#no beta just vibes and an hour of writing before i force myself to post whatever i can

[starsonthewalls]

(never) a question of trust | Batman

"Do you trust me?" Always, Jason doesn’t say. I never stopped, Jason doesn’t say. I want to, but I’m scared and I don’t know how even you can fix this, Jason doesn’t say.

Part of my Writing Wheel Challenge; this was a fill for Whumptober 2021 Day 4: Trust Fall that I... haven't really touched since, until today.

Tags: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Self-Sacrifice, Stab Wound, So Much Medical Inaccuracy (for maximum angst), Ambiguous Ending

- • - • -

Bats were notorious for planning. They did their best to cover every eventuality, to make contingencies for every situation gone awry. A Bat-led operation was an operational thing of beauty, with layers upon layers of back-up plans with their own back-up plans. While no plan survives first contact with the enemy, or so the saying went, the Bats’ collective skill and talent for strategy and tactics meant that more often than not, even when things went wrong, they were ready for it. 

But there were always exceptions. It was just Jason’s luck the latest exception fell on his latest op. 

He’d been so careful too, and so uncharacteristically cooperative– or so he’d thought, at least. And look at what his latest attempt at working with the Bats had gotten him: a brand-new stab wound in his side, a concussion, several other minor wounds, and backup scattered across the city chasing after red herrings. 

The next time Dick or Tim ran after him babbling about teamwork and trust and other stupid things, Jason was going to stab them and see how they liked it. 

“Please don’t make plans to stab your brothers in front of me.” 

Oh and of course, the cherry on top of the cake– 

(Wait. That felt like the wrong metaphor…) 

“Do you mean cherry on top of the sundae, or icing on the cake?” 

Both? Both were good. Or either. 

Batman snorted– because that was the icing on top of this particular cake of catastrophes, that of all the Bats that could have come to his aid like he’d planned, the only one who actually managed to make it was Bruce. 

Bruce, who tensed and ducked moments before a barrage of bullets flew through the space they’d been just moments before. Jason was grateful not to be a pincushion, don’t get him wrong– it was just hard to express that gratitude when his side lit on fire and it hurthurthurt–

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry chum, just give me a moment.” 

Jason’s pretty sure he blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing he knew, Bruce was laying him against a cold, hard surface and pressing against his gut. Jason writhed, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming, because ouch–

It felt like an eternity of pain, each second stretching into infinity, though Jason knew it was probably a lot shorter than that. But eventually, Bruce leaned back on his haunches, a terrible look in his eyes. Jason took one look at his eyes and knew. 

He chuckled wetly. “That bad, huh, old man? Time to cut your losses.” 

“Jason–”

“No, look,” Jason swallowed. “I– we had– have– our differences, but the others still need you. So you need to get out of here, B.” 

“Jason–” 

“I know what a fatal wound feels like, B,” Jason snapped, a little sharper. His heart was racing a little faster already, and he hatedhatedhated it, because things had just started to get good. Sure, he and B still weren’t on the best of terms, but he’d mended bridges with Tim and Dick, and he had bonding-sparring sessions with Damian, and Babs let him join her and the girls for movie nights in the Clocktower, and he had tea-time with Alfred every Thursday. 

It sucked, because he’d just started to be happy again. 

“Jason!” 

“What?!” 

It was kind of funny, Jason thought hysterically, how even while whispering and avoiding detection they somehow managed to end up (whisper) screaming at each other. Kind of went to show how good his chances were of ever getting back on good terms with B–

"Do you trust me?"

Everything stops. 

It’s a loaded question. There’s a million scenes flashing behind Jason’s eyes, from Befores and Afters: the Pit, the Tower, Bruce’s Death, Jason’s reconciliation with the family, all of them stretching out before him and flashing out within the space of a second and–

Always, Jason doesn’t say. I never stopped, Jason doesn’t say. I want to, but I’m scared and I don’t know how even you can fix this, Jason doesn’t say.

“I thought we weren’t asking stupid questions,” he says instead, voice hoarse. There’s the slightest twitch in the corner of Batman’s- no, Bruce’s- lips as he completely breaks character, shoulder slumping ever-so-slightly as he runs a hand over Jason’s hair. Jason’s breath catches in his throat- both from the tenderness and vulnerability in Bruce’s eyes and the pulsing of the gunshot wound in his side.

