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treybriggsthewriter · 5 years ago

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This makes me nervous, but I’m going to post it. I’m going to try my best to achieve my goals. I’ve put in a ton of work already, so I’m looking for additional help.

From the campaign:

My name is Trey Briggs, and I'm a black woman who writes paranormal horror, speculative fiction, and other types of fiction. You can find my stories at MaybeTrey , Astrid the Devil , and on Instagram , Medium , and Wattpad .

My stories are aimed at black people who want to read dark stories that focus on original black characters that are complex and interesting. I genuinely believe Black audiences deserve a variety of genres to delve into, and I want to introduce them to paranormal horror, dark romance, and fantasy that they haven't gotten enough of in the past. I also believe that this can be done across multiple mediums, and I spend my money with black creative professionals to make these experiences extend beyond my words. For the last two years, I've run my stories on sites and Instagram to great reception. I like to craft complex experiences that offer looks at character backgrounds, side and backstories, full websites for each title, and more. I also provide encyclopedias, maps, audio journals, and other ways to get into each world. During these last few years, I've run into a lot of walls, jumped a lot of hurdles, and tried my best. I've worked with amazing black artists, voice actors, and actresses, musicians, designers, and more. I trust my ability to run a project, especially when it comes to planning and finding talent. My overall goal is to run a team of black creatives that crafts novels, graphic novels, audio experiences, and animated series for a dedicated audience.

Why I Need Help Long story short: I have the skill, I have the marketing/website building/business experience, and I have the drive. There's a lot I can do on my own, but there's also a lot that gets left behind because I don't have the money I need to proceed at a steady pace. I need help with funding so I can focus, hire the right people, and craft these stories the way they deserve to be crafted. I have thus far spent over $60,000 of my own money on my projects over the past two years - the writing and site-building are easy for me; the rest has to be hired out. I have art, site costs for hosting, domains, templates, specific plugins, and maintenance, audio (and vocal artists to pay), musical, and editing costs. I'm by no means rich or even particularly financially stable. I have taken on tons of extra clients for my digital marketing business, transcribed hundreds of hours of audio for dirt cheap, and taken out personal loans. I even worked a second full-time job along with my full-time business last year to afford to produce the content I love. It's starting to take a toll on my mental health. I plan on continuing to fund these projects out of pocket (and finding ways to do so), but having financial help, however big or small, would allow me to move a lot faster and with less stress. It would let me flesh out ideas and concepts that I have had to scrap because I can only physically handle so much extra work. I run a full-time marketing business from home, homeschool my autistic 10-year-old, and generally have a busy life. Some of the strain is taking a toll on me, and I don't want to give up. Having some financial backing could allow me to drop a client or two after a few months and focus on the work I love to do.

How You Can Help I mainly need a start—a sort of base. I want to emphasize that I plan to continue to provide the main bulk of funding for my projects. I know my goals are ambitious, and I know each step will take time and money. I welcome any help to make the process smoother and to get around the initial hurdles. I'd like to have ebooks and novels offered on my site by the end of the year (along with the free serials and stories). Funding means that I can broaden the projects, include more free aspects to my sites, and secure direct financing through sales of ebooks and audiobooks sooner. It also means that I can offer MORE stories, whether they are online only or fully fleshed out novels and sites. I am swamped with trying to work enough to cover all my bills and creative projects, so I lose a lot of time I could spend plotting and writing. If I have better funding, I can get my stories out quicker (and with fewer mistakes).

The Initial Stories Let's talk about my stories! If you're familiar with my work already, you can skip to the next section. My main story site is Maybe Trey . Currently, I have two big titles and a bunch of smaller ones that I am seeking help with funding: Astrid the Devil

Astrid the Devil is the complicated story of a girl who inherits not only her family's features and DNA, but their fears, struggles, and fights. It's the story of a condition called Devil Syndrome, the women who suffer it, and the monsters that devour them. It's the story of the fight to save the people you love at the expense of innocent lives. At its core, Astrid the Devil is the story of a woman who inherits the chaos of three generations before her. It's a look at what is truly passed down to our children, and how they're left to fight our battles in the aftermath of our failures. It's the tale of an indescribable monster and the women who struggle to defeat it. It's a journey into how their every decision could save or destroy an entire world. Astrid the Devil is the story of Astrid Snow, but her story can't be told without the story of the women before her.

Vicious: On MaybeTrey and The Vicious site (in progress)

Somewhere, a war is brewing. That's the only thing that's for sure to Junnie Gorton, a young horned girl suffering from a debilitating disease called Horn Rot. She typically dealt with her low survival rate and abnormally large horns by escaping the world with her best friend, Lewish. Now she's forced to figure out which side is which, save her entire species, and find out the truth behind the sudden uprising in her home. Horn Rot, a highly contagious and violent disease spreading through horned people, is causing mass amounts of madness and death. Normal horns grow in ways that will pierce, suffocate, and maim their owners, and the only one who can stop it is Junnie's mother, Lyria. As Lyria falls deeper and deeper into an anti-social revolt, the country reels. While Junnie broods, her entire species must prepare for mass extinction. Her brother plots with a group of people with less than good intentions and Lewish is quieter than usual. In a civilization brought up on extreme violence and competition, Junnie and Lewish try their best not to get swallowed by their culture, their lives, or their horns.

Bunni and Bosque :

Bunni lives. Bosque dies. We all know how this story starts. Bunni is obsessed with destruction and death. She comes from the healthiest Horned family in her country. She's from the oldest, purest bloodline in the world. And she's bored with it. Bunni spends most of her time trying to escape her duties as a pureblood. She wants things dirty, messy, foul, inconsistent. Having parents that are willing to kill to keep their bloodline pure is annoying. Knowing that she'll live a long, full life, produce more perfect children, and die unscathed is agonizing. Bunni wants something to mourn. We all know how this story ends. Bosque is destined to die an agonizing death, alone on his family's land. He's watched everyone he loved and grew up with perish. Sometimes it was because of their disease. Sometimes it was because of the malice and hatred of others. While he's absolutely withdrawn and satisfied with his life, Bosque has never had a chance to live it. He spends his days basking in the sun, bathing in wood baths, and contemplating the end. Bosque isn't interested in joining the rest of the world. He'd rather die out, alone, where his family belonged. Bosque wants to go peacefully. But neither expected to meet each other one day in a supermarket. Neither expected to fall in love, lust, and every vicious and dirty thing between. Neither expected to be so right for each other, all while being wrong for everyone else. You know the end of this story. Bunni lives, Bosque dies. But maybe something will change.

My smaller titles, Bunni and Bosque /Aite and Jude, can be found at Maybe Trey .

The Business Plan

The initial phase of my business plan is to get the sites populated with ebooks and audiobooks for sale. I also have prints that can be sold. Right now, I am in the audience-building phase while I save up for editing the full novels.

In terms of an actual business with which to publish the stories, I already have a registered publication company in Illinois: Wolfless Studios LLC. I took this step earlier this year with plans to self-publish Astrid and Vicious. So that is paid for and done.

I have also gotten initial editing done on the first six chapters of Astrid, though it will need to be edited from the beginning again once everything is said and done. I've spent over $1000 on that so far, and it would go a lot faster if I didn't need to save up to edit each chapter.

Astrid the Devil is fully plotted, outlined, and only needs the last three chapters. Bunni and Bosque and Vicious are newer, but plotted and already deep into character development (all being shared across social and Wattpad for audience growth). Aite and Jude and other shorts are plotted, and three other unshared stories are plotted and at the editing phase.

Other costs and ways I would use the funding (I would still put in my own money and do as much on my own as possible):

Initial $30K

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy edits for Astrid (currently at 250000+ words/expecting over 300000 at $0.02 rate)

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy Edits for Vicious

$3000 - $4000 Line and Copy Edits for Bunni and Bosque

ISBN Purchases (Separate ISBN for each format for each book) - https://www.myidentifiers.com/identify-protect-your-book/barcode

Covers for Astrid/Vicious/B&B Print Versions

Site Hosting Costs and Maintenance for 2 Years

Site completion for all stories

Initial store and app development

40K - Marketing and Graphic Novels

Social, Print, and Web ads

Email Marketing Campaigns

Booths at Decatur Book Festival (depending on COVID)

Social ads and promos

50 to 60 pages

First two chapters offered as free promo with email sign-ups

Audio journals for each character

Situational audio journals

Encyclopedia for Astrid (finishing up)/Vicious

65K - Hires and Next Phases

Ability to hire a Full-Time Editor

Audio Series for each (professionally done)

Vicious Graphic Novel

Additional Title Added

Short animations for both Vicious and Astrid (with plans to fund more with book sales)

Fleshed out Story Sections (Novellas for each character of each series)

Short comic series with Astrid and Vicious side characters

Possible to plan out monthly subscription service with new stories and 'story package' deliveries

75K -

Astrid the Devil Graphic Novel

Vicious Graphic Novel

Astrid the Devil Animated Short

Ability to hire part-time Web Developer

Additional bigger title

Anything Over - I ascend into pure light. And also, I can add titles, cover more mediums, and eventually expand my publishing to other black creatives.

From there, I should be able to handle the funding via sales of books, comics, audio, and more. Again, I will always offer mostly free content across the sites.

I believe in proof of concept, and I have diehard fans on my social platforms. With no outside funding, I've been able to a lot on my own. I'd love to expand my business into one that does the same for other black authors, artists, voice actors, and animators somewhere down the line.

Thank you so much for your consideration. I appreciate all my readers, present and future, and I appreciate any help!

See incentives and more on the actual campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-trey-publish-black-paranormal-horror-stories

Thank you so much!

#support black authors #writeblr #support black creators #black creators #original characters #original story #donate #buy black #black businesses #my writing #Astrid the Devil #Vicious #Bunni and Bosque #Aite and Jude #Trey Briggs the Writer #paranormal horror #speculative fiction #gofundme

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

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The Way to Hell - Part 8

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Smut, blood, violence, gunfight, choking, rough, angry, unprotected sex, foul language, bodily fluids.

A/N: Okaaaay, it’s time to fuck shit up. The moment you’ve been waiting for. I lost sleep over this chapter, writing action sequences is HARD!!! So please leave feedback! Thanks, @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Maw of the beast

Following the coordinates given to him by Knight, August steps through the muddy ground in the darkening evening sky. He listens to the squelching sound as his shoes sink into the moist mud, making sure the steps are his and his alone. His hand pushes a curled-up cooper fence that blocks the way and ignores the warning sign as he continues forward, following a man-made path of wooden planks.

A monstrous abandoned building towers in front of him, looking like something out of an Italian horror film. Scaffoldings and metal bars surround the dark concrete brick of what appears to be a spire or a gothic opera house of some sort, construction not nearly halfway finished.

