#like I said... writing novel-length responses

[jmflowers]

3, 4, 12, 19 puhleaaaase 🤍

3. Favourite trope to write:

            I’ve sat with this question all day and have been unable to come up with an answer because I don’t think I typically write tropes? Not the ones we usually see, anyways. There’s an enemies-to-lovers component in Epithet, but that’s about it.

            I do, however, absolutely adore taking an idea that seems like it’ll be one way and then completely turning it on its head. For instance, in To Let (Charity/Vanessa) I set out to write a silly piece about that time Charity dropped a deuce on the floor of the house they were currently living in, but it turned into this really romantic thing about how deeply Vanessa loved Charity. I think Vorfreude (Maya/Carina) worked out similarly – a story about socks with clitoris diagrams on them transformed into a testament to how much they were learning together and because of each other (and how arousing it can be to let your guard down and be vulnerable in that way with another person).

            If you have any idea what tropes I write… hit me with the information. I’ve been genuinely stumped.

4. Favourite part of writing:

            Writing is a very… isolating hobby. When I’m deep into a project, I don’t spend much time with other people and it can get really lonely. So, my favourite part of the process is when it becomes a collaborative thing – be it talking through a block with a friend, or sharing a finished piece with an audience, or simply sitting next to someone who wants to keep me company. When I’m working in the production offices on script development, there’s always someone nearby that I can bounce ideas off of and quite often we sit around a table workshopping and editing as a team, which I think is what makes me so drawn to screenwriting as a profession.

            In terms of fic writing, one of my favourite elements is the feedback that comes after sharing a new piece. Spending weeks or months in isolation with a story can make it hard to see the good of it, but the response of readers can help your eyes to open again. There are some messages that are so mind-blowingly kind or courageous that it makes every second of loneliness absolutely worth it and I know I’ll never give this pass-time up as long as what I write keeps touching even one person.

            Historically, one of my greatest collaborations was with my dear friend @themarbledfox. She kicked my ass and made me better and I’m so grateful for her friendship all these years. It’s fun to reverse the roles now and kick her ass a little bit – I love when I can ask just the right question that makes her rethink whatever has got her stuck on what she’s writing. As of right now, my favourite collaboration is with @lacallemojada because she literally sticks to her guns at all times; if I tell her an idea and she hates it, she lets me know. Most of the time, though, she’s keen and helps me expand whatever the thought was. She reads everything I write for Hygge and gives me notes mere hours after it lands on the page. I don’t think I’d have written anywhere near as much as I have for this fandom without her support because she really, truly, makes the whole ordeal feel like a team effort instead of a solitary act. (And she refuses to take credit for any of that, so.)

12. Your most treasured fic:

            Fuck! I should say Extraordinary Measures because that was like running a marathon and @themarbledfox still, to this day, swears it is a masterpiece. And because I still, to this day, get incredible messages from readers about it. But I think, of my published works… She Will Still Love You will always hold an incredibly special place in my heart. It was the beginning of my dive into writing second person POV and it was just super cathartic. There are a few lines in that one that I think were directly for me and what I was going through at the time. I feel something oddly melancholic when I read it now, remembering the young woman I was back then. You can read it here.

19. Most important part of writing:

            It’s silly to say but, getting the words out. I used to spend so much time just paralyzed by a word document because I wanted everything to be perfect in my first draft. That’s unrealistic, though – nothing is ever perfect and definitely not on the first try. Maybe that’s a product of years of dance training that rewired my brain or the result of so many screenwriting classes, or maybe it’s just growing up. I know now that the first draft doesn’t have to do anything but exist. Once I’ve got words on the page, I can spend as long as I like editing and rewriting until they look like something I actually want other people to read. I think, now, I spend more of my time editing than I do writing my initial drafts. And editing, believe it or not, is one of my favourite parts of the writing process. I actually really hope that I can end up in a role within the TV industry as a Story Editor because that’s all the fun of writing shows without the writing stuff – you just edit and fix other people’s work and keep them on schedule and I would happily edit every day for the rest of my life.

            Also… impacting others. I write for myself, first and foremost. But I share my stories because I know, even if it’s hard to believe, that what I’m writing is doing something for someone else. I know that Hygge is reaching young queer individuals and acting as representation for the peaceful, happy families they could have one day (just as another author did for me many, many years ago). I know that Extraordinary Measures made people cry (that’s the message I get most often) and hold their partners a little tighter. I know that, as a f/f wlw writer, I’m telling stories we don’t often get to see in mainstream media, stories that are reaching individuals that are maybe wrestling with homophobia or not being accepted or who are fearful of living their identities, and that these words – however frivolous they may seem to people not involved with fandom or fanfiction – can be of comfort. I will never remove my work from public domain as long as I live for that very reason alone. If one sentence I wrote helped another person to feel seen and safe and loved, then I did everything I set out to do on this earth.

fic writer asks

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (10/15) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: As you heal, you're not alone. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,604 (this chapter, 24,863 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Apologies for the break we took for a few weeks here. 😳This chapter turned out a little longer than I expected, (please enter "that's what she said" joke of your choice here), so I hope that makes up a bit for the delay. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Pressure on your chest brought you startling awake, flinging your left arm up as if to try and break free of a restraint. White hot pain burst from your shoulder down your bicep like a cord of fire trying to amputate your arm. You gave a strangled cry, managing to sit up and clutch at the various points of hurt as the agony gradually faded.

Out of the darkness, a now-familiar woman's voice said your rank and last name. "Are you all right? Do you need me to dispatch medical assistance?"

"No," you quickly said, automatically straightening your sleep-rumpled shirt. "I moved my arm wrong. Thanks, though."

"Of course," she returned, her tone kind.

"Are you, um, monitoring me?"

"Just for sounds of distress or pain. John was adamant that your privacy be respected as much as possible."

That made you smile slightly under the cover of the lack of light. "I hope they've given you something else to do other than to listen for me to say ouch."

"Not to worry, I keep busy."

You nodded even though she couldn't see it. Or maybe she could? Was she holed up in some ONI office, watching you with thermal signatures or some other sort of tech? "I appreciate it, Ms. Classified. Though I believe you gave me your name, didn't you? I'm sorry, I can't remember what it was."

"You were a little busy at the time," she demurred. "It's Cortana but I rather like 'Ms. Classified,' I have to say. It's like a nickname between friends, isn't it?"

"It is," you said. "And please feel free to use my first name. No need for friends to stand on formality."

"Thank you," she said and, after a slight pause, added your name as if it were an honor to do so.

Was she a Spartan, perhaps? Something about her careful manner reminded you of how John sometimes reacted to interpersonal things as if he hadn't ever dealt with them before and wanted desperately to be right in his response.

You wasn't sure if you should ask and while you were still wondering, she said goodbye with a sound like pixels vanishing, though there had been no hologram of her to see this time.

Your day was a lot more mundane after that. PT came by as Dr. Savannah had said they would, and you dutifully did the exercises with minimal grumbling and complaining. The ancient saying about medics being terrible patients was still said for a reason, after all, but you didn't want to be One Of Those if you could help it.

The therapist had brought you breakfast from the mess for after your session: the cold cereal MRE, typically called mush rarely edible, along with plain black coffee. She also told you that the next session would be tomorrow instead of later today, due to a scheduling conflict.

So that left you with a whole lot of day and very little to fill it.

You were scrolling through your padd, looking through old documents and messages, intending to clean up and organize things but, more often than not, ended up reminiscing on the past, on friends once part of your every day life now long gone, either transferred away or worse.

You discovered a folder full of sketches of various Mjolnir designs you'd done back before you'd decided for certain to begin training to be a Brokkr tech. Your interest in the Spartans and their armor had been a mere hobby, then.

You were far from a gifted artist but trying to capture the different iterations, the bulkier but classic shapes of the Mark V, the more streamlined Mark VI, had made for fun practice. You'd also tried out a few ideas of your own, such as "floating" pieces of armor to try and better protect the Spartans' joints without sacrificing mobility. The final image, though, had been a purely fanciful one: a fusion of Mjolnir and medieval, a literal Spartan in shining armor.

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was no number on the chest plate but it was clearly Master Chief to anybody who was familiar with his armor configuration. The patterning on his visor had a texture reminiscent of a knight's helm and the flare of his shield had a shape like the plume of a feather at the crest of his head. One arm was extended but incomplete: you hadn't decided whether to give him a BR or DMR or go for something like a broadsword or lance. Then you'd simply never come back to finish it and it had been forgotten in your drafts for all this time.

Tapping a fingertip contemplatively against your lip, you thought for a moment, then impulsively picked up your stylus and began to draw.

Gentle fingertips brushed against your hair and you woke to find John next to the bed.

"Sorry to bother you," he murmured, "but you looked uncomfortable."

The moment he said that, your neck began protesting the odd angle your head had slumped into.

"Well, that was a bad idea," you said plaintively, straightening up very slowly. Your entire body ached like you'd been moonlighting as a punching bag. Your padd slipped off your lap to the mattress, then bounced towards the edge, and John easily caught it on the fly.

You suddenly remembered what had been on it. The screen was dark but all it would take was a brush of a finger to activate it again and he'd see--

"What's this?" he said, orientating the padd right side up.

"That's... my poor attempt at artistry," you said, feeling heat blooming up your neck. You resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand and throw it to the floor yourself.

"It's not poor," he countered, studying it even more intently. "Not at all. I like it a lot, especially the detail here."

He tapped the image and the SPNKr rocket launcher you'd placed casually in the Spartan's hand, resting on the armored shoulder, expanded to better reveal the intricate filigree you'd spent a considerable amount of time adding to the large missile chamber.

"I mean, it's not practical, of course," you mumbled but his sincere appreciation lessened your embarrassment. "I wanted a medieval feel to a modern weapon."

"Do you have others?" he asked, handing the padd back to you.

You appreciated that he didn't just start flipping through the images. You swiped back to show him your other Mjolnir studies.

The very corner of his mouth twitched. "These are all mine, aren't they?"

"Hm, I suppose they are," you said in mock surprise. "It looks like I've had a favorite Spartan for a while now."

"Good," he said decisively, then glanced at you with a soft smile. "Could I send a copy of this to R&D?"

"Which one?" you asked, alarmed.

"The floating armor," he said, the smile growing a bit.

"Yeah, if you want," you said and forwarded the study to him. "I doubt I've thought of anything they haven't by now but I guess you never know."

"And could I have a copy of the other one, just for me?"

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

You switched back to the medieval drawing, adding your signature with a flourish in the corner before forwarding that one as well.

The door chimed and he went to open it as if it were expected.

"Master Chief, sir!" the young private said, making a motion no doubt intended to be a salute that he couldn't complete because of the large and apparently heavy covered tray he was carrying.

"At ease," he said, taking the tray from him.

The private snapped a salute as crisp as if he were in the presence of Lord Hood himself, then kept standing in the open doorway, staring rather starstruck.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," John told him.

"If you or the Hero of the Pit need anything, let me know, sir," the marine said earnestly before backing away.

Once the door closed, you said, "That really is a terrible nickname."

"The Covenant call me 'Demon,'" John said, bringing the tray to the bed and setting it on the foot.

"'Demon' is badass," you countered. "Mine sounds like I fell in a hole and somehow managed to crawl back out."

"Crawling out of that hole wasn't a given," he said, "and you made sure nobody else was in there with you."

He lifted the cover on the tray, revealing two sizzling plates of food. The smell that hit you was divine.

Your voice dropped an entire octave. "Is that eggplant parmigiana?"

"I... think so? It's whatever was being served in the Spartan mess for lunch." His expression darkened. "You were supposed to get breakfast from there, too, but there was apparently some sort of mix-up. It's been dealt with."

You felt momentarily sorry for whoever had been on the receiving end of being dealt with. "I can't eat Spartan portions."

"You actually can because it so happens that I can calculate how many calories a Brokkr mechanic-slash-medic needs in order to heal properly." He held that with a serious expression for a moment, then winked. "And I also asked Dr. Savannah about it. She said, and I quote, 'Tell her it's fine to live a little.'"

"Oh, well, if it's doctor's orders..." you trailed off with a grin.

He left to get a small table and chair for himself since there was only the one lap tray and you took the opportunity to hit the head, thinking you'd be settled back in before he returned. As it turned out, you either greatly underestimated how far he had to go to find what he was looking for or, more likely, had greatly overestimated how quickly you could move.

Your left arm wanted to draw up to your torso from the way your damaged shoulder muscle was currently being foreshortened. Raising it even close to 45 degrees made it feel like it was being ripped off of your body. You took a couple of deep breaths, forcing it straight down to your side, and gritted your teeth though the pain as you returned to the main room.

John had already finished setting up the portable table and turned, his expression going almost comically aghast. "Should I call somebody? What can I do? I can carry you or--"

"No, it's fine," you told him. "I just have to work through it."

He hovered next to you as you made the few, torturous step back to the bed, his worry a palpable thing. Your bad knee buckled and he caught your arm -- fortunately, the right one -- to keep you from going down. His fingers hit a bruise hidden under your sleeve but you managed to not react.

The stricken look he gave you meant he'd seen the reaction anyway.

"There we go," you said, trying to sound breezy but the result was more winded than anything as you propped up against the headboard. "I'm ready for lunch. Are you? Lunch sounds great right about now."

He seemed at a loss as to what to do. You gingerly reached out and wrapped your fingers around his.

"I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm healing on schedule and it could've been much worse."

He nodded shortly, very, very carefully folding his other hand over yours. With a brief glance away, he nodded a final time as if agreeing to something you couldn't hear and then exhaled purposefully, affecting a lighter tone. "Well, let's see how that eggplant parmigiana is, then, hm?"

