#excerpt from a thing i wrote that i thought fit perfectly here

[childofthenight2035]

my cousin asked me if i believed in soulmates. and sceptic as i am, my first response was to tell him no, i don’t. but then i thought about it.

because there are some people. they’ve known each other for years and years. sometimes they clicked instantly, sometimes they fought a little too often to brush it off. but they always come back to each other, in constant orbit. and you think to yourself, no one else could understand you like you understand each other. they have each other’s thoughts on the tips of their tongues. they move around in perfect synchronization. sometimes they even start to look like each other. they don't always end up romantic.

so yes. i think soulmates exist. and no. i don’t think everyone is destined to have one.

They’re connected at the hips soul, There’s no other explanation because they often be so in sync for no apparent reason. Sometimes so comical to see just like here, they’re just sitting listening to SSR talking to Rana when they both decided to change their sitting position at the same time and adjust their posture in the same breath.

[fabdante]

Fic asks!! Fic asks!! 17, 23, 29 and 47!!!

thank you friend!!! 💖 (questions from this ask meme here)

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

I am full of highly specific AUs! I love a highly specific AU! I often feel like I only think of highly specific AUs and I am very happy this way.

I think the most specific would be these really, really niche crossover AUs me and my girlfriend made of like every single video game we liked at the time the time we made them. The most specific of those was set in Rapture from Bioshock. Except Rapture was set up with different leadership in the 40s/50s. Adam was still discovered, but said leaders implemented heavy restrictions on it that led to the city surviving until the 1980s, in which it had found itself increasingly sectioned off into different gangs/factions. There was also a lot about the impact of Adam on genetics. I have no idea who the audience for that is, but it would only be more specific to me if it was the 90s honestly.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

This is hard. I have little impulse control so like, if the fleeting thought crosses my mind I will write down something. I am also very self indulgent so if I like an idea, I will write it in some form or try to.

I really would like to write a DmC or DMC band au. I struggle to figure out any of the specifics. I have started writing sort of a DMC band AU, though, and I think it's the closest I'm going to get to the band AU idea. (The concept of that one is that it's excerpts of a biography about 90s grunge band Devil May Cry. Which was ironically another idea I was really interested in writing, like a story told through interviews and stuff.)

29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for [insert fic]? Explain your choices if you want!

Picking a fic was hard. I went with Crossroads of Catharsis and Contemplation because I really love that fic and I never considered a playlist for it. The vibe is introspection, lo-fi, and also some screaming.

Sleep Patterns by Merchant Ships (I felt like this fit the introspective vibe, this song to me is peak reboot Dante introspection and it just felt fitting here)

Come As You Are (Nirvana Lo-fi) by Tedi Mercury and Alien Cake Music (the original to me encompasses something essential about the themes of DmC/DMC as a whole, and the lo-fi fit the Sam Cham vibe)

Seize the Day by Wax Tailor (lo-fi for that post 'we maybe caused a tiny apocalypses in our city...now what?' vibe)

Heart Heart Head by Meg Myers (very much the Kat and Vergil mood of the fic to me)

Press Pause by Pretty Lights (some more introspective lo-fi to end us off)

47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

I'm going to answer this for Detours/The Detours Series, my Zutara fic (I named the series the Circumnavigators of Celestial Bodies, the series isn't up on Ao3 just yet though!).

If Circumnavigators was a pair of shoes it would be the first pair of high top converse you buy in high school. You were like a freshmen and now it's senior year. And the shoes are still mostly together, if not a bit beat up for constant use over the past 4 years. They've walked a lot of miles, a lot of halls, a lot of adventures. They're worn in perfectly, formed exactly to the contours of your feet. And they still probably have some years left in them, even if the canvas isn't as sturdy as it used to be and the laces are dirty. But the best thing about the shoes, the absolute best thing, is all the little writing on them. Because you and your best friend who you went on all those adventures with, you wrote on them. They wrote on your shoes and you theirs, and you look down at your feet and you see all these little doodles and notes to you. And some the sharpies faded but some were just written yesterday and they make you smile.

thank you again for the ask!! 💖💖

[bunny-hoodlum]

I want to ask you a bit of every wips you have, but the one that has my whole attention is Better Off!

I reread it (with Territorial) not so long ago on ffnet, so I'd love to have some news about it.

Maybe how you feel about it? How the rewriting is going? Or maybe a few recent lines you wrote?

I take anything you have to share about it.

To

Though if you don't have anything to say, you can always speak about 21 Days.

No pressure, you decide 😊

Chloe!! 😭🤗💕 Haha, I'm just happy with your continued investment despite my worst writing habits. Thank you for understanding. 🥺 I'm also perfectly happy to touch on both stories!

Ah! One last thing! @dayseternal-blog was my sounding board for both old and new iterations of Better Off, so I owe a lot to her, even though I haven't produced anything from our talks yet. 😓

I can't decide on an excerpt, I was gonna share the last thing I wrote for the Better Off reboot, but it wouldn't fit lol! Man, that file hasn't been touched since 6/20/2020. 😂... 😭

In the original iteration I wanted Hinata to be a cop with Sasuke (stationed at, well, the train station) and Naruto gets arrested by Hinata as a suspected Chikan (train molester) and maaaaaaybe it was misunderstanding? God I forget. I think I wanted him to rly do wrong but like, he's fallen so far that he was bound to do it. But I was really really scared to write that, too. I kept picturing the flak I would've gotten, lmao. But then Hinata was going to strike a deal with him. She would take on all of his lust so he would stop and get better. She has no idea she's been his Muse all along, so it oddly works out? 

Anyways, I got cringed out by the old iteration of Better Off because I just felt bleh by Naruto's internal monologue and self-pity and shit. There's ways to do that that's less heavy-handed. Also I just didn't enjoy informing his characterization off of hentai MCs, even though that was the intention. I thought it would be fun, cuz I like playing around with the meta, but that didn't last lol.

So now, in the new version, instead of a cop, Hinata is a guidance counselor at her old private all girls school. And there is this 'club' of enjo kosai (compensated dating aka high school girl prostitution) and 3 of those students are the kohai fangirls from The Last. Instead of Naruto turning into a compulsive fapper and malignant daydreamer (why do I compound these things?), he gets his research by using a call girl agency. The enjo kosai club decides to poach him as a customer and yeah. Probably still creepy, but still better than being a Chikan loser. The premise of Hinata taking on all of Naruto's lust still remains intact, with new nuances of course.

Moving onto 21 Days!

I probably have 78 files for Chapter 22. Some really sparse and some really long. It's cuz I think I wrote the opening scene 5 or so different ways and each time spawned a new copied file full of fresh edits, because I'm inflexible af.

When I posted Ch 21, I had originally envisioned Naruto sharing stories from Uzushio through his Kaohon/FB page, and I had this beautiful image of Naruto scrolling all the way down to the first post of his first day in Uzushio (filmed by his mother) and how starkly miserable he looks and Hinata visually seeing the extent. And then Naruto forgetting that the video was like that and being embarrassed. (He thought it was just a tour of the Market.) But it ended up being boring to write? And like, repetitive because they already hashed that stuff out and Hinata had her epiphany. I wasn't sure if I should keep beating a dead horse or figure something new out, but I'm mentally still held back by that scene.

I also had 2 other backstory scenes written, but it felt like I was stuck in the despair/pining tone of the last 21 chapters, so I haven't committed those. But the really, really long backstory scene has interesting details I wish I could still incorporate.

Also the meat of the chapter where Naruto is at Sasuke's hotel room party, I've been struggling to plot it out in an interesting way. I have multiple outlines and ideas and junk, but it just hasn't been coming together.

I want the party chapter to evolve relationships and progress the plot and everything, but it keeps feeling awkward to write. Like, Team 7 trying to work in some new 'therapy' schemes for Hinata. For starters, I kinda fucked up Exposure Therapy? It's mostly talk therapy. The physical exposure stuff is after talks. I'm so distracted by my mistakes I can't proceed! I just don't believe in the way I wrote that scene where Sakura was trying to psychology profile Hinata. It's both exactly the way I wanted it to be and completely silly in hindsight. It just sounds like my author voice was coming out of Sakura's mouth, now I can't believe in any of their schemes from here on forth.

So that's what I've been struggling with! I've been hoping with every effort that I'd figure it out, and I'm still hoping lol!

Thank you for the ask, @chloelapomme 💕💕💕

[yucasava]

Thanks for the tag @afewbulbsshortofatanningbed ✨

It’s Time Warp Tuesday, team. Let’s hear about your first fic and an oldie that you’d rec then tag 4 so we can hear more.

a bit late because it took a while to recover my Wattpad password 😳

Disclaimer: AR is fairly recent for me so nothing here is related to the fandom, unfortunately.

I have a damning history of starting things and never finishing them, but I attempted to write my first fic in January of 2013 - a week after reading my first ever fic! So naturally, being 11 and not knowing any better, anything I wrote at the time was heavily influenced by what I was reading: The return to Hogwarts for Eighth Year + a Head Boy with a tortured soul (Draco) + a Head Girl who wants to build an identity beyond being a war hero (Hermione) + forbidden romance + lots of amends being made.

Sadly, due to nosy classmates going out of their way to expose each other's Wattpad accounts, I had to purge mine so whatever existed of this fic is long gone. But I have included an excerpt! Advanced warning for cringe and bad spelling/grammar lmao:

Title: Keys to the Heart

Summary:

After the war... everything changed for the better... or did it? During our heroes last year at Hogwarts, terror strikes. When a dark enemy rises from the shadows and an undiscovered traitor hides in the midst. Friends become foes and vice versa. Will this lead into another worse war? Or will the wizarding world surrender to eternal darkness?

Excerpt:

McGonagall is standing in the doorway with a wild look in her eyes. I jog toward her. "Professor-" I start but don't get to continue. "Where in Merlins Beard have you been?!" 

"In the forest," says a creepingly familiar voice, "Chasing butterflies and looking for dangerous ingredients in the forbidden forest." And the blonde steps out from behind McGonagall with his stupid smirk. "You!" I hiss, "Professor McGonagall, you believe THIS traitor? He's lying! I swear by Dumbledore-" 

"Enough Ms Granger! I will not tolerate such behaviour! I can't believe its coming from the head girl! you Hermione, of all people! Detention! Mrs Granger! I never thought I would say this to you! But alas, the war changed everyone!" I sigh, I am going to get Malfoy back... really badly.

As for an oldie, I'd recommend All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl, also within the Harry Potter fandom.

Summary:

Professor Malfoy's world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

I've lost count of how many times I've read this one - it's a gem. Post-war Draco's characterization is wonderfully done and the author's OCs (all human save for one particular beetle) are perfectly crafted, fitting so well into the Wizarding World and Draco + Harry's relationship. Everything about this fic is so fluffy, soft, fun, and lovely that I felt (and still feel) so spoilt after reading it.

Would love to hear from @lightnings-and-stars-and-dreams @corolune @koreanbibliophilegirl @an-amalgamation-of-things (no pressure though!!)

[legendrarryficrecs]

Give Me a Quiet Mind

Author: calrissian18

Rating: G

Word Count: 16,260

Tags: Non Magical Au, Assistant Draco, Business Man(i think? Idk what else to tag him) Harry, pinning, Ron/Draco Friendship

Summary:

Draco is Weasley’s assistant. Except for the week he’s not. Whose brilliant idea was that again? Featuring offices in Edinburgh, an epic Measley Bromance (that no one will admit exists), several unrequited crushes, fantastical revenge scenarios, coffee snobbery, the dreaded – yet adorable – toddler terror, promises of organ swapping, a play about Scottish history (no one cares), sequins, and the League of Snarky Secretaries!

Excerpt:

Potter wasn’t the only one waiting downstairs in the lobby when Draco arrived the next morning. (Draco noted his still-knobbly knees with vicious pleasure.) Weasley was there as well, with some flimsy pretence about meeting a client for coffee. Potter was as severe today as he had been yesterday – and as gorgeous – and he held out his hand for Weasley to shake, saying, “It was nice meeting you yesterday, Mr. Weasley. I hope we get the chance to work together in future.” It sounded like a challenge.

Weasley was obviously gritting his teeth and Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a bit of bone crushing in that handshake. He vaguely remembered how close Potter and the Granger girl – the one Weasley had been hung up on for literal years – had been in school. Maybe Weasley had remembered that as well since their brief meeting the day before.

Potter grinned for the first time since he’d arrived and pulled his hand back. It was a man’s grin now though, rugged and emphasising the square of his jaw, rather than the one he’d had as a boy that highlighted his innocence and youth. “Sorry to steal your assistant out from under you, by the way, but he’s a bit of a catch, isn’t he? Did you headhunt him yourself from Snape + Co.?”

Draco cleared his throat and stepped in. “I left the company voluntarily actually.” To get away from Blaise. Who had followed him three months later like the possessive arsehat he was.

Potter frowned over at him, like he couldn’t understand why Draco would insert himself into a conversation that was about him.

Weasley’s smile was more of a grimace. “No hard feelings. I’ll have him back before long, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure Marty could use the break though,” Draco put in, mainly because it seemed to annoy Potter when he spoke.

Potter’s brows furrowed a bit. “Oh. I thought your first name was Percival or something.”

Weasley pulled a face. “Wow. No. That’s my brother Percy.” Draco sniggered but quickly covered it with a cough. He couldn’t think of a worse Weasley to be compared to. “It’s Ronald, actually. Ron.”

“So ‘Marty’ comes from?” Potter asked, screwing up his face.

“A prick who lives to make my life miserable,” Weasley growled.

Draco shot him an obnoxious grin.

“Still. It’ll be nice to have him back when the time comes,” Weasley added, sending a significant look over at Potter, smiling grim.

