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paradoxcase · 4 months

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Gideon the Ninth audiobook, through to the end of Chapter 31

Cytherea is described as having "biscuit-colored curls" which I kind passed over the first time I was reading. She's described elsewhere as having light brown hair; American biscuits aren't any kind of brown, if they're made right, but Muir isn't American, either. In Britain, it's my understanding that "biscuit" refers to any hard flat cookie with a stamped design, but those come in all sorts of colors. Does "biscuit" mean a secret third thing in New Zealand?

Gideon says "it's stupid for a cavalier to watch their necromancer die" which I think sort of foreshadows Gideon rejecting Harrow's instruction to survive her

Gideon asks Cytherea why she came to Canaan House in the first place, and I feel like Cytherea's answer is about when she came the first time, nearly 10,000 years ago? She talks about how the Seventh wanted her to die beautifully and she though the Emperor had her best interests more at heart than they did

She says: "If they could figure out how to stop you when you're mostly cancer and just a little bit woman, they would" about the Seventh, but that's exactly what John did to her, isn't it?

And then: "I'll probably live forever, worse luck, whatever happened to One Flesh, One End?"

Palamedes pronounces "golem" exactly like "Gollum" and that amuses me

Harrow thought the secret to Lyctorhood was a secret power source in Canaan House they were supposed to discover - I guess to the extent that the consumed cavalier's soul is a power source, she wasn't exactly wrong

Camilla: "The last thing the Warden needs is an introduction to Lady Septimus" - pretty funny in retrospect

Palamedes after Harrow removes the plug Cytherea put on the Seventh lab's keyhole: "Did you hide the last key, too?" He was right about that

Colum is described as having a "perpetually scratchy voice" which I missed the first time, but it does match up with his voice here

Mayonnaise Uncle thinks Gideon's red hair might have come from the Third, which is I guess some extra information about the distribution of phenotypes in the Empire, but the only other redheaded House character we know of is G1deon (I almost wrote "Pyrrha") (who, ironically, is not biologically related to Gideon Nav unless he was like John's cousin or something). Mercy had "pink" hair, but I don't know if that means like, strawberry blond, or like, literally dyed pink. I guess it's been 10,000 years, so things might be a bit different now

Colum: "The next time we meet, I think it's likely one of us will die." Well, it wasn't the next time they met, since they both showed up to hear Cytherea tell a very fake story about why Protesilaus was already dead just after this, but I think it's the next time they are both in the same room together than Colum dies, so, yeah

Teacher says something about a "poor child" and Gideon doesn't know who he's referring to and I don't either even on the second readthrough. I guess it's possible that he's just talking nonsense, because he's a weird construct, but he's been saying things that consistently make sense in the current context throughout the whole book, so I don't really buy that

The scene where Corona is practicing with a sword and challenging Gideon to a duel feels kind of like she's anticipating being left behind by Ianthe and is trying to lean into the idea of becoming a cavalier after this, since she can't pretend to be a necromancer without Ianthe. We know from the Fourth teens that Ianthe has been sneaking into all the locked doors and reading the theorems at this point

When Naberius comes to collect her, he says "I won't tell her". I guess he means Ianthe?

Is that really how "beatified" is pronounced? I don't think I've ever heard it spoken before. Wiktionary seems to agree that it is

If I had listened to the audiobook first, I definitely would have misheard Gideon talking about "narking" on Harrow as "knocking" and been confused

Palamedes: "All I ask is that you put some pen and flimsy in my cell so I can start my memoirs." Yeah, that's not what you wrote when you were actually confined to the River bubble for months, haha

Narration: Suddenly [Cytherea] seemed impossibly old.

Cytherea claims that John was against soul siphoning. So, the thalergy siphoning that was a fundamental part of Mercy's challenge, and which the Second House uses regularly on enemies, is totally fine and cool, but Mayonnaise Uncle send Colum's soul away temporarily to generate power is wrong. You know, Mayonnaise Uncle is actually a lot more sympathetic on the second readthrough

Mayonnaise Uncle also really had Cytherea's number in this scene and no one listened to him, he was the only one saying that Cytherea was suspicious and everyone else was disgusted by this, including Judith. No wonder he was so sour in Harrow's River bubble

Harrow wants to use Protesilaus' head for necromancy and everyone else is unhappy about this. But this isn't strange for the Nine Houses - the Canaan House skeletons were made from the dead just like the Ninth skeletons were, and just like the Sixth skeletons were in Dr. Sex, not to mention Ianthe's use of Babs' body. Like, if we are going to start complaining about the desecration of dead bodies now, I think that starts to call into question the entire way that the Nine Houses uses necromancy and has been using it for the past 10,000 years. I'm not sure any of the other necromancers really have that high ground

Palamedes says Cytherea only has days left to live, she definitely giggles at that