August narrows his eyes with deep suspicion, making careful hesitant steps while looking around him. His hand reaches for the gun holster beneath the long beige jacket, ticking the clasp off in preparation of whatever awaits him tonight.

The entrance is guarded by two large gargoyles, leering at him from above a large archway. He stares back at the sculptures, focusing on their empty eyes before stepping through the open gate.

A great hallway welcomes him, accompanied by large pillars that guide the way inside. They’re engraved by winged creatures-angels or demons, he cannot tell. The corridor is showered by red construction lights chained to the floor, laid next to each tall column.

Bright enough to determine shadow from light, yet not strong enough to conclude if the deconstructed hall is a church, an opera house, or the gateway to hell itself.

Only one thing is certain: it’s most probably a trap.

August’s own steps echo in the acoustics of the tall ceiling. Marble shines on the floor through the wooden debris, and large sheets of nylons huddled on the floor. His soiled shoes step between them carefully, trying to listen to whomever walks with him among the darkness.

There in the umbra, a stalking predator moves behind the pillars. August pauses, his right hand resting on the grip of his gun while his ears capture the tapping sounds of small steps. An odd sensation spreads through each of his nerves, it almost feels like deja vu yet not as quiet. His heartbeat accelerates, her name rolling on the tip of his tongue even before the outline of her petite figure becomes clear.

‘How the fuck…?’

He might as well have summoned her into appearing by his endless thoughts of her. He can almost see her face as she moves with him with a succubus grin and shining eyes. She can tell he sees her, yet she does not bother hiding.

This is a game.

Aggravated, August sighs and moves to seclude himself behind one of the pillars. His gestures are nearly graceful, displaying a lack of panic even though the blood in his veins begins to boil. This will be the second time she is messing up his plans.

The petite woman moves through the columns like a playful ghost; she is silent yet in his mind, he swears he can hear her demonic giggles. August begins to slowly mimic her behaviour, stalking behind the opposing pillars like a large feline creature, watching her face and learning her movement methodically.

There is a loud drum in her heart, her muscles slightly quivering beneath the skin from the thrill of finally seeing him. The chase was prolonged, and even now where they’re finally sharing the same air, there is an unforgiving distance between them.

‘I will kill him with my own hands if I have to.’

Perhaps that’s the intimacy he deserves.

“You really value your life so little, princess?” August's deep voice finally graces her ears, and the baritone makes her heart flutter. Not out of fear, but the rush of having him close after days of chasing him with sick intent.

“On the contrary, Mr. Walker,” she replies with a smile on her soft-spoken voice, her eyes alternating between his figure and the path which is nearing its end. Arriving at the last wide column, she pauses, half-hidden behind the angels and demons that embellish the pale stone. August does the same, staring directly into her eyes from the other side.

No festive facade this time, just plain jeans and a black t-shirt. She grips her gun low to the side of her hip, her finger circling the trigger while her eyes stalk down his suited form, trying to learn as many details as possible. This time there will be no surprises, no hidden knives, or sins of vanity and arrogance which made her fail in the past.

“I told you, I will keep coming for you.”

“And I promised you, I won’t be merciful.”

A gun would be quicker, yet he would very much love to kill her using his bare hands. For a week the ghost of her face haunted him and now as her vision appears in the flesh all he fancies is to mount her small body and have his hands around her throat, squeezing hard until the breaking sound of her hyoid bone will fill his ears.

‘I wonder how many people know that it happens while choking someone to death.’

“I finally read your manifesto.”

The many images of him pinning her to the floor fade by the softness of her voice. His gaze pierces through hers. A shimmering glint sparkles in her eyes which are now painted twilight red by the lighting of the room.

“Do not mock me,” he warns while sliding his gun out from its holster. The sound of hard metal scratching against boiled leather makes her shiver with anticipation.

“I’m not. It’s beautiful, I mean it,” she replies with sincerity. Her eyes focus on August’s long index finger as it ticks the safety off. “The suffering I bring you is the bridge to ultimate peace.”

August scoffs as she recites his own words to him, mesmerized by how her voice speaks his own written vows.

“Are you trying to get me hard, princess? Because I’m halfway there.”

She offers him a slight chuckle, her mind tempting her with visions of his naked form, yet she brushes them away, her smile quickly fading. “Too bad, you have to die.”

“Too bad,” he answers back, his eyes drinking her pleasing sight one last time before a final farewell. He takes a hasty mental photograph of the facility, planning his strategy carefully, memorizing every exit route and possible guarding point.

“Well then, do we do this like in the American western films?” she taunts with a grin on her voice. “We count to four and draw? ”

He chuckles and shakes his head with amusement.

“However you wish to die, babycakes.”

“Alright then, on four,” she answers and turns to lean against the pillar with her back while cocking her gun, now switching to hold it between her hands while they are folded up, the barrel pointing to the ceiling.

“One…”

Stripping his jacket off quickly and throwing it on the ground, August prepares himself for the assault. With his back shoved against the thick column, he holds the gun close to his chest and glances at her from the corner of his eye. One eyebrow crooks up as determination paints his chiselled face.

“Two…”

The sounds of shots being fired shudder through the hall and ring painfully in their ears. Too loud to be able to hear the expensive stone blasting and falling apart at the floor. There is a high-pitched hum buzzing in Ingvild's ear as she crouches down to defend herself. Her hearing becomes somewhat impaired from the loud blast, making it near impossible to hear his movement.

He counts two shots from her weapon and sneaks on his knees to switch positions. Now hiding behind the doorless frame, which leads to another room. The lighting of the facility makes it difficult to see movement, and the gunshots have temporarily damaged their ears. He wants to praise her for selecting such a perfect location for a showdown, but he knows she won’t hear a damn thing if he will.

Breathing slowly, Ingvild sticks her head out carefully, just enough to seek his location. A whiff of violent wind grazes her cheek as a shot is fired too close to her face. She crawls back to her hiding position, glancing at the bullet that is pierced through the wall. Quickly, she sneaks out from her hiding place and sprints as fast as possible to stand at the same row of columns that August previously occupied.

He spots her movement and empties his gun four times, trying to hit her before she makes it to a barricade.

“Fuck!” he yells, missing her on all four shots. Her slender limbs and small figure make her far too agile for long-range combat, and he already spent 5 bullets. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he quietly slides down the wall and disappears into the back room. His eyes quickly run through the next corridor, finding nothing but construction equipment, the scaffolding that holds the wall, and a half-exposed wooden floor that seems unstable as it creaks beneath his shoes.

There is a disturbing silence coming from August’s frontier. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she attempts to sense his presence, trying to remember Liam’s training. Yet her heart pounds too fast in her chest making her forget everything she ever knew. She had endless successful terminations since she was 14, yet fighting August is like fighting Lucifer himself.

For the first time in her life, she feels doubt.

Grabbing a rock that fell from one of the pillars, she throws it into the room, hoping the movement will fool him and evoke him to shoot yet there is no reaction from him, which makes her conclude he escaped to another room.

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep silent, she presses against the wall, smoothly advancing toward what seems like a crooked door frame. Her hands reach inside first, her head turning back for a swift second to make sure he is not lurking behind in her dead-zone.

She makes her way into an unfinished hallway of some sort, her eyes seeking for August in desperation, trying to determine movement, her feet nearly floating in the air as she hopes to remain unseen. The stern silence is needling and pricking her skin.

The hunter is caught by her own trap.

Cold sweat covers her forehead, and a sharp intake of air is forced by her lungs as she feels his presence behind her. She attempts to turn and face him, but something hard hits her on the back of her head. Her knees lose the battle to the physical trauma, her gun falling from her shocked fingers as pain blooms through her head like an electric shock.

Feeling triumphant for a split second, August seizes her by the neck with incredible force, eliciting a distressed scream from her lips.

“Shush now, beautiful angel.” he coos at her and points the gun beneath her jaw. “You already died before, you know what awaits you.”

‘Nothing.’

August watches as she stares at him, helpless. Her big eyes reflect his face in cherry hues. She is drenched with fear, even her sweat is soaked with it. Darn. Doesn't it smell amazing, combined with her natural body odour.

It’s an aphrodisiac, making him semi-hard, drawing him to smell it.

Ingvild scowls with shock as he nuzzles her neck, his moustache scratching at her skin. A terrifying chill flutters through her spine, adding to the harrowing sensation of death’s welcoming invitation.

She is not accepting it yet, though.

Her hands grab onto his and struggle to hold the gun away from her face. She claws her nails onto his fingers, leaving bloody trails across his fists.

The gun fires five more times, emptied into the ceiling until it runs dry, shooting desolated clicks again and again until August grunts with wrath. Still holding her neck, he shoves her toward the wall and slams himself against her back. The wooden floor creaks beneath them, its foundations starting to become unstable beneath their chaotic dance.

“Why did you have to make this so fucking complicated?!” he barks at her, his hand lacing itself with her hair, pulling her head back against his chest. She can hear the stark sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath and watches as her eyes reflect on the sharp silver.

“Why do you have to be such a fucking cunt?!”

August rasps at her, attempting to anchor the knife against her throat. Bracing a leg against the wall, she counters herself and pushes both of them back, also managing to knock the knife out of his hand and set herself free of his grasp.

August’s shirt is stained with circles of sweat as she turns to face him; he is trying to catch his breath while glaring at her with blazing eyes. His infuriated gaze begins to travel lower, falling to the corner next to her and fixating on the floor. Bemused, she follows the direction in which his eyes are staring, finding her lost handgun resting on a pile of nylons.

Their eyes meet together in a piercing glare, trying to read each other’s thoughts and calculate their next move. There is nothing between them but their loud breaths and the throbbing in their ears as their hearts pound heavily.

Arrogant as ever, August is the first to make his move, lunging forward with ferocious speed. Infuriated, she moves to block him, her knee lifting high enough to kick his chest. Coughing violently he stumbles on his feet, his ankle thudding back through the rotten wooden flooring, causing the planks to fall through the basement level.

Ingvild stares horrified as the floor crumbles as if Hellmouth has opened in the ground. She attempts to step back, watching August fling his hands in the air as he loses his balance. His hand grasps the collar of her shirt, pulling both of them through the pit in the ground.

~*~

The air jolts from his lungs at once as his back hits the ground with incredible force and a twinge in his spine rips through his body, letting him know he is still alive. The sound of his own husky grunt is a plea in the darkness as his body remains stiff and immobilized.

A sharp chill prickles his skin, moments of distilled fear are cold on his sweat. His mind begs to move yet his muscles ignore it.