Even though physical therapy wasn't scheduled again until tomorrow, you went ahead and did the exercises anyway. Not only did it give you something to do after John left, but you were even more inspired to try to regain your strength as soon as possible.

Since you were alone, you felt free to swear your way more and more creatively through the entire session and only after the fact did you worry that maybe you had accidentally taught Cortana some new words and phrases.

Nah, you thought. Surely, she's not stuck sitting at some console all day and night, listening for me to need something, right?

You almost asked it out loud, just to see if she was listening, but decided against it. You didn't want to imagine she'd been instructed to keep her earpiece in to monitor you even when she took a meal or bathroom break. Or that maybe she never even actually got to go off-duty at all. It hadn't escaped your attention that John apparently didn't trust anybody else to provide your erstwhile overwatch.

You ate your dinner when it arrived, a very delicious chicken gumbo, then turned in early, since sleep was also an important factor in healing.

But your sleep was restless, the aches in your body keeping you from getting comfortable, and then when you did doze off, your mind kept taking you back to those moments when you were trapped. A couple of times, you found yourself jolting awake, John's name on your lips. You wondered if he was on base, asleep in the Spartan quarters. You'd assumed he would come back if he were here but you hadn't actually asked him to. It was his room, though, so wouldn't he...?

Try to get some sleep, that's the best thing right now. You'll feel stronger tomorrow, you silently instructed yourself, trying to find a comfortable position.

The next time you woke, your heart was thundering in your ears and you made a small panicked noise.

The lights abruptly came up to a quarter and you looked around wildly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

John sat up from where he was stretched out over on the couch and you instinctively reached for him. He was there almost as if appearing by magic, letting you grip his hand as he leaned over you.

You were tangled in the covers and struggled to free yourself. He carefully extricated you with his free hand.

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked and you nodded.

"I- I didn't know you were here," you said, stumbling over the words. "Why are you on the couch? You could share. I'd- I'd like you to."

He got that slightly stricken look again. "I'm heavy. I'll hurt you by moving around. I can't... I can't cause you more pain. I'm right here, though."

You understood what he meant but it still stung a bit like rejection. You normally would've let him go, would've tried to accept it gracefully, but the phantom weight on your chest changed the words on your tongue.

Your voice emerged small and compressed. "I need you, John."

The words clearly hit him like a plasma bolt to the chest and his fingers closed gently around yours.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll be careful."

It took a few minutes but eventually you were in his arms, turned on your right side with your injured left arm resting on his chest, your head tucked into the curve of his neck. All of the movement did hurt but you absolutely didn't care; all that was important was that he was here, you could hear his heart beneath your ear, could feel his warmth seeping into all of your pains and soothing them.

"Thank you," you murmured into the softness of his shirt.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, kissing the top of your head and lightly brushing his fingers across the hand you had on his sternum.

You were almost asleep when you thought, but weren't completely sure, that he also quietly said, "I need you, too."

[cowpokeomens]

Is it alright if i request jolly x reader

with reader cockwarming jolly before bed

My mans J-dawg is so underrepresented in this cult so Imma write for him first, nonnie.

If you've sent in a request in the last week or so, I see you!!! I'm gonna be going to town writing for the next few days so pls do not feel I'm ignoring you!!

Anyways, let's get slutty! I tried to make this gender neutral (we all got holes baby!!!) so I hope that all EIGHTEEN AND UP AUDIENCES will enjoy, mwah love u <3

You had never been superb at “reading the room.” It took you until your mid-20’s to catch on when people were hitting on you, and what felt like even longer to catch onto the weird passive-aggressiveness of your last roommate (Who the fuck even leaves a sticky note for coffee left in the pot overnight? It’s not like it was going to detonate!) But Jolly- you could read him like a book. It came easy as breathing, picking up on the minute shifts in his mood. You’d be at dinner with friends, and his eyes would linger on you for a half-second too long, and you’d know: He wants to leave, now. He’d blink slowly, face impassive, and you could tell he’s fighting back the urge to pop off at some dumbass music executive over superfluous deadlines. You knew what every micro-expression meant. Tonight though- tonight Jolly was restless. 

You’d both laid down in bed 45 minutes ago, you reading your fairy-porn novel of the week, Jolly thumbing through some music magazine in another language. You didn’t have time to linger on how you’d both become an old married couple, though, because of his incessant leg-shaking.

It was the occasional foot-tap at first. Every few seconds, his foot would change directions, an innocent gesture. 15 minutes in, he was shifting his entire body every few seconds, jostling the bed with him. For the rest of the time, though, his leg was just- shaking. Bouncing on the mattress like a kid counting “Monkeys On the Bed.” With a sigh, you shut your novel. 

“Not enjoying your book?” He asked casually, almost vibrating. 

“I was enjoying it immensely, actually- Rhys was about to put Feyre through the mattress- but someone is doing their best impression of a sentient Hitachi wand next to me in bed.”

His leg stopped at once, and he turned to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, älskling. I’m having a hard time winding down. There’s a bridge in one of the new songs that’s got us all stumped, and-”

“Hush.” You said softly. “You don’t have to apologize, I’m not mad. Just concerned.” You placed your book on your bedside table, crawling over to straddle his lap. A year ago it would have made him stiffen up immediately (it still might), but nowadays there was less lust driving your relationship, more of an ebb and flow in emotional output to help balance each other. You had fucked like bunnies those first few months, but now you had both accepted that you were it for each other- you could take all the time you wanted, without the need to rip off each other’s pants to feel close. Still, though- you knew your partner. 

You leaned in close, nose tracing along the column of his neck. He exhaled shakily, hands coming up to rub your hips soothingly. You kissed him once, twice, feeling his cock twitch in his pants in response. You were still rubbing along his neck when you asked, “Want me to keep you warm?”

His next breath was heavy with relief, like drinking water when you didn’t even know you were thirsty. “Please.”

You nodded, coming up to kiss him on the tip of his nose, one hand snaking into his pants as you began to jerk his length to hardness. His eyes slipped shut, hands still heavy on your hips. He was full in no time at all, hot in one hand as the other reached over to rummage around in his bedside table. When you finally pulled out a tube of lube, he opened his eyes. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t-”

“Hush.” You said again. “I’m not young and spry like you, I can’t just get it up whenever.”

He snorted. “I’m older than you, älskling.”

You rolled your eyes. “I want to. I just need a little assistance tonight.” As you finished your sentence, you rubbed your hole with two slippery fingers, sighing as you slowly eased them in. It only took a minute or two for the muscle to relax, after which you popped your fingers out, wiping them on Jolly’s pillow. 

He frowned at you. “I haven’t had to sleep with lube on my pillow since I was, what, 19?”

You grinned wickedly. “Don’t I make you feel young?”

He huffed a laugh, sliding further down on the bed so it was easier for you to situate yourself. You grabbed his length, lining it up with your entrance, sliding down slowly. Even with the lube, there was a stretch that had become familiar and pleasant over the time you two had spent together. Jolly sighed underneath you, jaw going slack as his muscles relaxed. You finally bottomed out, leaning forward to rest your head against his chest. His hands came up to rub your back slowly, slipping under your shirt in a fluid motion. 

“D’ya wanna roll over?” You mumbled into his chest feeling full and sleepy already. 

“Mhm.” Was his affirmative, gingerly maneuvering your bodies so that you were both on your sides, facing each other. Even with his gentle movements, you could feel him shift inside you, making you gasp.

“Sorry, älskling.” He murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. 

You quieted the horny monster that lived inside you for the time being, promising yourself the morning. You could be good, for now. “S’okay.” You murmured back.

The hand that was rubbing your back wrapped tighter around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. You slowly wrapped your leg around his waist, making sure not to move too quickly. He let out one last deep breath, then you could feel him fall asleep. It wasn’t longer after that you followed suit, the heaviness inside you a comfort.

[starflungwaddledee]

Hey got a question, is it normal for your heartbeat to beat rapidly wherever you look at really tense or angsty scenes?

It's Just a question I had in mind

putting these together because they're clearly related. i admit these have me a little bit stumped, but i'll take this in good faith and do my best! under the cut because of length.

topics include: physiological reactions to fiction, emotional reactions/empathy of creators, and finally addressing the unspoken question present in asks like this.

"is it normal to have a physiological reaction (heart beat, jitters, excitement, sadness, etc) to fiction"

absolutely! i cannot overstate how common it is to have reactions of any wide variety to fiction. the whole point of storytelling is to make you feel things! the reactions you have, their intensity, and the specific media or genre you'll have those reactions to will vary person to person. in regards to angst in particular, like i've said on this topic before: reactions will vary. some people might get excited, others might get sad, others might feel it like a gut punch but in a really good and cathartic way. none of these are better or worse or more normal or more abnormal than the other.

"do i as a creator have an emotional reaction to the work i'm creating?"

i personally do, sure. i was actually quite explicit in the tags of the comic that came right before this ask that i found it hard to draw, because seeing kirby so sad was emotionally pulverising to me. do all creators? no. do i feel a strong emotional reaction to all scenes? no. or all types of content creation? no. for me, prose is actually much easier to tackle than illustration; i can write trauma and suffering and psychological devastation until the cows come home, but drawing it is a different matter. consuming the work of others is different again. and this is different for everybody. am i somehow morally better or more empathetic than an artist that doesn't struggle to draw characters sad? hell no! being able to represent- in fiction- a strong emotion generally requires that you empathise with or at least understand that emotion. sometimes creators actually have to be able to turn this off to be able to create the content we make; the way we turn off strict adherence to reality in order to write fantasy. if we couldn't do this, content across the board- art, movies, novels- would be flattened to nothing but the cheeriest and most mediocre parts of our day to day lives. no fun monsters (because those aren't real). no challenges to rise above (because those make us sad). no characters who have different experiences to us (because how could we imagine or feel for that). and it would be okay for like... twenty minutes of all books containing 'the sun was shining and i woke up on time and had a yummy breakfast', but then it would suck, sorry. conflict and imagination are the root of content.

"it's just a question I had in mind".

a way to think about this might be; would you ask these questions about genres that aren't angst? would you ask "is it normal to be happy when these characters finally reunite" or "is it normal to feel resolution in response to a happy ending" or "is it normal to feel excitement when a character has their cool hero moment". perhaps it's because your reaction to angst is something you construe as negative, but if you wouldn't doubt your reactions to cheerful content, then there's no reason to doubt the reactions you have to angst either; these are just reactions! fiction is designed to make us feel things, but what you feel will be up to you. no one feeling or response is better or worse than any others.

lastly, i feel like there is an unspoken question here that i don't like.

and maybe you didn't intend it. i'm going to extend that grace to you, and because you seem to need reassurance about this (though i will not be reassuring about this further. i do not like reassurance seeking from strangers and this is a boundary i am setting right now), this is not an attack or even a criticism. your questions are fine if they are coming from a place of curiosity and- i simply assume- that these are new or difficult concepts to you that you have yet to have explored or explained.

but on the good faith assumption you didn't intend it, and wouldn't want to do this again (especially if you message other creators), i think you should be aware.

because it sounds like this: "do the people who make sad/angsty/dark content care at all or are you heartless to the suffering (of these characters). is angst/dark content made by bad people?" i felt it the previous time i got a question like this too when it explicitly stated "you seem like a nice person", as if being a nice person was in contrast with what i was creating.

please. we are just people. the relative light or darkness of the content you make says absolutely nothing about your morals, your real life attitudes, or your ability to be an empath.

someone making cute animal art could be a school yard bully. someone writing a complex sci-fi warhorror fic could be the most altruistic and compassionate soul in the world.

in my experience, creators are some of the most empathetic people i have ever met, and many of them know their craft intimately. these are people capable of stepping into the shoes of others as easily as breathing. of sitting down at their work station every day and finding inside themselves a way to answer "how would this really feel?" so clearly and honestly that they can put it onto the paper for you to feel it too.

[snazzy-suit]

LLoG Progress Update!

Oh dang, it's almost April already?! January went on seemingly forever, February passed pretty normally, and March lasted, like, a week. Time is soup.

Anyway, I'm unfortunately a little behind schedule, though not by much! I was hoping to start posting the new chapters by the end of March, but they're not quite ready yet. I still have some editing and continuity checks to do, but the good news is, everything is completely written! 🎉

...and it's even longer than I anticipated 😭 As of now, before editing is complete, the total word count for all the upcoming chapters is 50,700.

50,700!

52,175 if I count the missing scene!

The last arc of what was SUPPOSED to be a short story turned into novel-length madness. Unbelievable! Why am I like this??

Here's where everything stands as of now:

Chapter 5.4 - Complete. Awaiting final continuity check. Word count: 8,220

Chapter 5.5 - Complete. Awaiting final continuity check. Word count: 7,104

Chapter 5.6 - Draft Complete. Undergoing edits. Current word count: 5,580

Chapter 5.7 - Draft Complete. Undergoing edits. Current word count: 8,097

Chapter 5.8 - Draft Complete. Undergoing edits. Current word count: 8,258

Chapter 5.9 - Draft Complete. Awaiting review. Current word count: 6,760

Chapter 5.10 - Draft Complete. Awaiting review. Current word count: 6,681

Some additional notes/tidbits:

Missing Scene - Takes place between the end of chapter 5.6 and about halfway through chapter 5.9. I couldn't figure out a way to include this that didn't feel jarring. If I like it enough, I'll post it separately from the main story. Current word count: 1,475

Chapter 5.7 is a flashback that was originally going to take place about halfway through chapter 5.6, but as you can see based on the word count, it got away from me. ^^' I decided to turn it into a separate chapter as a sort of "breather" between 5.6 and 5.8. I really enjoyed writing it, but there's a chance I may have to cut it from the main story if I feel it's too disrupting. If this is the case, I'll post it separately as another missing scene.