In the pool scene, Harrow says that the calculations for the deaths of the 200 children were very precise, and that the babies contributed the most thanergy. Now I'm wondering if Gideon failing to die might have messed up those careful calculations in some way? Obviously Harrow was still born a powerful necromancer, and it still worked overall, but now I'm curious

Harrow about John's blood ward: "I knew it had to open for me" because she was the descendant of Anastasia. She never questioned that there might have been some other reason it opened

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth

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flanaganfilm · 1 year

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The section in ep3 of Midnight Mass set to ‘Holly Holy’ will always be my favorite section of the entire series. I was curious to know more about your process for choosing licensed music for the show and when / where to place it? The use of music in the show as a whole is just so well done even from the opening shot of Riley’s car accident. Thank you so much for bringing such beautiful horrors into the world. <3

In the case of Midnight Mass, "Holly Holy" was written into the script years before we filmed it. I grew up with Neil Diamond music and knew very early that we wanted a big montage to that specific song, so I'd listen to it over and over again in my car while I went to work and try to imagine what the montage should look like. I also listened to it on repeat while I worked on the script. I listened to a lot of music while I wrote - including a lot of traditional hymns, most of which made it into the show. I had "Nearer My God To Thee", sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, looping while I wrote the final episode. In the case of "Holly Holy," in the screenplay, each line of the song is written into each little scenelet of the montage to make sure it timed out properly. Same with "Nearer My God To Thee" and a few of the other hymns, they're included in the script line for line. On set, we'd play just whatever line from the song was needed for the shot so the actors could synchronize with it. Because the "Holly Holy" montage is made up of so many locations and characters, it was shot in pieces over the entire course of production. It made it very funny for the crew. After we'd shoot a scene, I'd say "Okay, now we're grabbing our next piece of the "Holly Holy" montage," and we'd play the 5 seconds of the song that we were covering that day. Out of order and spread out over many months, it seemed entirely nonsensical. But everything had to time out just right.

A lot of times we don't know what song we'll end up using in the finished product, that's a choice we make in editorial, but in the case of Midnight Mass a lot of the songs were so specifically written into the scripts that it was like choreographing a dance.

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monsterrae1 · 1 year

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tease tidbit tuesday! 👨🏻‍🍼👨🏼‍🍼

Tagged by @heartbeatdiaz @prince-buck-diaz @jesuisici33 thanks !! 🖤

rule: share whatever scene or snippet from your fic that has you excited, ig???

This is the last thing I wrote in the girl dad au, so here you guys have it;

Once in Bobby's office, he handed Buck a bunch of papers for him to fill and smiled at him the entire time that Buck was working on them.

"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked when Buck handed over everything.

"Terrified," Buck replied, making Bobby chuckle, "I wanted to be a dad so bad, you know? And now that I have her, all I can think of is how I'm just gonna screw her over He shook his head,

"You're the closest thing I've got a good father figure, Bobby, but every single insecurity that my parents gave me, is still there, I'm just afraid I'm gonna make the same mistakes over and over" Bobby shook his head, "You won't kid, and you're not alone, you have all of us, okay? But I have no doubts that you're gonna do great, because you already do, to some degree, with Christopher" Buck blushed and look away "That's not the same, at the end of the day I get to hand Christopher back to his dad; with Kai, I'm fully responsible for her'

"It is scary, but I know you Buck, you're gonna give your all to that little girl. If anyone is going to be a great father, if going to be you"

Buck smiled, feeling lighter, Bobby having this much faith in him reassured him that he wasn't going to be a completely horrible father.

Bobby told him to not worry about the paperwork, that he had a couple of weeks for paternity leave, plus a lot of PTO that he could use to get settled, and since Chim was also scheduled to come back in a week or so, they would deal with temporary replacements until then, Buck was about to apologize for the inconvenience, but Bobby waved it away and told him to go back to his daughter.

Buck made his way back to the loft quickly, itching to be back with his daughter, but once he was at the top of the stairs he had to stop and take in the sight for a minute, telling himself that this was probably all he was gonna get and that he needed to savor it, at least for the next handful of minutes.

Eddie had taken a seat in one of the sofas, Kai still cradled safely in his arms, but she was awake now, Eddie was speaking nonsense to her in a soft voice and Buck couldn't quite make out what he was saying, one of her little hands was holding tightly into his finger, and Eddie was pretending to eat it, all while Kai just started at him with wide eyes - He knew that she couldn't quite see just yet, but she still seemed fascinated by Eddie.

Part of him wished he could stay there longer and pretend that Eddie was holding their daughter, and not just looking after Buck's daughter while he was busy; but he needed to save his own heart from the heartbreak, and before it could get any wild ideas - like asking for Eddie's hand in marriage - he walked to them and sat down by their side.

"She's beautiful, Buck" Eddie said, eyes still stuck on Kai, Buck couldn't help but smile at them.