“You’ll be alright, son,” Bruce says softly, clipping a small emergency beacon to Jason’s vest.And then he stands, and Jason watches, speechless with horror as the Batman- the world’s greatest detective, one of the best strategists and fighters alive, his father- walks outside the room and deliberately yells for attention before leading their pursuers away. - • - • -

A/N: You know that scene in Kung Fu Panda 2 where Po's mom leaves him in the turnip box and then leads the wolves away. That's this scene :DDDD

[mego42]

For the Writer Ask Game: 💻, 😂 and ✏️. Thank you! <3

ty ty ty 💖

💻- three works of yours that are must reads

oooooooohhhhhhh i love this question though my answers probs aren’t surprising, hahaha.

a song inside the halls of the dark - my sprawling alternate s3 baby!!!! my most ambitious project ever! watch me learn how to plot a grandiose multi-chapter in real time! other features include: an MC villain I probs v obviously got uncomfortably into, hey what if beth and rio fell in love but make it canon? a weird number of buildings catching fire 

listening through the air shaft - aka meg plays with voice. it’s basically five fics in a trenchcoat, and all five think beth and rio are gigantic embarrassments. well, not dean, dean’s just sad. and suffering. it’s great. i heard a rumor that parts of it are funny.

trade my heart for honey - it was a v close call between this one and swear on a silver knife (sneaking in a bonus bc I do what I want) but I went with honey bc a) it’s complete and b) probably the most specifically tailored to me collection off my interests you will probs ever see me write.

😂- a line that made you laugh out loud

I still really love this bit from as the world turns, the blunt burns, idek why it just continually cracks me up:

“Mick,” Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently he doesn’t have all of the information. “We’re in the yard.”

“Yeah, Mick.” Rio says, glaring. “You’re in the yard.”

✏️- favorite part about writing

answered this one here but if you don’t feel like clicking through, i’ve really come around to editing being my fav part (currently, at least). there's something weirdly relaxing about having the thing fully drafted and then diving back in to work at it until it really shines. 

i usually do four editing, mmmm buckets? i guess? bc each one can be made up of several passes:

1. what the hell am i working with here - let’s see what ended up coming out between here and the outline. is it working? does it need to be refined to conform more to the outline? did anything new come out and should i go down those rabbit holes? what needs to be teased out and shored up to cover everything i want to cover. usually, a bulk of the editing passes happen here. 

2. that’s nice but how does it feel? - this is the one where i read through the whole thing and look for stuff i think can be tweaked and tuned to amp the emotional resonance, whatever i want that to be. usually one of these passes includes a non-sober run-through bc that’s usually when the really feelsy bits jump out to me (pro tip: always make a backup copy before this pass)

3. tuning - at this point i’m happy with the structure and vibe, now it’s time to line edit and/or get a second set of eyes if i’m working with a beta (and sometimes this results in going back to step one but personally i’m okay with that because i am an absolute weirdo when it comes to (solicited) critique). this is also where i start flagging whatever the three words i abuse to death and back each fic are and cursing myself for my limited vocabulary and OH MY GOD THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY HAND RELATED WORDS WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT

4. fine-tooth combing - at this point the thing is p close to post-able. i’ve started forcing myself to let things sit for 24 hours to clear my head and then i do my final read-through pass, making tweaks as i go.

writer ask game

[theintentioncraft]

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES - When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours.

I've been tagged by @lordbelacqua (thank you Dea! <3) to talk about Backlead aka: that one Masriel fic I wrote where I got massively carried away...

Rambling/essay under the cut - fair warning, it's a long one!

Okay so first of all just a little disclaimer that Backlead did not follow my usual writing process - the idea was 110% borne out of self-indulgence and it was also both my first foray into HDM fanfic and my return to fanfic as a whole after a long hiatus from writing, so for me this was really a chance to just get back into the swing of things. Everything from Heavenly Guard through to Swansong and all of my current WIPs follow a more structured process and I'm happy to discuss any of them in a separate post!

PLANNING: I tend to find with my fics that I either have a nice little timeline of events planned out pre-writing or I have a very specific event in my head and I just take that and see how things unravel from there and Backlead was 100% the latter.

All I had in my head initially was the ballroom dance scene and so a lot of my admittedly-minimal planning was around the technicalities of that particular section, as well as some of the more general details e.g Marisa's outfit, the setting of the ball, etc. Planning the dance was the most fun part because it was a chance for me to put a lot of my dance knowledge to good use and think up something that fits the back-and-forth way in which Marisa and Asriel frequently navigate their encounters. In a way though I'm actually very glad that a lot of this fic Just Happened instead of being planned out, sometimes it's nice to just run away with an idea!