Chapter 5.4 is my white whale. It's undergone the most rewrites and is largely responsible for the long hiatus. I've found it's one of my least favorite chapters in this particular story and at this point I don't know if it's actually bad or if I'm just sick of looking at it 🫠

My disgruntled feelings for chapter 5.6 (the first half, anyway) rival that of chapter 5.4, which is unfortunate, because this chapter is supposed to be "The Big Reveal". Am I over-explaining things? Is this too vague? These are the questions I struggled with in this chapter and I don't know if I'll ever be satisfied with the results.

I never start a chapter knowing how long it's going to be. I just create an outline and go. As long as I check off all the major points in a satisfactory manner, I don't care if the chapter is 1,000 words or 8,000 words. That said, I try to avoid going over 10,000 words for any one chapter so as to not overwhelm readers (and myself) with a bunch of Things in a single sitting. So! When chapter 5.8 started cresting 15,000 words I was like "oh no" and immediately searched for a good spot to split it in two.

That's all I got for now! We're almost there, folks!

Tl;dr - if I don't start posting chapters by the end of April, feel free to shame me with an "L" in my DMs lol 🙈

[lunastarhawk]

Villainous Thing

...A rewrite of Julian and Altheia's (second) first meeting. Named after the song Villainous Thing by Shayfer James.

A melodramatic fugitive doctor breaks into a magician's shop, and finds more than he bargained - or rehearsed - for.

I tripped and 3.6k words fell out.

Sort of a WIP Wednesday post, as it's part of an ongoing collection of rewritten scenes that I'm writing in whatever order I feel like (not a full route rewrite, god no), but the thing is less of a wip and more of a therapy for when I need a self-indulgent break from grappling with plot in ToM. Literally just shoving Julian and Altheia into scenes they talk about in ToM.

Excerpt

“Strange hours for a shop to keep.”

Her heart pounded, adrenaline shooting to her limbs.  The voice was masculine and low, but it wasn’t threatening.  She swallowed her reactive fear as she turned her head and her eyes, enough to see the counter, half expecting an intruder to be rifling through the day’s takings.  But there was no one there.

“...Behind you.”

She spun, and it took her eyes a moment to see him there, in the shadows beside the curtain over the door to the back room.  He was tall, dressed in black, and as he stepped out of the shadows she saw his face was covered by a beaked mask, the kind worn by plague doctors.

Altheia was determined not to let him see her fear, couldn’t give him the upper hand of thinking that creeping up on her would scare her into… whatever it was he wanted.

So she said,

“We’re closed, actually.” 

The intruder hesitated, apparently surprised by the response.  He drew himself up a little taller, put his hands on his hips so that his elbows pulled at the long coat hung over his shoulders, like some kind of dark peacock.

“Are you?  Good, good, well it makes no difference to me… I’m not here to make a purchase, shopkeep.”

“You’re not?”  Altheia knew full well he wasn’t, but needed to keep him talking, stalling him as her mind raced.  Her throat was dry, and she crossed her arms over her chest to bury her trembling hands from sight.  She called on her magic, tentatively, watching his face, unsure if he could sense it.  “Well, since you’re here, maybe I could tempt you with some jade seed?  End of the day stock, you see.  Special offer.  Two for the price of one.”

The stranger stammered behind the mask.  As Altheia talked, her magic extended towards him, seeking his aura.  It wasn’t strong… he wasn’t a magician, it seemed.  Or he hid it very well.

He altered his stance again, leaning forward slightly on one booted foot.  Altheia couldn’t help but notice the sheer length of his legs as her gaze was drawn there, slender but lean muscles with a feline strength.

“I’m not interested in your wares, shopkeep,” he snarled.  “This is the witch’s lair, is it not?  Where is the witch ?”

Altheia was torn between anger and laughter.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard any magician be referred to as a ‘witch’ - it was a slur, but one that had largely fallen out of use, except for amateur plays at the community theatre.

She took a step forward, narrowing her eyes a little.  Her magic found his aura.  She tried to sense a reaction, but couldn’t see behind the mask.

“Which one?”

The stranger was visibly taken aback.

“Which what?”

“Which witch?”  Altheia cocked her head to the side.  “I’m a magician, and so is my master.  Which of us are you after?”

He huffed, and then drew himself up as he laughed.  “Your master ?  I see he has taught you his tricks!”

She shrugged.  “Some.”

Despite affecting nonchalance, Altheia’s mind whirled.  He was looking for Asra, and though she couldn’t guess his intention, by his demeanour she was glad that Asra wasn’t there. 

“You’re very annoying,” he muttered.

Altheia sniggered.  “I’ve been called worse.”  She let her voice take on an innocent lilt as she stepped towards the counter, not taking her eyes from the glassy red discs on his mask.  “If it’s Asra you’re looking for, he’s not here.  I could take a message…”

She reached across the counter towards a notepad and pencil.  

“No-no-no, no need for that…”

The man lurched forward and slammed his hand down over hers, pinning it to the counter, his tall figure looming over her.  She leaned back as far as she could against the counter; the man’s thigh and hip brushed against hers, his body so close that his fragrance washed over her, leather and musk.  They froze.

Her magic surged as she felt his aura, restless and unfocussed.  Though the aura spoke of latent potential, he was no magician.  He was also no danger.  There wasn’t a single malevolent spark within it.

Part of Between the Deep Blue Sea and the Devil on AO3 :)

[freesia-writes]

15 Questions, 15 Mutuals

DISCLAIMER… apparently you should not invite me to contribute to these if you don’t want a freaking novel in response… 🤷🏻‍♀️🤓 So this is on you guys, @littlemissmanga @idontgetanysleep @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @rain-on-kamino @sinfulsalutations @the-bad-batch-baroness

Were you named after anyone?

No, but my mom grew up in Santa Monica……. 🤷🏻‍♀️

When was the last time you cried?

In therapy, within the last month, but otherwise, I try far too hard not to cry, and rarely do. I used to say that in a bragging sort of way, but since growing up a bit, I have realized it is mostly just from being emotionally stunted. 

Do you have kids?

Yes, a seven-year-old girl and a four-year-old boy. 💕

Do you use sarcasm?

Never.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I mean… their appearance? But not in a shallow way? 🤣🤣 Like some of you have said — body language, expressions, general overall vibe. Apparently “childhood trauma gave me hypervigilance”. 🙄

What’s your eye color?

Hayyyyyyyyzel

Scary movies or happy endings?

I cannot handle anything even remotely intense or scary. Like, the emperor electrocuting Luke in the Star Wars movies still makes me squirm. So ALL THE HAPPY ENDINGS. I’m 34 years old and I think I enjoyed the new Super Mario movie more than anyone else in my family, kids included. 🤣

Any special talents?

Hmm. I’m trying to think of things other than writing, ADHD, public speaking, photography… SO, I have a particular “IDGAF” attitude when it comes to hairstyles and tattoos, where I would do pretty much anything for fun or if I liked it. I’ve had a mullet (and not the fashionable kind), a pixie, waist-length, a rat tail, and everything in between. The tattoos need a bit more thought because they’re $$$. 🥴 But my hubby and I have jokingly named my thighs Justice and Redemption, and I’d like to hide some tattoos of those names on each one, and some kind of joke, using lord of the rings lines from the mines/gates of Moria for my nether-yaeya……. You get the gist. I have serious and meaningful and artistic tattoos, on me and on the docket, but those are some examples of the fun ones.😂 I also am a white water raft guide, and I seem to have the ability to smile and laugh in virtually any situation (birth, medical emergencies, probably funerals if I went), but again, therapy has ruined that by calling it “masking” 🤣🤣🤣 OH — one more — I always have to leave a place cleaner than I found it. When we’d go drinking in college, I’d sometimes disappear for a while because I was cleaning the bar bathroom counter. Same with parks or anywhere else… I have to pick up the trash I see. 💕 ENNEAGRAM 1 PROBLEMS, best summarized by this gorgeous song by Sleeping At Last.

Where were you born?

California.

What are your hobbies?

Oh, I guess here is where I can mention the regular stuff up above. 🤣 I really love writing, spending meaningful time with Jesus, and spending time in nature just being completely present and delighting in every leaf, bug, etc… And as cheesy as it sounds, I love having fun with my husband. We really are best friends, to the point where we will sometimes stay up way too late at night just because we are having so much fun talking about nothing and everything. 🥹

Have any pets?

A bulldog-border collie mix dog named Teddy, a bearded dragon named Jabba, and usually something else like a blue belly lizard or tadpoles or whatever the kids find and want to bring home. I really want to get some kind of parrot like an African gray, or if I ever found an abandoned baby raven, that would be incredible. 🤓 I would totally have a few cats, but the husband is allergic.

What sports do/have you played?

I am not a land athlete… When it comes to things like agility or speed. I am, however, an excellent swimmer, and did swim team from age 4 through college, and I am also very strong and sturdy, so I enjoy lifting heavy weights. 🤓

How tall are you?

5‘10“, or 177cm 😘 And yes, I played basketball for a few years, but only because I went to a tiny school and they needed someone on the girls team to stand underneath the basket with their arms over their head like an intimidating ogre who might occasionally get a rebound.

Favorite subject at school?

ENGLISH!! Reading, analyzing, writing… Also theater, because I thought I was going to be an actress until I got old enough (read: 22) and realized I was TERRIBLE. 🤣 apparently a bubbly, charismatic personality doesn’t necessarily translate to acting skills. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Dream job?

Honestly, I don’t think I even know. As a child, I wanted to be everything from a marine biologist to an actress to a vet to a dolphin trainer to an astronomer. I have always thought it would be fun to be a personal assistant to some high-powered CEO or something where my only job was to plan all of the travel and meetings, and get to go around the world that way, but none of the actual responsibilities of the company fall to me. Just simple organization and frequent travel. 😂 Also a food critic. 🤭 Or a stunt woman.

Apparently the jury is still out.

But the cool thing is that I absolutely love my job. I loved teaching in the classroom, and now getting to do my work from home while I enjoy my kids’ childhood is absolutely amazing. We are at a water park for two days, and I am sending emails and answering questions about online classes while I sit in a lounge chair with my feet in the water. God has been so incredibly kind and gracious to me, SOOOOO far beyond what I deserve or could even fathom. 🥹

So many of you have already been tagged! So I’m just going to spray and pray some tags here. 😂 Ignore if you’ve already completed it (and tag me if I haven’t seen it??). But if you feel like you fly under the radar around here, and would like to be tagged in stuff like this more often or have more engagement, feel free to comment or message me!!

@the-cantina @drafthorsemath @lightwise @cloned-eyes @lightspringrain @zaana @verndusk @pinkiemme @literallyjustanerd @alamogirl80 @clonemedickix @shitexcuseofausername @vimse @523rdrebel @annwayne @l-lend @lornaka 😘

[rf-times]

Hi, the following is a comment from a discourse about how the negative traits of women in media are frequently sanitized or how their flaws are blamed on the sexism of male writers(or blaming it on other male characters) instead of giving them accountability for their actions, by the female viewers/fans. (Sorry it's a bit long and you don't have to answer if you don't want to:))

"Women are not intrinsically good, there’s a novel called Madame Bovary (that is considered one of the best feminist novels of all times) written by Gustave Flaubert (yes, a man), whose lead character is a woman who’s deeply frustrated with her life (spoiler):

She hates her husband, the church, her child, her gender (and what it implies in society) and seeks to have various affairs. She resents her life so much so, that she ends up committing suicide.

Truth be told, the author did not write her to be liked, but to be an example of what happens to young girls who don’t align with society, and yet, Madame Bovary surpassed the initial role it had: she became a memoir of women’s frustrations, of women’s lengths to cruelty (it’s -for what I can remember-, described how Madame Bovary takes pleasure in mistreating her husband, who she hates for his lack of ambition and pride) and how a woman tries to fight an oppressive system.

Madame Bovary, flawed and full of resentfulness that eats her from the inside out, fights against the patriarchal system in an impactful way that make her a unique protagonist.

The idea that women need to be always kind perpetuates the belief that, because of our well-spirited nature, we need protection -either physical or mental, and as consequence, our harmful actions shall receive no punishment.

We aren’t fighting against the patriarchal belief, but we are twisting it to our benefit.

Furthermore, excusing a women's bad behavior or diminishing the negative impact that it has on others is to be condescending of a woman’s capacity to cruelty, which is (behold!) a patriarchal belief.

If readers do not allow female characters to face the consequences of their own actions, choosing instead to blame another (male) character or the (male) author, then they are denying the female characters their agency. If we don’t hold her accountable for such actions, then we strip female characters of actual decision-making: therefore, it’s not about women making their own choices (they aren’t given free will) but forcing them to follow the path we want for them. It’s still controlling the female characters to “protect” them.

In that sense, if women can’t be responsible for their decisions, then women can’t be put in positions of power, since those spaces demand whoever occupies them to be responsible for their actions."

What do you think? I would really like to know your opinion if it's not too much trouble. Thanks.

Hi I think this is interesting but there are many things here that are way too generalised and really annoy me lol.

For one thing, something being "considered feminist" is not indicative of its actual feminist quality nor of if it can be criticised. The whole "and it's written by a man btw" and later on the "female characters' behaviour can't be blamed on male authors" is sus too, it is impossible to remove the context of male authorship from their female characters' characterisations.

Most female characters and real life women are maligned and blamed for anything they do (and for much they don't do by virtue of 'tempting' men into evil!) Who is arguing for women's intrinsic goodness? I'm always a bit sus of these books that feel they must argue that women are not being held accountable.

