · 6 years

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Content Creator Interview #6

Hello again and welcome to our sixth interview. This time, it’s the turn of @ashockinglackofsatin to put @sunken-standard ‘s writing under the microscope. Together they chat about the early days of the Sherlock fandom, how music can influence writing, and why the I Love You scene helped end sunken’s own great hiatus.

For those who don’t know me: I am @ashockinglackofsatin on tumbr, satin_doll on AO3. My test subject...erm, sorry - interviewee - is the notorious sunken_standard, probably most famous for her two epic, novel-length stories Longer Than The Road That Stretches Out Ahead and Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, which can be found on AO3 (along with her other wonderful stories) and should be required reading for anyone aspiring to write fanfiction.

You should know, first off, that I’m crap at doing interviews, which I discovered years ago when I had to interview musicians and various personalities as a job. I didn’t last long at that job.

So here is Kat’s Idiotic Interview with @sunken-standard.

satin_doll: You’re very good at writing Sherlock’s emotional cluelessness without making him seem like an idiot or an ass. Can you talk a little about the way you see Sherlock’s character that allows you to do this?

sunken_standard: Thank you :D So the answer to this is going to carry through to some of the other questions, but basically, I write Sherlock as a version of myself. I feel a kinship with the character, a highly intelligent person surrounded by idiots and so, so frustrated by it, but even more frustrated by his own brain and the inability to control it. Probably autistic, just like I'm probably autistic (and I don't want to get into it but I'm not trying to co-opt an identity here or anything; I've tried to get a diagnosis and found out that's just not possible with my current healthcare options).

Anyway, one of my probably-autistic things is being hyper-aware of other people's emotions, but also having trouble identifying them and the appropriate responses. At times I do lack empathy, like I honestly can't understand why someone is feeling what they're feeling because I wouldn't feel that way in the same situation and it doesn't make sense. Sometimes I can empathize so much that it's overwhelming and I just kind of short-circuit, especially when it comes to grief or loss, and I end up being insensitive or just not saying or doing what a normal person would.

So basically, I approach his responses to other people's emotions the way I would my own, only stripped of female socialization and self-awareness.

satin_doll: How much do you draw on your own life and experiences in your fics?

sunken_standard: For scenarios and specific scenes, not a lot. For emotional and sensory experiences, more. I haven't done very much or lived to my full potential, so it's not a very deep well on either account. Every now and then anecdotes or details creep in (like Mars Cheese Castle and the “call me Daddy” during sex thing [which, for the record, was skeevy as fuck irl]), but most of it just comes from nowhere or stuff I saw on TV.

satin_doll: Both “Longer than the Road…” and “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” are novel length stories. “Road”, however, is written without breaks/chapters. Did you ever consider breaking it up into parts or chapters? How hard was it to keep it all in one piece and how long did it take you to finish it?

sunken_standard: When I write, I usually just start and then go 'til it's done or I burn out. I got through three or four chapters' worth of FTE (and was on the verge of giving up until maybe_amanda convinced me not to). Since the story wasn't nearly finished and I wanted to start putting it out into the world (mostly because I have no patience, but also because I knew there was a window to stay relevant and a large number of people were looking for a longer, meatier [cough] post-TFP fic), I decided to start posting what I had and just write as I went because I was, in hindsight, probably hypomanic and I was keeping a good pace at that point.

I dunno, I think there was a lot more of that long-format thing happening in fic back then, where you'd have a 40k piece that only had breaks because of the word limit per post on LJ.

As far as how long it took, I don't remember. I know I started it February of that year and had probably a good 75% of it finished (all written at a tear, over the course of probably ten days or so, because when I was still smoking actual cigarettes I could and did do 3-5k words/ day), but then I dropped it and went on to try other ideas. I went back to it when those other stories fizzled, and I finished it in maybe another 2-3 weeks with editing and beta reading. I had some real problems with the ending and it was never good enough for me, but I just got to a point where I was sick of it and it was good enough.

So basically, it's harder for me to work in chapters than it is one long piece. There's more discipline to a chaptered work; each chapter is its own story, in a way, and each one needs to end on a certain kind of beat. I still don't feel like I have a knack for it, and I think if I did anything long like that again I'd have to write most of it without breaks and then shoehorn them in where I could later on.

satin_doll: You took a long hiatus from Sherlock fic after S2, and came back for S4. What was it about S4 that sparked your writing again?

sunken_standard: I don't really know. I mean, the ILY was a big thing, but I think S4 gave me more to work with for the kind of things I write (all the angst and inner monologue) than S3 or TAB. I had mixed feelings about S3. I didn't like Mary much for a long time because she was one of Moffat's women (and anyone who's seen my tumblr knows how I feel about that), but I finally unclenched after a while because I like Amanda Abbington a lot and Mary was preferable to Sarah Sawyer (who I'm more ambiguous about now, but really didn't like for a long time because there was something about her that I read as smarmy, though now I see her reactions as more subtly uncomfortable and kind of like “what's going on/ this is weird/ John's a nice guy but is everything around him always this weird?”). Anyway.