Somewhere in the eclipse of the room, he hears Ingvild’s suffering grunts. Small movements catch his attention from the corner of his eyes. Attempting to find her, he slightly sticks his head up, watching her crawl on the floor with immense effort. Her black jeans are torn at the knees, blood and dust cake her chafed flesh. She coughs, holding one hand over her chest while the other supports her weight on the basement floor.

Scratches and blood stain her once porcelain face, her hair is a mess while her eyes are glossy from both the struggle to breathe and the burning hatred that boils within her. Dragging her limbs, she breathes so loudly every exhale comes out as a shrieking mutter.

“You look so beautiful.” August mocks and chuckles in a rusty voice, his laughter melting into a pitiful cough. He manages to regain some of his motoric abilities, turning on one side, yet his body betrays him, every muscle screams with exhaustion as he attempts to get up.

While watching August trying to get back on his knees, the bile rises in her throat. A spike of adrenaline shoots through her heart, and like a screeching cat, she lunges at him. Her hands push him back down on the dusty ground, securing his neck. She thrusts his head down and tightens her grip, strangling him while screaming with despair.

She never hated anyone in her life as much as she hated him right now.

August stares at her maddened face as she lies on top of him. Tiny wrinkles from between her brows as savage cries tear from her mouth. Her thumbs suppress his intake of air and force at his jugular. All the while, tears seam at her beautiful grey eyes, he can see his own reflection in the translucent glass. His lips are parted open, face turning purple. It almost feels like falling asleep.

As his mind nearly drifts away, he thinks of Lacey.

‘Was I the last thing on her mind?’

Aching as they are, his hands find their strength, reaching around Ingvild’s delicate throat. She hisses in disdain, trying to lift her upper body away from his reach yet he pulls her flat against him with all that remains in him.

Tiny spasms shock through her entire body as his lips crush against hers.

Her whimpers are divine, so gentle and delicate. He hums as if he is eating the most decadent desserts and devours every angelic sound her body produces. His hands are large and stark, restraining her head. Coarse fingers latch around her jaw, tethering her every movement while he dominates her mouth.

The scent of his own blood fills his nostrils as her claws paint his jawline threads of crimson, a pathetic attempt to resist him. Gory trails sear his skin, yet he is distracted by sugary-sweet lips. Capturing her, he suckles hungrily, flirting between the south and north of her maw while his thick moustache leaves the skin above her upper lip red and irritated.

The devil’s kiss leaves her in daze, the touch of his lips made her heart beat to an irrational speed, fuming in her ears and between her thighs.

It’s as if her nightmare came to being in order to haunt her, or perhaps the pit they fell through is hell itself.

Fruitlessly she tries to pull away. Yet his grip is iron, her small breasts mash against his chest as he holds her and entangles their legs together. Somewhere amidst her impossible attempt to escape a dangerous throb awakens between her thighs.

‘No, I don’t want this.’

August’s sharp teeth nip at her succulent flesh, his tongue stubbornly fights to exhaust her defiance. Yet it’s not his mouth that tricks her into submission but a rogue gasp that rudely forces her mouth open as she feels him bumping his hips and grinding his rock-hard erection against her torso.

August smirks in vanity and exploits her disarray. Penetrating the hot velvet cavern of her mouth and groaning at the sweet cinnamon of her tongue. He licks and swallows every tender whimper while molten bliss dances through his tendons.

Fear of death is replaced by a whole new strain of terror, making her squirm as August conquers her mouth. Ingvild’s mind whispers dark words, keenly reminding her that August Walker will not settle for just a kiss. The thought of his Adonis-like naked body pressed against hers sets a wild shiver in her arms. Horrified, she releases his neck and begins hitting his chest, exploiting the last drops of strength that still stream in her muscles. Her fist ploughs at him, seeking for that weakness until finally, his punishing mouth tears away from hers with guttural growl.

Ingvild inhales sharply. Rage is hot and loud on her breath as she glances down on the man who violated her mouth. His unforgiving hands slide from her nape to her shoulders, caging her forcefully while his tongue flicks to clean himself from her taste provokingly.

A malicious smirks sparks his face as he watches her grey eyes turn into crimson. The sight of her mouth engorged and glistening from his abuse is enough to make his cock twitch with sheer anticipation. He wonders how hot and wet she is for him down below, how wonderful she will sound taking the entire length of his cock.

“I bet your cunt tastes even better.”

The blood seethes in her. Any coherent thought is lost, there is nothing but hatred as she bestows him a sharp smack across the face, causing him to turn his head aside from the force of her slap.

Iron caresses his tongue as he tips it at the small gash that formed in his lower lip.

‘Just like Lacey.’

He growls at her dangerously, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening. He readies himself to hit her back but is stopped by delicate lips that smear blood across each corner of their mouths.

Like an animal licking her prey, she drinks him.

For a moment she feels weightless, floating feather-like, anchored by nothing but the gravity of his strong body beneath her. But the yearning to brutalize him grounds her back to reality. She bites and sucks, her fangs creasing small cuts at his chin and the apex of his lips before moving to torment his mouth which kisses back at her in a wet synergy.

‘I knew it’d be fun to break her.’

August's hands travel south her spine, capturing her taut ass and squeezing it tightly. The heartless succubus tries greatly to be aggressive, yet he finds her kisses delicate as butterfly wings flapping on his flesh. The warm hums of her voice tickles his throat and her taste, a fear and lust mixed elixir.

He could swear he has never been this hard in his entire life.

Unrelenting desire flows through him, having had enough with letting her explore. He takes the reins and flips her down into submission. His tongue writhes into her mouth, snake-like and slippery while his hands ravage her body. He kneads and gropes, making sure to be as crude and ruthless. He hopes to hurt her every possible way.

She wriggles beneath him, legs locked, entwined between his, her boots kicking the ground helplessly. Sharp talons tug at her shirt and her bra at once, huddling it up beneath her chin. Just enough to expose her perky breasts to feast upon. August breaks away from her lips, staring at her naked chest while his teeth chew at the gash in his bottom lip.

A rosy blush spreads down her naked torso, the cries that leave her mouth speak of just as much pain as they tell of pleasure. August’s fingers thread between her peaked nipples before reaching to kiss and nip at her breasts. Ingvild shakes beneath him, exclaiming small hisses as his teeth leave purple marks across her body.

“Remember how I promised I’d fuck you, princess?” He asks darkly, a twisted fascination marking his face as his finger traces the stitches on the wound he gave her.

“I wish you’d die.” she bites back with loathing to which he replies with a cold smirk.

“You can’t even get that right, little girl.”

Snarling like a possessed thing, she finds herself clawing at him. Berserk, mind twisted, sick with desperation, her hands seek through the shadows, nails ripping and yanking at fabric and skin, shredding at whatever she can find until his battered body is exposed to her.

August huffs at her, his nostrils flaring. The small vixen beneath him awakens his every primal instinct; he wants to gnaw at her bones, to reduce her to nothing as he fucks her through her tears.

The violent scuffle to remove her jeans takes seconds. Sturdy fingers tug at both her undergarments and her trousers, pulling them down the bones of her hips in sheer brutality while she snakes her hips and kicks her feet. Exposed to the chill of the room and to August’s darkest needs.

Alarm spikes in her chest, beating with anxiety as his hand runs smoothly up and down her creamy limbs. Her legs shut together instinctively yet the beast shoves his knees between her thighs, starved to enter the warmth of her body. He fumbles with his belt, and the noise of the buckle clicking makes her jostle with fright. She attempts to catch that whimper before it leaves her mouth yet fails. August sneers, pulling out his large erect cock and letting the base grind against the wetness of her slit.

One hand cradles her skull, his thumb pressing against her lips, holding her head in place. The horror feeds him, stupendous panic, making her shiver beneath his large body.

The frozen girl who never feared death is afraid of him.

Feasting on her sight, he reaches his fingers to his mouth, letting his slippery tongue flake the tips. His thick saliva coats them before he sends his hand down to lubricate her inviting slit.

Ingvild’s breath suspends as scenes of her nightmare come to life. August hovers above her like a great incubus, and she muses if this is all but a dream, yet the brush of his wet fingers between her petals proves to be the only thing that feels real in her existence. There is a pulsating void in her chest and between her thighs, aching at his touch.

“Fuck.” he calls out ecstatic as the tip of his fingers finds her sleek and hot. Unable to wait anymore, he immediately grips at his cock and positions himself in her narrow slit. ”You’re soaked, you want this.”

Frozen in time, her breath takes away as the hard velvet of his manhood breaches her entrance, desecrating her with sin. His invasion into her body is brutal, ripping through her fresh core, while chanting moans of the most divine pleasure.

Every sensation becomes vivid inside her as he is buried in her depth, the astonishing, overwhelmingly tight grip around him, the nails that bite into his biceps, the small body that shudders unstoppably.

It almost feels as if he just broke something inside her.

“Oh…”

Realization seeps into his mind as she remains still but for the twitch in her muscles. Frowning bemused, he tilts his head down, noticing the quiver in her lip and the wetness beneath her glassy eyes. Ingvild watches silently, white with shame as August reaches his fingers to the space where they’re connected and returns them stained in crimson.

“Huh,” he exclaims, playing with the blood between his fingers before landing his palm next to her head. Sick pride poisons his beautiful blue eyes, his tarred heart singing of great victories. He didn’t think it was possible to be even more aroused, having wanted her for so long, but the fact that he just stole something from her that she will never gain back drives the degenerate feral animal inside him wild.

“Did I just pop your cherry, princess?”

Ingvild answers with silence, ignoring the arrogance that beams on his face and the searing pain inside her. She feels the warmth of her blood and the righteousness of her walls trying to defend her lost honour while his manhood throbs inside her with excitement.

Ever so slowly, he pulls out, his mouth ghosts over hers, aphrodisia coursing through his veins, fueled by the despaired gasp that leaves her mouth.

“Aww…” he coos at her yips and cries with false sweetness, his hand snapping at her inner thigh, handling it against his hip to force another punishing thrust. Pain surges through her cervix as he hits too deep. His low groans are languished, guttural melodies of pleasure.

“You feel so good, princess.”

Unwilling to succumb to his cruelty, she growls in anger. As he pulls back for the third time, she pushes hard to meet his thrust, taking his thick cock all the way into her chasm. Still raw, her muscles scream with protest yet she grits her teeth and smiles twistedly, unwilling to let him triumph over her.

August closes his eyes with delight, an onslaught of curses spilling from his lips at the sensation of her succulent walls engulfing him with woven warmth. He couldn’t be gentle with her even if he wanted to. His entire existence calls to shred her, to see her lips parting to small pathetic sobs of pain and pleasure as he conquers her.

Pain still spasms in her core as he drives into her in a lewd manner, yet the odd sensation of fullness achieved with the reach of his cock to the pit of her cervix evokes a new pleasant tingle in her essence. Like a gentle chord it vibrates, playing the sweetest music and blooming within.