I recently read a book with a really over the top, dramatic version of Ancient Rome where all the women were scheming, evil monsters responsible for every bad thing that ever happened to Rome. In the afterword, the male author said that many of his portrayals were unfair and against many historical accounts that had vindicated these women but that he found them far more compelling to write as being that evil.

On the other hand, female characters who act on violent or extreme impulses, whether for noble reasons or not, are often the most compelling characters and really speak to women. They often transcend misogynistic texts they come from to strike a chord. One of my all time favourite female characters is Hedda Gabler, written by a man in the 19th century (and called neurotic by Freud) yet something about her boredom, her desire to create meaning within a broken system where she can get no satisfaction, it really speaks to me. Flawed, damaged, dangerous female characters are a favourite of mine, those who actively seek to shape their destiny, regardless of how they do it.

[albatris]

whats atdao about?

!! atdao!! it's been a while since I've talked about atdao at length! :D

atdao is...... all the doors are open! a story about cracks in the fabric of spacetime and loving your friends!

it’s YA! sci-fi-ish! fantasy-ish! it’s something I’d describe as “our reality but a little to the left”, though it gets progressively weirder as it goes on

it’s set in South Australia, n it’s set in a world where the fabric of reality is starting to unravel at the edges and cracks in the universe called “Ports” are cropping up more and more frequently..... n these cracks are letting in all sorts of whacked out energy, fuckin with physics, causing weird phenomena to occur all over the place.... one time the suburb of Hackham just moved places overnight for no explicable reason......... basically reality’s comin apart at the seams, but for the most part folks are just sorta like “ah geez” about it bc like. what can ya do. it’s not like all your normal people problems are gonna go away just ‘cuz the world is edging towards its inevitable weird doom

so people are just kinda going about their lives against this bizarre apocalyptic backdrop and hoping they don't, like, glitch through the sidewalk on their way to the supermarket

the story primarily follows Tris and Noa, best friends and co-narrators..... and also Shara and Kai, not viewpoint characters but equally important :3 and it’s mostly just about these guys trying to deal with the weird apocalyptic garbage happening to them alongside their everyday lives, and about how all their individual odd little mysteries connect with each other and form a bigger, odder mystery

they have some little character intro cards and doodles and facts over here! :D

the plot? this thing got a plot, I hear you ask?

yeah! I'm always debating whether or not to leave Tris and Noa's plotlines twined together in one book or write two companion novels. There Is A Lot Going On

anyway, lots of words, ahoy

so your first key player is Tris Greer, whose parents are dicks but whose siblings are chill. most notably of said siblings there is Jacob, older brother by thirteen years, whom Tris believes is just about the coolest person on the entire planet. the Tris plotline kicks off when Jacob gets caught in the midst of a freak car accident that somehow causes him to just kind of…………….. blip out of existence entirely and without a trace?

n Tris is understandably horrified and distressed by Very Much All Of This, but hey, at least there are responsible adults who can look into this obviously Port-related weird disappearance and figure this mess out, right?

well, the relevant interdimensional authorities are brought in to suss out the situation and these authorities are kind of like “hmmmm idk about this” but are all set to take Tris at least somewhat seriously until they learn the following:

that Jacob had already been reported missing to police in his home state three days earlier

that Jacob was in the midst of several ongoing personal crises and at least one nervous breakdown

that Jacob was allegedly tangled up in some real weird shit that would more than account for a disappearance under suspicious circumstances

that Tris is schizophrenic, prone to hallucinations, confusion, memory issues and quote unquote “letting his imagination and anxiety get the better of him”, and precisely zero people can actually corroborate his story that Jacob was even there are the time of the accident to begin with

and after some back-and-forth and Looking Into The Evidence pretty much everyone in any position of authority comes to the conclusion that this is just Ordinary Regular People Crimes and whatever happened to Jacob had nothing to do with weird apocalyptic energies, and that Tris is (at best) stressed out and delusional or (at worst) lying through his teeth because he knows more than he’s letting on

so our young hero Tris is forced to hop pretty quick from “I’m sure someone will handle this” to “no one believes me but I’m sure if I can find some concrete proof they’ll listen and someone will handle it” to Well Fuck I Guess That Someone Is Me

cue bizarre reality-hopping fantasy quest into a collapsing unreality pocket dimension best descibed as "lost down the back of the universe's sofa" - which is ten times easier said than done when most of the time Tris is terrified enough just, like, going to the supermarket

he enlists the help of his new classmate Shara, amateur paranormal investigator and professional weird-bullshit enthusiast, who agrees to help him puzzle out what the fuck happened to Jacob in exchange for his assistance in mapping out Adelaide’s interdimensional “fault lines” as part of her ongoing quest to track down the source of the apocalypse

she’s got big fuckin dreams, ok, go hard or go home

slso worth noting at this point that there HAS been an uptick in Ports and their related reality-bending strangeness in Adelaide recently which is why this is of particular interest to her currently. gotta find out What Makes The Weirdness Tick, gotta find out Why The Sudden Extra Weirdness

his quest also puts him in contact with the eccentric traveling trader Kai Lancaster, peddler of interdimensionally messed-up trinkets. honestly, Kai initially gets involved in the plot because Kai just likes drama and being all up in people’s personal business. Tris brings them on board for one single afternoon like “hey I will pay you some money to come to my house and fix my fucked up phone so I can listen to an interdimensional voicemail” but forgot the apparently key addendum “and then leave”

their first three chapters of them knowing each other is basically Tris being like “stop inviting yourself into my house we are not friends” and Kai being like “that’s a rude thing to say to your friend. also your sister gave me the netflix password and I used your kitchen to bake pastries feel free to help yourself”

Kai, of course, has their own baggage to deal with, and is currently grappling with the emotional and social repercussions of losing seven years of their life to a time...... whirlpool? basically, they went into a cool abandoned house for an hour and came out to find seven years had passed and their family thinks they died :)))

but yeah so Tris’s story mostly focuses on his quest to figure out where Jacob got yeeted to and how to get him safely home, whilst also dealing with rising family tensions, whatever shifty stuff Jacob was involved with prior to his disappearance, and his own creeping doubts about his perceptions of reality

n I’m also saying flat out it’s not a plot that’s going the “oh the whole thing was just a delusion all along” route because ew

his psychosis is a fairly involved part of his character but the explorations around it are more to do with, like……… the difficulties he has in trusting himself and whether he has the luxury of letting himself get swept into some Big Weird Implausible Adventure when this has extremely different implications for him than it would someone else. n eventually to how his success and survival is not ~in spite of~ but specifically because of the different way he understands and interprets the world and the skills he’s developed

your SECOND key player is Noa Yun, who has rather a lot on her plate right now. she’s broke as fuck and her mum is sick and her car is making Noises and she’s not getting enough hours at her job at Not-IKEA-for-legal-reasons and everyone is on her back about her failing studies as if that’s a thing she has the energy or time to care about. feeling rather backed into a corner by life’s bullshit and her financial situation, she blatantly lies her way into an entry-level field job at the Department of Interdimensional Instabilities, because A) surely it can’t be THAT bad, and B) what does she have to lose?

so more or less what she’s doing is the equivalent of emergency services for Port-related weirdness, it’s going out and dealing with highly unstable otherworldly energies head on, navigating Weird Phenomena and bendy patches in reality……… it is, among other things, a job that’s relatively easy to get into because no one wants to touch it with a ten foot pole unless they absolutely have to

things kick off for her when in true Noa fashion she hurls herself into a dangerous situation to help out a coworker and gets caught up in an “overlap” where the barriers between universes are a little fucky, but hey, she seems to come out of it with nary a scratch, so it’s reasonable to assume everything is fine, right?

INCORRECT

she basically gets some whacked-out otherworldly energies latched onto her that are now following her through her everyday life, and it turns out she’s starting to bend the reality around her the way certain types of Ports do, which is! obviously not ideal! she’s not exactly a Port herself, because she’s pretty sure that’s impossible, but it’s clear capital s Something happened to her in that overlap, and she doubts it’s good news. and to make matters even more disconcerting, she’s now being dogged at every step by strange visions of a child who speaks in an unfamiliar language and who seems Real Fuckin Pissed at her

and man, she Needs this job. but also, she's surrounded by people whose job it is to eliminate and neutralise dangerous interdimensional energy - like the stuff she's now full of, which is a recipe for panic and paranoia

so her thing is basically “I acquired fucked up reality-bending powers against my will and they might be lowkey killing me ‘cause Ports are notoriously unstable like that and also I’m haunted for some godforsaken reason” which all somehow ended up being, like, the least interesting part of her plotline for me lmao

her search to find out what’s happening to her re: Weird Children, being a Port-adjacent something-or-other, and whether there’s a way to stop her own unravelling leads her to an unlikely partnership with (DII trauma counsellor? rogue computer programmer? mad scientist? general shifty bastard?) Melissa Marrick Thiele, who claims to have suffered a similar affliction in the past and now does some real interesting research ~on the down low~ about the subject. n this lady. well. she’s got some fuckin stuff going on

she definitely knows more about the nature of Ports than she should. also is she actually researching what she says she’s researching? is she really like Noa? what the fuck happened to Avery, that other kid she was supposedly helping out?

but yeah at about the same time as Noa goes “actually fuck this you’re shady as hell I’m out” she stumbles into, like, The Actual Reality of what Marrick is up to re: manipulating Ports and interdimensional doorways for her own gain, and the various ways this spells bad news not only for her but potentially for the entire city and anyone else unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire, and she shifts gear to “actually you know what I’m gonna kick your ass”

there are various reasons for this, but first and foremosterly you have to understand that Noa’s got a fuckload of pent-up rage and she will bring it in full force the moment you say some stupid shit like “some people are expendable” or “it’s inevitable for the greater good”

but yeah the main story here mostly follows Noa’s attempts to undermine Marrick, bastard supreme, and find a way to fuck her up before she goes, like, Full Cartoon Supervillain, n also like……….. Noa's attempts to keep up her work at the DII despite her rising paranoia that the teammates she’s growing to care about will notice her increasingly unstable state and the fact that she’s all tangled up with the very forces they’re meant to be thwarting. n along the way discovering the reality of what happened to her in The Aforementioned Overlap Incident and about her visions and such..... and, oh, what's this? is it all connected? of fucking course lol <3

anyway that's. words

general, for Tris, his plotline, you wanna think, like, fantasy/adventure vibes which veer pretty sharply into horror, and for Noa you wanna think…… kinda, sci-fi mystery conspiracy vibes with a dash of some superhero bullshit maybe except not really

anyway! it's equal parts “absolute nonsense hijinks and ridiculousness that doesn’t take itself too seriously” and “oh fuck oh ouch oh no my heart”.... every main character ends up safe and happy and in a much better position than they started..... lots of cheesy themes like self love, the power of connection and kindness, universes that don't care and people that do,,,,, all the good high-quality cheese

also at one point Noa does a whole cool action sequence scene with a permanent marker moustache on her face because she didn't have time to take it off and Tris uses a ceiling fan blade full of otherworldly energy as a sword and it screams loudly every time he swings it

ok thank u for reading if u read this far, please have an excellent day <3

[chemnections]

It really bothers me that so few people on this site seem to genuinely like Frank. I'm glad I found this blog.

There are so many people who only post about him when he mentions MCR, or only post about Frank when there is some nonsense drama fabricated around him and those people want to get in on the memes.

It's almost as though people can't be genuine or sincere about Frank. There's always a level of sarcasm or criticism or slight hostility when they talk about him. They can write novel length posts about anyone else in MCR with no snark, but can't do the same for Frank. The only exception to this is the Sydney bus accident, and honestly I dread the day some fucking ghoul tries to make a joke post about that incident.

these past few days really have been disheartening on that front.

i did expect there to be some anger and typical capitalism discourse from people who really do not understand what they are talking about. but it is so crazy to see anger from people i actually didn't expect to lash out in that way. seeing users change their frank profile pictures because they were so mad over the reverb sale, or i have even seen someone keep theirs but with a red x over his face. as if frank doesn't see what happens online and like his feelings can't be hurt. all because they objected to him selling old clothes (conveniently forgetting that were part of iconic shows/tours/photographs) for a proper collectors fee? significant figures in music have their 'old clothes' in museums or on display or in private collections - these pieces have the potential to increase in value or have donation value to future music exhibitions.) the turn around from being excited to try and buy something of frank's to straight up condemning him is weird. like you said, like they never really liked him in the first place.

mikey literally just had a signature bass line where the bass costed over $1000 and i never saw anyone comment or complain about it. no one accused mikey of 'going for the cash grab'. and this isn't a dig at mikey, just shows the double standard.

long time frank fans should know that 'being critical of your favs' is not dished out fairly and often leads to certain fans attempting smear campaigns against frank. it's why i tend to be protective of him on this blog, to try and counteract that bs.

there were some particular tweets that really pissed me off and i thought about responding, but i also didn't want more attention on them. it's a thin line.

and then with the context of certain meddling/manipulation that goes on in the fandom space where frank is often targeted with unfounded rumours. . . i'm usually out of the loop on that one but i've been curious with lola's reemergence. on that topic i can think of a certain person with a deleted possum post making fun of a car crash.

frank cares and puts in extraordinary effort into his career, truly giving fans so much, and for his efforts he is unappreciated or has his name dragged through the mud. from his efforts to reunite mcr in the first place, to the amazing ls dunes content recently and giving fans opportunity to purchased reasonably priced collectors items tagged with stories where all fans can learn more. have fans ever heard of thank you? and appreciating what you get instead of demanding for something else? truly biting the hand that feeds. and then there is a controlling aspect to it as well - not accepting who frank is as a person, the art and opportunities he is putting out and bullying him online to get things out of it. i'm glad he won't bend to that pressure and his snarky response tweets were gold.

this is the same behaviour that ran frank off of twitter in the first place. so it's hard not to get upset about it when it is being ruined for the rest of us. but we also can't change other people. it is what it is.