Potter smiled back but it was much sharper than before. He turned to Draco and said dismissively, “I’ve been given a temporary office up on twenty-five, back left corner. I’m sure you’ll be able to find it.”

He didn’t even wait for Draco to respond before he was stepping onto the lift.

“I hate that guy,” Weasley snarled after him.

Rec Notes:

If you have a thing for Ron/Draco friendship you might as well skip this rec and go straight into reading folks! This is an au of a lifetime!!

I'll be honest here, I haven’t read that many non-magical au's in my life. It never felt right to read our wizard babies being muggles before but this, this fic opened my eyes for the better! I honestly forgot they even knew magic canonically while reading this. Everything fitted so well! From the world building to the dialogues, from the perfectly fitted professions(more assistant Draco, yes please!) to the worlds best fucking bromance (Dron all the way!) this fic had it all!

Draco was stunning in this! Every word out of his mouth was sharp and hilarious, dipped in steller sarcasm that had me in a giggling fit every single time! And Ron(yes Ron, Harry comes third in this fic I'm sorry!) ahhhhh! Best Bromance ever! This was the friendship I didn’t know I needed in my life! Just give it a read yeah? I'll be here gushing about this for hours! Harry was also fine as hell with his fitted suits and his cold gazes.(I'm not giving much away about him for reasons, but he was amazing! Trust me.)

Loved every second of this story. And to think the author wrote something so good in only 16k?? Mind. Blown. *boom*

It's because of @gameofdrarry that I went looking for a non-magical au in the first place! They deserve all the love!

READ ON AO3

[wayward-mikaelson]

Winters’s Doll--Chapter Two

Word Count: 2913

About: Nadia has trained with everyone but Steve and Bucky. Bucky and Nadia formally meet at Tony’s welcome party.

Characters: Nadia, Natasha, Clint (Mentioned), Bucky, Steve, Tony, Wanda, Bartender, Sam Wilson, Vision, Rhodey, 

Pairing: None

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Train-fighting, Mentions of Death, Drinking, Mentions of Nightmares, 

A/N: Obviously I wrote this where we, as the readers, can see that they are clearly already attracted to each other. But they are ridiculously oblivious to that fact. Their team members will see it as well. 

*This work contains content meant for the 18 and up crowd.

**Please DO NOT copy and paste my work anywhere WITHOUT my permission and WITHOUT giving me credit. I work to hard on all of my work.

***This work is posted in Instagram (only an excerpt), WattPad, and Archive Of Our Own. Go show it some love over there. Links can be found in my pinned post.

****Go follow my other accounts. Links can be found in the pinned post in my profile.

*****Currently NOT taking requests. I will make a post when I take them again.

Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife

Forever Marvel Tags: These tags are open

Bucky Barnes/Sebastian Stan Tags: These tags are open

Story Tags: These Tags are open

My Masterlist

My Marvel Masterlist

Winter’s Doll Masterlist

Chapter One

My Favorite Fic List

Over the next few days, Nadia trained with the team. Which honestly was better than having those two hours with Clint. Clint was real easy to train with. He had her shoot a few arrows which ended in him telling her she was a “show off.” Clint wasn’t great in hand to hand combat. She had him pinned or in a some sort of head lock a few times before he called it quits.

Training with Natasha, or Nat as everyone referred to her as, was kind of a challenge that Nadia welcomed with open arms. Natasha never once went easy on her and Nadia was thankful she didn’t. Nadia learned a few of Natasha’s blind spots and weaknesses. By the end of their session, Nadia finally was able to get Natasha on her back. Natasha smiled and gave her an approving smile.

Training with Wanda proved difficult as well. Her mind reading always had the upper hand and Nadia had to learn how to channel her own thoughts to try and trick Wanda. The red thing that she does with her hands, Clint had reason to be scared of it. Nadia hated it when Wanda used it on her during training. At the end Wanda would always come up and make sure Nadia was okay.

Training with the others was just as easy as training with Clint but they were just slightly better than him. That was until they decided to bring out their suits and gadgets. Sam was easy to predict when was in his Falcon suit. James Rhodes, or as everyone called him, Rhodey, too. When they did that, they were challenging but easy to over come. Tony wasn’t particularly fond that Nadia bested is best friend that he refused to train with Nadia. No amount of convincing that Steve did could get Tony to train with her. Nadia didn’t mind. She would have to just learn about Tony’s tactics in the field which she was okay with.

In between her training, Nadia found herself relaxing or going out for a drink with either Natasha or Wanda or both. The two women were so welcoming, and Natasha, even though she scared the shit out of Nadia, was an easy person to talk to. Wanda knew how to approach you depending on your mood and thoughts. In the end, they were like sisters to Nadia and she could tell them just about anything.

Well, almost everything.

Nadia couldn’t tell them or even think about her attraction to Bucky Barnes. When she learned the name of the metal armed man, she couldn’t help but smile a bit when she could finally put a name with the face that she saw in her dreams at night. She wanted to keep it a secret for as long as she could until Wanda picked up on it or before Natasha saw her checking Bucky out if he passed by while working.

Nadia still hadn’t really met Bucky. Bucky always kept to himself most of the time unless it involved meetings with Steve or overseeing parts of Nadia’s training. He didn’t really speak during those times but Nadia would see him whisper something to Steve. The look in his eyes always held a mysterious look. It made Nadia want to learn more about it.

One day after some intense training with Vision, Nadia least favorite opponent, Nadia went to Natasha and asked about Bucky. Nadia had to make it look casual though. She couldn’t sound too excited when asking Natasha.

“Hey Nat,” Nadia walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “What’s the deal with Barnes?” Nadia wasn’t going to lie, she liked the sound of his last name coming off her tongue. “He’s so, statue like and mysterious with the way he looks at things.”

Natasha looked up at Nadia from the paper she was reading. “Barnes is Steve’s longest and oldest friend.” Natasha set the paper down and folded her hands. “The two of them joined the Army back in forty-five. Barnes was thought to have died in action. Turned out he was captured by Hydra. Turned into a super solider and brainwashed. He killed Tony’s parents and it took a long time for Tony to somewhat forgive him for it, cause you know brainwashing. Um,” Natasha looked down at her hands. “It took a while to undo what Hydra did to him. But according to Steve, he’s the Bucky he knows and trusts.”

“Is there anything else?” Nadia looked out the kitchen window to see Bucky and Steve carrying stuff from a truck. Nadia then remembered the party that Tony had planned. It was tonight. Nadia wasn’t exactly thrilled with that, she hated being the center of attention. But maybe it would give Nadia a chance to meet and speak with Bucky before they train together.

“He has nightmares every now and then,” Natasha followed Nadia’s gaze. “Oh yeah, that’s tonight. Do you have anything to wear? I might have something that might fit you.”

Nadia wasn’t really paying attention. Her focus was more on Bucky carrying things into the building. He carried things so effortlessly without breaking a sweat. Bucky laughed at something Steve said and his eyes met Nadia’s. He nodded while still smiling and continued on his way. Nadia’s heart may have just skipped a beat.

“That’s new,” Wanda’s voice startled Nadia to where she dropped the glass in her hands. Fortunately it didn’t shatter at all. “So that’s why you start reciting random songs and shit whenever he’s around. That way I don’t see you checking him out or thinking about him.”

Nadia quickly picked up the glass and set it in the sink. She turned to the two women who were now very interested in Nadia and what she had kept from them. Natasha was raising an eyebrow with a little smirk on her face. It clicked in Natasha’s head why Nadia asked about Bucky in the first place. Wanda stared at Nadia with her arms crossed.

“Fine, okay,” Nadia gave up her little secret. But if this were going to Nadia’s life now, she had to open up some more. “Yes I think he’s attractive and yes I asked about him to get a run down of him. There’s no harm in it at all, and to frank,” Nadia started to leave waving her hands. “I don’t think he could like me. Plus I don’t do office romance shit.”

Nadia disappeared around he corner leaving Wanda and Natasha exchanging looks. Nadia then peeked back around and eyed Natasha. “I do need something to wear, I don’t have anything nice for a party.”

Nadia stared at herself in the mirror.

Natasha had a nice little black dress that fit Nadia perfectly. It hugged her curves in all the right places and gave her breast a little push up. Natasha even did her hair up in a braid with some loose strands hanging here and there. It surprised Nadia when she saw the sparkle in Natasha’s eyes when she did this for her. Even her make-up.

“It’s natural and subtle. Perfect for you and you don’t even need lip color.” Natasha stepped aside and looked over Nadia. “You look beautiful.” That being said, it put Nadia in good spirits.

Once at the party, Nadia was the center of attention. Which she hated. The way people had flaunted around her made her clam up and force a smile. She resorted into automated answers like “Nice to meet you.” “Oh yes, its been really nice here.” “Everyone’s nice.” “It’s been lovely meeting you.” When Nadia thought she escaped one group of people, another engulfed her in conversation.

It was a lot for her and all Nadia wanted to do was make her way to the open bar and down a shot of bourbon. No, not a shot, probably the whole bottle. Nadia wondered if this was Tony’s way of having the upper hand from the meeting some days before. If so, she knew how to play this game. She made a mental note to send a glitter bomb to Tony to make him see that she can out petty him.

Maybe.

Just when Nadia thought she escaped the sixth group of people, she turned around and bumped right into Tony. Guessing that the woman on his arm was Pepper. Nadia threw on her fake smile and smoothed out the dress she wore.

“Alexis,” Tony said reaching out a hand. Nadia let it slide and took his hands and shook it firmly. “I hope you’re enjoying the night. Didn’t Pepper did an amazing job planning this.”

Nadia looked at Pepper with a smile. “It’s beautiful and Tony,” Nadia put on the sweetest voice. “I’ve told you to call me Nadie. I don’t want to called my dead brother’s nickname.” Total lie, Nikola was Nik to just about everyone. But it didn’t beat the look on Tony’s face when Pepper lightly slapped him, scolding him for being so inconsiderate.

It gave Nadia time to make her escape and finally make her way to the open bar. When she turned back, Tony was staring at her. The look he gave her, he knew she was messing with him. It also made her pull out her phone from her dress pocket, something that Nadia loved, and pulled up the glitter bomb site.

“Bourbon,” she told the bartender when he asked what she wanted.

“Bourbon?” the bartender asked. “Are you sure? We something that’s a bit lighter.”

Nadia looked up at the young bartender. He must have been fresh out of school and was probably needing money to pay back all those loans. The look on his face was pretty innocent so Nadia knew that he didn’t mean anything rude towards her. Probably just looking out for her well being. Nadia opened her mouth to say something but someone had beaten her to it.

“If the pretty lady says bourbon, you give the pretty lady her bourbon,” The voice wasn’t familiar to Nadia. It was smooth not too deep, and almost raspy. It sent a small shiver down Nadia’s spine. “Make it two bourbons, though.”

Nadia watched the young bartender hurry to get the two drinks ready. Poor guy was flustered and whoever spoke still stood next Nadia. Nadia made the decision to turn to the her left and who she saw was the one person she didn’t except to see here.

Bucky stood there with a small smile on his face. His dark hair was pulled back into a hair band. His face was clean shaven too. Bucky wore a custom made suit because of his metal arm. He didn’t look too comfortable in it but Nadia wasn’t going to lie to herself, it looked good on him.

“I didn’t except to see you here,” Nadia said taking a deep breath.

The drinks were placed on the counter. Bucky grabbed both of them and handed one to Nadia. Nadia took it and took a big gulp. “Yeah, this isn’t normally my kind of scene. I was about ready to leave when I saw you trying to make your way over here. I could see it plain as day that you hate this party too. I also saw the opportunity to introduce myself.”

Nadia’s jaw almost dropped. Bucky had been watching her. “Well, I mean, I know your name is Bucky.” Took another drink.

“That’s just a nickname Steve gave to me growing up.” Bucky sipped on his drink. “My real name is James.”

Nadia felt the bourbon start to kick in. “Are you saying that I should call you James,” she smirked.

Bucky laughed a little. “No, you can call me whatever you want, Doll.” Nadia wasn’t sure if doll was something he called girls because of the time period he’s from, but it didn’t matter. Nadia liked it. “Should we get out of here?” Bucky asked after taking another drink.

Nadia furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side. “You want me to run from my own party?” she asked.

Bucky reached behind the bar counter and grabbed the bourbon bottle. Without the young bartender seeing. Or even if he saw, he didn’t make a move to stop a man with a metal arm. “Yeah, why not? It’s not fun anyway. Stark did this just to boost his ego more.”

Nadia bite her lip and looked behind her to see if anyone, such as Wanda or Natasha were watching her. When she couldn’t see them or anyone the knew or recognized for that matter, she turned back to Bucky who had been waiting for her answer. “Sure, why not.”

Nadia and Bucky found themselves outside sitting on the curb. They shared the bourbon bottle while they swapped stories about anything the two were willing to share. Some war stories from when they were in the army. Some mission stories Bucky thought was worth sharing like one time Sam Wilson got caught in a pine tree and it nearly blew the whole mission. Nadia told the story about how her brother almost got caught by his commanding officer and started to pull shit out of his ass. That story left Nadia in laughter and tears. Bucky had laughed hard as well.

“Your brother sounds fucking amazing,” Bucky handed the bottle to Nadia who took a sip.

“He was pretty fucking amazing,” Nadia said softly and she saw the expression change on Bucky’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” he said looking he deep in her eyes as he put the pieces together. Bucky saw the sadness creep in and knew that it was a sore subject. “I didn’t know.”

Nadia flashed a forced smile. “It’s okay, how could you have known.” she took the bottle from Bucky and took a long drink. Nadia wasn’t ready for this kind of conversation but she got herself there. She really didn’t owe Bucky anything but part of her felt like she had to. He was her team member right?