Every time he pulls away, she suddenly grows desperate for his return.

‘More please, more.’

Deep whimpers and laboured groans fill the empty spaces between the shadows, creating a violent harmony as August fucks into her in a wild, primal rhythm, ending every thrust with a slam which makes her arch against him and tear his skin with her nails.

They can feel themselves pulsating in rage against one another, flesh slapping into flesh, blood and fluids, hot, savage like animals, reduced to nothing but their carnal lust. Their bodies move in unison, lips and tongues collide, teeth nipping at each other.

“You like that?” August rasps, his voice cracking into groans as he continues to pump in and out mercilessly, feeling her walls growing tighter, milking his cock in demand to drain him from his generous offering.

A hazed memory of a long time ago brushes through his mind. There’s a familiar sensation to this, surging through his ribcage, a desire to unload all his anger and hatred into someone else, to be baptized by her essence. It makes him fuck her harder, mistaking the thought that he could experience the slightest moments of redemption.

‘She doesn’t feel like that ungrateful bitch, nothing about her does.’

Ingvild bites her lip tightly, withholding from crying his name. There is a wholeness in her she never felt before. Tears well in her eyes, loving and hating the way his body fits inside her, making every sensation she ever felt in her life become insignificant. All that matters is his lips, heart, and cock as it sinks into her in an unstoppable pace until the colours and tunes dance in her heart, and a burst of white flames explode within her.

For the first time in her life, she comes around something, feeling complete.

‘She looks beautiful when she comes.’

“I’m going to come inside that virgin pussy of yours.”

August gasps a threat as he rocks above her, astonished by the sight of ecstasy on her face. His balls clench against the seam of her cunt, and his cocks swell between her clutching muscles. Spiralling out of control his fingers snap at her feeble throat, choking tightly as he’s thrown beyond rapture. Ignoring her desperate fight for air, his orgasm takes him by force. He moans deeply and spills his seed into her virginal womb.

Sobbing gasps leave her mouth as he strangles her. Tears roll from the corners of her eyes, falling down to her dusty hair in the dim light. Too meek to fight him off, she watches as his stare turns black, lost in some trance.

‘What are you doing to the girl, August?’

As if waking up from a dream, he snaps back and gazes down on her, surprised by the vulnerability and fright in her grey eyes as his hand holds her down.

‘End this.’

He frowns at himself, nearly frustrated, his hands releasing her slowly, backing away in the air, allowing her to breathe once again.

‘You fucking idiot.’

August watches her heave, sobbing beneath him silently. Her skin trembles beneath his heavy body. Shock and grief storm in her eyes at her lost innocence. As his knuckle grazes her cheek, she suddenly flinches and looks at him oddly.

The blue ocean in his glance shows no emotion, yet he croons at her and comforts her with the soft hush of his lips. His coarse thumb dries her tears, wiping them away and stroking her hair to cease her from shaking.

“Shhh… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

His touch is tender, almost relaxing. But the more she stares at him, the more chaos charges in her chest, making her want to scratch her own eyes in anguish. Pushing him away, she forces him off, guilt-ridden and ashamed. She tugs her shirt back down and fumbles for her pants desperately. A pink mixture trickles down her inner thigh as she pulls her jeans up.

Her blood, his semen.

His cock is coated by her innocence as well, tainted by a thin layer of blood. He chuckles to himself, coldly while sitting up and holding himself from making a humiliating joke about it while she moves around between shadow and twilight.

Unaware of what to say or do, he pulls his trousers back up and stands on his feet, trying to find his remaining piece of clothing before deciding what to do with her.

The sharp sound of a gun’s barrel being stretched pauses his musings before they even begin to take shape. His glare lifts up slowly to meet hers. There she stands, the untrustworthy whore, her gun gripped between her hands. A distressed look on her tortured bleeding face.

‘Just like the rest of them.’

Her lips tremble as she speaks, her brow rising up as if out of mercy.

“I have to kill you.”

A burst of light flashes in the room, making her grey eyes shine so bright they glisten like stars in the darkest skies.

It’s the last thing he sees before his world goes black.

_____________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise and/or August Walker

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker Fanfiction #mission impossible fallout #Mi6 #Mission Impossible Fanfiction #Fanfiction: August Walker #August Walker x OFC

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fellulahh · 5 years ago

Text

‘Mammon visits MC in the human realm and Lucifer gets jealous’ Part 9/???

Read Part 8 here!

Lucifer looked up at Satan with vulnerable eyes. Fear ran through his mind as the rose tinted glasses he’d been wearing for the past month were finally removed. He’d been a puppet in Diavolo’s plans.

Reading Lucifer’s mind, Satan spoke softly. “You need to go.”

As he stood outside the familiar doors of Diavolo’s colossal palace, Lucifer took steady breaths as he held MC’s package in his hands.

It’d taken some time, but Lucifer managed to order the brothers to stay at the house while he delivered the gift to her. He silently hoped to himself that she wouldn’t turn him away at the door. Barbatos let him in, greeting him as he would do usually.

“Lucifer.” He nodded, “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

“Good evening, Barbatos - can you lead me in the direction of MC?” Lucifer asked as he stepped into the huge entranceway.

“Of course.”

Having been led through the castle to the room which MC resided in, Lucifer’s heart quickened as he tried to hold back his anger. He’d been to Diavolo’s palace many times - he knew exactly which chamber was his. Conveniently, it was opposite MC’s.

Knocking gently, he waited for her voice to call. It’d felt like it had been forever since he heard the angelic words that fell from her lips. As he heard her speak up from the other side, he slowly opened the door.

Looking up from where she sat, MC’s eyes widened when she recognised the dark hair that first appeared, followed by a gloved hand and a red waist coat. Her heartbeat quickened as she gawped at Lucifer stood in the doorway. He met her eyes as he pushed the door shut.

MC was speechless as he looked at her sombrely. His heart melted, seeing her face for the first time in weeks. The stress of everything slowly evaporated as he entered her presence. “Lucifer?” She asked in disbelief.

“I had to see you.” He breathed abruptly.

She remained silent as she stared at him. So many emotions filled her body all at once; anger; disappointment; sadness; love. MC waited for him to explain his presence. Pulling her duvet up to her chest, she watched his every move.

He let out a deep breath as he stepped further into the room, placing the gift in his hands onto her dresser. MC’s face softened when she studied his expression. Usually he’d always seem so reserved, hiding any emotions he may have but for the first time she saw the hurt in his eyes. She’d never seen him without his shield of pride encasing him. Despite all of the anguish she held for him, her heart let her down. She wanted to throw herself across the bed and hug him.

“I owe you an explanation.” He spoke in a calm manner as he placed a hand on his chest. “Do you mind?” He asked, pointing at the empty space on the bed beside her. Shaking her head, she allowed him to perch next to her body. “I still haven’t quite accepted what we’ve done.” He admitted in a whisper. “You probably think I regret our night together.”

“That’s the only impression you’ve given me.” She spoke quietly, “Can you blame me for thinking it?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just know that it’s not true - there hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t thought about it.”

She listened to him intently, her gaze flickering between his troubled eyes.

“Since you left us I’d struggled to make it through the day without missing you. Things were so much easier with you around - I hadn’t realised at the time but you were my beacon.” He half chuckled as she continued to remain silent. “But my work never lessened. I almost had a sense of relief when you left - I feared that if things were to develop between us they’d soon fizzle out because I was unable to find the time for you. I worried I’d hurt you.”

MC blinked as she processed every word carefully. She felt a pang of sadness, hearing Lucifer’s fears.

“When I came to see you in the human realm, I’d never felt such a sheer sense of happiness seeing your face again.” He admitted, “I began to wonder to myself, perhaps things could work - maybe I could finally find the perfect balance between my responsibilities and our relationship.”

The mention of a relationship made her breathing grow quicker.

“But when I held you in my arms and felt two souls I’d never felt so frightened.” He spoke truthfully with trouble glazing his eyes, “Suddenly all of my fears came back. If I can’t devote my time to you, how am I supposed to give it to a baby?”

“I don’t understand...” she sighed, her face saddening. “Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because I have a new fear.” He spoke quietly.

“Being?” She asked impatiently.

“I take too long to figure it all out.” He answered, “And then when I do, it’s too late.” He spoke, referring to the image of Diavolo and MC in his head.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say to me...” MC stated. She hadn’t seen Lucifer in weeks and now he’d just shown up and opened his heart up to her. He’d mentioned so many things that she didn’t know what to focus on first. “What does all of this mean?” She asked as she heard the door open.

“That I—“

“Lucifer, what a surprise!” A voice called.

Diavolo’s appearance almost scared MC. Both of their heads spun round to face him. As much as she enjoyed the Prince’s company, her heart cried as he interrupted the moment she was sharing with Lucifer.

“My Lord.” The eldest brother nodded.

“I see you two are speaking.” He smiled, “I was surprised when Barbatos told me you were here - the timing couldn’t be better. Come, I have a serious matter to discuss with you.”

Lucifer wanted to refuse but he knew he couldn’t. “Of course, My Lord.”

He got off the bed, leaving MC as he walked across the room. Before he left however, he picked up the parcel that he’d previously left on MC’s dresser. “A gift from us.” He nodded as he placed it in front of her. “7 things from 7 brothers.”

Before MC could even thank him, he stepped out of the room after feeling Diavolo’s eyes burning into his skull.

Watching them both leave, MC was left overrun with emotions. What did all of Lucifer’s confession mean? Was he building it all up to admit that he’s not ready to be with her or worse: that he doesn’t want to be with her?

Trying to avoid overthinking it, her eyes fell on the package as she reached for it, carefully opening the lid to see what was inside.

A smile erupted onto her face when she scanned the contents. Her entire complexion lit up when she pulled out the bottle of specially made iced tea that Asmo had obviously put in for her - he knew it was her favourite. Of course, the Polaroid selfie of him he’d stuck to it also gave her a clue.

Digging further into the box, she pulled out a large book. She noticed a piece of paper on the inside cover. ‘Satan’ she smiled, reading his writing on the note.

Words couldn’t describe her happiness as she continued searching through the box, pulling out various items. Levi had given her his limited edition copy of TSL, Beel had supplied her with a box of his favourite cookies with a note saying ‘for you and the baby’ (although she was adamant he’d eaten half) and Belphie had bought her the softest looking blanket to remind her of him.

Seeing something else that was fabric in the box, she reached in. Her face softened completely when she pulled out a tiny baby onesie. Rotating her hand so that she could see the design on the front, her heart practically exploded as she worked out who’d provided the gift.

Embroidered onto the tiny babygrow were the words ‘I love my Uncle Mammon’.