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (7/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: Dr. Keyes would like to have a word with you... Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,317 (this chapter, 17,750 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Yet again, it's been a hot minute since the last update and I apologize. I have to say, though, that this was a huge disaster an adventure to get this here to you, my friends. Full note available at AO3 if you'd like to hear about it in full. I've said this chapter would have a cliffhanger but it kinda doesn't... Not the one I intended, anyway. I had to cut the chapter in half but the benefit of that is that chapter 8 should hopefully be along shortly. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

You woke from your light doze just before the alarm went off. You quickly deactivated it, not wanting to disturb John, who was still sprawled across your lap. But that slight motion brought him immediately upright anyway, doing a quick threat assessment of the room in what was clearly a deeply ingrained response.

All soldiers developed that to some degree but you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever in his entire life been allowed to feel safe.

I doubt it. I bet none of them have.

You didn't know anymore about how Dr. Halsey had run her program than the average marine did but what you did know, especially from being around John and the rest of Silver Team, was enough to make your heart clench in sorrow.

But when he looked at you, you smiled, not wanting that to show. "Feeling more rested?" you asked lightly.

"Feeling foolish," he said, relaxing out of the alert posture to sit more naturally next to you, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. It was an unexpectedly adorable gesture and you considered yourself lucky to see the formidable Spartan with his guard lowered.

You reached up to smooth back his hair, though it was honestly too short to be mussed. He leaned into your touch. "Nah," you murmured. "Even the Master Chief has to sleep some time."

He gave a wordless hum as if he didn't want to out-right disagree with you.

"In fact," you went on, "I prescribe a few more hours of shut-eye, either here or back in the Spartan quarters."

"I'll head back, that way I can walk with you to the marine barracks."

"Sounds good."

While he got up to retrieve your boots and his, you tried to hurriedly massage some feeling back into your numb legs while his back was turned. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad. After all, you would definitely do this again, if given the chance. Would he? You didn't want to ask and sound overeager.

Once you'd reached the barracks, he kissed the back of your hand, that soft look in his eyes that you adored.

"Permission to hug the Master Chief even though there are probably several marines spying on us at the moment and it'll be juicy gossip for the next day or so?"

His mouth twitched. "There are at least three trying to hide in the shadows through the door, two around the corner at the end of the hall and I'm fairly certain a couple of ODSTs just swung by on a rope outside of the window. And yes, of course."

You practically tackled him around the middle and an indulgent chuckle echoed in the enhanced cavern of his chest as he gently embraced you in return, his hands large and warm against your back.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Maybe have lunch if our schedules work out?"

"I'd like that," you said, your voice muffled against him.

It wasn't easy to let him go. Once he'd disappeared around the end of the hallway, you went into the barracks. Everybody looked very pointedly not at you while also clearly talking about you but you didn't care. John was worth being the subject of whispered gossip and some not-so-whispered lewd jokes.

He was worth a lot more than that, indeed.

You had just clocked in when an officer wearing the patch of the Spartan Research Department appeared, calling your rank and last name.

"Sir?" you said, saluting and standing at attention.

"Follow me," he directed. "Dr. Keyes would like to speak with you."

You did your best to keep your face blank but, as you made the walk, it felt like your heart was sinking lower and lower until it was ready to drop completely through the deck. It didn't seem that there were many good reasons Dr. Keyes would have something to say to you.

The officer directed you to go through the lab doors, where you expected to meet an assistant who would tell you where to wait. Instead, you came face-to-face with Dr. Keyes herself and snapped a hasty salute.

"Good, you're here," she said. "With me, please."

She led you into what was presumably her office and tapped in something that brought your face up onto the wall monitor, along with a very in-depth readout of your career in the UNSC.

"Dr. Halsey had quite a file on you," Dr. Keyes said, scrolling down to show that the information went back to your childhood and included statements from friends and family.

You managed to keep the ridiculous question of whether she had been considering you for the Spartan program from leaving your mouth. "Why was that, ma'am?"

"She noted that Master Chief was showing a preference for you to assist him at the Brokkr stations." She studied you for a moment. "You didn't realize?"

You shook your head. "I'm aware that Chief asked for me once but I thought the other times were random."

"They were not. He's asked for you to be read in on several very classified subjects," she went on to your surprise. "Can you tell me why I should consider granting his request?"

"No, ma'am, I can't," you said honestly. "I don't need to know things that are above my pay grade."

"Apparently, Chief feels differently. Are you and he having sex?"

Fortunately, your unflappable medic side stepped up to field that question. "No, ma'am."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "You know, I didn't know Master Chief could splutter until I asked him that same question. Why not? Is there some dysfunction?"

"None that I've encountered," you said, "and, well… I can’t speak for him but for me? I’m enjoying the journey. No need to rush until things feel right."

For a moment, you felt like a bug pinned to a board under the weight of her gaze. Dr. Miranda Keyes wasn't a big woman by any means but there was a fierce intelligence to her that was more than a little intimidating when she focused it on you. Regardless, you held firm, not allowing yourself to so much as twitch.

After a few slightly interminable seconds, she released you. "If there's a problem, make sure he knows to talk to me about it. Spartan physiology is… complicated."

"Yes, ma'am," you said, giving a crisp nod.

"Thank you for coming in to speak with me," she then concluded. "Chief will have my answer shortly. Dismissed."

The rest of the morning was uneventful. When you broke for lunch, you checked your padd for any personal messages and found one earlier from John.

117: Can’t make lunch, sorry. How about dinner?

He gave the time and his room number. You quickly sent back an affirmative, then tucked your padd away to enter the mess hall.

Jaime fell in with you as you took your tray down the line. “So,” he said, conversationally, “how was Dr. Keyes?”

He wasn’t typically the sort for gossip and you looked over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow at him.

Oh, she just wanted to know if I’m boinking the Chief, you thought with absolutely no intention of ever saying that out loud.

Somebody behind you both snidely interjected, "Well, you know she wasn't trying to recruit her as a Spartan," and several people laughed.

"Get bent, Erica," Jamie fired back. "You're just salty because your boy Finch is still the biggest joke in the UNSC over trying to send Chief into battle without his butt plate."

"Oh, I'd say your girl there is doing her best to be Chief's butt plate!"

There was a moment of quiet as everybody processed that.

"Nope," someone finally muttered. "That makes no sense."

"I'd be careful who you insult. You know that Spartans continually monitor security comms, just waiting to hear something they don't like, don't you?"

You looked up at the new voice in the conversation and Kai's friend winked as he passed by, leaving several hushed voices in his wake.

"You think that's true?"

"Nah, no way. No. Maybe?"

"That's gotta be real, man. I heard Private Jenkins say he didn't think Spartan Riz was a real redhead and the very next time he was in combat, she made him trade his full DMR for a mostly dead Covvie plasma pistol!"

"So Spartan Vannak could've heard Robinson say that she wants to climb him like he's the tallest tree on Reach?"

"Well, if he hadn't before, he has now, idiot!"

"Ow!"

You shook your head slightly, meeting Jamie's gaze, and he shrugged. Then you both continued on down the line while the others bickered among themselves.

While you ate, you and Jamie talked a bit of shop. He didn't repeat his question about your visit to Dr. Keyes, probably feeling bad he'd opened you up to unwanted comments, and you didn't mention it since you really weren't certain how to answer. You still couldn't fathom why John was asking for you to be read in on something classified.

After lunch, the rest of your shift saw you in your erstwhile office, cataloging spare parts and writing up requisition orders. It was fairly repetitive work and made a long day feel even longer.

The second you were off-duty, you headed back to the barracks at a brisk pace. Then, in less than 15 minutes, you were striding out the door, freshly showered and dressed in casual civvies.

You'd hurried so that you would have time to swing by the commissary before arriving at his room with a few scant seconds to spare. As he opened the door, you presented him with the small vase of assorted flowers, all sadly having seen better days but the selection had been quite thin.

His smile brightened as he accepted, stepping aside so you could enter. "What are these for?"

"It's a house-warming gift," you said, "though I'm not sure that anything can beat Kai's."

The replica Needler was still sitting on the nightstand and someone, presumably Kai herself, had replaced the flowers with fresh ones. Regardless of its greater size and better appearance, he moved it back and put your slightly droopy offering front and center. "Thank you," he said and there was something wondrous in his tone as if he'd never gotten a gift before. Maybe he hadn't from anybody other than a fellow Spartan?

The solemn thought was bumped from your head when he crossed the room and leaned down to hug you.

"Thank you," he repeated and this time it was a shiver of breath against your ear.

"You're very welcome," you murmured back.

When you finally parted, you at last noticed the rest of the room. "Hey, is this what I think it is?"

"If you think it's a picnic, then yeah," he said, gesturing at the blanket spread on the floor with a UNSC branded ration box in the center. "Since our other date was interrupted, I thought maybe we could try it again?"

He gave a gesture and the opening scene of the movie that had been shown in Tchakova Park was projected onto the wall, paused and ready to go.

His expression was uncertainty mixed with hope and you smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I'd love to, John."

You ended up not starting the movie right away so you could catch up as you ate. He'd apologized that the ration box wasn't a proper basket and that all he'd been able to procure on a short notice had been some basic fare but you'd assured him that it was by far the best picnic you'd ever been on.

"I had an interesting summons from Dr. Keyes today," you said as you unwrapped your chicken sandwich.

He groaned. "Sorry I didn't get the chance to tell you about that. I just asked her this morning and I didn't think she'd move so quickly."

"Why do you want me to be read in on classified intel? You know I understand there are things you can't talk about. I'm all right with that."

He inclined his head. "I'm not," he confessed. "There are things that are important for me to be able to talk about with you because you... You're important to me."

He looked down briefly, then back to you, as if not sure of your response.

His admission made the words briefly stall on your tongue. "Well, then," you finally said, "I hope she'll clear me. You're important to me, too. Very."

He smiled shyly then straightened, clearing his throat. "Did she ask you the sex question?"

You laughed. "Yeah."

"What did you tell her?" His tone was perilously close to scandalized.

You repeated your reply and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Enjoying the journey," he echoed. "Yeah, I like that. That's a good answer."

After you'd eaten, he set the ration box out of the way. "Now," he said, "I didn't think an extra blanket was required but, if you should happen to be a bit cold, you're welcome to--"

As soon as he held out his arm, you realized what he meant and scurried over to him.

"You never know," you said, snuggling in. "A cold front might blow through at any moment. It's best to be prepared."

He kissed the top of your head, giving a wordless noise of agreement, and settled his arms around you. The movie began as if by magic.

By the time the credits ran, you were half-tempted to ask if he wanted to watch it again, just so you wouldn't have to move. You couldn't remember ever feeling so warm, happy and at peace before.

He abruptly tensed, sharply saying, "What?" as if someone had spoken something alarming in his ear.

Before you could ask, the chirp of a critical alert for emergency deploy went off.

It was yours.

[fastcardotmp3]

hi!! i have recently found your ao3 and have been slowly working my way through everything you've ever written (and commenting novels on the fics as well lmfao) and i had a question!! one that you don't have to answer obviously, especially if you were ever planning to go back into the 'verse.

while reading 'till afterdeath, i noticed eddie mention that he and steve broke up once in the past and i assumed it was not the moment we saw in meta where steve needed to be angry with him/took some space, so i wondered if you would elaborate on maybe what happened there?? i imagine it would either take something BIG to provoke a response like a breakup, or perhaps a lot of small things that accumulate into something too heavy to bear, so.

anyway!!! i really just want to say thank you for sharing your writing with us. :')

hi!! i'm so glad you're enjoying my little worlds, they are a joy for me to create and hearing your thoughts is just the absolute cherry on top, I truly couldn't be more grateful <3

and i will ABSOLUTELY ALWAYS answer questions about said little worlds!! you will quickly come to realize that around these parts I will take every opportunity to ramble about my guys (gn) as further evidenced by the fact that I answered this very question at length last summer! (yes, before TILL AFTERDEATH but only because the break up mentioned is the same break up mentioned in the META epilogue!)

TLDR though it's both nothing big and the bigness of everything, because at the end of the day they're all but kids when they get together, and finding their way through regular old life change (rather than just big supernatural trauma change) is hard, so I felt like they should be allowed to be imperfect in their forever <3

thank you so much for your kind words, that universe in particular is so deeply special to me and every time someone gives me the chance to think/ talk about it further i just feel my heart grow in my chest 🥹💚🐍

[mswhich]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by the marvelous, magical @elder-flower! Exactly the thing I needed to keep procrastinating on my WIP! edited to add I just noticed that Tumblr turned all of the numbers into the number 1. IDK, I'm not gonna fix it, just roll with it.

How many works do you have on AO3?

56.

What's your total AO3 word count?

675,992

What fandoms do you write for?

Lots and lots. Lately, 2001: a Space Odyssey. But also a lot of original works, plus Formula 1 RPF, Harry Potter, Teen Wolf, occasionally some Taskmaster RPF.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Unforced Error (Harry Potter), 3798 Forged in Flames (Harry Potter), 3722 (my first fanfic!) No Secrets (Teen Wolf), 2738 Bondmate (Original Work), 1326 The Frontier Spirit (Original Work), 1280

Do you respond to comments?