“Yeah, she really is, isn’t she”

Eddie turned to look at him, and that soft smile that was directed at his daughter one second ago, didn’t flag as he now directed it at Buck, “You’re gonna be such a good dad”

Buck’s heart did a bunch of acrobatics in his chest, making him blush and feel like it was going to beat out of it any second, “I’m gonna try, that’s for sure”

“That’s all you can do” Eddie said, sighing, “I kinda don’t wanna give her back”

That make Buck chuckle and relaxed back into the sofa, “Yeah, wait until she stars crying, little girl has a good set of lungs”

Eddie laughed, but since Buck still had a few more minutes until he really had to leave, he figured that he could let Eddie had a little longer with Kai.

Tagging if they wanna do this @brokenribsdiaz @loveyourownsmiilee @cowboydiazes @cowboy-buddie @buddierights @alyxmastershipper @heartshapedvows @prettyboybuckley @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @bigfootsmom @elvensorceress @spotsandsocks @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @ebdaydreamer @exhuastedpigeon @panbuckley and whoever else wants to do this!

#tease tidbit Tuesday #buddie #buddie wip #wip don’t you ever grow up

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mytalemyworld · 4 months

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Usually when a tv couple is ruined, the butchering keeps going. Like, there's a point you can see where everything goes wrong and is never back on track.

As for Asi & Alaz, they give us a scene that's complete nonsense then give us another scene that's in character and so deep.

This inconsistency is drving me mad. Because they could write but choose not to. And this seriously doesn't make sense. I mean, maybe there's one writer in their team who completely has a different writing style and when it's his/her turn, we get meaningful scenes. This might explain this puzzle. I don't know, I want to understand what's going on.

Like this scene…

I surely think whoever wrote this couldn't have written the rooftop scene or the bar scene. This is so layered, so deep, so aching.

Asi: Alaz, where are you? Where did you hide yourself? Alaz: I am here. Asi: This is not you.

The difference between Neslihan and Asi, while one of them has no idea how to help him out, the other one is already one more step ahead of him. His mother's words never touch his heart because it's lacking, it always comes from a mother's naturally worried heart but it's never fulfilling because aforementioned mother already missed his whole childhood, teenager years and never really sees what he needs. But Asi's words rock his world, his conscience and touch his wounds. Because she knows who he is and what he needs.

Alaz: Don't have any hopes about me. Asi: I don't. I know we're not lovers anymore. You aren't a man whom one could become lovers with. It's over. That's not the point. I can live without you. I lived without a father and mother. Being without you won't kill me. Don't worry. But I won't let you go anywhere until you throw the poison inside of you out. I won't watch you being miserable like this. Do you understand me? Did you hear me? Alaz: You want me to poison you too then. Forget it. You can't handle it. Even I can't handle it. I am in a purgatory. I am fighting but can't get myself out of it no matter what I do. Asi: You don't have to fight alone. Hold my hand and let's get out of this war, this purgatory. Then you can let go of my hand. Alaz: If I hold it, I won't be able ot let go of it. Asi: Okay, I promise that I will. Just get out of that pit.

Neslihan was right about one thing. Asi is the biggest chance/luck for him.

This totally makes sense. This gives us a reason, and better, in a metaphorical way, finally he tells what he fears: Ruining her too.

But seeing him like this already destroys her. Even though she states this is just like a worry for his well being, she still says "let's get out of this war together". Because as long as she loves him, this is what she feels like: Being in the middle of that war with him. Whatever he feels, she feels the same.

She really can live without him but it'd make her feel as if she lost another family member. She is a survivor but at what cost?

He confesses her Çağla was the reason Rüya died.

He is like…now the bomb is in your hands, will you pull the pin and destroy my family, destroy my bond with my brother? Or will you really keep holding my hand, be by my side even though that means you will betray Yaman? Because he warned her about this: If she holds out her hand, he will want more, he will expect more. He is that helpless and he hates himself that much.

He's scared that he will see disappointment and hate in her eyes and she will be burdened. That's why he made sure that she would stay away from him. He didn't want her to make that choice. See, they could give us only these, not the rooftop scene or the bar scene. This itself would make them miserable enough. This is such a deep conflict that's why I don't want to believe that this writer team is the same one that wrote the bar scene. Whoever wrote this knows these characters.

Hating him… He has a sick way of thinking… Showing her himself as someone who betrays Yaman is more harmful than making her believe that he doesn't love her….to him this makes sense. I mean, he clearly said he would never look at Asi's face anymore, it's like he wanted to be that kind of person so she would reject him no matter how he selfishly wanted to go to her door.

Still, the bar scene was out of character. Or the way it was written maybe. There is no need to be that extreme.

They're really giving us delicious conflicts but we all know how they are solved in the end. So, I don't expect anything from this.