MUSIC: This gets its own section because this is one of the most important things in my process. Every single fic I write is written to various pieces of music that just help me to put myself in the right headspace for whatever I'm writing at the time - sometimes its just a single piece of music (I wrote Swansong in one hour with just one track from the Unforgotten - a TV show in the UK for those of you not familiar with it - soundtrack on repeat) and sometimes its entire playlists. I do love geeking out about my music choices for fic writing so happy to talk more in a separate post about music for some of my other fics if anyone's curious!

For Backlead I found a couple of playlist-vids from the lovely raviolae on youtube that really worked wonders for my writing. This comes with a disclaimer that I did not necessarily attribute any of these specific songs to either dance scene and I wanted to leave that open for people's imagination - but it's still brilliant vibes for thinking about two once-lovers-now-enemies trying to one-up each other whilst ignoring how much they still find each other attractive.

The two playlist-vids in question are here: you're stuck on the dance floor with your rival and find out they're an annoyingly good dancer and you're dancing with your rival and both of you want to lead

WRITING: First step every time is to figure out who's POV I'm going to cover because that makes a major difference in the way I'm going to write. Characterisation is the big thing for me and there's nothing I love more than to really get inside a character's head and basically think like them, and figure out what makes them tick and how they'll react to the story I'm putting them in. With my initial idea for Backlead being basically about the subtle power dynamics of a ballroom dance, Marisa felt like the natural go-to for this one and I found it much easier in this instance to write in her headspace than in Asriel's.

I wrote this fic in a very out-of-order fashion. The first dance (the slower, waltz-style dance) was the first part I finished, then I did as hinted at above get very carried away and move onto the section in the hallway, then I went right to the start and covered the entire section leading up to that first dance. Then I revisited the hallway scene because I wanted to rework it (the initial version was planned to be more explicit and involved less dialogue - but I wasn't comfortable with writing out the former at that time and the latter got changed by way of me having a sudden burst of dialogue-themed inspiration). The second, more set piece style dance came last in terms of the 'major events' that I wrote purely because I spent a lot of time racking with my dance knowledge to try and make it work in a way that didn't feel forced.

My final major writing stage is to write the 'transitions' between each major part - small pieces where nothing particularly noteworthy happens but it helps the fic to flow from one conversation/event to the next and also sometimes allows me to sneak in a bit of characterisation that I couldn't fit in elsewhere.

Along the way I often leave sentences half-finished with a bracket indicator so I know to go back to it later or I make little notes if I've added something in that needs explaining earlier in the fic, and I make sure to sort those parts out before I jump to the self review/beta reader stage. A couple of examples are below:

Although sometimes this method does also annoy future me too 😂:

SELF REVIEW/BETA REVIEW: Whenever I finish a fic, it gets put away for a day or two and I stop thinking about it completely - if I'm using a beta reader (usually @thatlavanderbard but I sometimes enlist help from friends on discord), I'll send them a copy of my draft at this point so they can start going through and leaving comments for me to work on, but the idea is that when I go back to my work a few days later I'm looking at it with semi-fresh eyes and can properly sift through each sentence to make sure things make sense.

When I'm self-reviewing I generally tend to follow this order of operations: spelling/grammar check (via docs') -> flow check (making sure any deliberate time skips/POV changes/etc in my fic flow smoothly from one part to the next) -> address beta reader comments (because they almost always pick up on things I myself would've picked up on anyway) -> general detailed final read through to make sure I'm happy with every single line and it all makes sense.

Backlead didn't get a full beta read because I had hit a point with it where I just wanted it up ASAP and my impatience got the better of me, but the rest of the above self-review stages still happened and I still spent a fair few evenings going through it properly and also running the occasional sentence or two by some helpful discord friends if I didn't like the way it flowed but couldn't quite figure out how to remedy it!

POSTING: First step was to reset my AO3 password because I forgot it yet again whoops

On a more serious note this part is pretty straightforward - once I'm ready to post a new fic I generally just go on autopilot for this part of the process (other than when I get to 'additional tags' and immediately get brain freeze...). As soon as it's up on AO3 I swing by here to make a post about it, then swing by discord to drop the link to friends who may be interested in reading it and then I normally nervously scuttle away from my notifications for a while out of fear that people hate it lmao.

That last part was especially true for Backlead because of it being my first trip into HDM fanfic and I always get extra nervous when posting my first fanfic for a new show/game/etc. Thankfully I got quite a few nice comments both on here and on discord that provided good motivation to stick around and post a few more things!