I did try writing a bit after S3, but I never finished any of it; I didn't really feel like there was a place in the fandom or much of a community at that time, either—at least, not like what I had been used to from the early days. The tribe that existed wasn't my tribe (any of them). I think I need a certain degree of shared enthusiasm to motivate me to keep writing. Like, I have a lot of ideas for fic in other fandoms, but they're dead or never existed in the first place. And I know I'll have some audience for the small fandoms and people will read and kudos and everything, but there's no one around to geek out with or bounce ideas off of, so it just isn't as appealing. If I'm going to be miserable and alone while writing something, it's going to be something I can at least make money off of, y'know?

satin_doll: Do you edit as you go or finish the story first and go back over it to edit?

sunken_standard: Edit as I go. When I get stuck, I break that cardinal rule of writing and go back over what I've written and nit-pick it to death. It's a bad habit, but at the same time, small changes have led to big developments in the course of the story later on. I mean, I think sometimes this is why I have so many unfinished things, but I've tried just writing through and that doesn't work for me either. Once I get to the end of something, I've already made most of big cuts and done a lot of the reworking, so the beta polishing isn't as labor-intensive. I'm one of those people that when I feel like something's finished, I don't want to have to go back to it again. And if I didn't edit as I went, it would kind of feel like redoing the whole story and that's extremely unappealing to me. It's kind of like baking—it's always better if you clean as you go, rather than waiting until the cake's out of the oven to do the dishes and put stuff away (which I do when I'm low on spoons, but it ends up seeming like double the work).

satin_doll: Do you proof it yourself or rely on someone else to proofread it for you? I’m talking technical details here, proofing as opposed to simple beta reading.

sunken_standard: Mostly proof myself, since I edit as I go (and proofing is inevitably part of that when the mistakes just jump out). My beta catches everything else (and she's amazing; I misuse words and just legit don't know spelling differences for a lot of things [stationary vs stationery] and I'm not great with grammar and prepositions because I'm an ignorant fucker with no education).

satin_doll: When did you first start writing? When did you first discover that you COULD write?

sunken_standard: I remember writing stories as a kid, but I burned them all when I was a teenager so I don't even know what most were about or anything. I do remember that I wrote one when I was in like 4th or 5th grade that was ST:TNG self-insert fanfic and I think the plot was me working with Data to bring Lal back. I know it was Data, because I had a huge crush on him as a kid. I really thought I could grow up to write ST:TNG novels at that point.

And as for CAN write—jury's still out on that one. Ask my 12th grade English teacher, who laughed in my face when I told him I was thinking of pursuing English so I could be a writer. But before that, I had some other teachers that used to give me A+s on my creative writing assignments (despite all the spelling and grammatical errors). In 11th grade, I had a really great teacher, Mr. Lansing, who turned me on to the good parts of American lit and really encouraged me to read (and write) what I liked, not just what other people told me I had to. He encouraged me when I applied for the Governer's school, too. (The Governer's School is this program in PA for kids who excel; it's like a summer camp for the elite nerds. They have a bunch of them, each for different areas—math, science, medicine, I think one that's like history/ government/ civics, and then one for the arts. For creative writing, they take a total of 20 kids—10 for poetry and 10 for prose. I tried for the poetry category and made the first round of cuts and went for a regional interview (with about 50 other kids, so like maybe 150 kids state-wide); long story short I didn't make it. I was the first alternate, meaning if somebody couldn't attend, I would get their spot. #11 out of 10. I was so crushed, because it basically reinforced what I'd been told by other people—I was a big fish in pond too small to even piss in and there were always going to be people better than me. I was already mostly checked-out when it came to academia and aspirations; after that there was just really no point to keep going.)

Anyway though, I did write bits and pieces here and there even after school, thinking one day I'd get my shit together and write my own Confederacy of Dunces and then off myself (it's still a viable plan). Then, in 2008 I was recently unemployed and everything in life was shitty, so I wrote a big happy-ending fic for The Doctor and Rose. It was kind of the right bit of media at the right time that inspired me. More about that later though.

satin_doll: What/who do you think has had the biggest influence on the development of your style?

sunken_standard: I've been asked this before, and I always feel like I'm a little pretentious and I trot out the same names (both fanfic authors and book authors), but I had a realization a while ago that I'm always missing one person—Vonnegut. I think he's got this kind of no-bullshit way of saying things that still manages to be poetic and delicate and that's what I most aspire to.

I think a lot of my style is influenced by film, too. Some influences are probably Todd Solondz, Richard Linklater, Kevin Smith, and John Waters, as far as the way I approach the reality within the story. I think I tend to focus on a lot of the same things—the weird, the mundane, the mildly uncomfortable—but I don't go nearly as far in any direction. I think even the way I string scenes together and the shifting of focus within my scenes between action, dialogue, and inner monologue are influenced by cinematography. I always say I'm just transcribing the movie in my head, so I mean, there's bound to be some kind of influence.

satin_doll: You’re noted for the banter between your characters, humorous and otherwise. Do you have rules/profiles for characters that establish their voices for you? Are there things, for example, that you think Sherlock or Molly simply would never say/do or would always say/do? How structured are these characters in your head when you start writing?

sunken_standard: It varies slightly from story to story/ universe to universe, but I think I have patterns for the banter (and I have a different set for Sherlock and John, and Sherlock and Mycroft, but there are common threads throughout). As for comedy, it's not quite straight man/ funny man, but I tend to default to Sherlock being more literal and deadpan and Molly being more expressive and emotive. I use the scraps of the dynamic the show's given us and just build on that. It's kind of formulaic, actually: Sherlock does a not-good thing (degree of severity varies), Molly reacts with a blend of annoyance and amusement while going along for the ride.

I have a kind of mental file for things I think would be out of character for each of them, but sometimes I like to try to find a way to get to one of those things and slip it into a fic organically. One of the reason I liked doing the one-line prompt fics so much was that so many of them could easily have been intros to the kind of fluff that makes me gag; I'm no fool, though, and I love me some low-hanging fruit, so I just adjust it to my tastes. I'm a never-say-never kinda gal. Mostly.