She laughed at the present as she wanted nothing more than to give the white haired demon the biggest hug in the world.

Having seen 6/7 gifts, she searched the box for Lucifer’s. She was desperate to see what he’d given her. Reaching to the bottom, she could see a small box. As she wrapped her fingers around it, she fished it out before eagerly opening it.

“Luci...” she whispered to herself as she found her heart beating rapidly.

Unable to believe what was in front of her, she removed the contents of the tiny box. Holding up the gift, she had a mesmerised expression as she admired what she held.

Holding it close to her, she continued to gaze down at the small chocolate lizard that was still wrapped the same way as when she bought it for Lucifer all that time ago in London.

‘He kept it after all this time...’

OOFT what did we think?!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me imagines #obey me one shot #obey me fanart #obey me diavolo #obey me fic #obey me drabble #obey me imagine

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ragnarachael · 5 years ago

Text

Joyride

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: You're heading back to your apartment after a game night at a friend's place when you encounter Loki for the first time since his invasion in 2012.

Author’s Ramblings: hi!! this is my entry for @gingerwritess writing challenge! congrats on 4k!!! 💖 (i hope it’s okay i’m only like 100 and some odd words past 2k,, apparently i couldn’t make it less than that for the life of me)

Warnings: talks of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus! (it’s nothing too graphic, if i’m being honest. and yes, blame National Theatre Live for this), reader is kinda hesitant in the beginning about Loki bc of the whole “take over NYC” thing. that’s really all i can think of for warnings!

LOKI TAGLIST: @sadwaywardkid

MASTERLIST ! FEEDBACK ! AO3 LINK !

You saw him on the A Train. You noticed his lithe form when you took a minute to glance up from your book.

Him as in the one who took New York in his clutches momentarily back in 2012 while you were in the middle of a shift at the coffee shop you used to work at that was just near the main spot of action. Loki.

It was only the two of you on this train at this time of night. You were heading back home to your apartment where your dog would most likely be sleeping on her assigned side of the bed, passed out after trying to wait up for you. Your friends hosted a game night and insisted you had come.

And you kicked ass in Scrabble, Life—Spongebob Edition, you remembered picking Squidward as your token to play the game—and even Cluedo.

And you never won Cluedo.

You were proud of yourself. Three wins on one game night is better than nothing. Usually, you’re a sore loser every time you’re invited over.

It seemed like everything was going your way tonight.

Until you caught Loki studying the cover of your book as you read.

After you finished your last book on the train on the way to work, you decided to shove your worn copy of Coriolanus in place and never bothered to take it out. So naturally, that was your reading material of choice tonight as you waited for the final stop.

“May I help you?” You questioned, glancing up at the God that sat across from you. When he didn’t reply, you tried to direct your attention back to the book pages, rereading the huge section you had just skipped over

You heard him shift, which made you look up at him again. However this time, you maintained eye contact.

What do you say when a murderer is looking at your book late at night on your train back home? You didn’t want to end up dead by the end of this interaction. You had a life to carry on with. Manuscripts to finish, your dog to take care of, your parents to mildly ignore when they tell you how you should be living.

Not dead on the A Train after being slain by Loki, the God of Mischief.

He seemed like he was in a trance when he apologized quietly.

That was... odd.

“I.. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice the author’s name on the cover of your book,” he spoke up, finally leaning back on the seat as the train started to go in the direction of the third to last stop for the night. “Shakespeare, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes,” you said hesitantly, fighting the urge to look at the cover yourself to make sure that it was Shakespeare, even though you knew exactly what it was. “Another tragedy.”

“May I ask which? The title seems to be scratched off.”

You could feel your face heating up at his words. He noticed that? Now that you thought about it, it made sense that he was staring so long for the title.

“It’s uh, Coriolanus. Roman soldiers and stuff. Right up your alley if you think about it,” you said, your eyes darting back to the pages you were permanently stuck on. You didn’t want to see his reaction when he figured out you knew him.

Loki seemed stunned at your reply for assuming such. It’s not like you had been wrong. You did some research on Asgard a while after 2012 and learned a thing or two about their politics.

Quite Roman-esque in your unprofessional opinion.

He seemed to mull it over for a moment before letting a chuckle out. “It appears you may be right, darling.”

Darling.

That made chills run up your spine. Not... not in a bad way, though. You wouldn’t mind him calling you that again, as a matter of fact.

The conversation was cut by the screeching breaks of the train. You both braced yourselves in your seats so you didn’t slide with gravity as the train finally got to a stop, reaching the third to last station.

The doors opened for no one, and waited.

There was some sort of silence you couldn’t decipher as the doors waited for no one to arrive. You turned the page to your book, pretending to be reading. Your mind was still replaying the words Loki said.

Mainly darling, but that's besides the point.

Eventually, the doors closed and the train was back to moving. Loki was back to looking at your book cover, and you actually got pulled back into the script.

Until you were interrupted again.

“Why is your copy in such poor quality?”

Loki’s voice was like velvet as he started to take interest in you again.

“I’ve had it for a long, long time.”

That answer seemed enough for him. You started to reread a line of Volumnia’s when he continued speaking.

“Could you tell me more about it?”

You wanted to hold yourself back, you really did. Maybe he had some kind of motive to do something bad? You don’t know if he’s turned good. He could still be the same man he was in 2012. Regardless of your thoughts running wild, you awkwardly scooted a bit subconsciously to make more room for Loki to sit next to you. That’s when you knew it was game over.

You told him about the plot in deep, deep detail. You spoke about each character as if you had written this play yourself. It was, after all, one of your favorites that you’ve been reading since your senior year of high school.

Loki sat and listened intently, drinking in your unabashed excitement as you recounted everything that happens in this play; it was as if you had actually been in Rome when the play was set.

He found it endearing. Most mortals were not passionate like you were about literature—or anything period. But, on the other hand, Loki hadn’t talked to many mortals since his deal with the Avengers granted him his freedom.

Another thing he found interesting, he could listen to you talk about Shakespeare for hours.

Loki had only read some of the cliché plays that were written. Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Twelfth Night. They all grasped his attention and he read them thoroughly when he had the time. But there seemed that in this moment, there was nothing quite like Shakespeare’s Coriolanus.

The train ride was less excruciating once you were talking. You found that Loki was actually well educated and not as much of an asshole as he seemed. Loki found you even more attractive than he had when he stepped into the train car.

You were in the middle of passionately explaining Volumnia’s relationship with her son when the train came to a stop again, announcing the last stop.

Neither you or Loki wanted this to end.

“I—I’d love to keep going,” you started, suddenly realizing you spent so much time speaking, “but this is my stop.”

The usual dialogue came from the speakers as the doors wheezed open. Loki stood up from his seat with you as you gathered your things, your book in hand.

“I fear this may be too forward,” he started, suddenly feeling nervous. “But may I walk you home?”

Never in your years of living did you expect to be asked by the man who took New York in his clutches to be walked home in the dead of night.

And never did you think you’d say yes.

The two of you fell in step as you walked out of the subway car, silent as you took in the emptiness of the subway station.

It was peaceful. A small part of the city that somewhat slept. You realized that you were less tense than when you started this journey, and smiled small as both you and Loki took the steps two at a time to reach the surface.

Both of you made it onto the sidewalk before you realized something.

“You know,” you started carefully once your bag was secured on your back, “you don’t need to walk me back. I’m sure you have a curfew or... or something—“

“Darling, I assure you, I’m not needed back at the tower.” Loki gripped your hand gently to pull you to a full stop on the sidewalk now. “I’d much rather hear your passion for this work than hear my brother drone on about his lover.”

For some reason, that confession combined with his touch made your breath hitch. His hand felt as if it wasn’t warm, but not cold either. It was like the perfect temperature.

Suddenly your mind wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms. You were quick to wipe away that thought by blinking up at Loki, furrowing your brows together.

“Are you sure? Sounds much more invigorating, hearing about someone’s dating life rather than being told about a Roman soldier in depth.”

“I am positive,” Loki chuckled in reply. “Your knowledge on this play is far better than any mortal’s. Almost as if you had studied with the Bard himself.”

You felt your face heat up from the compliment, and decided to keep your hand locked in his as you started to walk down the sidewalk again.

“Flattering gets you nowhere, Loki.”

“I’m merely speaking the truth!” His voice sounded like he was accused of something like a child. This made you laugh. You just shook your head to dismiss the subject

“So, back to Volumnia and how she’d rather her son die in battle than live a life of shame?”

“Please. I’m all ears.”

The walk back to your apartment was quicker than you expected as you broke down the rest of the play. And for once, you didn’t want to sleep. You wanted to stay up and keep talking to Loki. You didn’t care about the time or the place, you wanted to keep talking.

Even if you’ve exhausted your extensive knowledge on this play.

You and Loki stood in front of your apartment building, laughing at a small joke you had made about Caius Marcius yearning to fight Aufidius during an important meeting.

The blanket of silence between you two was comfortable. You noticed Loki’s gaze seemed soft. Almost... loving. You tried to ignore it, but he seemed so smitten in this moment. The moonlight hit his face just right which made you swoon internally when you saw just how handsome he could be in the different lighting of the night.

“I really should get going,” you sighed, letting the heel of your hand gently rub at your eye. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Loki shifted his weight on his feet, seeming just as dejected as you. It was nice knowing you both didn’t want this night to end.

“I’d like to see you again, if that—“

“Yes,” you cut him off instantly, looking up into his eyes. It was like a trance. You admittedly loved every second of it.

He chuckled at your sudden response. Minutes, maybe even hours ago, you two had wanted nothing to do with each other.

And yet here you both stood, smitten in conversation, dancing around the harsh reality that you’d have to carry on with your lives after you stopped talking.

You licked your dry lips slowly, a smile settling across your features before repeating yourself again. “Yes please.”

Loki smiled back at you before nodding. Neither of you knew what to do from here. It seemed as though goodbyes weren’t your forte.

You fumbled for a moment, almost as if you were getting your keys from your bag.

Which you were doing, Loki realized. Getting your keys. And a pen, it seemed. You were quick to bite the plastic cap off before opening to the first page in your copy of Coriolanus and writing.

Loki tried to see what you had written, but you were far too fast. By the time he tried to get a closer look, you were done writing and capped the pen before closing the book and passing it over to him.

“A reason to see me again.”

You sounded breathless, as if you had just ran into him on the street and dropped everything onto the ground. Loki felt his heart speed up momentarily before taking the book carefully.

“I already had a reason, darling.” Loki’s smile knocked the breath right out of you before he stepped a little closer to get in your personal space, reaching for one of your hands. You weren’t sure as to what he was doing until his long, gentle fingers were grabbing your own and lifted it up to press a kiss to your knuckles.