God, I try, but I'm so bad at it. I always feel so awkward about comment replies. I wish I could just click like on them and leave an emoji or something. I do try to get to as many as I can, though.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I dunno if you'd call it angst exactly, but I've written a fair amount of noncon where the "bad guys" win. Probably Experiment XB-20, which ends with someone finding out they've been getting repeatedly memory wiped and then nonconned, shortly before getting memory wiped again.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write a lot of happy endings, tbh. Let's just say that the large majority of my fics end reasonably happily for most participants involved. (With a few notable exceptions.)

Do you get hate on fics?

You would think I would. I write a lot of unrepentant noncon, often with underage characters. I write RPF. I write incest. But apart from the occasional "wtf" comment, I've so far managed to avoid attracting significant hate. If I did get a hate comment, I would just delete it. I am too old for drama.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Fuck yes. All kinds! I have been writing smut since I first started writing fiction. Stephen King once said, in response to a question about why he wrote horror fiction, that if he and Louis L'Amour both visited a lake, Louis would write about cowboys herding cattle near the lake, whereas King would write about a creepy lake monster; that's just how their brains work. Well, I would write about people having weird, power dynamic-y, kinky sex near the lake. That's how MY brain works.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really, but wouldn't rule it out.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have occasionally had people report to me that my fics were stolen and nameswapped. AO3 has been pretty good about taking them down quickly though.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many times, yes. I hope the translations are good! I have no real way of knowing.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not, and have no real plans to do so.

What’s your all time favourite ship?

Ugh, I ship so much. SO MUCH. Honestly, probably Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski. It just works for me. Age gap, characters who are smart as fuck and morally gray, power dynamics, and werewolf powers. It has everything.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have most of a novel-length fic written in the Harry Potter fandom. It's post-War and Snape comes to stay at Grimmauld Place while they're rebuilding Hogwarts. Ginny Weasley is the only person there at first, and they kind of circle each other warily at first and then come to a cautious detente, which turns into a bit of a friendship. There's something weird going on with the portraits in the house, though, and when Snape notices it, there's an action sequence that ends with him getting them the fuck out of Dodge and going on the run. I actually love this story, it's entirely drafted and 80% written, and I just had to work out a couple plot issues at the end. And then the HP fandom kind of blew up and the creator turned out to be one of the literal worst people in the world, and I just don't know if I can ever bring myself to finish it. We'll see.

What are your writing strengths?

Uh. I....don't know? People seem to like my fics for the most part, but I'm not sure I could nail down exactly why.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I repeat myself too much. I say the same things repeatedly, over and over again, reiterating on a theme. But joking aside, I swear I spend half of my time in editing removing stuff like this.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm fine with it, if it fits the characters and it works. I prefer it if there are either a lot of English cognates so you can kind of work out what they're saying, or if the author translates it in the author's note.

First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. I found a shitload of Hermione/Snape fic, read as much of it as I could find, and then thought, you know, I think I could do at least as well as some of these? So I tried my hand at it and have never really quit writing fic since.

Favourite fic you’ve written?

I'm saying two. One is Crown of Neon Lights, because I love the characters and story so much. And the other is Bondmate, same reason. But really I love most of my fics. They are like my precious babies and I adore them all. tagging (pls feel free to ignore) @whimsicalmeerkat @jammerific

[blenselche]

I'm here to toss my hat into the "I can't believe you made me ship this and cry over it" ring, it was emotionally devastating. The comic got me curious and then when I saw the word count of your series I thought to myself "there's no way there's that much to be said on Finn kissing himself" but boy was I proven INCORRECT. I really appreciate how you took Fern and fleshed him out into such a developed, deeply dimensional character, how you handled him being a demon, how you turned the grass demon into a real character of its own and how you explained its motivations and the effect that had on Fern/why they snapped. The 0 to 60 fight or flight response that gave me a pit in my stomach at parts was so potent. Oh, and the nasty crying!? My sleeve was actually soaked because I didn't want to stop reading to get tissues. I had to put my phone down and walk circles in my living room after reading the older Finn/HW scene. It saddens me that you've crafted this novel length fanfic with such care for a selfcest ship because it deserves so much more attention than it'll get, and I'd love to recommend it to people but they'd look at me like I've grown a second head while I insist "it's not what you think, I swear!" Okay, I'm gonna stop writing now, sorry lol.

well this isn't intimidating!!!

I'm here to make people cry ig, older pre-wish Finn def needs a hug, your walking in circles is v valid.

ahhhhh fuck what do I say first-- Keep Yourself was fueled by my righteous, fiery anger over the shit deal the show gave Fern, so ty for appreciating what I did to him and all the junk I stacked on his shoulders. I also want to thank you for liking my grass demon! It did way too much unprompted good for me to accept that it was purposefully malicious, so that was something I felt was p necessary. And dw about the "not getting attention" thing, it's a sweet sentiment but whether ten or ten thousand people read my fic I'm stoked :)) attention is nice and I love the comments people leave me but that's all just extra cherries on the sundae that is getting it out of my brain and onto a screen lol. I had a lot of fun writing it so if people like reading it then that's more than I could ever ask for!!!!

[youngmasterwisdomperson]

I’d like ask you about your book. I would also like to say I sought you out after seeing your response to the writing prompt about the Dark Lord. Now I’m excited to find out there’s a book (possibly)

Thanks for asking! That said, if you’re expecting my book to be about Maximus the Dark Lord, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I have a fondness for that character and his story, sure, and if you’re looking for another part to his story I’d be happy to build a little more on what I’ve already written for that, but I don’t really know if the story as it stands is what I would consider Novel material. The pacing is much too quick to take up that many pages, and the format is much more conducive to a series of short stories than a full-length book. To adapt Maximus’s story into a novel, I’d need to start from scratch, take my time, flesh things out and slow the pacing down quite a bit.

As for what my book is actually about, it does share a genre with Maximus’s story (high fantasy), but it’s a lot less rooted in toying with the classic tropes and dynamics between fantasy princesses and heroes and dark lords. Instead, my goal in writing it was to create a fantasy story where the main male protagonist not only doesn’t solve problems with violence, but physically couldn’t if he tried.

The working title is Pathos. It’s a story about a boy named Gideon who was born with the ability to feel the full-force sum total of all the pain and emotions felt by people around him within a large radius, at all times. It’s kind of a passive ability for him, and he can’t turn it off, so it creates an interesting limitation as he learns to apply the magic system over the course of the story. Gideon literally cannot help but empathize with the enemy, and he physically *feels* any and all pain he inflicts, so physically fighting to win is a recipe for failure on his part. For plot reasons, Gideon washes up on shore in the jungle on the coast of the nation of Revel, and it’s in this jungle that he meets a boy his age named Axel, who is secretly the Crown Prince of Revel, and who Gideon can tell from use of his powers and context clues is being led by his bodyguards straight into a trap. Gideon foils the assassination attempt, and the story progresses from there, featuring mystery, magic, and political intrigue, as the two boys try their best to prevent conspirators in the court from sparking a war with the people of Chimera Desert (and slowly develop feelings for each other of the queer-platonic variety along the way).

That’s a bit of an oversimplification of the plot in my opinion. There are other main cast members and plot lines as well, such as a magical murder mystery featuring Anna, a girl with the power to turn into any species of spider she’s familiar with at will. Unfortunately, she can’t turn her powers off entirely, so she’s always at least partially transformed at any given moment. Her plotline starts out fairly separate from Gideons but the two stories will merge before the story’s end.

Anyway that’s my pitch of the story of my book as it stands right now. If it sounds interesting to you that’s cool. If you’re just here for Maximus the dark lord that’s fine too. Thanks for leaving an ask! I love talking to people about the things I write.

[diamondwaters]

❝ love is a choice ❞ chapter iii

summary: what was meant to be a simple, calm trip to an intergalactic museum ended up becoming a a trip through memories the doctor rather wanted to forget. only they weren't her memories. they were yours.

pairing: thirteenth doctor x reader (primary), eleventh doctor x reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: mention of nausea, fearful situations, stress responses (not a panic attack but similar), headaches

author's note: i know i said in the last chapter's notes that that chapter fist fought me, but this chapter did that and actually did win. this one is 7k and i stayed up until 6 am two days in a row for this one. i had fun writing most of it, but the next couple chapters are the ones that im the most excited for!

divider from annaliseart on pixabay

“What do you think of this one?” 

You sat on Amy’s bed, listening to a Lady Gaga song pouring from the radio on her bedside table. You hung your left leg off the side of the bed while you flipped through a romance novel you’d stolen off her shelf. You looked up to see the costume she put on for one of her upcoming customers. You took in the plain, white, knee-length dress with poofy sleeves and pathetic little wings attached to the back. You likened her to those poor kids in the nativity plays in primary school, whose mothers made them participate. You couldn’t stifle your laugh in time at the mere thought. You tried to cover it up at her indignant grimace. 

“I like it! I like it a lot! I didn’t know they had an angel option now,” You smirked. “They got a devil one too, Ames? Ooh, maybe we could do it as a duo! Do you think they’ll pay me?” 

She plucked her halo off her head and tossed it at your head jokingly. “It was my boss’s idea. Obviously. And no, there’s no devil one and no, you’re not gonna get paid.”

“Shame,” You shook your head. “It could’ve been a match made in heaven and hell!”

“Now I wish I hadn’t thrown that so I could throw it at you now. Really, that was awful.”

The grin on her face said otherwise, though she attempted to conceal it by retreating into her bathroom to change.

On your yearly visit to Leadworth for the summer, Amy had asked whether or not you wanted to go through her various costumes for her job as a kiss-o-gram. Naturally, you said yes. You had seen a nurse, a nun, and now an angel with an unfortunate absence of an accompanying devil.

You cherished these moments. A sophomore in university, entering your junior year in the fall, you didn’t often have the time to just exist without an assignment hanging over your head like a pendulum. So, your annual visit was something you looked forward to, and so were the moments with your friend that came with it.

You grabbed the halo from off the ground and put it on your head. It was a snug fit, but you knew Amy would find it a little bit amusing.

“What d’ya think?” You grinned impishly at her when she stepped out from her bathroom dressed in a police officer uniform. 

“Funny,” Amy scrunched her nose at you. “Ironic, really. Listen, I have this appointment at noon, but afterward we can-”

In the middle of Amy’s sentence, an ear-scraping sound poured from the open windows, seeping through the house’s foundation until it reached its farthest corners. You slapped the radio off, then placed your hands over your ears. Despite the cushion of your palms, they did nothing to drown it out. Whatever or whoever it was coming from, they wanted to make their presence known.

“What in the hell is that?” You cringed.

“I-I don’t know!”

“Amelia!” A male voice shouted from where the noise had come from.

“You don’t?”

Amy pulled back her bedroom curtain with you glancing over her shoulder. Behind the overgrown foliage lay a tall, blue box. At the very top was a flashing light, and beneath that, above the thrown open doors, were the words “POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX.” They were familiar, incredibly familiar. You scrounged through your memories in an attempt to pluck one from the pile that pertained to just where you thought you had seen them.

“Amelia! I worked out what it was!”

You had forgotten that a strange man had been shouting below for a split second. You saw him begin to run towards the front door. You were sure it was locked, a piece of information that gave you respite. Then, that same front door you were grateful existed opened with its usual creak.

Sweat began to form on your brow. Every limb tensed. The creeping realization there was a strange man inside the house crawled through your skin, gripping onto your nerves tightly. Your body went into defense mode, immobilizing you on the spot while you tried to comprehend the dangerous change in situation. You were grateful that Amy began to move your body for you because you weren’t sure you had it in you to move.

“Go, go!” Amy whisper-shouted while pushing you behind her bed.

“What?” You squeaked.

“Just get down and don’t say anything!” 

You saw a cricket bat in her hand and quickly caught onto her plan. You gave a stiff nod and crouched between the bed and her wall. You held your breath, keeping your ear directed at the door so you could keep listening to the action.

“Amelia! Are you alright?”

This was the part that confused you the most. Putting the fact that a man you had never seen before had broken into Amy’s home aside, he knew her. If she knew him was something you didn’t know. You figured not based on the fact that she seemed very eager to use that cricket bat. Still, something seemed off.

“Prisoner Vero is here! Prisoner Zero is here!” The man repeated. “Do you understand me? Prisoner Zero is-!”

Beyond the door, you could hear the faintest of thuds, followed by, “It’s okay, Y/N. You can come out.”

You waited a few beats after Amy’s reassurance to rise to your feet. You peeked around the edge of the doorway to see the stranger completely knocked out with Amy standing over him.

You were able to get a better look at his face. He was white, young-looking, and had long brown hair that wisped across his forehead. His build was strong but lanky, especially when paired with his height. He wore a blue men's dress shirt with a hideously-patterned tie that clashed with the vertical stripes of his pants. The shirt had burn marks and holes on the edges and shoulders like he’d gotten into some accident as dreadful as that tie.

You glanced at Amy. She was doing more than a simple examination of his features like you had done; her eyes were practically dissecting him! She systematically swept over his face several dozen times like she was trying to find a single component that could give her the answer she was looking for. She started at the hair, the eyes, the nose, the chin, and the ears, then repeated the routine until you couldn’t contain your question any longer.

“Are you sure you don’t know him?”

Amy’s face scrunched into a frown. She was hesitating in her answer. Still concentrating on the man, she decided on, “No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you looking at him like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you do know him.”

“I don’t!”

“Then stop looking at him like that!”

Amy didn’t bother to give that demand a response, throwing you two into a disoriented silence. She turned to the unconscious man, still studying him with intent. You were doing the same, but for different reasons.

While Amy was racking her brain for whatever she was obviously searching for, you were considering what the next course of action was. “So what do we do now? Should we call the police?”

Amy glanced down at her costume. A clever smirk graced her face, “Something like that. Here, help me get him over here.”