That being said, there are a lot of things that I think would take a lot of doing to make them be in-character. I don't think they'd ever use pet names for each other unless it was through gritted teeth or with at least a bit of irony (like how I used “yes, dear,” in FTE, and I think in some of the universes in Ficlet Cemetery). I can't see Sherlock ever doing housework unless it was for a case (though dishes and sanitizing surfaces are an exception, because both those chores are tangent to the kind of cleaning up after oneself one does in a lab setting, and imo that fits with his logic). I can't see him being very affectionate in public, except under rare circumstances when he might do an arm around the shoulders or a guiding palm to the small of the back.

And as for structure, I think they all start with the same scaffolding, but in every new universe they get draped slightly differently according to variations in backstory or tone or genre or whatever. Or like, they're already sculpted, but the lighting changes. I think that as I write, they take on different nuances and acquire more depth, though. Like it wasn't really until a few chapters in to FTE that I got a fuller picture of the Molly I was writing, even though I had the rough idea of her backstory from pretty much the beginning. Same with Longer Than the Road, too. As I come up with details of someone's past, I experience those scenarios and it makes me rethink and fine-tune everything about them in what I've already written, and adds more texture as I keep going.

satin_doll: You’ve listed a playlist for “Longer than the Road…” Do you write to music? How much does music inspire your writing? Does every story have a playlist?

sunken_standard: It's funny, but I don't listen to music nearly as much as I did even 5 years ago. Not sure why, honestly, maybe something to do with my mental health and overstimulation? So I don't write to music much anymore. Not every story has a playlist or songs attached (I don't think any of the FC stuff does, at least not in any significant way), but it seems like my best work is inspired by music in some way.

FTE didn't really have a soundtrack, but I listened to a lot of the music I had in common with the version of Molly that I was writing—very 90s alternative and pop rock. Lots of Pulp (which I picked as Molly's favorite band because I think they're Loo's favorite, or one of her favorites). For the proposal, I had “Dreams” by The Cranberries on a loop as I wrote. There's just something musically about that song that's full of anticipation and the wavy kind of guitar (I don't know the music terms and it's been so many years since I was into anything instrument-related that I'm not even sure how the sound is made, like a whammy bar or wiggling their fingers on the frets or whatever but anyway) just has this kind of wavering emotion that makes it feel like it's on the cusp of something. And also it's the big romance song from every coming-of-age thing ever, and so just hearing it is like an auditory shorthand for breathless, adventurous romance, at least for women of a certain age (namely, my age, and I'm only a year younger than Loo/ Molly). There was another scene—I can't remember what it was without rereading the fic—that I spent like three days listening to nothing but “The Way” by Fastball. It might have been the thing with the drink testing and then the sex on the sofa and the cake baking. (As an aside, I just started listening to the song and immediately got hit with a sense memory of night-wet spring air blowing in my window, because that's what the weather was when I was writing to this and it gives me a weird yearning pull in the back of my throat, like nostalgia almost but something else in it. Like, did you ever hear a pop song that taps into some deeper part of the human experience, both musically and lyrically, and you just feel like there's some universal truth in it that's too much to totally grasp? That's how I feel about both of those songs. Anyway.)

Another story that had a few songs attached was Stainless, Captive Bead. Radiohead's “Creep” was what they were listening to in the tattoo parlor, and a lot of the sex bits were written while listening to Nine Inch Nails' “Closer” (look, if it's set in the 90s and there's fucking in it, I'm going to find a way to relate it to “Closer,” because that song is just dark sex and angst set to synthesizers and a high hat).

Also, sometimes when I write I listen to ambient noise stuff, cityscapes or rain or whatever fits the tone of the piece and my mood. I can't listen to anything for too long, though, because I get listener fatigue and I burn out faster.

satin_doll: Have you ever considered self-publishing your stories as a book or series of books?

sunken_standard: I've tried to file off the serial numbers on the Girlfriend series, but it was harder than I thought it would be so I back-burnered it. I still like to think that one day I will, it's a life goal, but if I put too much pressure on myself I only make it worse and nothing gets done.

satin_doll: You seem to have a detailed backstory for every character in your stories, from Janine to Molly’s mother. Do you work these out beforehand or do they just happen in your head as you write?

sunken_standard: Both? I kind of touched on it earlier, but I usually have an idea of the backstory, the bones at least, and then as I write it gets richer. I have multiple headcanons for every character, so I just start off with one of those. Like I have five different families for Molly, all things I was coming up with when I was writing other stories. Hell, I've got like five different Uncle Rudys (most of them highly unpleasant and most likely triggering).

I have a habit of just sitting and thinking about a character, like “what would make them this way?” armchair psychoanalysis stuff. And if I can establish a plausible-sounding backstory, I have a better foundation for introducing non-canonical traits or details. I think that's the downfall of a lot of fic authors—they just write a canon character as they would an OC and expect us to play along without demonstrating any internal logic. Maybe I'm just picky; there's certainly an element of that, too.

satin_doll: How detailed is the story in your mind before you start writing it? Do you work from plans and outlines with every story?

sunken_standard: It all depends on the story. Sometimes I have a whole series of detailed scenes just waiting in my head to be written out. Sometimes I only have one thing and I just keep going. I say I use an outline, but it's not a proper outline. More like a collection of notes and bullet points of what I want to happen and what kind of beats I want to hit. I usually keep it at the bottom of my working document so I don't have to switch to another doc to look at it if I need to.

satin_doll: Where does a story begin with you? What constitutes the “urge” to write? You once mentioned (in a comment reply I think) that you know the ending of the story first and then write the rest of the story to get there. What do you do when a story goes off track? How do you get it back to the way you planned it, or do you even try to do that?

sunken_standard: (I don't know why my document formatting went tits-up here, so I'll answer 1 & 2 both here)

So stories are a visceral kind of thing. I always have ideas. Seriously, give me a theme or a title or something and I can spit out a summary and details in as long as it takes to type it out. But actually crafting prose (can I sound more pompous?) is best likened to the urge to poop. Classy, right? I said it was visceral. Really though, it's that same kind of state of heightened awareness/ arousal (in the strictest medical sense of the word, not sexual arousal), something is happening and if it doesn't things are going to get weird and I'm going to be very uncomfortable for a very long time. Also, like pooping, if it's not ready, no amount of grunting or straining is going to make it happen, and it might even make it worse in the long run. As you can tell, I've been very, very constipated for the last year.