You were blushing. You were certain of it.

You said your final goodnights for the night, Loki patiently waiting until you were in the lobby of the building to actually take his leave with your book.

#gingers4kwc #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson #loki odinson imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson #marvel #marvel writer #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #rachael writes #mcu imagine #mcu x reader

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quinncupine · 4 years ago

Note

okay, so this is most definitely a dumb question (but I am new to Tumblr and kind of horrible with technology, so please forgive that), but how do you create a masterlist page? and how do you post your fics without them being under the "posts" page? Also, I am rather invested in your Taken series hahah. I love the way you write Izuku!!

No question is a dumb question! And thank you, I'm so happy you like my taken series! I really relate to Izuku so I'm glad you like how he's written, it makes ma heart do little pirouettes☺ Now let's talk about Masterlists! I'm gonna put it under here cause it got a bit long! Heh

The first step is to create a new post ( which is that little pencil icon in the top righthand corner of the page on desktop and at the bottom righthand side on mobile) then label whatever you want your masterlist called.

Next, depending how you want to organize your categories, you can write down the titles of whatever your putting in your list. For example I separated mine into a few categories such as Izuku X Reader, Izuku Centric, and a few others. It all depends on how you want to organize your posts. You can jazz it up with pictures or dividers, whatever you want like I did below! When everything is finished the linked works will be underlined like this:

Once you have the layout you want, its time to add the links! If you don't know how to add links, its pretty simple!

On desktop (I find desktop a bit quicker than mobile), open a new tab and go to the post you want to use.(I'm using my navi post as an example here!) Hover the mouse over the righthand corner until it folds down. Right click on the grey part and a pop up menu will appear. There will be an option to copy link. Click it.

If you're on a post that doesn't have the three dots in the corner thats okay too! You can just simply copy the web address, its the same thing!

Then go back to your masterlist and highlight the title of the post you copied. Another small pop up menu will appear. Click the little infinity sign.

A box will appear and you can paste the copied link into it! Hit done and voila! A new link is made. Repeat this for all the other titles

When its done the link will be underlined and you have a few options to edit, remove, or open it! I always open it to make sure its working correctly.

On mobile (I have an android so I'm not sure how different it would be for iPhone or other types), you'll want to tap the three little dots in the top right hand corner for whatever post you want to use. From there press the copy link option.

Go back to your master list (Its saved in my drafts at this point) and highlight the title you want to link. A small pop up menu will appear. Click the infinity symbol and paste the link. Hit done and presto, link made! Repeat this for all the others.

Okay so that was a lot but I hoped it helped! That's how I made my masterlist anyway! If you want to add the finished Masterlist to your description on your blog, tumblr has a great description here: Add Links to your Tumblr Description (you might have to scroll down just a bit!)

Now as for posting fics without them being under the "posts" page. I'm not quite sure what you mean but if you don't want them being seen, you can always post privately so only you can see them. If you want to give me more detail I might be able to help further!

Thanks for the ask and I hope I was able to help a bit!

#quinn talks #anonymous #editing #tumblr stuff

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saras-almanac · 4 years ago

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For the writing ask 📝 3, 5, 20, 25 😁

Thank you my love! 💖

3. what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

So I sort of do a hybrid of chronological/in narrative order and favorite scenes. I tend to have an idea of what I want to write and then just write down everything I know about what I’m writing (whether that’s fic or original stuff) and a list of scenes I know I’m including. After that I tend to just open a word document and start writing the scenes that I’m most excited for--usually the scenes that I envisioned when thought of the idea. After getting through some of those, then I go back and just start jotting down what I need to include between scenes. Eventually I go back and start from the top of my document and start filling in all the rest of the missing beats and scenes. It’s why I don’t particularly like publishing a WIP before I have it finished because I do sort of jump around or not--hence the incredibly long wait in between my last update on my WIP!

5. character you were most surprised to end up writing

Hmm... This is interesting. I guess for Emmerdale... I think writing Moira into the finding one’s footing was a massive surprise. I didn’t expect her to pop up but then when I sort of thought that maybe Moira’s the one who finds Robert when he’s having a really tough moment--cause I love Moira. And then it sort of happened and just felt right as I was writing it. Right now... I’m really in the supernatural mindset and weirdly enough literally only writing about Claire and Dean cause I just really like their weird father-daughter dynamic which is slightly surprising because I did not anticipate caring about (and potentially writing) supernatural fic again and also just about Dean being a parental figure in Claire’s life. But also, I’ve been really focused on parenting stuff lately even since I played The Witcher 3. I can’t help it!

20. do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

So I used to set aside a couple hours on the weekend to do a lot of writing. It was when I had the idea that I had to be writing 10k a week and only considered progress in terms of word count. And sometimes I could crank out 10k in a weekend, but sometimes I could barely get 1k, if even that. And so I started stopping that because I just dreaded it every weekend. And then I read this book about the 15 minute writer and it was just about incorporating a daily writing habit that fits your life and your style of writing. I talked about it with some writer friends and my therapist and realized that I was struggling so much because I was so focused on hitting a word count that I sort of was doomed to fail at times.

No I focus on the 15 minutes thing. It’s so much easier to do because I can consider writing, plotting, drafting, editing, or even just thinking about my story as the 15 minutes. So I consider just sitting with my breakfast and thinking about my story or novel for 15 minutes just as valuable as spending 15 minutes writing. It’s eased a lot of tension and stress I had with my own writing and I’ve found that when I do actually sit down to write, I write so much more and so much quicker than I usually do. I set my timer for 15 minutes and when it goes off, I stretch my wrists and fingers and usually go for another 15 minutes (or longer) depending on my time. It’s just been a way to be a lot kinder on myself while still trying to focus on my writing. (And it’s a lot easier to focus on multiple different writing projects this way too!)

25. copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

I don’t have my computer so I can’t send you another that’s current, so I’m going to send you a little piece from the fight on ao3 that I think about occasionally.

“It’s just… He keeps saying stuff about me not wanting to make my mind up. Or that I can’t accept who I am,” Robert said. “He wants me to choose him, but I have. I don’t know how to convince him otherwise. I thought getting married would do that, but I’m not sure that’s the answer anymore.”

“Have you talked about this with Aaron?” Vic asked.

“Not specifically,” Robert said. “I’m not great at talking about this stuff. I’m just… I spent so long lying about who I am and now. Now, it just feels like I’ve finally admitted it and am open about it with someone who doesn’t want me to be…me.”

Full disclosure, fics where any bisexual character defends their sexuality--or better their partner does--hit really really close to home for me. And Emmerdale never really was able to get there with Robert so I love every fic that does that. I don’t know if I’m entirely proud of it, or I just used this as an excuse to talk about some of my own issues, but the bolded line is one of my favorite things I’ve written in a while.

💖

#lovely asks #thank you so much!#chatting about my writing #exploring-in-space

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darkblueboxs · 5 years ago

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howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

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rigelmejo · 5 years ago

Text

Listening-Reading Method - Example and Summary

If you would like to try the Listening-Reading Method with Daomubiji:

I’ve made a list of materials to use. The mtlnovel site’s english translations are not ideal, but they are in small chunks to glance at and are from google translate probably (so as good as making a parallel text yourself with machine translation). Also, mtlnovel uses traditional chinese for it’s raw text - which is enough for me even though I’m more comfortable with simplified, since I’m mainly using the parallel text for Step 3 (and so the chinese text is just to keep track of the audio as it lines up to the english translation). For step 2 I am using the original daomubiji.org site. This version on mtlnovel is only needed if you want a parallel text.

If you’re okay using 2 texts, then just use the dmbj original site for the chinese text, and the english published novels either in kindle or print format for the english text. For Step 3, you would use primarily the english text and try to open up the chinese text copy if you lose place with where the audio aligns to the plot.

Audio Material:

Audiobook - I believe this one is longer, more complete, and it reads slower and more clearly: https://m.5tps.me/play_m/1410_48_1_1.html

Audiobook on ximayala - this one is incomplete but I believe in progress, it reads faster and more slurred BUT I think its useful for Step 2. To get used to real native speech speeds and how in real speech people talk a bit less clearly - on a second listen though, I could hear everything perfectly, so the narrator’s voice is still pretty standard in the sense its as good as some voices in drama dubs: http://xima.tv/mPWuED?_sonic=0

*Other audio options. If for some reason you have no access to the above, or if they disappear, in a pinch a machine generated voice will probably be better than nothing. Options include Pleco Reader’s automatic reader voice (which is fairly good about correct word pronunciation, although the rhythm of sentences is not always natural). I have used that to listen to things before, and it is relatively helpful. It also allows you to control speed - so its very good as an intermediate listening step if you need something ‘slower’ at first. Another option is Talkify. This website it free, just paste in the daomubiji.org webpage. I’ve used it to read dmbj before and it sounds useful enough, I’ve also used it to read my own fanfictions back to me when I’m walking or hiking and trying to refresh what I wrote so I can do the next chapter - and except for names, the voice reader worked very well. In general I’d recommend talkify if you ever want something audio to listen to, and have no better human made recordings: https://talkify.net/web-reader-read-any-website-aloud

Text Material:

Parallel text on mtlnovel. To get the parallel text version you must - create a free account, then on the chapter page click ‘Settings’ at the top and turn on ‘RAW’ so you see traditional chinese over the english: https://www.mtlnovel.com/daomu-biji/chapter-1-seven-stars-lu-king-blood-corpse/

Original Text. You can use Pleco Reader, or an in-web-browser pop up dictionary to lookup words as you read through this in Step 2, if you’d like to learn any new words in step 2: http://www.daomubiji.org/1.html

English literary translation is the published novel. This is available as ebooks or as a print novel. I own the print novel. Print and Kindle edition available here: https://www.amazon.com/Grave-Robbers-Chronicles-vol-1-6/dp/1934159379/ref=sr_1_1?crid=25A1XI175ECCN&dchild=1&keywords=the+grave+robbers+chronicles+set&qid=1599926362&sprefix=the+grave+robbe%2Caps%2C165&sr=8-1

*Free english translation - if you want a fast easily accessible free version, it will be a machine translation. Either use mltnovel’s dmbj version (you can turn off RAW if you only want to see the english). Or, just go to the daomubiji.org site and either right-click in Chrome “translate to english” or go to baidutranslate and have that machine-translate the webpage.