“His name was Nikola,” Nadia gave Bucky a smile. “We were Irish twins. He was a New Years baby while a few months later on Saint Patricks Day, I was conceived. Born a few days shy of Christmas.” Nadia laughed. She recalled her father jokingly telling her that she was a drunken mistake. “We gave our parents hell growing up. We enlisted at the same time. Shipped to boot camp the same time, obviously different bases. We always had each others backs despite the distance between us.”

Bucky leaned forward and brushed a stray tear that had escaped Nadia’s eyes. The action surprised her and felt nice at the same time. She hadn’t realized that she had let a few tears escape. Nadia knew that she still wasn’t over her brother’s death for various reasons but she didn’t know that it still brought her to tears.

“How? If I may ask?” Bucky let his hand linger a little longer than he should have. After a minute he slowly pulled back and took a long drink, knowing the alcohol wouldn’t do anything to his super human body. He was surprised by his actions as well.

“Our units somehow got merged together and our outpost was a building that was supposed to secure. At midnight it blew up, leaving him dead and me injured and discharged.” Nadia took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It was beautiful. The stars shined just perfectly here because the compound wasn’t located smack dap in the middle of the city. The bright city lights would drown them out.

“I’m sorry, that must have been hard,’ Bucky said.

“It was, but it opened up this opportunity,” Nadia looked back at Bucky with a smile. “I’ve made some pretty good friends. One who I haven’t been able to train with.” Nadia eyed Bucky with a small smirk. “Any weaknesses or such I should be aware of?”

“Aside from pretty girls who drink their liquor straight?” Bucky laughed. “I guess you’ll have to see when the day comes.”

Nadia rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’ve seen me train and probably have pin pointed weak points and blind spots.” Bucky side eyes Nadia with a smirk. “Okay,” she stood up taking the bourbon with her. “I guess, let the best man or woman win.”

“You’re on,” Bucky stood up.

“There you two are,” Steve’s voice brought Nadia and Bucky back to the reality there was a party going on. “Nadia, people have asked where you are.”

“Good, it’ll teach Stark to not call me Alexis. If that doesn’t work I have a glitter bomb being sent to him either way.” Bucky, who had taken the bourbon from Nadia, choked back on it. He didn’t dare say anything but smile at Nadia.

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that,” Steve said crossing his arms. “I’ve seen how you fight and honestly it scares me almost as much as Natasha’s fighting scares me. Speaking of, you and Bucky are training first thing in the morning. Then in the afternoon, you and I are training. Don’t be too sick.” Steve turned to leave but turned back around. “Also, Vision has voiced he won’t train with you.”

Nadia felt a good sense of relief. She didn’t want to train with Vision cause she was secretly terrified of him. That little gold gem like thing on his head was also a little intimidating. “Sounds good.”

[goose-books]

goose-books productions: a 2020 review

view the image in higher quality here! (open the image in a new tab to zoom in.) thank you to my dearest @yvesdot for the template

transcripts and month-by-month details under the cut! for reference, you can find my projects here :-) overall, new and old followers, thank you for another good year over here! [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your h

january

i spent late 2019-early 2020 working on 2019’s nano project, quark, aka the speculative fiction thing about new york city and prophets and dissections of the chosen one trope and gay people. quark is my second-oldest project (five years!), but it’s also probably the most ambitious, so it’s been... difficult to wrangle into place, and i didn’t end up finishing a first draft. oh, well.

enjoy a snippet that is devastatingly emblematic of everything about quark. the tone. the homoerotic tension. the ensemble cast all talking over each other. the fact that caelum has spent pretty much this entire scene crying. fun autopsy report meeting.

Marble stares at the notebook in Shade’s hands. Or maybe he’s staring at Shade’s hands. Dawn feels a little voyeuristic, so she does what she does and says a dumb and unrelated thing: “Augustus, I think this pizza-on-the-floor thing is hurting my ass.”

Augustus flutters his hands. “Sometimes nonconformity is painful.”

“At least we’re originals,” Caelum mumbles into his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Augustus says.

“True originality doesn’t exist,” Marble says.

“Oh,” Shade deadpans, “it’s going to be a fun autopsy report meeting.”

It isn’t.

february

in january i stressed myself out trying to make the plot of quark work. so in february, i decided to take some time and write something Entirely For Fun. like, entirely for fun, no rules. and. my god. how do i explain the project i started calling “third eye for the bad guy.”

it was an unholy mashup of many of my past hyperfixations, including the gone series, a tale of two cities, warrior cats, and the left hand of darkness. one of the characters was a canon scalie and one was a canon fictionkinnie. it centered around a polycule of wannabe-evil-overlord high schoolers. i only wrote like three chapters but i was lost in the sauce for all of february and then i just… like… wiped it from my mind and moved on? somehow??? one character was a werewolf and that literally wasn’t relevant at ALL

I.

Someone was going to die on these steps.

This had been Ivy Lee Palomo’s thought last year during the all-school photo, and it rose in her mind again now. The one hundred marble stairs leading up to the great double doors of Saint Constantine Academy were the school’s pride and glory, steep as the mountain, sharp as the blade under Ivy Lee’s skirt. With the cutting wind and snow glazing the stone more often than not, with the freshmen wild and wired on their first day of their first year, it was really only a matter of time before someone slipped and cracked their fucking head open.

It wasn’t going to be her. Not when she had Doc Martens and reflexes like an electric coil. Still. Ivy Lee didn’t want to watch someone die. She didn’t get along with dead people.

march

in march, i got back to the project i’d started in 2019 - AMT, my podcast! it’s a shakespeare retelling set in a modern high school; this excerpt is funnier and also more unnerving in context. (double, double, toil and trouble...)

INDRAJIT: What the hell are you doing?

[PAUSE.]

DEE (like she’s lying): Making pasta.

[ALL THREE OF THEM LAUGH.]

NONA: That’s right.

MORA: We have the keys to Mab’s office.

DEE: We’re using her stove.

NONA: To make pasta.

DEE: Do you want some?

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

INDRAJIT: No.

april

and darkling rears its head! all of my other projects have existed for at least a year; darkling (specfic king lear retelling) is... special. it was conceived in april, when i started hyperfixating on king lear, and i still managed to write an absolutely ridiculous amount of content for it. it was like the power of hyperfixation let me speedrun the entire process. which. okay.

iv: control

They say Cressida Stayer was nine years old when she turned her hair to gold. They laid her down in bed blonde, and the next morning, the waves cascading down her shoulders were solid metal, glinting harshly in the sunlight, weighing her down, creating that odd head-cocked expression she still wears now. Nine years old. Two or three years before most people develop enough magic skills to dye a single curl. Much less transfigure their hair into precious metal.

People also say Leovald Stayer’s immediate reaction was to hack it off her head and melt it down for cash. But generally they say that part a lot quieter.

may

in may i wrote AMT episode 15, by which i mean that in may there was a day when i sat in my room with the door shut for literally five straight hours listening to the same three songs on loop as i wrote the climax of one of the plotlines of AMT. so. that sure was… a day.

ISAAC: Do you want… do you want someone to drive you home? Hawk, you’re worrying me -

HAWK (almost cutting him off): Don’t. Don’t say that. I’m here to help. With your… thing.

ISAAC (quietly): I… don’t know if you should be here to see this.

HAWK (a little louder, more audibly upset): Well - what else am I going to do? Go home and - and have my dads talk at me and - and not be able to answer them? Because I can’t? I can’t. I don’t know what to say.

[PAUSE.]

ISAAC (V.O.): I wonder if this is what he feels like, on the outside, looking in at me. Watching someone else hurting. Helpless and afraid.

He still fits perfectly in my arms. I rest my chin on top of his head and pull him close to me, like I can stop him from shaking, like I can stop anything from happening the way I know it’s going to. I bury my face in his hair. He smells so familiar. He’s so warm.

God, Hawk. I love you so much. You shouldn’t be here to see this. Something bad’s gonna happen. And you’re not the kind of person who belongs in a tragedy.

june

okay, honestly, i should talk about “night shift” here, because in june i wrote a whole short story in one night (and then foamed over it for a week), but i am still in the process of submitting it places! so i am terrified to put even a sentence of it online. instead: the other thing i did this month was to finish AMT! (sixteen episodes and somewhere around 175k, iirc, but don’t quote me.) these lines are the opener to the final episode!

RAHMA (V.O.): The combined series of sophomore year disasters stretched through November. It’s June now. It’s taken me… a long time to get this all put together. I was going to make a vlog about it, initially - well, calling it a vlog sounds frivolous. I was going to make a video recounting the whole deal. All of it. From when I kissed Avery Fairchilde to the very last night. I scripted dozens of drafts; I put together dozens of bullet-pointed lists of what to cover… and it was never enough. Because Avery and I weren’t the only ones involved. Even if I was only focused on the two of us, it wasn’t just the two of us.

So… I gathered up everyone else. The whole town of Ellisburg is still talking about the week the town went crazy, but it wasn’t just a week. There was a lot leading up to it. And I think if anyone’s going to talk about it, it should be us. The people who lived it. So here we are. The most ambitious Rahma Ashiq production of all time - at least so far.

july

every july i pause whatever else i’m doing to celebrate the birthday of aurum & argentate, twins from my oldest and dearest WIP The Mortal Realm. july fifteenth! mark your calendars. they’re princes, though argentate would really rather not be; you can read the full birthday piece here.

“Do you… plan to get dressed?” A bit of the usual humor crept back into Aurum’s voice. “Although if you want to speak to the kingdom in your underthings, by all means, you have my full support.”

Argentate scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t dressed, no, but the usual malaise hung over his shoulders like a cloak. Guilt. Nerves. The sick sense that he hadn’t done something he was supposed to. The numb knowledge that it was too late to change a thing.

“I meant to,” he said. “Get dressed, I mean.” The rest went unsaid: I have just been sitting here. On the floor. Thinking about how I should get dressed.

“Ah,” Aurum said, extending his hand. “The traditional route. We’ll save the nude speeches for the future, then.”

Argentate took his hand, stumbling a little as Aurum pulled him to his feet. He steadied himself on the closest wall, taking a few deep breaths. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. His hands found their way to the cross, again and again.

august

this summer, i wrote an entire draft of Valentine Van Velt is Dead, AKA “holden caulfield goes to exposure therapy,” AKA the weird little personal side project i keep tucked into my coat. interesting features include second-person narration from a narrator who doesn’t like the main character all that much. so reading it is kind of like the book wants to kill you? with an added dash of general melancholy.

You used to live here. That’s the thing that’s got you feeling so off.

You didn’t recognize your old house. I mean, you kind of did. You remembered that the road was on a hill. That hill felt like a goddamn forty-five degree angle when you were a kid. But if you didn’t have the address written down you wouldn’t have known it at all. It would have been just another little suburban house in rows of perfect little towns that make your skin crawl.

So now you’re in this diner looking out a gross smudgy window trying to block out the elevator music pumping through the speakers in the ceiling or whatever. I don’t know how speakers work. You’re trying to tune that shit out. The waitress comes over and catches you by surprise so you just point at some coffee thing on the menu so she’ll go away. For the record: you don’t drink coffee.

There’s a public library across the street. A little square building. You probably used to go there. The lady comes over and thunks your coffee on the table and gives you a kind of look, like she wants to know what in the goddamn hell you think you’re doing here and not at school. You sip your coffee and look out the window until she leaves you alone again. And then you spit it back into the cup because, for the record: you don’t drink coffee.

september

i spent september and october prepping for nano, so i was mostly working on darkling...

It’s late spring; still, at this time of night, on a rooftop, there’s a chill. The wind plays with the end of Ruby’s coat, with her hair. She hands the bottle off to Jasper, stares up at the fogged-over sky, wishes she were lying in Dany’s arms in Dany’s bed instead of here. Wishes, even, that Dany were the one on the roof with her. At least then they’d be cold together. At least then she wouldn’t have to imagine what Dany would say; she could just listen, and watch Dany’s flashing smile and her flinty eyes.

(She cuddles. This is another thing Dany does that Dany probably shouldn’t do, based on everything about Dany; it’s not like rattlesnakes cuddle. But Dany likes to nuzzle into Ruby’s side and rest her head on Ruby’s collarbones and toss an arm over Ruby’s chest, and hold her down like she’s worried she’ll float off somewhere. She’ll card her fingers through Ruby’s hair and hum. Even though they could get caught, even though she’s probably got better places to be - Dany cuddles.)

Ruby imagines it, momentarily, both of them on the roof together, sprawled like horrifyingly beautiful gargoyles, sharp teeth flashing, blood running hot. Up here - it’d be like they ruled the world.

But whatever. Jasper’s fun. He’s hot. He’s got a sharp tongue in a lot more ways than one. And she likes when he lets the mask down. She likes seeing the soft bits underneath. She wants to sink her teeth and nails into them so hard she draws blood. Masks don’t bleed. Ruby would know; that’s why she is what she is.

october

...though i was also in creative writing class in school, and thus ended up writing a bunch of poems of varying quality (my teacher had a real thing for poetry) and also one darklingverse short story where rory and cressida hold hands! which you can find here.

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

november

and then november of course was nano which was an adventure all the way through. (opening tumblr on the fifth day of nano to find out about d*stiel... was something.)

“Apologize to me. Or get out of my house.”

Gracen’s voice is very, very low. For a moment she thinks he hasn’t heard her at all. Then he spins, eyes blazing. “What did you say?”

Gracen watches her own chest heave. She pushes herself up off the desk, stands with the effort of pushing a mountain off of her back. Leovald is six-foot-four. Gracen is six-foot-two. In her heels, in the heels she must wear to be a professional woman, to be a lady - they are the same height.