Anyway.

Stories going off track... a lot of the time I just let it happen because it's taking me to a better place than where I thought it was going to end up.

satin_doll: Quote from you: “I spend way too much time thinking about who Molly is as a person. Writing porn and comedy both have their appeal, but I really like sitting down and thinking about what makes any given character tick and how they might feel about what's happening around them. 30s and single has so much baggage to it, even if all the women's magazine articles and whatever-wave-we're-up-to-now feminist thought pieces say it's a myth or a stereotype or whatever. It's a truth we don't want to be true because it's not fair. I mean, it's not the thing that solely defines any woman, but it's there, just like cellulite and brand new and worrying moles and our favorite brand of whatever suddenly being discontinued (or significantly changed) because some marketing person decided it was too 'old.' But anyway, such is life. And I like putting that in fic.”

Do you write character studies to use as a reference for your stories, or just wing it for each individual piece?

sunken_standard: The character study is dead, isn't it? Like, as standalone fic. Never see them anymore, which is a real pity. I used to write them (or, well, start them, heh) before I took a break from writing/ fandom, mostly to try to get some of my headcanons down in some kind of usable way. But I haven't really written a character study (in prose, at least) since 2012 or so.

So when I write, I keep two documents open—the working copy that's a first-through-final draft and a “notes/ cut bits/ things to work in somehow” document. In the notes document I usually keep any character details (backstory or how I want them to react to something later, whatever). There are themes I go back to over and over, like a cluster of traits I reuse in some fashion because I think they fit the character (Mycroft and disordered eating, Molly as a middle child in some fashion, John as the child of alcoholics, etc.), so a lot of that just lives in my head. Any bits of characterization specific to a story go in the notes doc for that story, while any generic thoughts or something that I think I might want to use later gets stuck in another document full of random ideas, snippets of dialogue, jokes, AUs I'll never write, that kind of thing. I've got a few of those docs from different writing periods. They're mostly just a way to externalize a thought so I don't lose it; I hardly ever go back to them for anything.

satin_doll: What was your first involvement with fanfiction? Where did it all start?

sunken_standard: I started to answer this in another question; basically, fanfic's been in my wheelhouse in one way or another since I was a kid (Star Trek novels are fanfic, period). I discovered fanfiction back in the days of eXcite searches and webrings while looking for translations of Inu Yasha manga scans; I stumbled upon an English-language fancomic/ doujinshi called Hero in the 21st Century and it was so well-written, funny and poignant and well-researched I was just drawn in. I still think about it and the author's other works to this day. I did pick at the idea of writing myself, sometimes even put down scenes or outlines and did hours of research, but never did the thing.

And then, in 2008, the stars aligned and I started a thing. Journey's End spawned a ton of Doctor Who fic, and that was good, because I could just kind of slip mine in there and I probably wouldn't get a lot of criticism or attention. So I wrote like two chapters without any idea of how it was going to end, and I submitted it to Teaspoon and an Open Mind (which was the Doctor Who fic archive at the time; it was curated/ moderated and where you went when you wanted to read something you knew would be good, or at least conform to certain standards, unlike The Pit [which is still garbage today]). And I got rejected. My grammar and spelling were awful (I didn't even have spell-check in whatever program I was using) and they said the whole thing had good bones, but I really needed to work on the English before they'd look at it again. Getcherself a beta, they suggested, and I think they had a forum where writers and betas could connect. So I got myself a beta and she stuck with me for like 30 chapters, answering questions and keeping my characterization on-track and basically re-teaching me the rules of written English. I tried to email her a few years ago to thank her again, but her email bounced back. Her name was Julia and if she sees this, thank you Julia. You're a wonderful person.

Anyway, I wrote lots in that fic universe for like 2 months, then got another job and tapered off. I abandoned it completely after a year. Life got in the way of a lot of things, and the next time I was really inspired to write anything was a couple years later, for Supernatural. I only put it on my LJ, never posted to a community or anything, and no one read it. Literally, I don't think the post got any hits at all and for sure no one commented. I sometimes think about putting it on AO3 just because. And then Sherlock happened and here we are.

satin_doll: Do you think writing fanfic has hurt or hindered your original work? Why or why not? (that looks like a high school test question - sorry!)

sunken_standard: Lol @ test question :D

I'm not really sure, tbh. On one hand, I only have so much creative energy—it's definitely a finite resource, and a scarce one—and devoting it to fanfic diverts it from any original work. On the other hand, all writing is practice. The only way to improve is to keep doing, no matter what it is. So in that sense, fanfic's certainly helped me to find a comfortable voice and a prose style that works for me. There are still problems to solve, figuring out the best approach to a scene or story from a technical standpoint (stuff like tense and perspective and all that), so I'm always learning something as I go. Mixed bag, really.

satin_doll: What was it about the Sherlock/Molly dynamic that got you started on a piece like “Longer Than the Road…” What did you see there that made you want to explore it in such detail?

sunken_standard: So I always talk about how Sustain was my come-to-Jesus moment with Sherlock and Molly. Here's something I've never told anybody, not even maybe_amanda (because I was kind of ashamed, but not for the reasons people might think): before ever reading Sustain, I started a story that was Sherlock/ John and Sherlock/ Molly. I had it roughly outlined and a few pages written, but I just kind of lost the feeling of it and it was starting to get problematic for character motivations, yada yada, so into the scrap heap it went. It had a passing similarity to Sustain because of a platonic-sex-for-pregnancy element (hence why I never talked about it), but the major difference was that it was going to end up as a kind of polyamorous arrangement, Sherlock loving both of them and having a kind of co-parenting triad. In mine, John wanted a baby, and Molly wanted her own baby, and Sherlock thought “best of both worlds!” and why do IVF when you can write awkward angst-fucking instead. But yeah, I never finished it.