*A note on using machine translations: Both machine translations have their own set of flaws, I find both to get the translations wrong in slightly different ways. Both are relatively followable though, if they’re your only options. I would highly suggest knowing an overview of chinese grammar before looking at a machine translation - I found that with all machine translations, they mess up he/she/it a lot, they mess up if something is just being labelled a noun/nickname (instead saying ‘child’ or ‘head’ or ‘team’), they mess up if something is a name or specific object (proper names get weirdly wrong-pinyin translated, and objects that could be both proper names OR regular nouns get confused - for example Fei Ye in Silent Reading ‘Master Fei’ is often translated as Grandpa Fei, and ‘Captain’ Luo as in police captain, is translated as Team Luo. In dmbj, things like ‘3rd kid’ are translated as if they were proper names instead of the words ‘3rd kid,’ and ‘experienced men squatting down’ gets translated as ‘Tofus mound’ in chapter 1 since I’m guessing it looked like a ‘name’ to the machine translation.) So having some basic chinese knowledge, and seeing a parallel text first, will help you catch these clear errors and ignore them. Using a human translation such as the published books, or fan’s translations, will be better in the sense these issues will be largely removed.

A refresher, on what the Listening-Reading Method is:

Step 1 (optional, but helps with context, so recommended unless you already are familiar with your chosen story): Read the story in your Language 1 (a language you know well, english in this example).

Step 2 (optional, if you are already comfortable with the language you are studying’s speed of speech and hearing the boundaries of words/sentences): Read through the story in Language 2 (a language you are learning, chinese in this example). Focus on keeping your eyes lined up with the words as they are spoken, on following the text as the audio plays along. Focus on noticing the different sounds in the language, the word boundaries, the phrase and sentence boundaries. At this step, you do not need to actually look up and define every word you don’t know. The focus is on getting familiar with the audio sentences and getting used to hearing it as sentences and words. You may, if you desire, look up word meanings as you run across new words, but this is optional. I personally like to do this step twice - once with a machine-audio like Pleco reader, so I can stop and look up/replay word audio whenever I am curious about specific words. Then the second time with human narrator audio, not pausing the audio at all and just following along as I read. If I struggle to follow along, then I listen/read again until I can easily look at the words as I hear the audio without losing my place.

Step 3 (the only mandatory step, and can be done immediately if you’re comfortable with both context and listening to the language-you’re-studying already): Read the Language 1 (english) translation, while listening to the Language 2 (chinese) audio. You can either use a parallel text with both languages - so that you can reference the Language 2 lines when you lose your place/want a clear visual match up to what you hear. Or you can use only the Language 1 text. The goal is to match the translation (the ‘definition’) with audio you are hearing, so that you can make the connection that what you hear ‘means’ what you’re reading. So far from my experience, I would say Language 1 only text works better when the audio is shorter or of simpler content, because its harder to get ‘lost’ and lose where the audio matches up to the Language 1 translation. The longer the audio, the more a parallel text helps prevent you from losing your place between the audio versus the equivalent Language 1 translation. Also, the more you have already looked up definitions in Step 2 Language 2 reading, then the less likely you will be to get lost as you listen-read in this Step 3. Ideally, try to listen without pausing. Attempt to match the meaning of the Language 1 (english) sentences you’ve just read, as you hear the equivalent audio Language 2 sentences (chinese). Your goal is to see the meaning in real time of each word you hear, since you’re visually looking at the translation right before/as you hear it. Ideally, this should create a situation where most of your input is now ‘comprehensible input.’ Mainly just focus on trying to keep the text translations you read roughly matched up in your mind with the audio you hear. You will notice you are starting to comprehend/understand some of the L2 (chinese) phrases and words. You may repeat a section over a few times, or you may simply progress on to the next paragraph/page/chapter as desired. Over time, as you get more input, you should start to comprehend more of what you’re hearing. As you comprehend more, you should be able to match the audio with the equivalent english translation easier. As you do this, you should free up some of your ‘focus’ so you can start picking out what each specific WORD you hear is the equivalent english translation of. I would recommend testing this method with an easier learning material first - I tested this with chapter 1 of The Little Prince. But any short story with both language texts, and audio, will do. If its easier, you will reach the point quicker where you can start purposefully focusing on matching what you hear to specific translation definitions as you read - which is the point at which you are actually LEARNING new words/phrases in the language you’re learning. If the text is so complex you’re easily getting lost, then it will be harder for you to do this at first - and it will be harder for you to tell if that’s what you’re doing at all. Once you know HOW to do it, then go to a harder long text and attempt to do the same thing. With harder texts, you may find that at first you need to do Step 3 a few times on a single section of text, until its easier for you to keep track of your place in the text aligned with audio - and THEN work on the actual task of matching what you hear to it’s translation/definition. Even with the easier material, I did step 3 twice on one section of text, because the first time I was too lost to properly follow the text with the audio. Also - you will likely notice that your audio does NOT match up perfectly with your translated text (either they changed some sentences in the translation, or the audio is based on a different original text version etc). So a second listen through of Step 3, you’ll be able to anticipate those parts and not get lost because of them. The person who shared the Listening-Reading method suggests working through long texts (like long novels) from start to finish. Perhaps by page or chapter sections of text (if you need to do Step 1 and 2 first). Then they suggest going through a book a few times in Step 3. They say you will notice you comprehend more as you get further into the book in Step 3, and by the 3rd time through the book you should comprehend nearly everything. Based on their suggestions, I would say you will start to notice on a small scale if this method is giving you progress once you are several chapters in. And if you are on your second Step 3 trip through a story, and STILL do not comprehend much - then either you did something incorrectly (probably step 3) or this study method just is not helpful for you. But do not expect near-perfect comprehension until at the minimum towards the end of the story, or at least after a few full progressions through the story.

***Lastly, if all else fails: just doing Step 1 and a modified version of Step 2 is literally just a great study strategy to read in a target language, so you can utilize those parts to make this adventure into trying L-R not a total waste, even if L-R doesn’t work out for you. For modifying Step 2: you would just do one sequence of Step 2 where you DO look up every word you need to in order to understand that version of the text. That is basically reading in your target language for the goal of comprehending the actual main meaning and gist of the plot, with definition look-up. Ideally, you’d at some point want to also do the rest of Step 2 - the focus on using it to match the audio with word and phrase boundaries, and get used to the speed of the language. If you are good enough in a language already to follow the main gist of a plot just by reading with NO lookup - then step 2 will already probably count as extensive reading, which probably benefits you to a degree. And the focus on matching audio to text will help bring your listening skills up to your reading skill level. As far as I can tell, Step 3 just seems to be a different way to do that ‘intensive definition lookup of all words you don’t know’ in a way that has no stopping or pausing, is more fast paced, and incorporates listening skills into it, than traditional intensive-reading word lookup. So it makes sense why Step 3 feels very intensive and requires a lot of focus - if you’re doing it right, it probably feels as intense as intensive reading. (If you do step 3 wrong, it will probably feel just like listening to an audiobook in Language 2 in the background - you’ll hear things you already know and get better at recognizing them, but not understand anything extra over time). But unlike intensive reading, you will be also adding in listening comprehension practice, and you’ll be doing it VERY FAST. Having tried out L-R, it feels much faster paced and therefore motivating than intensive reading - since constant word lookups in traditional intensive reading can easily make it feel like you’re hardly reading/progressing. Also, the intensity required to pick up new words in Step 3 means that STEP 1 IS VITAL. You must already understand the key story points BEFORE starting step 3, you must already have context! Otherwise, you will be repeating Step 3 a few extra times because the first time around you might mainly just be reading the translation to pick up the initial plot/context. Now, if you’re cool with repeating Step 3 a few extra times, that’s fine. But if you want Step 3 to feel less ‘intense’ on its demand of your focus, then already being familiar with the source story material is ideal. Step 2 is also vital IF you realize that you’re losing your place in the text vs audio too often in Step 3. Otherwise, again, you will have to do Step 3 a few extra times (or pause/restart audio multiple times) in order to make sure you can match your place in the audio with your place in the translation. The ability to match audio to translation, was what I had the most difficulty doing, when trying to do L-R with daomubiji (since the audio is so long).

#rant #study method #listening reading method #listening reading #l r method

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selanaris · 6 years ago

Text

Official TFA Split Optimus AU

From my last post:

In this au, Nemesis Prime and Optimus Prime is created after archa seven, when Optimus was left behind with Blackarachnia, they are both taken in by the decepticons, Megatron loves Optimus’ fighting spirit, but wants him loyal, so creates a clone by splitting Optimus spark, and leaving what’s left on Archa Seven (and leaving with Blackarachnia) and eventually Sentinel did come back to save his friends with a team. But only find a near dead Optimus. He recovers but his spark is weaker so they move him to repair crew. Optimus can feel pain and emotions that doesn’t belong to him (he doesn’t know what happened to him) and eventually on earth, he meets Blitzwing, Lugnut, and… himself? (Also Blackarachnia doesn’t know what happened to Optimus, she thinks Nemesis Prime is Optimus.

These next ones are copy pasted Headcanons from my discord au brainstorming conversations, no names means it is my words, some things slightly edited to avoid confusion

Discord:

megatron wanted specific traits from the spark so he had it physically divided, they do feel each other, but for most of the time, they don't know each other exist

and distance does play a part, one, their sparks are deteriorating due to the separation straining the spark, and the further away they are, the weaker they are, and if far enough, they can both fall into stasis and need to be back in range before the sparks snuff out

@emikokiichigo101 : Like how optimus can feel nemesis's angst and it pains him because he doesn't want this part of him to suffer even if he doesn't know its coming from someone else. And nemesis can feel optimus's love and caring side, and it pains him because he doesn't understand what these feelings actually are.

the closer they are, the stronger the sparks, emotions, physical feelings, and thoughts, and yes

on the decepticon side, they think Optimus died after they left that part of the spark on Archa seven, to which in this au, Sentinel did come back to save his friends after leaving to get help, Blackarachnia thinks Nemesis is the real complete optimus and chose to stay by his side believing that sentinel left them behind.

Optimus has no memory of the con's experiments, just falling with elita, then waking up in cybertron medbay on spark support

he gets moved to the repair team due to the worry of stress snuffing out his half a spark, and Optimus refusing to leave the autobots for 'early retirement'

Sentinel is slightly nicer in this au, like... a tsundere that refuses to show that he cares even a little bit

oh, and we all know why meggy wanted his own Optimus

so with the decepticons, Megatron has Nemesis, and they are together, but can't bond do to the halfspark, and Megatron gets hella worried when Nemesis gets weak due to distance from his other half, which Megatron thinks is dead, so regrets and worries everyday that he signed Nemesis' death in the future

@cao-the-dreamer: Should have thought twice about it, smartaft

He was not expecting to catch feelings

@cao-the-dreamer: Plan Backfired spectacularly

@moonlightdeer739: No one expects the spark feels

yep, and Ratchet was specifically assigned to Optimus to monitor his spark, and find out what did that to him

Discord 2: (some things may end up being repeated here)

(edited slightly) through the report from Ratchet, stating that Optimus' spark has been weakening significantly and that there was an incident where his frame spurts into stasis for a cycle. Magnus and Sentinel probably would demand that Optimus be taken back to cybertron, but Optimus refuses

What actually happened was they flew too far away from his other half causing Optimus and Nemesis to fall into stasis until they came back in range

@keo-the-raptor: Instead of expelling him from the academy, Magnus had to gently let him go and transfer him as a repair crew leader so that the stress of being in the guard won’t kill him quicker

(edited) Yep, exactly, Optimus is definitely saddened and disappointed from that, and Magnus personally set him with one of the best doctors on cybertron, Ratchet, to keep an optic on his spark. Honestly, Sentinel and Magnus wanted Optimus to stop working, but Optimus completely refused

Sentinel honestly dodged the punishment by wording everything in the way that it looked to be out of all of their control

@keo-the-raptor: Like, They were traveling to meet with a colony when a sudden meteor storm pushed their trajectory to Archa Seven?