Gracen wipes her nose. When she lowers her arm, there’s a streak of blood across the back of her hand. Fire shivers in her chest; her heart rings in her ears; her voice could cut steel.

“I said,” she says, low, slow, volume building, “apologize to me. Or get. Out. Of. My. House.”

december

and finally, the poem i posted this year! it’s called the beast sonnet, and you can find it in its own post over here (with commentary! how sexy.)

i kill the beast and drop down to my knees, my blade stained dark with blood of stygian hue, and for a moment these scarred hands shake free, and hold a world unfurled for me anew. but once-mourned victims, victors, vices find; fear winged me; now its absence strips me bare. my sword now dulls, my legs, my voice, my mind; the beast, pried from my throat, leaves no skill there. and still i hear it laugh, O DEVOTEE— O CHILD DEAR, NO GLORY WITHOUT ME.

i was quite productive this year; i have to think it was because i was avoiding things... the peak of my productivity happened over the summer and in november, AKA, college app hell. (almost done with the last applications! pray for me.)

a general breakdown of what occupied me this year:

(no, i don’t know why the “various other things” category ended up so large... i blame all the one-off projects i wrote a single page for, and also whatever the fuck happened in february. yes, i do know why it looks hideous; it’s because each of my WIPs has a theme color

thank you once again for spending some time at goose-books dot gov this year! what to expect for next year: well, i very much hope i can produce AMT... also hoping to get darkling ready for beta readers, so keep your eyes out!

[lizardrosen]

OK. OK, OK. So, if this is too much, feel free to split it up into different posts or only talk about the ones you want to. ^_^

Blood Like Glitter & Silent Seas: I have no idea what fandom these are even for, but the titles SPEAK TO ME, so please tell me about them? ^_^

Donna Nine Pilot: THE VERY THOUGHT. PLEASE. I NEED TO KNOW. TELL ME EVERYTHING.

...and omg is it terrible to want to know about literally all your Les Mis, Narnia, and Star Wars WiPs?? Because I kind of want to know about all of them. XD

(in response to this post)

Blood Like Glitter is my catch-all word doc for Sweeney Todd XD have a short little excerpt (cannibalism cw)

We pretend that the dearly departed are still here with us. They got into our bones and skin. We swallow pieces of people and wash them down with laughter and wine. There are stories to be told and with these pies that are a part of the tales, come the tellers’ arms slung around our shoulders. “God!” we exclaim, “That’s good!”

Silent Seas is my catch-all word doc for The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock! I love that poem so much, and my senior directing project  was actually an adaptation, so this was fic of my own twenty-minute play

The women wait upstairs. They are talking about how they plan to help me, and others like me. I count eras and overhear snatches of something that sounds like “it’s our job to give voice to the voiceless.” I open my mouth and strain my vocal cords and it’s true; I can’t speak without help.

When I emerge into the parlor I nod to them and they smile back. They have never once given me their names, they are always just the Ladies. I do not think that they will sing to me.

and then the Donna Nine Pilot! ohhhh this was my baby for a while, but i got a little overambitious and couldn’t narrow it down enough to finish even the beginning. This got long because I love babbling, so it's going under a cut.

The actual title is Three Rights Make a Left but I kept the WIP doc as-is. Long story short Donna and the Ninth Doctor end up traveling together, because their sense of humor and ways of coping with trauma would be SO INTERESTING to explore. My sister and I plotted out most of a season and worked on balancing two-parters and single episodes, plus making sure the themes and the Ultimate Bad Guy had good arcs throughout the season. We split up writing different episodes and then we both lost steam, alas.

But the premise of the pilot episode is that in Turn Left, Donna ends up working at the copy shop, BUT ALSO after the Time War the Doctor has a split second choice between landing in 2005 and meeting Rose, or landing in 2007 and meeting Donna, so all of the terrible things that happened because of Donna’s choice in the Turn Left episode are diverted. I also threw in the LInDA group from the Love and Monsters episode.

The Doctor trailed behind her as she put the handout back in its box and walked out to the front. She pushed open the door and even with her head down she was the first to know what was going on.

1. She looked up and saw Bliss, who she’d been expecting sometime today to pick up the very items Donna held in her hands. 2. Bliss saw the Doctor, a man she hadn’t been expecting to see in this place, but for whom she was in some sense always on the lookout. 3. The Doctor, expecting none of this, caught the starstruck look Bliss was giving him, and the smile that had grown easier in the short time he’d been talking to Donna became forced and fixed.

“LInDA?” he said in an undertone.

Donna nodded “LInDA.”

“Right, well, I think this is my cue to leave.” He gave a little wave to both of them, and then booked it out the door.

Episode Two was called The Bricklayers, and the summary is “Victor Hugo’s séances with comets, Jesus, and a ghost from the future, are actually a damaged Nestene Consciousness using him as a transmitter” I wrote about two thirds of it and then couldn’t figure out how to end it in a satisfying way.

A laugh bubbled up at how sincere he got when insulted. “The Brick? You actually call it the Brick?”

“Of course. That’s what all the diehard fans call it. It laid the foundation for so much of -- well, you’d call it modern literature -- and beyond that, out into the stars. It fits into the time it was written, and the times it was about, and all times where those problems still haven’t been solved, like a perfectly fitted piece of masonry.” He frowned in concentration. “Plus it’s roughly the size of a brick.”

“So if it’s everything you say it is, why does he waste so much time on boring ordinary moments?”

The Doctor took both her hands. “Because,” he said, looking into her eyes like this was the most important thing he’d ever said or ever would, “Victor Hugo understood that the boring ordinary moments are never a waste. It’s the things which pass by unnoticed that make up history, and the whole fabric can swirl around the tiniest events into a completely new shape. It’s incredible, it is!”

And I’ll answer the others in a second post when I get home from work!

[purplenarwhal19]

COSMIC DANCER

so, here’s a v short story I wrote for class about the importance of exploration. two of the songs that are excerpted in my story I found through @basic-banshee ‘s fanfic Rebel Rebel which is one the best (probably the best) fanfics ever.

Also I don’t know how to do the cutoff thingy so it’s gonna be a long post 🤷‍♀️ so sorry

....

enjoy, I guess? 💕

COSMIC DANCER

Over the radio, a gentle guitar played, followed by T. Rex’s smooth and repetitive lyrics. I sighed, bliss. We were driving on a California road in our rusty tour bus. Sitting in our narrow duffel bag with my costars, with bemused smiles plastered across our faces. Cool air conditioning blew a soft breeze. We listened to beautiful, alternative music, an epic soundtrack for our journey. This was the life of a performer. A true actress.

It was the summer of 1971. I was an actress and dancer on the television and stage show, Desi Dance. We were a children’s show that taught people all about India’s rich culture and history. Dance, art, poetry, music, and food offered just a peek into Indian tradition. We had been performing and touring for six years, but it felt like we started the show yesterday.

“I danced myself right out the womb

Is it strange to dance so soon?”(1)

The guitar solo came into full sound with the backing vocals. It created a powerful feeling that filled my whole body with true hope and strength.

All my life I had danced. It was my escape, my passion, and my love. It felt like that was what I was made for. Reading also brought escape, when the pressure of being an actress became too much. Reciting poetry for my castmates or singing a song that was stuck in my head was so relaxing and freeing. The lyrics are what spoke to me about music, and while I had quite a large vocabulary, there were often times when I didn’t know what a word meant.

“Beraham, what is a womb?” I questioned the boy next to me, clad in loose fitting turquoise pants with gold embroidery.

“I don’t know, Shrishti,” Beraham said plainly.

Beraham and I both sat there, still enjoying it, yet dumbfounded. Curiosity, a crimson rash that we needed to itch, in that unreachable spot on your back. This infection spread throughout the whole cast, leaving all of us with that same itch.

Maybe I could ask my movement director when we get to the venue… I thought as I drifted off, wrapped up in the comfort of music and friendship.

The year was 1973. In the dressing room, now with a smaller cast, we were practicing lines and getting ready to film. I had been groomed with brushes, painted with makeup and had been dressed in the most gorgeous fabrics. My lengha was brilliant magenta with intricate canary yellow details, and paired with a simple sequinned pearly white top. I loved these days, dressing up, feeling beautiful like a royal queen.

To the left of me, a record player played a Paul Simon favourite, setting our moods to the upbeat song.

“The mother and child reunion

Is only a motion away

Oh, the mother and child reunion

Is only a moment away”(2)

A familiar feeling of confusion washed over me. Why is the reunion so important? Why were the mother and child separated? Who are they?

Who is my mother?

Where is she?

Everyone has a mother. Our director, our manager, our movement director, the children in the audience; everyone except me and my fellow actors.

Everyone except me.

I tried to close my perfectly designed eyes, to block out the image of my unfortunate life, but my body refused to listen to my command. Blinking wasn’t even in my control.

I felt so overwhelmed. I had no identity. Who am I? This was a question from too deep in my heart for me to bear.

It was too much. I wanted to leave, I had to get up. I willed my thin, stick-like legs to stand up, pushing, using all the strength I had, just to leave the room.

Nothing happened.

I tried again, hoping for something, some sign of my own independence.

Nothing.

My body wasn’t mine. My will, myself, I could not control it. My life wasn’t mine.

I looked around at my colleagues, chatting, laughing, and totally unaware of their inability to be free. Bound to our employers who dictate and orchestrate our every move.

“Oh, little darling of mine

I can’t for the life of me

Remember a sadder day

I know they say let it be

But it just don’t work out that way”(2)

Paul Simon was right, I still can’t remember a sadder day than that one. My life had changed forever.

As years passed, I began to feel emptier and emptier, resenting my profession, and hating my life. Those years also happened to be our most successful, as a show. The success changed everything. Our bosses got sloppy; high on the fame, as well as their drugs of choice.

Most notably, Arjun, our stage director, became addicted to heroin. It was a horrid sight to witness him become a shell of the person he used to be. It reminded me exactly of that sad, sad Velvet Underground song.

“Heroin, be the death of me

Heroin, it’s my wife and it’s my life

Because a mainline into my vein

Leads to a center in my head

And then I’m better off than dead”(3)

It broke my heart to see him like this. I couldn’t understand how he could inject a toxin into his body by choice. How he could slowly kill himself one high after another.

By then, I had realized that I wasn’t human. I was something else, like them, yet different; stronger, yet weaker.

I spoke with my closest companions, Beraham, Jaidev, and Mitali. They were as confused as I was the day I realized I entered this world without anyone, without a mother. They too began life motherless.

The directors, started our show with shining faces, and now were graying and worn out. We kept the same expressions over the years, never seeing a wrinkle appear, never feeling an ache or pain, never feeling or looking our age.

We hadn’t aged in the past 20 years. We were to be used, like the puppets we were, forever.

“What can we do?” Mitali questioned, urgency overtaking her usual calm nature.

“Nothing,” Jaidev said. “It’s hopeless…”

“I want you to know deep in the cell of my heart

I really want to go

There is another world… a better world

Well, there must be…”(4)

I felt like the Smiths were reading my mind; I wanted another world, a better world, and I hoped with all my heart and soul that there would be one.

This was the lowest depth of our depression. We considered “ending it all”, whatever that meant.

Most of the time our directors listened to nonsense music filled with empty, happy thoughts that had less meaning than my life. When we listened to the melancholy music of Miles Davis, Billie Holiday and Chet Baker, that our bosses listened to so rarely, it felt reassuring: someone else suffered as we did.

Determined to solve this problem, I decided to speak with the director about our conditions. I had heard the humans refer to us as “puppets”, inanimate objects who could only recite lines, made only of felt, and paint. This sounded as bad as any slur that I’d heard before. They pushed and shoved us around, threw us in crowded duffel bags. This had to stop. We needed to break away from the chains the humans bound us in.

“Today we will close our show with an excerpt from Keralan poet, Kamala Surayya. “I am sinner, I am saint— I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” I paused, taking a moment to think of the right words.

“I cannot read the words of a woman who has lived and loved, while I am kept here, held captive by you humans!” I angrily burst, far less eloquent than I had imagined, emotion overtaking my composed mask.

My face turned a deep scarlet shade of red, reminiscent of tamaatar; something that had never happened before. The camera people, directors, and executives stood in place, too shocked to move or speak, the puppet that they had manipulated for so many years had finally taken control and spoken back.

Divya, a camera person, pale and shocked, stuttered, “W-what is happening?” She glanced around nervously at the other people in the room to see if they saw the same thing.

“Divya, you aren’t hallucinating. This is very real. My costars and I are conscious beings; we may not be able to move like you humans, but we deserve the same treatment as you. We have thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams. The way you speak about us is degrading. The way you touch and move us is disrespectful. We deserve respect and our thoughts and opinions are as valid as yours,” I spoke with a dignified tone. “The cast and I would like to have a meeting with all of you to discuss our treatment.”

Wide eyed, the crew, obediently agreed and took us to our cramped dressing room. The room was painted a pale yellow with a cheap elephant decal on the wall that was torn and peeling on the edges. This tiny room barely housed all thirteen of us cast members. With all of the behind the scenes crew in our room, we were packed in tight, like sardines in a tin.

“We have called this meeting today to negotiate our rights and responsibilities within this community,” Mitali serenely began. “Our citizenship within our show needs to include us as full members with equal rights and consideration. We understand that your use of us has immense benefits for you, with few benefits for us.”

“You make significant profits from our labor. Your wage is even plentiful enough for you, Arjun, to fund your addiction.” Jaidev scoffed.

With a quivering chin, Arjun begged, “What can we do to fix our mistakes?”

Beraham blustered, “ We want a change in your behaviour!”