#yabani #asi x alaz

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wolfstrong · 7 months

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Did anyone read we could be so good. It was bad. My book review:

Erm so pretty much the book is about wait let me just show you the desc

Okay so pretty much it was a grumpy/sunshine rom-drom for shippers of newsies that was set in the late 50s. At first I was like okay this nonsense is kind of fun whatever. The cuteness and shippable moments made me squee a little bit. But soon I got yaoi poisoning because this book was 14 hours long. And nothing happened. There wasn’t any conflict and the characters even went on a long tangent talking about how they hate how all “queer stories” end in tragedy. In that moment I felt the author of the book smirk at me and raise his or her eyebrows and point at themselves and then at the book like hey check this out I wrote a story about gay people that isn’t a sad!! Well man guess what when books don’t have any kind of conflict they become BORING! My absolute biggest pet peeve is that the characters mostly referred to themselves and others as queer. In a book set in the 1950s. They almost exclusively used the term queer men. Not as a slur. It was completely self referential. In a book set in the 1950s and like okay I know it’s like a thing people say and it wouldn’t have got on my nerves if they used it as much as they used homosexual or just plain gay but I don’t think they like EVER said gay in this whole book. LIKE you’d think they’d mostly be saying homosexual ??????????????? Anyway the writing style and story telling was extremely extremely reminiscent of fanfiction I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a reskin of (newsies?) fanfic, or maybe and AU of like stucky or something. If not this author most definitely had their start writing fanfiction oh boy. Now imo this isn’t like the worst thing ever as some of us like to read fanfic, but it’s not particularly moving and gets a little dry after a while. Might lay off the gay romance for a while it’s not good to listen to cock sucking scenes while I’m at work I feel like I’m going to hell

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microwaving-tesilid-argente · 9 months

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ok i might be talking complete nonsense here, but. the Strict Order as a metaphor for an author facing writer's block.

"the Strict Order abandoned the world," yeah if i wrote a sweet potato story where the main character just keeps suffering with no sign of resolution, i'd drop the story too (<- has actually done this with a tesilid fanfic orz)

"The world rejected the Strict Order's abandonment, so to keep the world going the Strict Order made Tesilid keep rewinding time." That's just like when you get stuck at a certain point in the plot and keep rewriting the events leading up to that moment to try to make it work. nods sagely i understand. i too make my OCs go through scenarios lots of times until we get it right. sometimes it takes months. sometimes it never works.

"The saintess only exists in timeline ~86," oh yes, the classic 'idk how to solve this problem so i'll introduce a new character' trick. i'm familiar

"okay but if time looping is the Strict Order rewriting the story, then why can Tesilid remember it" because the author already wrote those scenes and it'll be sad to throw them all out. and also it's a cool gimmick to have a regressor story. (<- has drastically changed the premise and worldbuilding of a story just to make an alternate timeline relevant before)

"what about ailette's existence--" same as muriel, where you insert a new character in hopes of solving a plot problem. except this time the characters write the plot themselves, because just this once you give priority to their character traits & goals rather than where you thought you wanted the plot to go. (tesilid has someone he can be himself around and who can do certain things on his behalf, instead of being fully constrained by his obligations. ailette gets insane buffs instead of being restricted by the world's difficulty.) therefore the chars now have more agency and are not only solving problems, but also taking the story in a direction you never would have thought of before. (whatever the hell tesilid and ailette are cooking rn, separately, which is surely going to result in interesting developments later on)

tldr; the strict order as a metaphor for an author who hit writer's block. their friend World Shaper inserts their OC Ailette in and their writing style is to let the characters run away with the plot. it works. world shaper and all their friends are co-writers working on the story together and reacting to it in real time.

#s-class heroine spoilers #if the themes of this story are actually orv-esque in that it becomes meta about the writer-reader-char relationship #then my mind will actually be very blown #like im extrapolating a lot here #im only able to make these comparisons bc orv changed the way i read fiction forever #anw no one tell me if i got it right i legit have not read any spoilers #im at mirror dungeon now #wait maybe im onto something #the timelines being linear and not recursive (ie. reed does not have his own ailette) makes sense as well bc with this timeline #the story has finally reached its end and the authors can put down their pens #no more writing no more regressing in order to get scenarios right #like SPOILERS FOR ORV SPOILERS FOR ORV SPOILERS FOR ORV MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV #LIKE RLY MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV IM SO SERIOUS #like for orv it makes sense that the timeloops are recursive #because YOU are kim dokja #the story keeps being written bc the kimcom want kdj back #there is no world where the regressions wont occur bc yhk want each other to be happy #and they will keep the timeloop going if thats what it takes to keep the other alive #yhs dooms the world with her pen (keyboard) because she wants that teenager to live #because she realised he will type 'how to survive' and she wants him to survive no matter how cringe he is #no matter how ruined the world he will be living in would be #woah.... fuck orv (positive)

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acatalystrising · 2 years

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I’ve been working on the next chapter of Consequences (as well as Moth to a Flame Pt 3) buuut I had this idea for a scene that explores more of Boba’s nightmares so I wrote a little something AND THEN IT TURNED INTO THIS so enjoy the angst, fluff, and smut borne from my big emotions lol.