Anyway, I always saw something there, but I couldn't make it work in a way that was consistent with my own characterization of Sherlock until after Series 2. Even in Series 1, he looks at her with a kind of fondness and a sort of bewilderment that just lends itself to nerds in love. At the time (and even now, tbh), I kind of attributed that to BC having a crush on Loo (and oh man do I have theories, which are gossipy and gross and not the kind of thing I usually even bother having opinions about, but have you listened to the S1 commentary and some of the interviews around that time? there's something more there) and that kind of just spilling over onscreen and it working for the editor because it makes BC look sexy.

I mean look, I make no secret of the fact I started off shipping Sherlock with John almost exclusively (though I'd read just about anything), and after S1 aired it was just a different time. I get really annoyed when people talk shit about the pairing and the people who still ship them, because most of them weren't even in the fandom at the time and didn't have the same experience as the OGs. When Series 1 aired, hardly anyone knew who BC was, and Martin was just the guy from The Office and some other shows that were kind of unremarkable; most of the fandom was composed of old-school ACD Sherlockians and a few stragglers (like me) that got there from Doctor Who or were just general mystery/ thriller fans that got sucked in. We had a different perception of it because we weren't led into it by Star Trek or Hobbits or MCU; the characters didn't have that baggage attached for us. A lot of us already had a perception of Holmes and Watson as some shade of gay, so it was no great leap to see the very obvious romance (and yes, they all called it that in interviews at the time) onscreen as a romantic one. Martin, when asked, said basically that he'd play the next series (S2) however they wrote it, and if romance was there he'd go down that road. Whatever, I don't need to defend it because people think what they think anyway.

Anyway, getting back to the actual question instead of a million tangents and rants, I think I saw a lot of the things that have since become like backbone tropes of the pairing (even in canon, with the whole “alone, practical about death” thing). Their interactions in S2 were great; everything hinted at more than what was on-screen. And I really liked the idea of exploring the dynamic that was pretty much already there, as far as Molly having both a crush and self-respect and Sherlock suddenly having to rely on this person (that he picked because she was reliable to begin with) who's a friend, but also kind of a stranger in the way that a lot of the people we consider friends are (at least, friends made in adulthood; work-friends, church-friends, club-friends, gym-friends). Past that, I really saw the potential for character growth stemming from their interactions, but not like her humanizing him or whatever; both of them gaining insight about themselves, with the other person (and their relationship) as a vehicle for those realizations. I think I could have done better on that front, but hindsight blah blah.

satin_doll: How familiar were you with the Sherlock Holmes character before the BBC series aired, and what made you want to write about him?

sunken_standard: So I wasn't very familiar at all. Just what was in the general cultural lexicon, maybe a few episodes of the Granada series on PBS as a kid, a few of the stories that I just couldn't get into when I tried to read them because I hate Victorian prose (hate it, everything about it, I won't read anything written before 1920 or so because I just hate it [Wilde being the singular exception, but I even get bogged down by him]). Oh, and the RDJ movie, which wasn't really Sherlock Holmes to me, but just like a Victorian-era action movie. After S1, I just devoured canon (though, full disclosure, I still haven't read all of it, probably only about 80%), then moved on to other adaptations and canon-era fic and pastiches, read a bunch of extra-canon material on the internet. So as far as that goes, I'm very much a poseur and newbie in the greater Sherlock Holmes fandom. At least I did my research?

Anyway, it really took the modern adaptation and BC's performance to make the character resonate with me. The aspects he chose to play up—the frustration and impatience and frantic mental energy—just hit a nerve. He really channeled the “gifted” experience (which I suspect was just a lot of BC himself bleeding through). Finally I could use a fictional character to bemoan how stupid everyone around me was and sound like a complete asshole and be completely in-character! The heavens smiled upon me.

Really though, I was initially attracted to how cerebral it was and how smart the fandom was overall. It was the early fandom (and I mean early, like days after episode 1 aired) that drew me in, at least to a participatory (vs. consumptive) level. Lots of very clever, very educated, very queer people having these deep, insightful discussions about everything (sometimes only tangentially related to the show). When I did start writing, I didn't have to dumb anything down; the challenge was to sound smarter than I actually am. And, I mean, I got to dredge up a lot of my own emotional baggage from being a perpetual outsider, which is always cathartic (and probably not very healthy, long-term, because it's not resolving anything, just exploiting myself, but that's a can of worms).

satin_doll: Are you more drawn to Sherlock or Molly as a character, or both equally? Why?

sunken_standard: Sherlock, I think, for the reasons described in the last question.

I don't generally identify with female characters in fiction, since my own identification as female is tenuous (and in general they're poorly written and poorly realized, but that's another story). I mean, I can draw from my own experiences as a (mostly) female-shaped person with female socialization, but I have a hard time intuiting feminine and it's harder for me to write a “normal” woman.