“We cannot move on our own, so we expect help and kindness. When you have moved us in the past, even just five minutes ago, you throw around our bodies, like the inanimate objects you believe us to be. We want to go outside and see the world. We want more space in our dressing room, and we expect some real answers about who and what we are,” I demanded.

Afters some discussions we learned that we were the descendants of Saraswati, the Goddess of wisdom and art. The movement directors, who were called “puppeteers”, had no idea that we could do more than just read prepared lines, until we had all travelled to America. This was too far away from the Pundita, that had given them the divine puppets that we were. They could not receive guidance. They had no idea as to what we were capable of, or how to teach us.

That Pundita was my mother.  Her name was Tavni, and I was given a picture of her.

She had a golden, caramel complexion, with large eyes and hazel pupils. She had a smile that lit up a whole room and round, rosy cheeks.

I noticed the similarities in our appearances, the way she had crafted me to look so much like her.

I had found my identity.

Learning all of this information brought a new sensation to my eyes; something burning and prickly, and a wet droplet traveling down my cheek. I was crying! This feeling brought a warm emotion of relief, of content and of closure.

Soon after these discoveries, I realized that I loved my job. Even though the past years had been rough, this was what I was meant to do. If conditions improved, I would truly be happy.

I was going to do what my mother created me for. Dancing and performing, bringing India to the whole world and teaching about our glorious culture. I would do just that.

“I danced myself into the tomb

I danced myself into the tomb

Is it strange to dance so soon?

I danced myself into the tomb…”(1)

THE END

~

SONGS REFERENCED:

(1) Cosmic Dancer, T. Rex, 1971

(2) Mother and Child Reunion, Paul Simon, 1972

(3) Heroin, The Velvet Underground, 1967

(4) Asleep, The Smiths, 1987

[maevehowserjournal]

WEGSCHAUEN

I don’t give a flying shit about how bad it is. All I want is disaster. All I want is something, anything, to give this miserable series of events I call my life a purpose. Nothing is bad necessarily, but everything is dull. Dull is worse than bad, as the days would cease to bleed together if I could identify them by their pain. Even if I was in constant pain and agony, something is better than nothing. Pain is better than depressive apathy.

Another day in the pit. Another day, still, in this formidable hellhole. Travelling from this one to other formidable hellholes. Scrapping together weapons that will last me for the day. Feeling the ground suddenly shift into materials which, prior to this, I hadn’t thought to be physically possible. Wandering these halls of nameless cities that exist in worlds too hostile for mortal men. Yet somehow, I keep living through what I believe to be days, but what may be minutes to what resides here. I don’t miss it anymore, as I’ve found it here.

Cochdich’s Sub Sandwiches. What a fortunate name for a fortunate CEO of a Subway rip-off. The name was at least fitting. Very, very unfortunately fitting. 50 hours a week of degrading patrons who had so little palpable value for the man they spoke to, acting as if I wasn’t suffering by working there as much as they were just by being customers there. The days lasted weeks, as I would bide my time preparing both a physical and verbal arsenal to face the bestiary with. These days, my arsenal is solely physical, and far more challenging to construct than those identical, rounded gray tins of food products. Tuna, turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, silver vessels in rows, all the same. Trypophobia at its finest, here at Cochdich’s Sub Sandwiches.

The night of June 5th, 2003 was the night I was saved from my carbon copy, carbohydrate prison, but spared the rewards of such a Sisyphean duty. A night which sticks out in my mind as likely the biggest mixed bag I’ve ever had to pick from. Let me set the stage for you. It was 9:30 PM. I sat there, at that counter, scribbling endlessly in the composition notebook which I have simply labelled “SHIT” on the cover with a black sharpie. I wrote about my life and my growing sense of lachesism. All I wanted was for disaster to strike me one day so I may lead a more fulfilling life. In my own words, “I don’t give a flying shit about how bad it is. All I want is disaster. All I want is something, anything, to give this miserable series of events I call my life a purpose. Nothing is bad necessarily, but everything is dull. Dull is worse than bad, as the days would cease to bleed together if I could identify them by their pain. Even if I was in constant pain and agony, something is better than nothing. Pain is better than depressive apathy.” That’s simply an excerpt from what I wrote in my state of limbo. Eventually, somehow, I made it to 10:00 PM. Finally, a time when nobody in their right mind would be coming to Cochdich’s. No customers meant all the sweeping, mopping, and restocking humanly possible. Everything was done on time, and I could go home, free as a bird until 10:00 AM the next day.

That was until the hole opened itself up. You heard me right. As I left the breadwastes, I could hear the massive, obtuse sound of a thousand moles digging up soil. A thousand claws ungathering dirt in the ground, creating a large cavity between me and the car. My mind began to race, as I was pretty sure this hole wasn’t here this morning, nor was it here during my break. With fear, I moved closer and closer to this mystery hole, and stared down into it once I stood on its cusp. There appeared to be some sort of crimson, bloody light at the bottom, but it was either very small, or simply miles upon miles away from me. Yet this light was still somehow blinding me. My gaze then turned up to my car, and as my eyes left the hole, I heard once again the sound of the soil being drilled up. I spun my head around to see the hole, now seeming to have moved behind me. This seemed impossible, and instead of checking to see if I was dreaming, my first thought was to get into the car. But before I could make it, the hole once again shifted position, now underneath me. I plummeted into what went from moonlight to sheer darkness to a bright red light. The car fell just after I did. I knew if the fall didn’t kill me, the car would. However, that didn’t happen. Instead, after what felt like minutes and maybe hours, I found myself plummeting not from a hole, but instead a deep, purple sky. Almost a lavender shade of purple, darker beyond the clouds. So high up now, as if I were dropped out of a satellite, except over what clearly was no Earth. This is around when I noticed my car was no longer above me. I still don’t know where it went.

Eventually, after minutes, I plummeted into a deep red ocean. As my head was submerged under the bloody surface of pungent, thick slime, I could hear nothing but screaming, yelling, and groaning. An unholy choir sang to me from the depths of the sea. The sound of a thousand blue whales from the lowest bowels of Hell. The red sea of sorrows. In the dark red void below me, I could feel something massive awaited me. Even worse, I could sense it coming up to reach me. Something which I could never even hope to understand, with many tongues and throats that urged deeply to swallow me whole. This fear of what lived below me was enough to push me towards the shore. I could see just above the surface, I was close to some sort of land mass. Brown sand bedded a massive, elderly, deep red ziggurat. I could smell its age from this far away. It had an odor of times gone by, from the Medieval ages to Ancient Egypt. Like it was built by all the dead in our ancient history. It whispered its ancient lore to me from this distance, and there seemed to be more in store once I made it there. I felt as if I was being pulled directly to this thing, and as if the ocean wind had been pushing me towards it. Once I had reached the shore, the name of this place somehow hammered its way into my skull. It felt violating, almost as if a hammer had lodged into the middle of my brain, ruining my thoughts and separating my eyes from their roots. Crethm’chtha. That’s at least my interpretation on how you would possibly pronounce that horrific name. In my head, I was sure this name was said by an inhuman mouth, which made completely different noises to what I can. Even in its incomprehensible form, it still gripped my brain ever so tightly, with no intention of letting go. Straining my brainstem and forcing it to twist and eventually snap, but the fear came solely from waiting for it to inevitably break. One of the greatest difficulties I have ever faced to this day is trying to swim while this battle of unknowable forces took place within my head, bodies crashing against the sides of my skull. My teeth hurting as the swords of the little men inside missed each other and hit the walls. The itching as the ants from my heart ambushed them, eating their organs and leaving them to rot.

Finally, I was washed out upon the brown, wet shores. I stood, slowly, gazing upon these ruins before me. Creatures groaned and grunted in the distance, speaking gibberish to one another. Reluctantly, I trudged towards the ziggurat, but not before staring out at the massive horizon by the ocean. It’s sheer size is panic inducing. It looks as if this place is completely flat, and instead of seeing the curve of the planetary body on the horizon, it simply had no end. It appeared endless, and not even the fog interfered with the vast, endless stretch of bloody water. This impossible visage almost caused my eyes to turn back into my skull, and I was puppeteered by my own body to look away. This expanse was full of massive creatures, sea serpents leaving the ocean and entering the air. Massive rocks with faces plummeting from the sky to be drowned. In the sky, it appeared that a large mouth, its face impossibly stretched in a grotesque fashion, was slowly moving towards this place to swallow it whole. Hopefully he’ll digest it, I thought to myself, because this place shouldn’t exist, by any stretch of the imagination. On the front of the ziggurat, there appeared to be a rough, round hole that I figured my hand would fit perfectly inside, so I reluctantly pushed it forward. This is when the wall in front of me suddenly split down the middle, and opened up. This is when I first encountered the land creatures from this place, which I’ve nicknamed “Sea Monkeys.” However, that’s simply due to my inability to rationalize the pronunciation that forced its way into my brain, which sounded somewhat similar to Sea Monkey. A four legged creature with a head that appeared to be one large eye. Like one of those all directional security cameras. No iris, just a black orb, that seemed to grow and shrink depending on the light of the surroundings. Its skin… I don’t know what color it was. It’s a color I’ve never seen before. I never thought new colors were possible, but they are. Believe me, they are. They hurt the soul when you try to rationalize them, so I find it preferable to not think about it much. I don’t think about any of this much because here, human thought is dangerously outgunned, and will blow itself up if used. Human knowledge in Crethm’chtha is like a toaster in a bathtub.

The Sea Monkey had no arms, either. But when it spotted me, all it really did was study me. Its eye grew and shrank as it examined me. Fearful of what it might do, I stumbled back, and a piece of the crumbling stone wall fell off, in a perfect dagger shape. Perfectly pointed and jagged. I chose to act on my fear, and began wailing on the Sea Monkey, jamming the rock into its eye. The crepuscular creature did not bleed, and instead, it almost seemed to deflate as a gaseous substance escaped its body. Black and pungent, my eyes stung as it entered them. The Sea Monkey did not scream, but it did attempt to wrangle and impale me with its spider-like, chiton-built crab legs. Knowing I would be here indefinitely, I prepared a surplus of food. I stole every meaty piece of the Sea Monkey. However, this creature had no definable organs. Simple meat filled its shell. The only true organ was its head, which I also stole. I now had nothing left to do with this creature, but one thing. I figured one of its legs would make a better weapon than this piece of shitty rock. So, I used all of my strength to twist it, pull it, do anything to sever it from its host. Eventually, it gave way, and I now had a nifty DIY spear.

This is how I began my constant struggle for survival. Crethm’chtha was not the only strange place I would travel through. Many other bizarre realms of ancient origin awaited me, with new creatures. My routine was constantly changing, and never bored me. I always had to adjust to the next world I would be subjected to, and need to survive in. I never knew just how far, how many galaxies or dimensions I was from home, all I knew was the distance was probably so large I would never be able to fathom it. Over this time, I forgot my name, age, and way of leading life as I used to. I was now freer than ever, but trapped all the same. My resolve eroded overtime, as I no longer even thought about my old life. This was so much better. This was everything I craved. Everything I wanted. Everything my life lacked before. New creatures awaited me every day. The exoskeletons, beings that would latch onto the dead remains of their neighboring abominations and puppeteer them for strength. The dogs, four legged, meaty things that always seemed to be building structures. Altars. Churches. Occult worshipping grounds. The perforators. Spiny beasts which would wait until they got close enough, and then unleash their horrific needles. The first time I encountered one of those fuckers, I almost didn’t wake up.

It was not until recently that I found myself revisiting Crethm’chtha by accident. I wandered the disheveled, crumbled halls of what I had dubbed Distant Times Square. A world seemingly made of hallways that were constantly crumbling and falling apart, set atop a rough and coarse ground of drought-ridden desert. At some point, these halls had lead me into a building in Crethm’chtha, and just outside of this building stood the hole. The same hole from that fateful night. Except this time, the hole was now a deep, deep green. Nothing to lose, I willingly stepped down. I don’t know how long it had been since I had fallen like this. Maybe months, but maybe years. No clue. Finally, after minutes, I felt myself no longer falling. Like I was floating alone in this void. Gradually, water began to wash over my body, in this deep darkness of who knows how wide and vast. I wasn’t drowning, simply existing. This is around when I came to.

I emerged from the depths that surrounded me. My reaction, and realization of my new surroundings, however, was delayed. Earth. Blue skies. Darker blue waters. A school of fish below me. Land in sight. The city I had spent my whole life in. Its name… what was it… Seas… Seafron… Seetle… Seattle. Seattle, Washington. It was all coming back. I hoped my name would too. But I wondered, would I ever be able to return to my way of life? I don’t want to. I swam back below the water, to see if that would take me back. No. I was stuck. Finally home, but in the same sense as an abused child returning home. But if there was anything I had learned from my journeys, it was this: Nothing is gained in the pursuit of something futile. My next step was clear, or rather my way to finding my next step. Nothing stood in the ocean between me and the city.

Eventually, I made it to shore, and began wandering the streets. In a landscape like this, I thought to myself, all these people… leading shit lives and not being worth anything, maybe I could live here like I did in the beyond realms. The idea was growing more and more defined in my brain. It only depended on my own ability, and I had become quite the bloodthirsty motherfucker in those other places. However, my stream of thoughts was interrupted by something I never expected I would see again. An old face. This meant something to me. I knew it. P. P something. Pauline was her name. She looked older and in nicer clothes, but this was undeniably her. I had no clue how much worse I looked now. I hadn’t grown any hair for some odd reason, but I most likely aged. I had to have aged. Pauline was across the street from me, and the only thing I could think to do was, of course, like the madman I am, run across traffic and get spun in the air by a taxi.

“Holy shit, Donovan, I need to call you back. Some guy just got hit by a car!” She rushed to me to give me aid, and once she saw my face, everything seemed to click in her head.