NSFW below the cut - minors please dni, thanks!

Oneshot: No Regrets (When I’m with You)

A huffed groan roused you from your slumber, and your eyes snapped open.

You peered out at the surrounding room you and Boba shared, not moving until you gauged the best response. You heard it again, a low rumble coming from beside you. Blinking sleepily, you shifted, turning to face him as quietly as you could.

Even asleep, he was massive - muscular frame tense and flinching as he was trapped in what you presumed to be a nightmare. The filtering moonlight flung in through the curtains painted his scars silver as his bronzed skin twitched, brows heavily furrowed, lips twisted into a scowl.

You knew Boba Fett had many demons - and he’d argue that he himself was the biggest of them all. Of course, you disagreed, always able to see the man behind the armor no matter the situation. But he was plagued nonetheless, bearing the weight of his losses, loves, mistakes, and regrets like the beskar he wore.

The next sound he emitted was the closest thing to a whimper you’d ever heard from him, and it made your heart twist.

Yes, Boba was feared by many - a bounty hunter back from the dead who sent tremors of terror through the galaxy; bearing a blood-soaked reputation that still made many tremble to this day. But when you looked at him, you didn’t fear him, nor did you pity him…you respected him. Those hands that had wrought so much death only ever comforted you, pleasured you. You believed, in many ways, that you saw who he truly was - that he was a man who needed and deserved love.

“Boba,” you finally spoke, voice soft yet steady in the night. You didn’t dare touch him, all too aware of his reflexes borne from years of fighting and trauma.

He flinched, lip twitching, brows furrowing further as you spoke his name again, gently coaxing him out of the darkness of his mind.

When his eyes opened, that darkness was still there - writhing, swirling in his irises like a living thing. But as soon as his gaze settled on you, it diminished, replaced with worry.

“Did I wake you, little one?” His rough voice was thick with sleep, ragged with a weight you knew delved much deeper then the scars on his skin.

“It’s okay, sounded like a bad dream,” you shifted closer, resting your head on your pillow so you could meet his gaze. “Need some tea?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched, nostrils flared as he fought to reorient his mind from whatever mental hells he’d been facing. You had a feeling he’d decline - his stubborn streak was a mile wide, after all. You watched, waiting, knowing that he’d tell you if he needed to verbally process. Finally he sighed, lifting one of his big hands out from under the covers, calloused fingertips gently caressing your cheek.

“Not right now, but I appreciate the offer,” his gaze roved over you with an affectionate intensity that burned you to your core, deep amber eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Go back to sleep, mesh’la.”

You leaned into his touch, his strong fingers blissfully warm, eyes closing for just a moment. Relishing in the comfortable quietness you two shared.

“You don’t have to bear everything alone,” you opened your eyes, finding that he was still watching you, brow slightly furrowed. “You know that, right?”

He sucked in a deep breath, broad barrel chest expanding, an altogether weary look on his weathered, rugged face.

“I know,” he blinked, dropping his hand from your face to the small of your back, drawing you closer to him with a shuddering sigh. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Nonsense, you think too little of yourself.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and he shivered, the hand at your back rubbing light circles over your nightshirt. “I’ve told you before - your past doesn’t scare me.”

He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours, warm breath washing over you like a caress.

“It should, ad’ika.” His voice was a low croak, touch on your back faltering for a moment. “I’m not a good man.”

Even like this, in such a seemingly domestic moment, Boba Fett was insurmountably larger than life. Commanding, intoxicating, confident…he filled the room with a presence that sent your head spinning. He knew how he affected you, of course, but in moments like this - that confidence waivered. You reached up a hand and lightly traced the scars on his forehead, wishing you could soothe the weight of regret.

“No, you’re not.” As soon as you spoke those words, he stilled beside you, but didn’t react - the ever patient hunter waiting for you to continue.

You shifted, dragging your hand down, cupping his cheek, trying to massage the tension from his jaw.

“You’re not a good man. You’re a great man.” You met his hesitant gaze, pressing a kiss to the arm holding you close. “A good man may be kind. Honorable even. But a great man? He recognizes that there’s darkness in the world, darkness in himself, and chooses to keep walking. To keep trying. Striving to be better regardless. And that is why you are great.”

He released a shuddering exhale through his nose and pulled you closer in an embrace. You twined your legs with his and kissed him, the sheer magnitude of his presence alone something that drew you in like a bird to a snare.

Many knew, and fatefully learned, that one could never escape Boba Fett once he had you in his clutches. You couldn’t get away either - but there was nowhere in the galaxy you’d rather be than in his embrace. He was a wildfire - all embers, smoke, and fury…and you were never one to turn away from the heat of the flames. You loved every spark, every supernova, until the rage finally gave way to a softness that you alone witnessed.

The truth was that Boba used his rage as a shield, just as much as his beskar, to keep himself protected. And you wanted nothing more than to show him he was safe enough with you to lower those walls - even if it took the rest of your lifetime.