I always panic when asked to tag people lmao but I'll tag @fortheloveofwii for any part of the Onward, Onward series, @lyracordelia for any chapter in Hiraeth or the fic as a whole, and @glassrunner for this absolutely gorgeous gifset of beautiful game soundtracks. Please don't feel like you have to do this if you don't want to though!

[isthatso7]

idk another part of my fic

a\n: this is my first attempt at writing if english( pls i need beta i suck

Title: Hyperspace blue

Characters: The Jedi Exile and Atton Rand

Basically, Exile and Atton meet on the Nar Shadaa under different circumstances. She works as a mechanic and he’s a smuggler.

UPD: posted it on AO3

Atton Rand woke up and sat up in his small, but cozy bed. His bedroom was filled with blue and pink glow from vibrant street signs and giant screens with giant faces on them. He needed to get ready; there was an another work waiting for him tonight. After a brisk shower and a scarce midnight breakfast he started to put his clothes on. He grabbed his old blaster with  holster from the desk and secured it to his belt. At last, he put on his ribbed jacket and left his rarely visited lair.

You know that feeling when your vessel is entering hyperspace? The sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, the feeling of acceleration that pushes you back into the seat. For Atton Rand, this feeling was like coming home, something that meant comfort and safety. You are in the alternative reality made of white and blue lines, and outside observers can mistake your freighter for an innocent and beautiful comet. He knew it was weak consolation and ships still could explode while traveling at lightspeed, but he still relished the idea.

“I know a place where we can change vessel’s ID. The owner is an old, partially blind Sullustan, but he’s the best you can find. ” Rand’s partner in crime was a reasonable guy he met while trying to make a living in the refugee sector of Nar Shadaa. Atton never really liked the Serroco gang, mostly because they were easy to jump to conclusions, conclusions that usually lead to violence. This guy called them family. But he was smart and really knew his job so they got along very quickly.

“And also there’s a female mechanic working there, a pretty gal, but she’s not the talking kind, and Force knows I’ve tried.” He sighed and stretched his arms and put his hands behind his head. They’d successfully accomplished today’s mission, and now they needed to hide hijacked vessel. A few more hours and they’d enter Nar Shadaa’s orbit, a few more hours and they’d be changing vessel’s ID signature and bringing it to the client. Another simple job done. He’d fallen into the routine of odd jobs and got used to never knowing where he is going to meet new day again. When they’ve arrived to Tien’s place, it was close to nightfall on the Nar Shadaa. But it’s hard to tell what time of the day it was  because there was no sun above you head. There were only dim street lights and animated neon signs.

The workshop was desolate at this hour. There were no customers and Tien was nowhere to be seen. The only working light was above the workbench where was sitting a slumped female silhouette. They both approached her and she didn’t noticed them at first, too consumed in examining some droid part lying in front of her while sipping caffa from chipped mug.

The girl lifted her gaze from her work and the light from the lonely lamp fell on her face. She looked a lot like those Serroco refugees, always with the blaster in the hand, ready to fight for their territory, their little piece of freedom, trying to protect each other at all cost. Her locks were jet black and she had a few short braids in front of her left ear and in the back of her head, adorned with little wooden beads. Her monolid eyes stared at them, her right brow lifted in a silent question. She had an unusual eye color - usually people with black hair had brown eyes, but hers were green. But what did he know about genetics? He was just a smuggler.

“Hey, Kano, is Tien here?” asked Atton’s companion.

“Well, Gar, he’s sleeping, because it’s one AM.” She smiled weakly with a sleep-deprived gentleness in her eyes.

“And why are you up?”

“I can’t sleep”.

“You look like you’re going to pass out any minute, Kano.”

She shrugs, “Still can’t sleep.”

Hm. That’s the mechanic he was talking about, thought Rand.

“I and my friend are in need of some services from the boss of yours.” He ran his hand through his short hair and smiled tentatively. Kano got up and looked out the wide glass window behind her. She grabbed a rag from the table to wipe grease from her hands. The mechanic was wearing dark blue jumpsuit with dirty, worn-out military boots. She noticed their starship on the previously empty landing pad.

“You’ve got a new ship?” She eyed them warily.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to wake him now.” Kano gulped leftover caffa and left.

***

Atton usually came around two or three times a week.

Sometimes he left the moment he got what he need.

Sometimes he tried to make small talk with the unfazed, steady and irreplaceable mechanic.

Usually, he started with: “Hello, Kano.”

And she would answer after a moment: “Hello, Rand.” And then she would put her face mask on to continue welding starship hull.