(edited) yea, Sentinel is better in this au, not the best lol

@keo-the-raptor: So the heroic Prime is left for dead and Sentinel finds him, I’m assuming their relationship is better than canon?

Yes, in this au, Sentinel left to get help, so he's better here

@keo-the-raptor: He checks on Optimus every now and then, but totally not because he’s worried and because Checkmate didn’t ask lol, He’s worried that Optimus’ spark will give out one day

"You have a weak spark. Imagine the datapads I have to sign if you fall over."

It actually gets weaker over time due to separation from the other half, but gets stronger the longer it's closer to the other half

Megatron actually thought Optimus was dead so got HELLA worried when he learned that Nemesis' spark was getting weaker

Meanwhile, Optimus doesn't remember getting picked up and split by the cons, he remembers falling, then... waking up in the medbay on cybertron

and Megatron just never told Nemesis or Blackarachnia about Optimus, so BA thinks that the cons did shadowplay on Optimus or something

@keo-the-raptor: She sticks around but only to gain easy access to tools for vengeance, Imagine how confused she’s gonna be when she sees two Oppy

She has no idea that Sentinel came back for them, She is gonna be very confused

@keo-the-raptor: So still mad at him, despite how much he’s trying to explain

@keo-the-raptor: I’d find it interesting if the two actually got along compared to how they get along with their factions, Two sides of the same coin, after all

Personality split in half, both of them have weak sparks, Oooo yea, maybe rocky in the beginning because factions and they didn't know each other existed, then they realize, oh shit, if he dies, I die too, I feel your pain when I punch you?! And they make a truce

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writeinspiration · 6 years ago

Link

How Long Should Your Novel Be? (The Definitive Answer)

Text of the article pasted below!

Many aspiring novelists ask themselves, “How long should my novel be?” The answer to this question is surprisingly complex. There are multiple issues that need to be to addressed… and I’m going to cover ALL of them in this article.So let’s get it!

My Journey

It took me eight years to craft my debut novel, The Page Turners.

Eight years is far too long to spend writing a first book. Looking back, I cringe at the thought of what I could have created in the time I wasted drafting and redrafting that novel.

One of the many reasons it took me so long to write my first book was that, like many rookie authors, I wanted my debut to be an epic story. I had twenty-five years worth of life experiences, thoughts, emotions, and stories to draw from, and I was determined to cram all of it into a novel that would dazzle readers and immediately launch my literary career into the stratosphere of superstardom!

At one point, the manuscript for The Page Turners was up to 130,000 words, but the published version is a little over 55,000; hardly an epic.

But you know what? Stephen King’s first novel wasn’t The Stand. It was a tight-packed little masterpiece called Carrie.

Once I followed King’s lead by focusing on intimacy and letting go of my aspirations of a sweeping and grand narrative, the project finally become manageable. After years spent struggling with this beast of a story, I was suddenly dealing with a focused and fast-paced narrative that had a clear theme and a nice sense of rhythm and harmony.

Before long, finally publishing the book was no longer a distant pipe dream; it had actually become an attainable goal. In shortening the length of my novel, I made my life as a writer much easier.

The Benefits of Short

It’s easier to redraft and review a shorter novel.

It’s easier to convince beta readers to give it a look, and you get their feedback much quicker.

As an indie author, it’s significantly cheaper to pay for copy-editing of a shorter novel, and the production costs of printing the final books are also more affordable.

Across the board, virtually everything becomes easier and more do-able once you commit to shortening your novel.

A shorter book also forces an author to focus with laser-like accuracy on the story’s most important elements: the plot and lead characters. Tangents, supporting characters, and non-relevant aspects of the narrative are kept to a bare minimum because there simply isn’t room for them in a short book.

Tell an enthusiastic young writer you need them to write a 2,000-word article, and there’s a good chance they’ll return with 4,000 words of mostly unusable material. On the other hand, tell them you need 500 words and not a single word more… and they might just come up with something great!

I’m quite fond of the Orson Well’s quote, “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations,” and I think it can be applied wonderfully to word count. Keep the book short, and you’re much more likely to create good art. At the very least, you’ll reduce the chances of creating bad art. (The only thing worse than a bad novel is a bad novel of epic length!)

With all of this in mind, I tell my writing students to aim for a 55,000 word novel for their debut book. A total of 55,000 words is the perfect length for a rookie author. It’s short and sweet, and it forces the writer to stick to the point, something young writers often struggle with. And, of course, as mentioned earlier, it makes the entire project more manageable.

Is a 55,000 Word Manuscript Novel Length?

In his article, “Word Count: How Long Should a Book Be?”, Glen C Strathy turns to The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America’s (SFFWA) criteria for the Nebula Awards to determine his word count criteria.

Here’s how the SFFWA defines the stories they review for the award:

Short story – under 7,500 words

Novelette – 7,500 to 17,500 words

Novella – 17,500 to 40,000 words

Novel – anything over 40,000 words

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) (an annual event that challenges writers to craft a novel within the month of November) identifies 50,000 words as the minimum target for their definition of a novel.

As such, by either the SFFWA or the NaNoWriMo’s definition, a 55,000-word book is certainly novel-length.

That said, if you would prefer to turn to general opinion and/or critical regard to determine the minimum length of a novel, consider The Great Gatsby. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s masterpiece is only 55,000 words long, and it’s considered by many – myself included – to be one of the greatest novels ever written.

In fact, a number of my favourite novels of all time are around this length: The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, The Old Man and the Sea by Earnest Hemingway, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, The Catcher in the Ryeby J.D. Salinger, To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, and The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, to name but a few!

As this list clearly demonstrates, despite what many young authors mistakenly believe, more words are not always better. From Kafka to Carroll, some of the greatest prose writers ever to live chose to produce shorter novels.

In Praise of Long

Despite my recommendation that aspiring authors focus their efforts on producing a shorter book as their initial publication, I would be remiss to ignore the variety of well-loved long novels out there.

In her Salon.com article, “Why we love loooong novels”, Laura Miller provides a convincing argument in praise of the epic. She also references the New York Times report that author Garth Risk Hallberg received a $2 million advance for his 900-page debut, City on Fire – a clear indication a shorter debut novel is not always the best route to critical acclaim and financial riches!

Riffing on Miller’s article, Maddie Crum’s Huffington Post article, “An Ode to Unaccelerated Reading” lists ten excellent novels well worth their page count, and I’m sure we all have a beloved epic tome or two weighing down our bookshelves.

In fact, it was likely my love of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Stephen’s King’s The Stand that got me into trouble with The Page Turners word count in the first place.

I’m not arguing that a novel must be short to be great; I’m simply suggesting that if you want to make the transition from aspiring author to published author in as smooth a manner as possible, you may want to save your epic for your sophomore release.

Industry Standards by Genre

Of course, only a few of the short novels I mentioned earlier were debut releases, and today’s modern writers, especially those looking to break into the mainstream publishing industry, would be wise to take into account industry standards when it comes to determining world count for their work in progress.

In a helpful article written for Writer’s Digest in 2012, Chuck Sambuchino outlines recommended word counts for various different genres of books. His recommended word counts are as follows:

Commercial and literary novels for adults – 80K to 90K

Sci-fi and Fantasy – 100K to 115K

Young Adult – 55K to 70K

In another article on word count and book length, “How Long is a Book? Determine Your Novel’s Genre, Subgenre, and Best Word Count”, Ronnie Smith expands on Sambuchino’s list by adding some additional genres to the mix:

Romance – 80K to 100K

Mystery – 75K to 100K

Thriller – 90K to 100K

Western – 45K – 75K

These recommendations are extremely helpful to keep in mind while working on your book, particularly if you intend to secure an agent and a traditional publisher for your work.

Keep in mind, however, that Sambuchino and Smith’s recommendations are based on the long-entrenched requirements of the traditional book publishing industry. As such, the recommended word counts are largely the result of industrial standards and therefore have more to do with the production requirements of paperback books than they do anything related to storytelling technique, artistic aspirations, or the preferences of readers.

New Standards

In recent years, the rise of ebooks, along with the ever-increasing ease with which independent authors can self-publish their work via web and print-on-demand has completely changed book industry standards in terms of word counts requirements.

With storytelling becoming increasingly digitalized, the very meaning of terms like “books” and “novels” are being consistently destabilized.

Ebooks come in a variety of forms and lengths, and print-on-demand can turn a project of any reasonable word count into a paperback publication. Authors are now free to craft books and novels with word counts that are bound only by the author’s imagination and creativity, and the audience’s receptivity.

Hugh Howey’s hit self-published “novel” Wool was originally released as a series of e-novellas. Authors Johnny B. Truant and Sean Platt are releasing serial fiction that is then collected together into “seasons”, thereby combining 19th century Charles Dickens-like publishing model with that of modern television. Erotic authors, riding the surging 50 Shades of Grey wave, are consistently finding new and innovative ways to get their work into reader’s hands, including bundling books from several authors together to create what is, essentially, an anthology of novellas.

Where to From Here?

If it was difficult to determine exactly how long a novel should be in the past, it’s only going to become increasingly more difficult in the future. As independent authors continue to push the boundaries and test what digital publishing and print-on-demand have to offer, and as the traditional publishing industry attempts to keep up with technological innovations reshaping the publishing landscape, there’s no telling what a “book” might look like in the years to come.

If you’re looking for a career in traditional publishing, educate yourself on the word counts the publishers and agents you’re targeting are looking for. If you are embracing independent publishing, get creative! There’s an exciting world of storytelling possibilities out there, and whether your book is a short jaunt or an epic journey is totally up to you. Remain true to your vision, give your audience the read of a lifetime, and the last thing they will be thinking about is word count.

#writer #writing #write #writeinspiration #writeblr #original content or from the Internet at large

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