“You’re too good to me.” His voice was softer when he finally spoke, tone rumbling through you and sending your stomach into a twisting spiral. “Could have someone younger. Less…damaged.”

“We all make mistakes. Have regrets.” You smiled, you couldn’t help it, too overwhelmed by your love to remain stoic. “That doesn’t mean we’re not worth loving. I don’t want anyone else, Boba. I want you. That’s never going to change.”

The hands that could so easily kill you drew you closer to him, not for death, but for a crushing kiss so achingly encompassing you couldn’t prohibit the moan that slipped from the back of your throat as he claimed you as his, and him, as yours.

“Stars girl,” his voice was impossibly husky when his lips finally broke from yours, and he kissed your neck, pressing a bite into your skin that he laved his tongue over the moment his teeth parted. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

“We found each other when we were ready,” you kissed his jawline, pressing your lips over his scars, relishing when he shuddered against you. “We both had to grow first, love.”

He hummed, taking your mouth back in his, tongue slipping between your teeth as he deepened the kiss. He shifted, hand at your back guiding you beneath him as he caged you between his arms, hand lifting to curl in your hair. You felt the swell of his arousal hot and heavy on your thigh and you whined, pressing against his impossibly broad chest. He watched you in the dark, lips curving into a dark grin when you tried to grind your hips against his hardening length.

“Would’ve tried harder if I knew you were waiting,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead that was so contradictory to the strong arms holding him up from crushing you. “Didn’t know I’d ever find this…”

“For the record, I didn’t either,” you met his gaze with full seriousness, regarding him with a small, sad smile. “I was alone for so long, you know…”

He fell silent, pressing himself closer, smoothing a hand over your shoulder, fingertips hovering dangerously close to one of your nipples. You kissed his neck, his shoulder, then his collarbones - anywhere you could reach that bore the marks of his past. He grunted, lifting a hand to your chin, directing your gaze to his.

Boba’s face was stern, set like mountain stone, a faint glimmer in his eyes showing a mere hint of the softness he could convey. You watched, heartbeat pounding like a drum in your ears, nearly breathless as he spoke.

“We’re not alone anymore, mesh’la.” He shifted his weight, lightly dragging his hard cock between your legs. You tried to shift your hips to meet him but he stilled, keeping you pressed down, and you did your best to stifle a whimper. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Kriff, I’m glad you didn’t settle. Don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

Gods, you nearly wanted to cry. You knew he wouldn’t judge you if you did, but still…he was a man of few words, usually opting for actions to show his love. But when he did voice his feelings, it only made your love for him grow.

“You aren’t broken, either,” you kissed his arm, lifting a hand to caress his scarred face. “I don’t care how bloodstained your past is. As long as I’m a part of your future, that’s all I ask for.”

“You have it, little one.” His lips curled into another smile, the harsh angles melting ever so slightly. “Hmm…you don’t seem interested in sleeping…what do you want?”

“You,” you wriggled beneath him and treated to press your thighs together, desperate for friction to relieve your pooling arousal. “Boba, please.”

He hummed, brow quirking up in a smirk as he lowered a hand between your bodies and pushed your legs apart, fisting himself with a low groan. You leaned up and kissed him again even as he ran his fingers through your folds, chuckling when he found you were already wet for him.

“You’re so good to me,” his tone was impossibly rough as he lined himself with your entrance, eyes locked on you. “So perfect.”

You lips parted to speak, but your words were transmuted into moans the moment his thick length speared you, steadily sinking into your core until you were so deliciously full, you could barely think.

Every time with Boba felt like the first, in a way. You never got over how big he was, how strong, how capable…and as he began to move, brows furrowed and eyes dark, you already were reduced to putty in his hands.

“You’re perfect too,” you managed to speak even as he picked up the pace, striking the places that only he could reach, every ridge and vein of his cock bringing you closer and closer to bliss. “I would have waited…a lifetime for you.”

He grunted, pulling you closer to his chest, one bent arm holding himself up, the other shaking between your legs and rubbing tight circles over your clit. Your eyes widened and you clung to him for dear life, breaths coming in ragged pants, kissing every inch of his skin that you could reach.

“Yeah? Me too, princess.” He adjusted his angle, spearing you deeper, and your head rolled back with a strangled moan. “Now, be a good girl and come for me.”

You shuddered, his words rippling over your skin even as he drove harder, faster, without mercy - playing you like an instrument, skillfully tipping you over the edge. His name was a cry on your lips as you came, your vision whitening, limbs quaking, pleasure rolling through you in waves. He didn’t slow, muttering praises as he chased his own release with relentless focus, sweat beading on his brow. He gave one final thrust before he came, lips parted in a delicious groan, one you swallowed when you kissed him, holding him close.

You both fell silent, breaths mingling, hearts pounding, his softening length still buried inside you for the moment. You kissed his jawline and he shifted, pulling out of you with a groan and gathering you in his arms, tucking you against his chest.