You gripped his shoulders so that he was sitting against the wall. You took one wrist in your grasp, and Amy took the other. Together, and it had to be together because the man was dead weight, you dragged the intruder toward the radiator under the hallway window. You rested him against the metal while Amy pulled the handcuffs from her police costume from her pocket. She clasped one cuff over his wrist and the other to one of the poles.

“Ooh, smart thinking!” You commended. “Okay, now what?”

“Now,” Amy made a soft noise as she punished herself to her feet. She wiped her hands on her skirt after locking the man in. “You get out of here.”

You blinked. Perhaps you hadn’t heard her correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You can’t stay here.”

You liked to think you knew a lot about Amy and that she knew a lot about you. So, she really should’ve known that the very last thing you were going to do was leave her here with an unusual man! “I’m not just gonna leave you here with this-!”

“I’m older than you!” Amy interrupted. “You have to listen to what I say.”

“Are we really doing this now?” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes!”

The two of you had played this infuriating game for years. Anyone with an older sibling figure in their lives knew about the maddening expression, “I’m older than you, therefore you have to listen to me!” The game part came in whenever the one speaking, the oldest, wanted the one being spoken to, the youngest, to do something. The rule was that the younger participant had to adhere to their demands solely because the oldest had spent even a minute on the planet longer than them. Of course, Amy had used this strategy since you’d known each other.

When neither of you had even reached double digits, Amy hadn’t liked you very much. Her aunt and your mother were best friends, which was how the annual visit to Leadworth had begun. Your mother would drag you along during the summer, a reality that neither you nor Amy was particularly pleased about. Not because you didn’t enjoy the change of scenery, but because the two older women just assumed you and Amy would be the best of friends. You were decisively not.

You were a year and a half younger than her, and every second of time between your ages was crucial to her perception of you. A year and a half difference in age was a year and a half difference in everything, including whether you were cool enough to play with. Hence Amy used the “I’m older than you!” excuse to push you out of her room upon every visit.

You never held any of this against her. Children could be cruel sometimes, mostly unintentionally. Like that one time you took care of a neighbor’s five-year-old when you were a teenager who then asked why you had dots on your face. She had been talking about your acne. And it was a swift kick to the gut.

You both eventually grew out of this mind. That, or Amy had figured out you pathetically sat behind her door too many times and got tired of being eavesdropped on. She started inviting you to more activities, but at that point, her tendency for pretending waned in favor of trips to the mall.

Those times when you’d silently listen in on their make-believe sessions blinked in your memory. You’d have your ear pressed against the wood, taking in the described scenes. Most of them were about Amy’s fictitious friend, the Doctor. She always talked about him, making her friends play along by dressing up as him. She’d made cartoons of him, plays, and even prepared fish fingers and custard which the man had eaten during the night crashed in the yard.

You would overhear your mother and her aunt talk about how worried they were for Amy. Therapy hadn’t worked- Amy bit about four of them in total- and she was getting older. Her holding onto her imaginary friend raised concern, but you thought it was fantastic. You quite liked to think about what it might be like to travel through time like Amy said he did.

You were forced to create the scenarios in your head to play along from afar by using the drawings Amy would leave around. You had dreamed of the man with the raggedy, torn clothes. He’d show you the world’s wonders in that magic… blue box of his.

“Amy.”

Amy’s response came out weak. Her voice wasn’t really there, “Yeah?”

“That thing outside…” Your voice wavered. “And his clothes, they’re- You don’t think it’s-”

“I don’t know,” Her voice had an edge. It wasn’t a malicious one, just one that made it clear she had no idea what she was supposed to think. And that terrified her.

He wasn’t supposed to be real. He wasn’t real, and there was absolutely no way that the Doctor was sitting unconscious at your feet. It had to be some kind of sick joke, but you couldn’t think of anyone stupid enough to concoct such an elaboarte scheme. Dressing up, maybe, but creating an entire prop box that size or hiring an actor would be too much work for any one of Amy’s friends.

If this mental debacle was hard for you to accept, you could only imagine what Amy felt. The entire village knew about her fascination with her supposed imaginary friend. Some labeled it a natural part of a child’s development, but others were not as kindhearted. They told her she needed to grow up, and so she did. Long before she was ready, at that. For the Doctor to return after all these years would mean… Well, you weren’t quite sure.

“Listen,” You sighed. “I’ll go downstairs, but I’m not leaving you. I don’t care if he is-I don’t care who he is! I’m staying. Deal?”

Amy bit at her lip in thought. When the man began to churn slightly, she quickly whispered, “Fine, okay, just go.”

From the ground floor and safety of the base of the stairs, you only got bits and pieces of the conversation once the man had fully regained consciousness. It started with Amy using an assertive inflection with the man. There was something comforting about it. Amy was in control or at least made it seem like she was.

Then it got quiet. It wasn’t silent; you still heard their exchange of words, but the syllables meshed together until they were incoherent. As much as you loathed to be in the dark about the conversation, you were pacified to sit downstairs until needed. You trusted Amy. She was fearless, confident, and had a great swing apparently. Still, it was only natural to be as concerned as you felt.

A hushed hiss slithered through your teeth. You felt a stress headache forming between your eyes, so you pressed your fingertips to the offending area and massaged lightly. Chest rising and falling evenly, you willed your mind to focus on the rhythm to distract yourself from the dull throbbing.

A scream ripped through the air, also tearing through your pained state. The piercing sound sent you scrambling up the stairs without a second thought. “What’s wrong?”

Amy pressed herself into the corner beside the stranger, her wild, fearful eyes pinned to the wall adjacent to you. The man had still been handcuffed to the radiator, with the only notable difference between now and when you last saw him being his sleeping status.

The one thing you hadn’t seen while he was unconscious was his eyes. These eyes were so bold. They weren’t vibrant in color, and they weren’t even a hue you hadn’t seen before on dozens of other faces. But the way that his eyes were overflowing with a kind of intensity that was new to you. It wasn’t present with the purpose of showing it off; it was just there, like a ripple in a previously still body of water. The  ripple seemed like it was waiting. For what, you didn't know.

The same eyes you'd just commented on narrowed at you accusingly, “An angel? Is an angel your backup?”

Confusion soaked your brain. You followed his line of sight where it rested on the top of your head. You pressed your fingers to the gold-painted plastic material encompassing your head. Right. The halo. You’d forgotten you still had it on.

“Of course not!” Amy scowled at him. “Come here!”

The words were directed at you, but she didn’t have to even say them to you. You already discerned that whatever had Amy so spooked had less to do with the intruder and more to do with whatever was close to where you stood. You didn’t want to be anywhere near the spot she was staring at with such terror, even if you couldn't tell what it was.

“Well, if that’s not back up, then who is this?”

“That has a name, I’ll have you now!” You countered bitterly. “If anything, we should be asking who you are! In fact, who are you?”

“Not enough time for proper introductions,” He shook his head. In one hand, he had a silver device with a blue end that emitted a staticky sound. He kept pointing it at his handcuff. Impassively, he told you, “You two, run. Just go, your backup’s coming. I’ll be fine.”

“There is no backup!” Amy exhaled angrily.

He twisted his neck to shoot Amy a glare of betrayal. “I heard you on the radio! You called for backup!”

“I was pretending, it's a pretend radio!”

“But you’re a policewoman!”

“I'm a kiss-o-gram!” Amy ripped the police hat off her head, her red waves spilling over her shoulders.

A door fell off its hinges, crashing forward. The door in question was to a room that you were positive did not exist. You’d been in the house for three months every year since you were six; you knew the place pretty damn well. And because you knew the house as well as you did, you also knew that a balding man dressed in a denim jumpsuit with a leashed Rottweiler by his side did not inhabit these walls.

You pressed your back flush against the wall. The skin of your hands went ice cold while your forehead became glossy with perspiration. Your breath caught in your throat, constricting the startled shriek that desperately wanted to escape your mouth. You only barely managed to croak out, “T-That wasn’t there before-”

“Sure wasn’t,” Amy nodded rigidly. “But it’s just…”

“No, it isn’t,” He said, having picked up whatever Amy had meant. “Look at the faces.”

A low growling reached your ears. You pointed your gaze to the dog, but its canine face remained utterly stagnant. However, when you slid it towards the man, you saw his teeth gnashing together while powerfully barking at you. Entirely literally barking as his eyes remained unchanged in their hostile quality.

“W-What? I’m sorry, what?” Amy sputtered.

“It’s all one creature. One creature disguised as two. Clever old multi-form,” The man explained. None of the words made any bit of sense to you, but neither did anything else about this situation. He raised his voice to speak to the man, “Bit of a rush job, though. Got the voice a bit muddled, did you? Mind you, where did you get the pattern from? You need a psychic link, a live feed. How did you fix that?”

The multi-form creature seemed displeased by this observation. It continued to snarl viciously. The longer this standoff occurred, the more annoyed it seemed to get. It opened its mouth, revealing a series of long, thin, and entirely too sharp fangs. You could see a red tongue caged behind the teeth that moved with the creature’s threatening rumble.

“I’m gonna be sick-” You pressed your palm to your mouth as a wave of queasiness washed over you.

“Don’t do that,” The man beside you chided your oncoming nausea. He patted Amy’s foot with his free hand. “Now, us! We’re safe. You know why? She sent for backup.”

“I didn’t send for backup!” Amy reiterated.

“Yes, I know, that was a clever lie to save our lives. Okay! Yeah, no backup!” To some degree, this declaration appeased the monster. It ceased its growling which the man took as a cue to continue on. “And that’s why we're safe. Alone, we aren’t a threat to you, but if we had backup, you’d have to kill us!”

“ATTENTION, PRISONER ZERO. THE HUMAN RESIDENCE IS SURROUNDED. ATTENTION, PRISONER ZERO…” A deep, booming voice devoid of any emotion ruptured the confrontation. It echoed throughout the home and against the greenery outside. Just the volume of whatever that thing was had you envisioning its potential gargantuan size.

Amy whispered, “What’s that?”

“That would be backup-”

“I thought you just said backup was what would get us killed!” You reminded him with a whimper.

“Plan’s changed-”

“You had a plan?”

“Okay!” The man bit down on his words. It was a clear request for you to stop talking. You thought that perhaps when everything was over, you could request something of him as well. Maybe a swift kick to the shins. “One more time! We do have backup and that’s definitely why we are safe!”

“PRISONER ZERO WILL VACATE THE HUMAN RESIDENCE OR THE HUMAN RESIDENCE WILL BE INCINERATED.”

"I'm going to pass out."

“Don't do that either. We're safe apart from, you know, incineration.”

The creature turned its entire body with a foul-sounding squelch as if its whole body was cracking each bone with every step. You had no idea how you could hear it over that voice repeating that portending message over and over. It left the three of you in the hallway to confront whatever was threatening it.

A thudding on the carpet drew your attention which you tried to keep primarily on the potentially deadly monster currently in your guest room. The man was banging his silver and blue device against the floor, easing it to start working with additional words. Eventually, the electric sound it produced remained consistent for five seconds instead of the short bursts from seconds earlier. He kept the glowing blue end directed at the cuff.

The click of the handcuff was your starter pistol. The second you heard it, you gripped Amy’s hand and sprinted towards the front door. You didn’t even need to listen to the man’s signal to run. You just did.

In an Introduction to Psychology class you took one semester, you had to read about stress responses. There were three phases to what was known as General Adaptation Syndrome. The first is the alarm phase which consists of the immediate reaction known as fight or flight. Then, if the stress persists, you move on to phase 2. In the resistance phase, your body is still on high alert, which causes issues categorized by the third phase: exhaustion. Your mind and body have taken a toll from the prolonged exposure, and it is likely interference is required.

Most of the situations studied to reach this conclusion happened across months, even years. Yet all it took was five minutes for your body to race through all three phases.

When you had stopped your pursuit to get as far away as possible, it was not by your own choice. Amy had pulled you to her side to slow your momentum. The second your legs stopped moving, you felt each individual physiological reaction pumping you full of cortisol and epinephrine. There were so many hormones filtering through your system that you were numb to the stimuli around you.

You had heard Amy and the man arguing but couldn’t focus well enough on the words. The heartbeat thumping in your ears was already too much for your frantic brain to keep up with.

“Hey-” Someone grabbed your cheeks, not gently but not harshly either. Firmly. “With us?”

The world had been cloudy like you were there but not weighted enough to feel it. You were so caught up in escape you hadn't bothered to take much note of your surroundings. So, finding yourself on the outskirts of the center of the village was a surprise. When you thought about the pulsing ache in your muscles, it shouldn’t have been too big of a shock you’d run such a distance.

The brazen eyes you’d observed what felt like a lifetime ago took up the majority of your field of vision. As you had studied them previously, they were now studying you. You felt so small beneath them. The eyes were not unkind, not in the slightest, yet you were successfully fighting the inclination to shrink away from their sheer fervor. Whether you were coming down from an adrenaline high or because the ripple was impatiently waiting to grow under them, your entire being was working overtime to adapt to this. To him. 

“So, you- you are the Doctor?” You stammered, not quite sure how you garnered that from his eyes alone. “You’re him?”

“Sure am!” The man- the Doctor- confirmed with a prideful grin. “Never got your name, though, now did I?”

Probably for good reason. “It’s Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N!” The Doctor patted your burning cheeks. At the sensation, you realized he had his hands on your face and instinctively swatted at him. This didn’t seem to faze him.“I hope you enjoy running!”

“I don’t!”