“Jeff??” That was my name. It had been on the tip of my tongue for the longest time. I couldn’t think of what to say. Nothing came to mind. Nothing at all. I didn’t know what I meant to this woman in my past life. However, I suppose it was something romantic, as the blondie’s embrace when she wrapped her arms around me felt very familiar. The kiss also felt like something I once knew.

Not long after, we were both inside a cafe. Sitting across from one another at a table. 2 cups of coffee were carried to the table. I didn’t know if she had bought it for me or not, I wasn’t listening. I still wasn’t listening to her. Her voice was drowned out by my innate inability to understand these surroundings. At a certain point, I left this vapid nonsense behind. Why consume food I didn’t earn? Why eat something I didn’t hunt? She must have been screaming at me by this point to say something to her, but it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t bring myself to hear it. Classic victim of the low pass filter that my social skills have become.

The sun had passed the horizon, and I stood over the water, ready to either return to my old surroundings, or die. But I stopped myself when I went back to my thoughts from earlier. Who’s to say that I can’t lead life now like I did then? The answer was nobody. Absolutely nobody could stop me now. I had faced the beyond, beings that I was never meant to face, and I got out of it. I killed them. They feared me. They feared the monster named Jeff. How funny. I still had my duffel bag from all those years ago, which still had the Sea Monkey leg I had stolen. It also still had the composition notebook labelled “SHIT” in sharpie. That’s what I write these words in now. I can see somebody walking around right now, and they are the perfect start to the continuation of the bloodbath my life has become. That being said, here’s to another day in the pit. Another day, still, in this formidable hellhole. Travelling from this one to other formidable hellholes. Scrapping together weapons that will last me for the day. Wandering these halls of nameless cities that exist in worlds too hostile for mortal men. Yet somehow, I keep living through what I believe to be days, but what may be minutes to what resides here. I don’t miss it anymore, as I’ve found it here.

[allwaswell16]

Annual Writing Self Evaluation

I was tagged by @louandhazaf <3 Thanks, Nic! 

1. List of works published this year: 

Faded From This Touch | 7k

 No Easy Love (Could Make Me Feel This Way) | 17k

Running Through a Cloud of Steam  | 5k

 And Follow the Sun | 100 words

 I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me)  | 20k

 Every Piece of You (It Just Fits Perfectly)  | 7k

 Maybe I’ve Been California Dreaming | 100 words

 Dive (Series)  | 21k 

 When the Sun Won’t Let You Sleep  | 30k

 Sit Next To Me  | 12k

 Falling Back | 100 words

 If I Loved You Less  | 36k

 Staring Across Barcelona  | 7k

 Charity Ficlets | 10k

 Pictures of You | Drarry | 2k

I saw someone add some stats here that I found interesting, so I’m going to include that here:

I published 15 works for a total of 199,784 words (not including some drabbles that are only published to tumblr.) Hmmm, I’m realizing my stats might be skewed because of an epilogue I wrote for a fic from last year. Oh well, I was told there would be no maths, so I’m not going to figure it out now. Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m realizing I have counted the Dive series as one work, but ao3 counts it as 5 or however many of them there are. Blah. No one check my maths please.

10 fics rated Explicit, 3 Mature, 3 Teen, 2 General and 1 Not Rated.  All were Larry except for one Drarry fic.

My most popular fic this year was I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me), which is also the most popular thing I’ve written ever. Why? I have no idea. You guys are weird. I’m not weird at all for writing about monitor lizards. My second most popular fic was If I Loved You Less, which is telling me you guys like a/b/o fics, maybe? idk.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Probably When the Sun Won’t Let You Sleep. That fic consumed me while I wrote it. I constantly thought about it, and the characters talked to me all the time in my head. I knew them inside and out. When I first came up with the idea of Antarctic research scientists, I had no idea what the story was really going to be about until I started researching the British Antarctic Survey. There are so many stories to be told from the absolute ends of the earth that I had no idea existed. The fic became a story of why Louis found himself in Antarctica, but he’s not an entirely reliable narrator of his story. The other characters help you figure out why he’s really come to the ends of the earth.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I wouldn’t say I’m not proud of anything I wrote this year, but I’m a bit mystified by the popularity of I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me). To me it was just some silly thing I wrote to fulfill a couple of prompts that I put together. I had fun writing it though! And it’s always fun to have lots of people talk to you about a fic, so that was nice, too! 

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

(From If I Loved You Less)

Louis’ heart pounded at the sudden intimacy of a darkened garden, although other couples strolled through the lantern lit pathway.

“I hope I was not interrupting you in the ballroom.”

Lord Styles’ voice sent a shiver through him that Louis could never quite control whilst in his presence. “No, you did not, and I thank you for coming to my aid.”

“Ah, I sensed you were in need of it,” he said simply as he offered Louis a sly smile. It seemed they were both in agreement on Baron Winston. The music of a waltz floated through the air, and Lord Styles hesitated on the stone path. “Shall we return for our dance?”

“If you’d like to,” Louis said, though a bit reluctant to leave this small oasis from the heated ballroom and if he were honest with himself, reluctant to sever this small moment of privacy with Lord Styles.

“I would rather walk and speak of nearly any topic rather than return to the ball,” Lord Styles declared.

“Is that right?” Louis ducked his head to hide his smile at Lord Styles’ honesty. He quite liked that he seemed always so forthright.

“Yes, and I’d dearly like to spend my time elsewhere.”

“Why don’t you?” Louis asked boldly as he looked back up at Lord Styles’ handsome profile, almost sure of the answer.

Lord Styles’ lips pursed a bit and he made a funny twitch of his nose as though to prevent a grin from spreading across his face.

“I think you know why,” he whispered into the darkness.

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

I had the opportunity to write a fic for @greatpemberly this year as part of @1dfanworksforcharity and when I discovered what her ao3 was, I was so so happy. I recognized her ao3 immediately as someone who has been reading and commenting on my fics for years. It was an honor to write for someone who has supported me for so long. 

I feel extremely lucky to have the response I’ve had to my fics in general and to get the comments I receive. I respond to every single comment, and I appreciate every single one. The long ones with people yelling about specific parts make me grin like an idiot, and the short ones letting me know they’ve read or reread something show up in my ao3 emails and bring a smile to my face, too. Whenever I get a comment from a writer I admire, I try not to make a fool of myself in the response but I don’t always succeed. lol. I mean, come on, if Dolce comments on your fic, you get to dance around your kitchen for a while, right? 

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I had a meltdown in November. I was trying to do nanowrimo and I’d written 27k of my Big Bang for next year and was kicking ass really. However, my Big Bang is angsty, and it was way too intense for me to try and write that much difficult writing in that amount of time. It messed with my head in a way fic has never messed with it before. It scared me a little. So I quit nano halfway through, and it was definitely the right thing to do for my mental health.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Niall and Shawn in If I Loved You Less. When I started writing that fic, I had basically no notes on what Shawn was like and only a vague idea of what Niall was like, but as soon as I started writing it, they threatened constantly to just take over the fic. lol. My beta said when I started, if I was sure I wasn’t writing a Shiall fic. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

Just the act of writing so much last year and this year has helped me hone my skills a bit. There are things about how I write now that isn’t present in my earlier fics. And it’s simply from just writing so much that it gets easier to create a more well rounded story, I think. When I structure a story now, my outline isn’t just a series of points anymore. I’m much better I think at coming up with the story arc so that I can focus more on characters. Taggiecb really helped me with “inner monologue” and calling me out when I wasn’t doing it. lol. I also wrote a fic in past tense this year for the first time, which was a much bigger challenge than I ever thought it would be.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I just hope to keep writing and reading as much as possible! I think the fics I have planned are ambitious in different ways, so I hope to keep challenging myself. 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

My answer is always @taggiecb. I don’t know if anyone understands that every single thing I write must first pass her initial test. I write first to entertain her and then I think about myself and everyone else. haha. We’re not co-dependent at all! But truly no one understands me like she does and no one loves my writing like she does, and it’s definitely mutual. <3

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Always. Every fic has something of me in it.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

I hope to just encourage writers to seek out other writers for support if they need it. Writing doesn’t have to be something you do alone. If you’re having trouble getting people to read your stuff, I’d say to write for challenges and exchanges. I wrote for so many over the last few years, and I really think that’s where a lot of people found my fics. This certainly isn’t new wisdom, but I think it helps to write and read as often as possible. The more you write, the better you’ll become at the craft of writing. The more you read, the more inspired you’ll become. If you don’t read the other fics in your fandom, you will miss out on finding new and exciting things to write and reminding yourself on what you can work on to get better. The reading is nearly as important as the writing.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’m in the middle of writing my Big Bang fic right now. So that’s what I’ll be working on until it’s done. It’s an intense amnesia au that has a twist to it. Hopefully, I can pull it off. It will likely be the longest thing I’ve written. 

@afirethatcannotdie and I are going to run another round of @larryabroad, so actually, Ellie, we need to get on organizing that again soon. haha. 

I have two other fics that I have plotted that I’d like to write in 2019. One is probably for the @1000feelingsfics challenge and is a soulmate au based on a drabble I wrote for the Fall Drabble Challenge. The other is a bucket list au that involves a lot of travel, so maybe that could be for Larry Abroad. Not for sure on that yet. 

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read.

@goodmorningtoyouuniverse @rosegoldhlfics @phd-mama   @becomeawendybird @taggiecb @helloamhere @hereforlou @2tiedships2 @humhalleloujah @dimpled-halo I tagged more than 3 because everyone should do this if they want! If you see this and want to do it, just say I tagged you! <3

*All answers should be about works published in 2018. Also, you can skip any questions you hate or don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can do them if they want.

(also, here’re my responses from 2016, 2017)

[carumens]

sunflowers at night snippet: valba’s and gerah’s first real convo

longer excerpt because i wrote literally 0 words on the first day of nano (this is self-indulging i know). just a tip, listen with the song i linked because it captures the mood perfectly and it’s just a song in replay in my head rn.

tagging: @kit-tells-a-story @annaalexiswrites @katabasiss @omgbrekkerkaz@aetheriium @sleepyscribbling @katherinescribbles @naturallysweetnloaded@maskedlady @writing-kimmi @endymions @chellewrites @the-ichor-of-ruination @breakingpointwip @cosmo-worlds @theforgottencoolkid @florhiver@jess—writes @nexiliss @easypreywip @brekkerings@saintephemeral @crimescenedwrites 

https://youtu.be/OtFRcJpzEwA

Gerah Mayham was a strange creature. Spoiled only child born rich who felt irrationally wretched for having to wear slacks and dress shoes all the time. His whining was a silent one, never a word of discomfort leaving his mouth in front of his parents, the only sign of his restlessness being the sullen looks he sent his own clothes. Apparently, he’d declared war on using more than one type of fork when eating and was often reprimanded by Mrs. Mayham because there are different types of cutlery for a reason, Gerah.

Valba had discovered a heap of ragged hoodies, ripped jeans and battered sneakers behind a thorny bush that was far away enough from the house to be considered out of bounds from her jurisdiction, but the Mayham was nowhere to be found and she didn’t want to lose her job on the first day. Well, maybe she wouldn’t mind losing that particular job, but her father wouldn’t be happy if she did. Valba picked up one of the shaggy tee shirts and crinkled her nose at the mud and grass stains covering the white fabric. So it’s true, she thought.

A rumor had been circulating the village for some years now, that Gerah Mayham bought old almost-rubbishy clothes from the boys in the village, seemingly oblivious to their curious and sometimes enraged expressions when he approached them to offer money for their rags. Because he only bought rags, the kind Valba wore to work on the land or Tom Sanders used the days he had to clean the stables. She didn’t give too much credit to the gossip always pumping through Romello but from time to time a rumor was in fact a truth, and it seemed this was one of those times.

Valba sighed, dropped the muddled shirt and turned around, a hand coming up to shade her eyes as she scanned the vast green expanse surrounding Mayham Manor. She could see the gravel path that led to the village, the same path she had taken a few days ago to officially meet the Mayhams before she got hired— “Just a formality, love, I already talked to Mrs. Mayham myself,” her mother had said. “But it’d be good if you went by and presented yourself to them.” Behind Mayham Manor, the world looked like a crazy puzzle, as if a god couldn’t quite decide if he wanted a prairie or a forest, irregular patches of green and yellow grass suddenly cut out by a stubborn of high pine trees. Just like that, no gradualism, no creeping appearance of bushes and trees, just a sudden firm line separating the meadow from the woods—an ovation to saltationism.

There weren’t any more places where Gerah Mayham could have gone. Valba had looked everywhere, every room inside labyrinthic Mayham Manor, every crevice and potential hiding place in the immense garden. Five minutes, that’s what it had taken her to go to the bathroom, five minutes and Gerah was nowhere to be found. He tends to disappear, Mrs. Mayham had said, just keep an eye on him, he has a few health problems. That was her job: easy, simple, less demanding than she had thought it would be. When she arrived at the Mayhams a few days before, she thought she would be working as maid, cleaning endless halls and airing mattresses so they’d be soft and fresh for their rich Mayham owners, or maybe in the kitchen, struggling to cook French and Italian dishes she had not once in her life heard about. In actuality, her job revolved about one simple task: babysitting Gerah Mayham.

“Not babysitting,” Gerah had huffed when she had asked, more out of spite than real incredulity, why would a seventeen-year-old need a nanny to babysit him.

“Not babysitting,” Mrs. Mayham had repeated, a small polite smile plastered on her shiny chocolate face. “Just keep him company. You see—” she had said, sipping from the greenish tea she had served for the three of them. “My husband has had to go back to the city, business matters, and we have decided it would be the best for me to move with him.” There was a trace of a long-gone accent in her words, a quiet slur in the way she pronounced consonants that made Valba think of straw houses and colorful dresses. “Gerah will be staying here, since the school year has already started.”