Paraphrasing something I read in an interview with another fic author I admire, writing a woman is always a self-portrait, and how much of yourself do you really want to reveal? Since I don't know how to woman correctly, I'm always afraid I'm going to slip up and hit the wrong beat for what a normal woman is and end up ruining the characterization. I do manage to channel a lot of my own frustrations with men, relationships, being a single and childless woman over 30, and the patriarchy into Molly's character, though.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I really love Molly (and always have—I was one of the first to use her as a main character and not just a punching bag or a punchline). I love her sense of humor and her job and her fashion sense, all of it. She's not one-dimensional. It's just easier for me to write Sherlock than it is to make decisions about who Molly is.

satin_doll: You are “internet famous” for Longer Than the Road (rightfully so!) What about that story do you think is so affecting for fans? How has “Road” influenced subsequent work you’ve done in the Sherlolly ship?

sunken_standard: You know, I'm really not sure why it seems to resonate with people. Maybe the homesickness or the exhaustion that comes with impermanence (and I mean, we all feel that on an existential level, everything's always changing and it's faster every year, just existing is like trying to walk in an earthquake). Or the healing/ recovery aspect of it (I tried to balance both sides, the affected and the caregiver). Or maybe I just wrote it at the right time (when there wasn't much else out there) and people kept coming back to it because it was familiar.

As for how it's influenced subsequent work... I'm sure it has, but I don't know how, exactly. I still think it's the best thing I've ever written and the closest to something literary I'll ever get, so in a way it's an albatross (no one ever wants to be reminded that they already peaked). I get frustrated when my newer work doesn't live up to the standard I set for myself with it. That frustration doesn't make me a better writer, it just makes me tired, so everything I do now is paler.

One thing it did do was cement my characterizations of Sherlock and Molly and the dynamic between them. I tend to write them a certain way and don't deviate from that, and that all has roots in the push-pull, love-hate thing I established in Longer Than the Road. I can't write Molly without a degree of contempt for Sherlock and I can't write Sherlock without a degree of shame and contrition in his feelings toward Molly.

satin_doll: How does feedback affect what you write? How important is it? Is it more important that a reader “get” the point of the work or just that they like it? What kind of reader do you write for?

sunken_standard: I try not to let feedback affect my writing. I mean, I only get positive feedback, really, so it's a high. I'm not trying to brag or anything; I count myself lucky that I don't get the shit others do (though I honestly think anybody that posts on The Pit is opening themselves up to it because it's a garbage dump, but I've never liked the site, so). I try not to let it go to my head or anything though.

I also try not to let it influence the direction my writing takes; I might do a comment fic or write a silly HC or something, but I like to keep my substantial pieces pure, so to speak. Though sometimes a comment sparks something and a whole other fic grows out of it, so I fail there, I guess. Sometimes it's a lot of pressure when people say they want to see more of something, or want me to write a kind of specific scenario, so I usually just don't, and then I feel bad about not giving nice people what they want and it starts this whole weird spiral of guilt and obligation and then swinging the other way and getting (internally) belligerent over not owing anybody anything. I uh, have a complicated relationship with my work being acknowledged in any capacity.

As for people “getting” it... I don't know if they really do or not. Sometimes I get comments and I can tell they're definitely on my wavelength and they picked up on an allusion or a detail or just saw or felt everything in the scene like I did when I was laying it out. Once in a while I get a comment that has a different interpretation than what I was trying to get across, and that's really cool because it makes me re-examine my own work and see it from a different perspective (which I think makes me stronger for the next thing). It's really validating when someone “gets” it, but at the same time, I write to entertain other people (as well as myself), so as long as they like it, I feel accomplished.

It's cliché, but I write for an audience of one. I've tried to write outside my taste and it doesn't end well. Sometimes I write tropes that aren't my bag (like the Wiggins “the Missus” thing, or kidfic/ pregnancy), but it's kind of like a nod and wink to people who do like it, rather than outright pandering. At least, that's what I tell myself. Sometimes you need to try on every bra in your size, even the ones you know you hate, just to make sure you're getting the right one, y'know?

satin_doll: Do you think fanfic has changed since you began writing it? If so, how?

sunken_standard: Yeah, but I don't think it's a good or bad thing. And it depends on where you look and what you consume.

In the last like five years, Tumblr's purity culture has shamed a lot of kink back into the closet, I think, and people (in my fandoms, at least) aren't really writing on the edge. I see darkfic, but it's about as dark as the night sky over Hong Kong. I think people are afraid to go really dark anymore because they don't want the backlash from a generation fed on a diet of pink princesses and promise rings. And I think everyone's desire for happy-ending escapism has ratcheted up because the real world is shit and TV shows are all playing Russian roulette with surprise deaths to add drama (thanks, The Walking Dead, for making that element so ubiquitous that the rest of the mainstream picked it up and ran).

On the other hand, I'm not seeing near the amount of badfic as I used to. It was never as much of a problem on the old platforms and AO3 (compared to The Pit), but there were always some. I mean, there are still lots of turds out there, but they all seem a bit more polished these days. As far as the English goes, at least. Maybe my fandoms are just maturing.

I think people interact a lot differently now, too. This is going to kind of tie into the next question, but the types of feedback are different now and I think authors have changed what and how they produce to kind of chase the dragon of positive feedback. Like, when I started, most public archives (read: not just one author's own website with all their fic, like you found in webrings a lot)—both completely open and curated—had some way to submit comments and allowed author replies. There was really no other way to let an author know you liked their work. I mean, some sites tracked numbers for bookmarking features or hit counts, but those weren't as... active(? I guess), they weren't really participatory for the reader.

Then AO3 came along and started the kudos thing (which people still bitch about because they think they get fewer comments; like be happy you get anything, ya fuckin' ingrates). Kudos count became a de facto rating system, thanks to the sort feature. Whenever I start reading for a new fandom, I pick a pairing, pick a rating, and sort by kudos. Sure, popularity isn't the best way to find good fic, but in any decent-sized fandom you can assume that the stuff on the first page is going to be written to a minimum standard. Anyway, one of the ways to game the system a bit on kudos is to do a multichapter fic; I've seen works that are like 80+ 200-word chapters (don't get me started on omnibus fic across fandoms). They aren't the best fic by far, but they pick up kudos every chapter, often from guests that are just people not signed in or on a different device. I'm not knocking it, exactly, since it front-paged me for more than one fic. Part of me still feels like it's disingenuous, but I also recognize that I should pull the stick out of my ass. Anyway, the kudos count was kind of the death of the one-shot longfic (which, when I wrote Longer Than the Road, was a pretty common format).