Unfortunately, the day hadn’t gotten any less insane from there, nor did you stop running. After fleeing for your life from an alien convict who had taken up residence in a room that didn’t exist, you and everyone else on the planet found yourselves in a tricky situation: the demand for Prisoner Zero to vacate hadn’t been regarding Amy’s house, but the entire earth. If the bastard didn’t turn himself in within 20 minutes, Prisoner Zero’s guard would incinerate the whole planet. 

This would have sent you into an existential panic if you even had a single second to breathe, let alone think. The Doctor hadn’t been pulling your leg about the running. Your calves were bound to be taut and sore when you got another moment to rest. You ran into the town square then ran to Jeff Angelo’s house where Amy felt the embarrassment of a lifetime when his Gran brought up her old cartoons of the Doctor. Your last excursion was a frenzied and not at all legal drive to the hospital with Amy and her somewhat boyfriend Rory. 

Prisoner Zero had taken on eight different forms, all comatose patients at the hospital where Rory worked. The Doctor had sent you there to clear everyone out of the hospital. It wasn’t a challenging task until it became worse than challenging. See, Prisoner Zero had been lying in wait. He took on the form of a mother with two daughters, but just as he had done with the man and his dog, he got the mouths wrong. The sight of those tiny fangs alone sent your instincts into overdrive. 

The Doctor managed to trap Prisoner Zero by convincing the world’s leaders to broadcast a single number across the entire planet: 0. 

The prison guards, the Atraxi they were called, took the hint. They traced the signal of origin to the tiny Leadworth Hospital and had been there in under a minute. After a quick attempt at self-preservation by inhabiting Amy’s mind, the Doctor influenced her to dream about Prisoner Zero’s true form. He was restrained and promptly teleported off your planet. 

It was over. The Atraxi were gone, and the prisoner was gone. The sun returned to normal, and the threat of extinction was snuffed out… which was why you couldn’t wrap your head around why the Doctor phoned the dangerous aliens back to Earth. 

You sat there for a good few seconds while the Doctor strode to the next room without looking back to see if the three of you were keeping up. It seemed to be a recurring theme with this guy; he was constantly moving while not considering whether or not the people he was with were ready to roll.  

You were stuck sitting on the hospital floor. Your body refused to move while you struggled to comprehend the Doctor’s reasoning. If the breaking and entering, no matter how justified it was, wasn’t what made you want to strangle the man, placing your planet back in potential danger did just the trick. 

Mind catching up with your body, you pulled yourself together. You followed the direction in which you’d last seen the Doctor and your friends go. 

“Okay, I- What the shit ?” You screeched. 

The very first thing you saw was ass and nothing else, like it was a beacon and your eyes were forcibly drawn towards it. Connecting said ass to the mop of dark brown hair atop a very irritating man, you huffed angrily. 

Your hands were raised to your face from the sudden surprise. So with the pure instinct to grab the thing closest to you, you reached to the top of your head, where the halo was still miraculously settled. It was flying from your hand and through the air before you even registered that you had thrown it. It landed right between the Doctor’s shoulder blades. 

“Ow!” The Doctor fully turned his body, showing just as much of his frontal body as you had seen of his back. You irritably jeered at that and trained your sight on the ceiling while he bemoaned, “What was that for?” 

“What was that for ?” You repeated in disbelief. “Put some clothes on!” 

“Well, what do you think I’m trying to do?” 

“Oh, piss off!” You snapped, turning away from him. 

This man was mad. You already made that dedication several times, but it seemed he was making it a goal to keep adding points to that conclusion. When he wasn’t getting ass naked in the presence of three strangers, he was also commandeering fire trucks to ram into a hospital window! And when he wasn’t doing that, he was requesting an audience with a hostile alien race! If the aliens weren’t going to kill you, he would. 

You rubbed at your brows, still feeling the swell of the slight headache you had felt earlier. 

Something was already waiting for you when you got to the rooftop. You hadn’t seen what the Atraxi looked like inside the hospital since you were a tad distracted. The Atraxi guard was as intimidating as the voice from the televisions and what you heard outside the house. It was an eyeball with crystalline spikes surrounding it. Just looking at them had you considering the decision to back away. You weren’t anywhere close to it, but the evident sharpness of them had you ready to put your evolutionary survival tactics to use. 

“So this was a good idea, was it? They were leaving!" Amy reminded him.

“Leaving is good. Never coming back is better!” The Doctor informed you. He strolled towards the Atraxi with casual indifference. “Come on then! The Doctor will see you now!” 

The eye exited its crystal encasement. It landed directly in front of the Doctor. The Atraxi scanned the Doctor’s face with a blue light brushed over his face. “You are not of this world.” 

Aliens were not something you were ignorant to anymore. There was one right in front of you, and there was one you were running from to escape certain death. You should’ve even figured out by now that the Doctor was just as alien as the Atraxi and Prisoner Zero. Hearing it be confirmed still took you slightly by surprise. He seemed too human. Appearance-wise, at least. Every other aspect about him was still up for debate. 

“No, but I put a lot of work into it,” The Doctor replied halfheartedly. He was too busy flipping through the selection of ties he’d wrung out of the lost and found. He hummed inattentively. “I don’t know… What do you think?” 

“Is this world important?” The Atraxi prison guard asked stoically while ignoring the Doctor’s request for an opinion. 

“Important?” The Doctor scoffed. He hurled one of the many ties he’d had around his neck over his shoulder for you to catch. Ass. “What’s that mean, ‘important?’ Six billion people live here. Is that important? But here’s a better question: is this world a threat to the Atraxi?” Silence. “Well, come on! You’re monitoring the whole planet! Is this world a threat?” 

A blue, circular hologram emitted from the Atraxi’s pupil. The Earth rotated in the image of azure-colored static. A series of images flashed in quick succession. Explosions, the march of soldiers, some of the world's greatest achievements, and some of the world’s worst moments. 

“No.” They decided. 

“Are the people of this world guilty of any crime by the laws of the Atraxi?” 

More flickered images. Crowds of smiling people, cultural dancing, windmills, and elaborate monuments across the globe. 

“No.” 

“Okay! One more, just one. Is this world protected?” 

These were ones that you hadn’t been able to identify. Men made of metal marched in perfect formation. Cylindrical creatures with circles running up and down the bottom half of their bodies. A turtle? Scaled beings with a series of tentacles protruding from the area where the mouth usually was. 

“You’re not the first lot to have come here! Oh, there have been so many! And what you’ve got to ask is ‘what happened to them?’” 

A series of faces were presented in front of you. You recognized none of them. None of their features stood out to you, but there was one thing they all had in common. It was the glint in their eyes. They all had it lurking behind their stares. Chaos, ambition, protectiveness, boldness. You saw it in his eyes, too. 

“Hello. I’m the Doctor.” 

You grinned at the man before you. It was pretty badass, you had to admit. When someone saves the world and, albeit with an ego the size of the European continent, calls the aliens back for a proper scolding, it is hard not to revere them in some light. A tiny light, though. Maybe a candle’s flame and nothing more. 

Wait. Why were you smiling?

Your head began to feel a bit light. You swallowed back a discomforted groan, keeping your lips tightly sealed. You ran your palms across your upper arms, hoping that maybe it would give you something to focus on rather than the feeling of your head drifting up into the stratosphere. When that didn’t work, you put the heels of your hands, which felt like they’d been soaking in ice water, over your eyes to block out daylight. 

When your hands fell away, you felt decidedly better. You were warm, a stark contrast to the bitter cold you swore you had experienced a mere moment ago. Even the clothes against your skin were softer, plusher. You ran your fingers across the fabric to discover the wooly feel of your favorite pajamas. 

Your eyes were heavy, but that couldn’t have been right. You were just pumped with adrenaline… from what again? You couldn’t quite seem to remember. The closest thing you had that day to a near-death experience was batting off some of Amy’s younger family members from attempting to snag a couple of the wedding favors you had spent the day putting together. 

The wedding. Right. It was tomorrow, and you had a lot to do as the bride’s honor attendant. Too much to do, really. So you needed your sleep. 

You glanced at the electric clock on your nightstand. It was the early hours of the morning, but that couldn’t be correct either. It was just midday, wasn't it? Perhaps that’s what it felt like since you hadn’t had a good rest in what felt like… how long ago was it since Rory proposed? A few months? Maybe a bit more? Amy was lucky to have a best friend like you to help with these preparations. Not that you minded; you’d do anything for her, especially on a special day. 

Maybe. 

You knew Amy was beyond nervous. With the wide eyes and distant gaze she had whenever you were doing wedding preparation, you thought she would be a flight risk. You tried to do your best to talk to her about it, but Amy was under the impression that she was doing well in keeping her fears hidden. Perhaps to the people around her, she was. She was one of your best friends, though, and there wasn’t much she could or would keep from you. 

The deadline to tell someone about what she was thinking was getting closer. You feared that she might do something drastic in her attempt to mask her worries. 

As you pondered how to best help Amy with her nerves, another query formed in her hazy mind: what woke you up? 

There had been a sound, but you must’ve woken up just as it had ceased. You sat up in your bed and pulled a strand of your hair behind your ear so that you could silently listen for it. 

You didn’t hear what had woken you up, but you did hear, “That was two years ago!” 

You forced the fatigue from your muscles and stumbled to your feet, toeing your slippers on. Padding towards the window, you drew the curtain back to look down to the front lawn where you heard the shout. 

Through the pane, dirtied by fingerprints and your breath across the glass, you could make out the shape of the blue box, the TARDIS it was called, that had been seared into your brain . It was there, parked in the yard like some average car, along with the mad man who disappeared into it two years ago. 

As was Amy. Amy, who seemed to be stepping into the TARDIS with the Doctor following suit. 

“Amy!” You called out. “Wait! Amy, no, wait! Shit-!” 

You ran to your bedroom door. You hurriedly pulled your robe off its hook to protect your skin from the temperature outside. 

The dash through the hallway was messy, to say the least. 

Your robe’s tie got caught in the door when you closed it. You cursed your muscle memory as you tugged at the soft fabric. You also cursed yourself for your momentary stupidity for forgetting that this obstacle could easily be overcome by opening the door again. 

“You’ve gotta be- Dammit!” You grunted. 

Fueled by both the desire to keep Amy from running away like you surmised she would and to slap this Doctor son of a bitch, your coordination wasn’t at its best. At one point, your slipper got caught on the rug. You went to fix it, but the recognizable sound of the TARDIS lurching away rang against your ears, leading you to give up and leave it there. 

One slipper down, you bound down the stairs. You skid on the wood with one foot without traction to grip the smooth varnish. You luckily gripped the railing before you crashed, but it took away a few precious seconds to get to the TARDIS. Maybe a few seconds of your life too, with the fright it gave you. 

By the time you managed to swing the front door so hard it loudly crashed against the wall, the TARDIS had started to recreate its wheezing engine noises. The box's outline began to flicker, getting fainter and fainter by the second. 

The noise suffocated your panicked pleas to stop, but you didn’t stop issuing them. You begged your legs to move even a millisecond faster, but it felt like your heartbeat was sapping any reserved energy you had to keep up the erratic rhythm. The grass was wet with the formation of the morning dew after the night’s cold, and your singular bare foot slid against the strands as your arm reached out towards the door handle. Your fingertips barely grazed the blue-painted wood; then, you stumbled from the lack of a surface to fall onto. 

You should’ve been doing something. You were acutely aware of that. You should have been screaming at the empty space with curses and threats aimed at the Doctor echoing back, mocking you for your inability to make it in time. You weren’t, though. Staring at the dirt, you looked at the lines the TARDIS had left there. If you looked long enough with your now glassy eyes, thought hard enough, you could bring it back through the force of your abating resolve. 

“Please…” You muttered into the silent twilight. “Come back, Doctor… Please.”

You hadn’t said that back then.

“Here you are, ma’am,” The fire-scaled woman returned with a large yellow-folder with stacks of papers held together by rubber bands. 

“Right. Thanks.” The Doctor said absentmindedly. Were she presentminded, she wouldn’t have even given those women the politeness of a thank you. They didn’t deserve it.

She didn’t know you were out there that night; she hadn’t heard you. If she had, she would’ve held out her hand for you. She didn’t know if you would take it since you rather enjoyed shouting her ear off at the beginning of your relationship. But, perhaps, if you had eventually taken it, maybe after screaming at her until your voice ran raw, you would have had more time together.

It was a nice thought.

But for now, her thoughts needed to be on the contents of this folder. It was a lot smaller than she had expected. Just from a simple once-over through the many papers, she figured out fairly quickly that there were missing pieces of information. They were minute, but they were noticeable to anyone looking for it. She’d have to reflect on that information later to keep her focus on the specified times in your records.

Using her thumb to flip through the pages once more, the fluttering of the paper caused something to fall to the ground. There was a plastic bag with a folded sheet of paper inside at her feet. This intrigued the Doctor, for all the other documents were crisp and uncrumpled. This was the only one with any creases and the only thing that was sealed away. One side was rigid compared to its sister sides, as if it was torn.

She wordlessly held the folder to whomever was to her left and expected them to take it. She assumed it was Graham. Whoever it was, took it from her grasp with an irate snatch.

“You’re very welcome, Doctor,” Graham! Ah, she was right! “See that that’s always been a thing you do, huh?”

She gave a distracted hum in reply. Her fingers gently undid the seal on the bag before slipping them in and pulling out the paper. As she unfolded it, the Doctor understood what she was about to see. She knew not its words nor the information it conveyed. What she did know was its contents and where it was from-

“‘I thought that she was someone else.'” 

-because she was the one who had ripped it out.

taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added through my ask box!!): @gurkiloni @nightmonkeyparker

author's note: setting up for the part im just itching to write :) also a child really did ask me once why i had red dots on my face. i thought they were about my freckles at first, then i realized.