“Think you can go back to sleep now?” His voice rumbled through you and you smirked, twining your fingers with his as he pulled the covers back over you both.

“Yeah,” you smirked, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “But we can do that again if you have more nightmares.”

“Such a needy little thing,” he chuckled, burrowing his head between your neck and shoulder, pressing more kisses to your skin. The darkness, for the moment at least, had finally subsided. “As you wish.”

Silence fell, and you smiled, held safely in his embrace. You both had experienced so much loss and heartbreak…but perhaps even the most painful experiences could bring about rebirth.

“I love you,” the words whispered from your lips as sleep took you over.

The words you so often wanted to say but didn’t always know how. The words that carried so much weight you’d been afraid to voice. And yet, in the dark, even as a gust of wind fluttered the curtains and sent more moonlight spiraling over your intertwined bodies, you heard it - the soft rumble of Boba Fett’s voice as he held onto you tighter.

“I love you too, cyare.”

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typingtess · 4 months

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NCIS: Los Angeles Season 14 Rewatch: “Blood Bank”

The basics: A shootout on a yacht owned by Arkady Kolcheck gets NCIS’s attention.

Written by: Samantha Chasse co-wrote "Kill Beale Vol. 1" and wrote "Impostor Syndrome" and “Murmuration”.

Directed by: Benny Boom directed "Ghost Gun", "767", "Fool Me Twice", "Pro Se", "Hail Mary", “Groundwork” and “Perception”.

Guest stars of note: Duncan Campbell returns as NCIS Special Agent Castor from “Let It Burn”, Vyto Ruginis joins season 14 as Arkady Kolcheck. Matty Cardarople returns as Danny, who sold pastries in season 10’s “Into the Breach” and computer supplies in “Imposter Syndrome” in season 12,. Kathleen Garrett as Miraslava Borisova, Dalia Rooni as Riffat Murad, Nikolay Moss as Kostas Orlov, Jonathan Kells Phillips as Rupert Richardson and Emily Morales-Cabrera as Assistant

Our heroes: Deal with more Russian nonsense.

What important things did we learn about: Callen: Giving a deposition. Sam: Running a taskforce. Kensi: Nancy Drew on the boat. Deeks: Swedish nobility. Fatima: Late. Rountree: Bodyguard. Kilbride: Appalled by Arkady’s safe house.

What not so important things did we learn about: Callen: Now working on Sam’s taskforce. Sam: Absent. Kensi: Wields a mean serving tray. Deeks: Wields a mean sword. Fatima: Coffee fan. Rountree: Lost the excuse book. Kilbride: Found the excuse book.

Where in the world is Henrietta Lange? Not a mention, though I bet she knew Mira Borisova.

Who's down with OTP: Kensi dropped her “Mom Tone” when she had to separate Arkady and Mira Borisova. Kensi and Deeks were fine.

Who's down with BrOTP: Fatima and Rountree have plans for covering for each other. Fatima made a friend waiting for coffee.

Fashion review: Callen wears a dark blue, long-sleeve tee. Kensi has on an oatmeal pullover sweater that probably looked better in person than on the TV. Deeks started the episode in a pale pink tee before wearing his Swedish Nobleman blue suit. A red quarter-zip for Fatima. Rountree started the episode with a black tee and what looked like a blue lightweight rain jacket before wearing his all black bodyguard gear. Tell me if you’ve heard this before – blue suit, pale blue dress shirt, medium blue tie for the Admiral. He also wears a trench coat and looks fantastic.

Music: "Makaha” by the Tikiyaki Orchestra is playing in the bar when the Admiral arrives to rescue Arkady. Deeks and Arkady walk into the auction house with “Rasputin” by Boney M. playing. A bit of the “Titanic” soundtrack pops up at the end.

Any notable cut scene: Not today.

Quote: Arkady: “Grisha?”

Kilbride: “Guess again. What sort of a moron decides to make a safe house from...whatever this place is?”

Arkady: “Am I alive?”

Kilbride: “Judging by the looks of this table, barely.”

Arkady: “Listen, a Russian would not look for another Russian in a bar that serves rum-based drinks. It is a brilliant and delicious plan.”

An Arkady-Kilbride spinoff would have worked.

Anything else: On a yacht, a Russian woman is showing off the 43rd of the Czar’s Fabergé Eggs to buyers. There are only 42 known eggs, she has the 43rd which “no longer exists, yet, there it is.” She is looking for $7 million for the egg.

She wants to share champagne with her buyers but when she calls for one of her yacht staffers to bring a bottle, there is no answer. The buyer and his bodyguard pull out guns and shoot the woman and her security staff. They race off with the egg.

The woman, however, is not dead. The large necklace she wore acted as a bulletproof vest.