“Okay,” had said Valba.

“It would be most convenient if you moved here,” Mrs. Mayham had looked at her intently while she spoke. “Not if you do not want to, of course.” Valba knew it was an essential condition for her to get the job, an order, even if it didn’t sound like one.

“What?” Gerah had jerked from the velvety sofa he had been tightly sitting in so suddenly that he dropped the cup of tea he was holding. “You didn’t say anything about her moving in, mom!”

“Well, your dad and I decided it only this morning.”

“But—” he looked at Valba, golden eyes almost popping out of his sockets. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Go change, Gerah, will you?” Mrs. Mayham’s smile looked murderous. “And call Sonya, you have made quite a mess here.”

Then Gerah had walked out of the room, seemingly calm, but Valba could see the clenching in his fists and the slight change in the set of his jaw.

Valba took off her faded espadrilles, dropped them beside Gerah’s puddle of second-hand clothes and started trotting through the high grass towards the clean line of pine trees, her feet feather-light on the dry mud. She loved the feeling of nature pressing against the soles of her feet, memories of infantile eternal summer days threading through the forest, Mark close on her heels, his too-big hands for a nine-year-old threatening with grabbing her and throwing her to the Chrysalis River. Not that being thrown to the river was too big of a trauma—winters were warm in Romello and summers were full-time furnace-hot— but it felt good knowing that not even racy Mark Marks could beat her in speed.

The forest surrounding northern Romello was a strange one: an aleatory turmoil of pines and oaks and weeping willows and wildflowers in every shade and color, bees and wolves and snakes that hid themselves in the fresh foliage, butterflies and rhinoceros beetles and poison ivy, a mind-blowing mix of polar opposites that made Romello seem a little bit more interesting for Valba. The Chrysalis River ran through it, a marvelous stream of crystal clear water and tiny colored fish that shone metallic in the sunlight.

She entered the forest, twigs and sticks snapping under the hardened feet, fingers stopping briefly to caress the bark of a tree or pull at her cotton t-shirt when it got tangled up in a low branch. It didn’t take her too long to find Gerah Mayham sprawling at the edge of the river, trousers rolled up to his knees and feet deep into the glassy Chrysalis’ water and his usually perfectly-combed hair a mess of charcoal tangles. A puff of smoke left his mouth, and as she approached, Valba could see a rather large pile of cigarette butts carelessly forming near the river bank.

“What are you doing?”

Gerah turned around so quickly the cigarette fell from where it was dangling on his lips. “Shit,” he said, as he picked it up before it could scorch even further his already scorched-looking jeans. “How did you find me?”

Valba arched a brow. “You haven’t gone too far.”

“Mom and Dad never found me here,” he said, taking a last drag of his cigarette and putting it out in the wet soil next to him.

“Well, then they’re not very good at looking for things,” said Valba. “Or they didn’t even try.”

Gerah frowned, his dark brows coming together in a way that didn’t seem fitting for him, not that Valba knew him a lot.

“What are you doing?”

“Are you going to tell me not to smoke?” Said Gerah, a tense set to his jaw that seemed somehow out of place for him. Valba didn’t know Gerah Mayham at all, but she remembered punching him in the face, and not even then had he seemed the littlest bit aggressive. He looked different now, she realized, not only because of his haggard looks, but for the vibrating aura around his posture, a wild animal prepared to jump.

“No, your lungs are yours to fuck,” she said. “I’m only gonna tell you not to put off your cigarettes here, because as surprising as it may be, the forest is actually not yours to fuck.”

Gerah sent a side glance to the butt mountain in the mud. “Okay,” he said, and his shoulders sagged visibly.

Valba leaned against the nearest tree and slid down, the rough bark scratching her skin, her bare feet creating muddy indents in the fresh soil. There was something, Valba didn’t quite know what, about the stillness of the forest that calmed down even the roughest of her edges, all thoughts about her life debt to Gerah Mayham almost forgotten. It was such a contrast with the bustling life inside the village, all whispers and shouts and overload of information.

“I don’t need you monitoring me,” said Gerah, his iridescent eyes trained on her.

Valba held his gaze. “Your parents seem to differ on that matter,” she said.

“Fuck you, you don’t need to be here.”

“Actually, I do. Because I need the money. Not that I expect you to understand what need is.”

Gerah dropped his eyelids, white teeth coming out to chew on his lower lip. He started fiddling with the cigarette butts, and Valba thought she could see something changing in him. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned slightly backwards to rest on his elbows, the edges of his coal-rimmed lashes softening into something akin to curiosity. Suddenly, he was the dumbstruck boy that had stuttered at her a year before all over again, when she punched him in the face after he pushed her off the road and weakly demanded a “thank you” in exchange.

“Were you born here in Romello?” He asked, and Valba felt, much to her dismay, her own eyebrow raising in amusement.

“Born and raised,” she answered.

He looked at her, expectant, as if waiting for Valba to ask something to him in return, and frowned slightly, his nose furrowing childishly, when he realized it wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“I was born here, too,” he said. “But mom’s from Spain. I’d like to go visit someday.”

Valba knew the story: young handsome and promising Nicholas Mayham made an extremely important business trip to Seville where he fell desperately in love with young intelligent and exotic Nerea Murillo, who worked as a touristic guide to pay for her university fees. They married, moved to the United States of America, and after some very happy and dreamy years of marriage, decided to have a child and raise him in the quiet tranquility and safety of a lost village in the mountains, far from America and its cardiac-arresting life. Fairytale-like.

She could almost picture Nerea Mayham in her younger years, caffeinated skin glistening under the Andalusian sun the same way Gerah’s did under the stray rays that perforated the shady canopies of Romello’s forest.

“Your name’s not Spanish, though.” She said. “Nor English.”

Gerah looked up at her from where he was fiddling with the fallen foliage. “No, actually, it means something in Javanese, but it’s not supposed to be a name?” he said. “But they let you name your children however you want nowadays so…”

Valba frowned. “Why Javanese?”

Gerah shrugged. “Mom thought it was fancy.” He shrugged again, as it to clarify that he did not think it was fancy at all. Valba hated to agree with him.

“What does it mean?”

Gerah stared at her, a moment too-long for his ever-shifting gaze. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a lie,” said Valba, leaning forward.

“It’s not,” he said, his eyes stubbornly trained on Valba’s muddy bare feet.

“It is, how would you know it wasn’t supposed to be a name—”

“What do you care?” Gerah bristled, a flash of the boy Valba had found aggressively smoking next to the river some minutes earlier.

Valba leaned back again. “I don’t,” she said.

[thesinglesjukebox]

MEEK MILL FT. MIGUEL - STAY WOKE

[6.50]

Now #free...

Julian Axelrod: Meek Mill's first months of freedom find him testing the waters with a sampling of his different modes: hype Meek, romantic Meek, "Dreams and Nightmares" Meek, etc. It feels like he's still trying to figure out how to return to rap after going through hell, and "Stay Woke" gives us an excerpt of his internal monologue. It's moving and insightful, obviously; after everything he's been through, how could it not be? For all the discussion of his singular delivery, Meek also has an ear for vivid imagery. His recounting of his upbringing hits especially hard: "I used to play the quarterback, my dog would go receiver/That was 'til the ball got flat by a dope needle on the pavement." But it also feels calculated, like he's giving us the post-prison rumination he thinks we expect. Miguel's chorus feels especially superfluous, like Meek scribbled some vaguely triumphant platitudes and found the wokest R&B singer in his contacts to record it in one take. Yet even as the song buckles under the weight of its own expectations, it's still a joy to hear Meek barking over ominous pianos like he never went away. All the freedom and pathos you need is right there in his voice. [6]

Alfred Soto: It's hard to understand what Meek raps about here, so swept up is he in the wash of words and by trying to hone his anger -- or resignation? "How can I pledge allegiance to the flag/When they killin' all our sons, all our dads?" is the question of the hour, and he nails it. [6]

Ryo Miyauchi: Three verses weren't ever going to be enough to fit what Meek wants to discuss, and he leaves with more questions than he started. The clearest section is the second, where he tries to understand the SoundCloud generation and how he sees some of their foolishness in his own past as well. His food for thought doesn't call for a replay even with a Miguel feature, but it's a nice check-in from a free Meek Mill nonetheless. [5]

Thomas Inskeep: Meek Mill was, to me, destined to forever be a B-list rapper -- until his absurd incarceration. Since he became a cause célèbre, there's an urgency to his bars, a "black CNN" quality (thanks, Chuck D) to his lyrics. Miguel's the perfect R&B singer to provide the hook, and does so just so. The production here (not trap, thank God, but very much of a NY state of mind) accents it all perfectly with crisp snares and some eerie '90s echoes in the background. [9]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Emotive content and evocative imagery has always suited Meek Mill. The MEEK MILL RAP LIKE meme, as well as an obnoxious feud with everyone's favorite Canadian carpetbagger, horribly distorted his perception in the media, but he's still been one of the best rappers in America for at least a decade. His turn to political and pensive content following his recent jail stint has been fascinating, and in a world where political rap is usually only pushed from "conscious" artists," a real shot in the arm. That said, "Stay Woke" is dreary both to effect and to a fault. The Miguel hook is greasy and dull, while the beat is far too generic. Were this a pre-Dreamchasers mixtape cut to offset his various "Rosé Red"s, it'd be a revelation. Instead, it's a confirmation and reconciliation for a rapper who, in so many ways, has never known how to be treated fairly. [6]

Jonathan Bradley: "Stay Woke" is Meek Mill in "Dreams and Nightmares" mode, absorbing into his voice such weight of accumulated struggle that he ceases to sound like a mere man, his voice haunting the track like a specter representing an entire community. The past few years of arrests, grotesquely unjust imprisonment, and subsequent freedom has made him larger than his impressive yet hardly indomitable career, a marker of an American justice system that requires of black men only that they lose. Jay-Z wrote op-eds about Meek in the New York Times, and Meek explicitly connects the personal experience of becoming a cause with national debates about police brutality and the carceral state, but he also focuses sharply on neighborhood stories that don't make the papers; "I used to play the quarterback, my dog would go receiver/That was 'til the ball got flat by a dope needle" is a couplet as richly detailed as the history of, say, black arguments for civil rights going hand-in-hand with military service. And yet "Stay Woke" might have set Meek an impossible task: to all at once make policy arguments, bear witness to his specific circumstance, claim back his personhood from a state that tried to take it away, and still be the hot street rapper we know him to be. Unexpectedly, the soft rock grit of the beat helps; it made me want to revisit fellow Philadelphian Beanie Sigel's "Feel It in the Air." "The label couldn't drop me," Meek raps at one point, "I'm too valuable" -- but he pronounces it like "voluble." Good thing he's both. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[dimigex]

I’ll be the Moon - Kakasaku - M

So I wrote another thing...and I don’t really remember how to write happy things, but this one has smut. Porn with plot if you will. The full thing is on FF and A03, but here’s an excerpt. Trigger warning for cheating I guess? Also, I gave them cellphones, so there’s that 

The red numbers of the clock glowed impossibly bright against the darkness of Kakashi's bedroom. After shifting for the hundredth time, he tossed the blankets aside and reached for the phone lying face down on his nightstand. Its blank screen taunted him. Kakashi shouldn't look for a message, shouldn't care that he hadn't received one in over two weeks. He shouldn't do a lot of things, but he did.

Though Kakashi knew that he could reach out first, the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sakura already had everything that a woman could want: husband, family, and a job that she adored. Even so, she continuously ended up back in Kakashi's arms. They were lovers and friends, a relationship too complicated to explain. So, neither of them tried.

Six months ago, after a particularly bad argument with her husband, Sakura and Kakashi had fallen into bed together. It had been the culmination of too much alcohol and undeniable chemistry. After that, it had become a habit that neither saw fit to stop. It wasn't love, at least, not on Sakura's part. Kakashi hadn't examined it closely enough to be sure himself.

Scrubbing a hand through his silver hair, Kakashi stood and padded across the bedroom. He gazed out his window to calm the urgent spinning of his mind. Moonlight spilled over the village, suffusing Konoha with a dreamlike glow. Kakashi touched a hand to the glass and sighed. There were so many reasons that he should turn his phone off and go to sleep, reasons that he had told himself a thousand times over. But, it never mattered. He wanted her to reach out, needed to hear that she missed him, that she couldn't stop thinking about him, that she wanted-

A soft buzzing pulled Kakashi from his thoughts. He picked up his phone, all of the logic disappearing from his mind instantly. Turning it over, the man pressed a thumb against the button to unlock it.

Are you home?

Kakashi ran his finger over Sakura's words, then, the image beside them. She'd taken the picture herself, all easy smiles and smoldering eyes. Only someone truly observant would recognize that it had been taken in Kakashi's apartment. His gaze flicked to the clock again: five minutes past midnight. Sakura had just left work. Kakashi knew that he should lock the phone and climb back into bed and pretend that he hadn't seen the message. He should ignore the speeding of his heart that she reached out to him after a twelve-hour shift. He should put an end to this relationship before it went any further.

I miss you.

I'm here. Kakashi's response felt like hope and betrayal at the same time.

Ignoring the guilt, Kakashi dropped his phone onto the bed and moved to the dresser. He hesitated over his mask, then left it where it lay and pulled on a shirt. His apartment was less than ten minutes from the hospital, so he had just enough time to brush his teeth and comb his hair before the soft knock reached his ears. He opened the door before the sound ended.

Kakashi's greeting stuck in his throat. Streetlight lingered on Sakura's hair, making it flame against the darkness. The pink strands had been knotted behind her head, but several had slipped free to frame her face. Kakashi almost reached out to brush them away, but he forced his hands to remain stationary at his sides. Ever aware of the possibility of someone seeing them and jumping to the correct conclusion, Kakashi moved aside so that Sakura could slide into the apartment.