And now, it seems like the Tumblr fic culture is writing ficlets (under 1k words) and posting without a beta (and I do it too). Fic consumption has become a social activity. Reblogs aren't always about one's personal taste, they're a social signal of group affiliation. If you don't reblog certain things, you're suspect and given a wide berth. Woe betide the poor fucker that crosses party lines and posts one of the verboten ships. And I mean, this isn't just one fandom, I've seen complaints about it from all corners—Supernatural, Star Wars, MCU, Steven Universe ffs. I think when you have predominantly female spaces, you're always going to have an element of Mean Girl culture, y'know? I'm probably going to get my fingernails pulled out for being misogynistic or some kind of -phobic for saying that.

Whatever. It's true that a kind of hive-mind develops and all kinds of tropes and HCs get repeated until they become fanon. I mean, that kind of thing's always happened, but the whole culture of Tumblr forces you to identify yourself and your group affiliation by what fanon you subscribe to, probably because it's harder to find your tribe without dedicated community spaces like LJ had. With Tumblr, you basically have to trawl tags until you find your echo chamber.

I'm old and I fear change.

Tumblr ain't all bad, though. It's very collaborative, kind of like the old-school round-robin fic people used to do. Authors and artists riff off each other and a lot of really cool stuff comes out of these casual collaborations. And I do like the prompt lists; I remember kinkmemes and prompting communities back on LJ, but it feels more off-the-cuff and spontaneous to just give someone a numbered list and let them roll the dice for you.

You know what else has changed? We're kind of in a new era of epistolary storytelling with memes and shitposts; stories emerge that aren't prose (though might contain a prose element). I mean, people did mixed-media epistolary in 2008, but it was a lot harder then (create graphic, hand-code into text piece, hand-code all the italics and bolding and font changes to denote various media types, if you're really a wizard add in-line text links to audio clips to add ambiance). It's a lot easier to add a new thing on each reblog now, like someone does a video, followed by a 3-panel comic sketch, followed by a ficlet, and then a gif, you get the idea. I like it; it's just a shame that it's so ephemeral. Maybe that's part of the charm, though.

satin_doll: You’ve talked a bit about your experience with LiveJournal in the “old days”; what other platforms have you used in the past? Which ones did you like best?

sunken_standard: I went into it a little in another question, but I first posted fic to A Teaspoon and an Open Mind (www.whofic.com). Honestly, I don't remember much about it. I'm not sure, but I don't think they had a richtext editor at the time (2008) and I had to hand-code some or all of it. I vaguely remember having to do HTML for italics and paragraphs. I know I had to do that on LJ sometimes because the formatting from whatever word processor I was using at the time did some hinky shit sometimes on a copy/paste.

Next came LiveJournal (and DreamWidth, but I really only used that to back up my old LJ blog). It wasn't better than Teaspoon, just different. Teaspoon is niche, only fanfic and only for one fandom (well, one universe of fandoms, really, with all the spin-offs), where LJ was all kinds of stuff under one roof—personal blogs, communities with various intents and levels of participation, fanfic, fanart, gossip blogs, you name it. I liked the friendslist view thing; it was like proto-Tumblr. And you could talk to people on the threads; even personal blogs were like a forum.

I joined AO3 in 2011, after waiting like six months for more invites to open up, but I didn't post anything there until 2012. I'm really happy with it as a platform for posting fic. I like the editor and I like the tags, ratings, and sort features. I never even considered posting to ff.net because I'm a snobby fucker (and they can blow me with their whole “adult content ban” that still continues to be selectively enforced). Anyway, I preferred having my fic on AO3 before I even left LJ, since I didn't have to split my stories into parts because of character limits.

And then Tumblr took over and I kind of hate it, since you can't have conversations anymore, it's like leaving passive-aggressive post-its and there's no editing something once it gets reblogged, so typos and bad links and all that are always there. And even when the original is deleted, the reblog keeps going, which I really hate from a creator's standpoint (though the archivist/ curator part of me likes it because it doesn't get lost in the ether [the recent purge notwithstanding] like so much of the early days of the web did). Tumblr's really bad for posting anything but ficlets and links to fic on other sites.

satin_doll: What would your ideal fanfic publishing platform be like?

sunken_standard: Honestly, AO3 is just about as close to ideal as I can think of. I just wish you could directly upload images instead of having to do code jiggery-pokery to link to something hosted elsewhere. I've tried a million times and followed all the tutorials in an attempt to add the cover art to Longer Than the Road (gifted to me by @thecollapseinwonderland), but it just never works. It shows on the preview, but not on the live version and it's frustrating because I'm computer literate, goddamnit. Anyway. And I mean, in an ideal world there would be better ways to find quality fic to my taste, but there's no real way to add a rating system (like 5-stars) independent of kudos without discouraging authors (and I mean the potential for abuse and bullying is just too great).