Sometimes he tried to ask her personal questions just to spite her. She made an impression of a person who probably was bullied in school, but never cared about it. An estranged girl that rarely let her thoughts to materialize in a form of spoken words.

“Do you live here? It seems like you’re always working.”

“I work every day.”  

“Why?”

She shrugged with a plasma torch recklessly swinging in her hand. Too cool to think about safety.

“What do you do after work?”

“I go home, take a shower, eat something, and fall asleep.”

“That’s really sad. Do you want to go out sometimes?”

“No.”

He rarely came around during the day, so most of his interactions with her happened during her night shifts in the poorly lit hangar or cluttered workshop. But he managed to catch the sight of little things about her. She had a stern gaze but a soft face. Her skin was sickly pale with a distinct green tinge. Her eyes were always looking at you with a hint of mistrust and suspicion, always watching out for sudden movements.

There was a look in her eyes that wasn’t obvious and he managed to catch a brief glimpse of it only once. But he understood it immediately. He saw them peeking through the cracks in her guise, eyes that reminded him of a wild animal, born and raised in the confines of a cage, malnourished and abused, only to suddenly become one day free and unrestrained.

“Why? Don’t you feel suffocated by loneliness?”

“There’s no need for your fake sympathy. I chose the job myself. I like it.”

Her smile was acidic. She knew he couldn’t figure out  what’s she was thinking about and tried to annoy her out of sheer curiosity. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he was acting like that with every person he found remotely attractive. Or maybe acting arrogant was just a part of smuggler’s professional work ethic.

“There’s no need to punish yourself, Kano. You deserve to have fun sometimes.”

“And you know how to have fun?”

“Yeah. A couple of drinks, beautiful companions and pazaak. And maybe some other stuff.”

She sighed and continued to repair broken protocol droid. Most of his jokes had zero effect on her. But he made her smile a few times. Atton would’ve never confessed to it, but he was proud of himself for doing that. That’s how he discovered most of her smiles were crooked and bleak. The only time he observed her having a beaming smile on her face was when she talked to an old rusty homicidal T1 utility droid.

***

Kano’s work attire never changed. She seemed to own at least dozen of navy jumpsuit, all in various state of weariness. He sometimes wondered what kind of clothes she wears outside work. He tried to imagine her in a sandy midi skirt and a ink blue jacket. But the jacket always turned to be very similar to the top of her jumpsuit, so he stopped and cursed his imagination. Usually he had no problem with imagining anyone in colorful outfit. Or without one.

“How old are you, K?”

He found out she hated when someone shortened her name. But she didn’t mind different pronunciations. Like, he heard people calling her “Kay-no“, “Kah-no” or even “Kah-nu”, but she never protested or corrected anyone.

“Don’t call me K, please.”

“So?”

“I’m almost thirty. And you, scoundrel?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Woaw.”

“What? I don’t look my age?”

“Really? Yes. What is the secret? You look twenty-two, flyboy.”

“That’s an ancient Sith technique. Only a few in this part of the galaxy know it.”

“Does it involve sacrificing a bunch of Jedi to an ancient Sith lord?”

“No. Just a lot of water and positive vibes.”

“Have you ever seen a Sith lord? A real one?”

“No, of course.”

“And you?”

“I haven’t too.”

“Do they really do that stuff?”

“I don’t know. I heard some stories, but you can never know the truth now that they’re gone.”

***

One day he strolled into the shop and Kano was wearing a white T-shirt. It hang a little bit loose. And that’s how he saw her pink burn scars all over her right hand and her neck. It only happened once. He tried asking how she got these scars, but she never answered. Hadn’t even stopped looking at the droid detail she examined.

“I’m going on a vacation,” She said suddenly when handing him the parts he asked for.

“Nice. Where to?”

“Telos IV.”

“If it was a decade ago, I would’ve been jealous of you. But now? C’mon, there’s nothing to see there. The ocean’s irradiated. Your skin will come off. Or the Citadel station will explode because of that shitty Peragus fuel.”

“They’re trying to rebuild. I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the zones where the atmosphere is restored. Almost like it was before.” She was delving into the old memories, he could tell it by her eyes.

“And who told you that? A shifty travel agent?”

“A friend of mine.”

“A friend? What kind of friend?”

Now he’s surprised. And maybe a little jealous. What, he thought she doesn’t have friends besides him?

“A kind that doesn’t lie about the peaceful landscapes.”

She wasn’t there the next time he visits. The almost blind Tien sat in her chair and a utility droid made a series of hostile  beeps following him around the shop until he left.