The door had barely clicked shut before Sakura's arms were around Kakashi's waist, warmth pouring into him as he turned. Her head nestled perfectly against his chest. "I missed you," Sakura breathed into the fabric that Kakashi had consciously put between them. "I'm sorry that it's been so long."

Two weeks, Kakashi thought. Two weeks of sleepless nights, waiting for you to come to me. Two weeks, and I don't even care because you're here now. "Is everything okay?"

Sakura hummed an answer, pulling away after a too brief moment together. "I've been busy with work and home and," the woman paused before delving into the issues that they intentionally avoided. "You know how chaotic the hospital has been for the past couple of weeks."

Kakashi nodded; he knew the cost of his orders as well as anyone. Those dark thoughts weren't something that he wanted to dwell on, especially not on the rare night that he got to spend with Sakura. "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?" Then, taking in her exhausted expression, he changed tactics. "Something stronger?"

Shaking her head, Sakura crossed the room to the couch, perfectly at home. "I just needed to see you, to escape for a bit."

Though Kakashi didn't ask, and Sakura didn't volunteer in the information, he knew that she'd lost a patient tonight. He'd seen that familiar hurt on her face too many times to count. Despite being a prolific medic, Sakura's tender heart ached for every life that slipped from her grasp. After each one, she ended up in Kakashi's arms, as if he were the only balm that could soothe her pain. Sakura reserved that beautiful depth of emotion for him alone. Sasuke could never understand the agony of failing to save a stranger's life

[flamboyantommo]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

*All answers should be about works published in 2017.

@allwaswell16 tagged me to reflect on my writing this year. And because I’m a huge procrastinator, clearly, I’m doing it right now! 

(My GOD, this is so long, so if any of you actually read all of this, God bless.)

1. List of works published this year: In the order that they were posted

- What's Stopping You?

- Know It All

- Curveball

- Shut Up and Wink at Me

- One Day, Maybe Next Week

- It’s Hard to Say It, Time to Say It

- Got It Backwards

- NC-17

- Members Only

- Ready

- Aim

- Fire

- From the Floor to the Ceiling

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Um... Probably Got It Backwards. It was a pinch hit, written for @stnbutterflies, and she loved it! I churned that fic out in like, three weeks, and it got so long so fast that I had three betas working on it as I was writing it. It was... a lot, haha. I did a lot of literary research for it because Harry was a tutor in it, so he needed to know what he was talking about, and I wrote about 20K words of it - so, half - in a weekend because I was just going so fast. I think it’s the fastest I’ve ever done a fic of that size before, and it’s definitely something to be proud of. Oh, and Denise got it turned into a book, like an actual physical copy, and I think that’s pretty damn cool! 

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I can honestly say that I loved all of my fics this year, and there’s two of them that I want to write sequels to. But if you've been paying attention, then you know those sequels won’t be coming out for like, another year, hahahaha. 

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

(this is from Members Only, which may be the fic I had the most fun writing this year)

“Um… Save me a spot in there?” Louis stumbled.

“You do yoga?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Every week.”

Fucking liar.

“Really? Oh, I’ve never seen you.”

“Yeah, um, it’s usually in the morning. Or during the day. But yeah, I’m waiting for my coverage to get here, and of course Perrie is running late, so… But yeah, I’m totally coming.”

Why am I like this? Louis wondered.

Harry grinned, though, so Louis supposed it wouldn’t be too bad. “Well cool, then. Yeah, I’ll save you a spot by me. OK?”

“OK.” Louis saw Perrie coming from the locker rooms, so he told Harry, “Be right in. Get us a good space.”

“Cool.” Harry was still smiling when he walked away, so Louis hoped Perrie would be a good person for once.

“Perrie!” Louis hissed when he approached the counter. “You love me, right?”

Perrie eyed up Louis and kept walking.

“Perrie Louise, get over here!”

Perrie sighed. “Yes, Louis?” She didn’t walk over to the counter, but she didn’t walk out of the building, either, so Louis figured that was a good sign.

“I need you to cover me so I can go to yoga.”

Perrie frowned. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you wanted to go to yoga?”

“Yes! Keep up!”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you once say that yoga was only for hippie vegetarians who needed to learn how to breathe?”

Louis shook his head. “Nope, wasn’t me.”

“What about that it was just for people who wanted to be flexible so they would be better in bed?”

“Can you just help me, please?” Louis whined. “Please?”

“Harry’s going to yoga, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

Perrie sighed again. “Go. Just know that I’m only doing this because you’ll never shut up about it if I don’t.”

“Thanks, Perrie! You’re the best!”

“You don’t listen to me when I talk, do you?”

But Louis didn’t answer her. He was too busy grabbing his water bottle from behind the desk and hurrying back to the training room.

When he walked in, Jade, the instructor, was just turning down the lights.

“Louis, what are you doing here?” Jade asked him. “You know this is yoga, right?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. His eyes darted over to where Harry was sitting on his mat, hoping he didn’t hear. Luckily, Harry was doing shoulder rolls to get warmed up, so Louis didn’t think he did. “Everyone has to start somewhere, right?”

“Yeah. Just never thought you would.”

“Why doesn’t anybody have any faith in me?” Louis muttered as he made his way over to Harry. There was a spare mat next to him, so Louis sat down on it.

“Hey,” Louis whispered as he took off his socks and sneakers. He was glad he wore basketball shorts today instead of actual pants. He was feeling warm already.

Harry just smiled at him, looking perfectly peaceful already.

Louis wanted to suck a mark into his neck.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

OMG I love my comments. But I’m going to put two here, and they’re from the people that my fics were written for. 

First is from @stnbutterflies on Got It Backwards. She wrote: 

I'm so in love with this story and I feel so honoured, that you wrote this story for me. The whole idea with the robin picture was wonderful and I might have shed quiet a few tears while reading. And liked how you put together the story with the flashbacks and everything. This really might be my favourite mpreg fanfiction I've ever read! Thank you so, so much! You really did great! xx <3

Second is from @harrystinychristmasshorts on It’s Hard to Say It, Time to Say It when Kat clearly knew I wrote it but wasn’t calling me out yet. 

i was going to wait until you were revealed to come talk to you but i couldn't wait any longer! by the looks of it the round of fics yours is in will be revealed next week and i'm just so excited because? i have a very vague idea of who you are but i really don't want to spoil the fun so. i'm forcing myself to be good and wait. but! i'm gonna come yell at you when i found out who you are because you deserve more than just comments on here! okay Xx

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Well, this year, I actually took a break from writing. It was only for a few months, just because I was just so stretched thin last year of fics I wrote. And this year is actually the year I’ve written the least since beginning to write. 

So the time for me that was hard was when I was trying to get back into it, trying to remember how to write a sentence and how to characterize people. That was tough. I got back into it with What's Stopping You?, and then of course, it was just continuous writing after that. But getting back into my routines was really difficult. 

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Actually, in What's Stopping You?, when HL were finally finally about to hook up, the dirty talk part of their conversation had me in giggles because dirty talk is so not something I write on the norm. Like, it just felt so strange to me? But it fit the scene of the story, so it had to be done. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I think this is the year I stopped caring about how many kudos my fics got and focused more on writing because I enjoyed it. Of course, I want people to read what I spent all of my time working on, and I do think there are some fics that have been definitely slept on, but it doesn’t make me as upset or frustrated as it used to if my fics aren’t super read. 

And, I guess I tried new things. Like, I wrote two proposal fics this year (wow, I’m such a sap), and I took part in the Drabble challenge, after complaining forever to the gc about not wanting to because I thought it would be hard. (It was, but I still liked it and might do the spring one) 

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

Next year, I want to follow through on all of the sequels I’ve planned and have been planning for God only knows how long. *cough* Taylor Times, if anybody’s still interested *cough*. That’s literally it. Hopefully I can follow through! 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Let’s see... As always, @temporaryfixlouis for being my go-to beta, even if our schedules haven’t quite lined up in a while. I know I can still count on Michelle! 

Then there’s @harrystinychristmasshorts, who has become a new beta and friend this year, and is always there to boost me up. I loved being able to work with her and also write a fic for her and being super sneaky about it, lol. 

Then we have @wonderdaysoflunacy who I only met because she made me a moodboard for Runner on Third, and she always has a compliment ready. She’s also an amazing person and so so so easy to talk to, about fics or anything else. 

And of course, everyone in the Life Ruined But It’s Fine gc, because all of them are amazing writers and it’s an honor to be included with them and fangirl over each other, hahaha. 

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Bahahaha of course. Nothing specific is really coming to mind at the moment, but it’s mostly the characterizations. In every fic I write, one of the characters is based on me, either a little or a lot. Also, the setting. Unless I actually say otherwise, just assume all of my fics take place in South Jersey/Philly, because that’s just where I live and where I spend a lot of my time. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Don’t be afraid to find a beta. It took me more than a year and a half to start working with a beta, and all of the fics I wrote in between then and the time I started probably could’ve been much stronger. It also would’ve made less work for me, so I didn’t have to read over my fics four times. I could’ve just done two. And it doesn’t hurt to have extra eyes looking over a fic or get another perspective on something you’re writing. 

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

OK, let’s see. I have: 

- a fic for the @1dshortficfest due in February. 

- a fic for Rachel’s @moodboardprompts due... shit, when is that due? March 1.

- my next prompt for the 1000 Feelings challenge. I had an idea all ready, but then I read another fic with the almost exact same plot line, so back to the drawing board! 

- Thursday Deadlines! The last part of The Taylor Times series. I revisited what I had written the other day and have started adjusting the plot for it. It’ll be shorter than what I planned, but it’s been hovering over my head for the last year, and I need to finish. 

- Eventually, I want to write one more part in the Bottom of the Tenth series. Destination wedding? We’ll see. 

- A full fic to tie up the Your Move series (my winter drabbles)

- I’m working on an age difference fic that I’ve been thinking about for a while. 

- I’m still working on the famous/famous AU I started planning like, months ago

- Oh, and I’m working on a pinch hit for the @hlwinterficfest2017! 

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read.

@harrystinychristmasshorts @wonderdaysoflunacy @tommostummie @harrygotthebee and anyone in the 1000 Feelings gc who hasn’t done this yet!

[a-whump-muffin]

In my head, Zhao Wuyi’s story is more or less concluded, which is why I haven’t been posting about him. There are certainly a few excerpts I haven’t posted here and I’ll find them eventually, but I’d like to wrap up his arc with some analysis.

He is my only fleshed-out whumper. Initially, I wrote from his perspective because I needed to frame the setting and circumstances (ancient china, intelligence bureau chief) and a box boy’s view would be too limited. Then, I thought about how he gained his position and realized that the conflict I set up for the kingdom’s past fit perfectly with this intelligence agency that was supposed to answer only to the emperor. And Zhao Wuyi had to be a hidden identity, because the previous emperor and his family were all executed.

That set up the parallel between Zhao Wuyi and Xiao Lai/his box boy: two sons of noble/royal blood who ended up with two totally opposite fates - yet both prisoners of their circumstances and hiding who they really were in order to survive their new life.

Zhao Wuyi being so upset by Xiao Lai’s imperfections was really a reflection of his own self-hatred. He wouldn’t admit it, but he and Xiao Lai were really quite similar. Both chose life over death, to become something “disgraceful” instead of dying. Zhao Wuyi wasn’t proud of who he became, even though he was serving the country. He felt guilty for living when his brothers, so much stronger and smarter than him, were executed.

Above all, Zhao Wuyi was a perfectionist. From childhood, he was taught that everything has a place and a time, and it’s the worst breach of misconduct to step out of line. He is cruel to Xiao Lai when he doesn’t perform as a “pet” should, and feels justified because of his own experiences.

天生我材，必有用 “Heaven made me, it must be for a purpose.” or “Heaven made me, I must have a use.”

I love this line from an ancient Chinese poem, because it fits Zhao Wuyi’s life so well. “Heaven” - both fate and the emperor, son of heaven, gave life to this identity he must take to the grave. The emperor spared him to use him for this one purpose. He feels that if he isn’t serving that purpose, isn’t being the best chief of the Wan’an Bureau and giving 110% of himself, then he has no reason for being alive.

A nice surprise about his character was my ability to turn him into a whumpee, and to carve out a redemption arc for someone who really was never looking for one. The reason I was talked into writing a redemption arc for him and felt I could justify it was because he never stood a chance, the cards were stacked against him from the beginning. He’s not an inherently bad or cruel person. But for him to not have turned out this way, the only way was to choose death.

Still, he does keep paying for what he has done for the rest of his life. He is forgiven by two people he wronged directly (Ling’er and Xiao Lai), but he is destined to live and die alone. After he is demoted, he makes it his purpose to clean up the mess he started (the dismantling of the pet trade). He never realizes that the emperor spared his life a second time not only for this purpose, but also because of guilt for making his nephew’s life hell.

He’s not miserable. He has a decent living. But he’s also eternally lonely.

The one thing that weighed heavily on him since he was young, the feeling of being utterly alone in a room full of people, never leaves him.

I was really torn between writing a happy ending, killing him off, or leaving him alive but leading an empty life. It was tough, haha. He didn’t deserve a happy ending, nor did he deserve to die for events that were out of his control, so I settled for the last option.

(In another world, he and Ling’er would have been a thing. Zhao Wuyi values confidence and competency, he likes Ling’er’s quiet determination and steadfast nature. Ling’er has these protective feelings towards Zhao Wuyi, like he wants to accompany this person and make himself someone Zhao Wuyi can rely on. But in this world, it wasn’t meant to be.)