Additional reader questions from @ohaine:

Stylistically, Longer than the road is quite different from the other fics at the top of the AO3 Sherlolly ratings; stream of consciousness at the beginning, and the nested internal thoughts. How much of that was a deliberate departure, and how much was you just channelling the story as it came out of you?

sunken_standard: At the time I was really influenced by a Sherlock/ John fic (I can't remember the title or author, it was 7 years ago, but I feel bad about forgetting). It was originally on LJ and their journal was a lightish blue color and the font was small (if anybody remembers this... there was something with an EKG and I think something with shooting up blood as a romantic gesture?). It was Sherlock POV and the author had a really unique way of presenting internal monologue. Anyway, at that time there was a lot of experimental writing going on on the slash side of things, it was great. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't read a lot of Sherlolly fic at that time because what did exist (as far as happy-ending/ happy-for-now stories vs like darkfic/ angst) was really, really not to my taste (the exception being Sustain). So it was only deliberate in that—even when I wasn't being experimental—I didn't want to write Harlequin books.

I wish a story like that would just come out of me. I mean, to a degree it did, but doing the thoughts and sub-thoughts was work. I mean, I've always been a brackets-and-footnotes kind of person because I like reading it, but the way I did the thoughts was more like writing HTML than a regular rambling narrative.

I think I read recently (maybe on a blog post?) that Riders on the storm was the original inspiration for Longer than the road. Was the scene in the storm your starting point with the story, or where did you begin?

sunken_standard: That was the first scene I wrote; at that time I had a really nebulous idea of the story. The imagery was really clear in my head, though the very earliest concept took place in the desert—the classic American image of the road going on forever and rusty sands and the heatwaves rising up off the asphalt. I'm not sure how it morphed into North Dakota, I might have seen a picture of lightning over the plains or something.

So after S2 aired, I just kind of sat and chewed it over for a month before any really strong ideas emerged for a story. I had to find the internal logic for the kind of plot I wanted to write—namely, them on the lam together. Making Sherlock have a breakdown seemed pretty natural at the time; in ACD canon (and many, many pastiches) he was always having them and going off to the country to recuperate. But he was supposed to be dead and he was all over the tabloids, so it's not like he could just move to some sleepy little village and hope no one recognized him.

I thought about sending him to Europe, using the places ACD Holmes went after Reichenbach (and I did start more than one with them in Florence, a few incarnations of which were Molly/ Irene wanklock PWPs, I actually think one of the Rusty Beds stories came from that, but I digress). The only problem with Europe is the language barrier; I thought it was too convenient to make Molly fluent in another language (she might have some conversational Spanish from a holiday or something, but that's it), so I had to make them go somewhere where English was common enough. I also didn't want them too far from the UK; I wanted Sherlock to be able to get on a plane and be back within half a day (I realize this isn't the reality of flying, but deus ex Mycroft, so). So Asia, Australia/ NZ, and even South Africa were out, leaving Canada, the US, or parts of the Caribbean. I didn't want them to by happy, so they didn't go to the Caribbean. Canada's great, but it's too nice and they also don't have deserts. America it was; it also really added some background tension because I think a lot of non-USians have a love-hate with us. Movies are okay, music too, and of course the tech and consumer innovations, but everything else is garbage and we're all just rude, ignorant, obese Yosemite Sams. For someone like Sherlock, I think the US is the last place he'd want to go (even though canon ACD Holmes was really into America). And I mean, write what you know, so that was that sorted.

Once I got them here I needed them to do something; I wanted to tell a very intimate story, and that would be boring if they were just living in a 2BR cape cod in Jersey. And I mean, what city would really suit Sherlock? Where could he have a life that wasn't London? Anyway, the inside of a car is just about as intimate as two people can get, and the greatest tradition in American literature and film is the road trip, and that was when I knew I had a solid foundation for a story. After that, it just kind of flowed as I planned the route.

Perfect, not perfect-perfect is a beautiful, brave piece that I think has a real air of authenticity to it. It was a very tough read, purely because of the journey the characters are on, and I wondered how difficult it was for you to write? Was it catharsis or an emotional black hole?

sunken_standard: You know, I'm not really sure if it was either catharsis or black hole. A lot of the particulars and even the emotional places in that story aren't mine, but an amalgam of some other friends' experiences with polyamory. My own experience with it was pretty shit and pretty unremarkable, but I learned a lot about the human heart and how some people can lie to themselves because they can't let go of their ideals and their identities (I'm also still a little bitter), but that's got nothing to do with the price of tea in China, so moving on.

Since a lot of those experiences weren't mine, it wasn't raw, so it wasn't very hard on me, personally. I think I wrote it in like three days? I don't think I wanted it to be a slog, so that's why it's in present tense and very sparse and matter-of-fact. Dispassionate, even. There are times when I'm writing really emotional stuff that I'm disconnected from it (which is a fuckin' mercy, because most of the time I'm right there going through it, over and over for days sometimes until I get the scene right and can move on to the next thing), and this was one of those times. I was writing this alongside the Girlfriend series, so there was some overlap there; I'd already done the emotional labor for everything up to Mary's death and I was thinking of different angles of approach for later installments of the series.

The most “me” part of it is near the beginning, writing my way around the bisexual experience from someone else's point of view. I don't have a lot in common with any of the characters; they're a higher social class, urban, products of a more liberal culture, yada yada, but there are some things that are just kind of universal and misunderstood about bisexuals, the stereotypes that we have to contend with and end up internalizing.

Oh, and the perpetual alienation is all me, too. Molly's feelings of being left behind are mine, how I felt every time friendships drifted apart or when female friends got married and then had kids. So a lot of the fatalism and insecurity are me projecting how I would feel or react. I kind of like depressed Molly, more than the perpetual ray of sunshine/ cinnamon roll at least.

*********

Many thanks to sunken_standard for taking the time to answer these questions!

And many thanks and much love to OhAine for all her hard work putting this project together! It’s been fun and enlightening!

Next week, Friday 29th March, it’s the turn of @ellis-hendricks and @geekmama

#content creator interviews #sherlolly #Sherlock #ashockinglackofsatin #sunken_standard

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