Walking into the office, Kensi and Deeks are debating Rosa watching a dating reality show. Kensi assures Deeks that Rosa knows the show isn’t real. This is news to Deeks, who thinks the program is real. The two debate the contestants, including a “meatball specialist”. A very amped up Rountree joins them, asking about going into the burn room. Since it is 9AM on a Monday, neither Kensi or Deeks have a reason to do any early week burning. Rountree tries to exit but is forced to explain the notebook he shares with Fatima. It is a track of their excuses for when they are late. “It’s the only way we can keep our stories straight!”

Kensi mentions texting each other but Rountree thinks Kilbride would find a digital trail. Fatima is late and he’s not sure what the excuse of the day will be. And he needs that right now since Kilbride is looking for Fatima. Rountree starts with a car appointment but that would mean Fatima scheduled it during work hours, angering Kilbride. He changes to medical appointment but that worries Kilbride. Suddenly Fatima has a dog – for an undercover operative, Rountree is bad at this. And the dog was hit by a car. Kensi and Deeks offer thoughts and prayers.

Fatima, however, is getting coffee. Fatima chats with a woman waiting for coffee. Riffat works for an agency finding housing for refugees from Afghanistan. After trouble with the barista, Fatima is on her way.

Kilbride walks into an empty Ops, except for Rountree. Based on the case that just arrived, Rountree wanted to do the debrief alone. Two Russians were found dead on a yacht in Marina del Ray. Demetri Fedrov and Simeon Babanin, former Russian military and now with the Wagner Group, are persons of interest in moving cultural and historical pieces of art. The boat, the Diamond of the Ocean, belongs to Arkady Kolcheck. “Why am I not surprised?”

Kensi and Deeks enter Ops with news that Arkady was attacked. They know nothing about what happened on the boat the way Rountree and the Admiral know nothing about the attack on Arkady. There is a “Who’s on First” vibe going on. Arkady was attacked at his house that morning but was able to move to a safe house. He contacted Callen, who wants Kensi and Deeks to ping Arkady’s burner phone. Callen is giving a deposition so he’s unavailable.

Deeks thought Arkady was out of the spy business but Kensi thinks it could be his past causing Arkady trouble. The Admiral isn’t so sure that Arkady is out of the spy business. Rountree offers to call Callen but the Admiral is going to find Arkady himself.

In a Tiki bar, a rather overserved Arkady is looking for “Grisha” but gets Kilbride instead. Kilbride is wondering what kind of “moron” makes a Tiki bar a safehouse. Arkady is wondering if he is alive. Explaining himself, Arkady tells Kilbride that a Russian would not look for a Russian in a place that serves rum-based drinks. “It is a brilliant and delicious plan.”

Ignoring what has led the two of them to “this idiotic moment”, Kilbride wants to know what happened. Leaving his house that morning, two men with guns came up to Arkady’s car. He high-tailed it out of there, running over one of the gunmen’s feet. Kilbride asks if that’s what caused the shooting on Arkady’s boat. Arkady is confused, he hasn’t owned a boat for 40-years. “Must be another Arkady Kolcheck.” Saying he is just a typical ex-KGB Agent who defected to America, “who could want me dead?”

On the maybe not Arkady’s yacht, the original thought is murder-suicide. Looking at the lack of blood spatter behind one body and the way the blood pooled, Kensi thinks this is a set-up. The investigation says there was no video but that doesn’t make sense. A boat this big and fancy would have security cameras, according to Kensi/Nancy Drew. Deeks tries a mirror but it is one way, not two. Kensi found a camera in the smoke detector – “Nancy Drew you did it again.”

In the boat shed, Arkady is finishing a call with Anna as Callen pours some coffee. Arkady isn’t a fan of the boat shed because it smells like a crab shack. His safe house has blended drinks. On the plasma screen, Rountree and an arriving Fatima have the footage from the camera Kensi found. Most of the footage is useless, it was over there table where the Russian woman was showing the egg. The woman, however, drags herself into the camera’s range. Fatima has facial rec but Arkady already knows – “Mira.” And he claims to know her biblically.

Mira is Miraslava Borisova, a Moscow museum curator turned black market antiquities dealer. With Borisova’s access, Arkady was able to put her in contact with people interested in buying what she could provide. But that was 40-years ago. Callen wants Arkady to set up a meeting.

Outside of a fancy hotel in Beverly Hills, Callen is surprised Borisova would hide in such a public place. Being a well dress, wealthy woman, Arkady thinks she’d fit right in. He’s a bit nervous about reuniting with Borisova. Callen offers some advice and help but Arkady remind him that he was doing this before Callen was born. The roach coach is now a plumbing company van with Kensi and Deeks inside with a lot of surveillance equipment. Callen tells them that Arkady dated Borisova before he met Anna’s mother.

Rapping on the door, Arkady finds it opened. He calls for Borisova as he walks inside. She has a rather heavy coffee table book and starts beating him with it. Callen asks Kensi and Deeks what’s going on and they’re not sure. Back in the room, Borisova is furious that Arkady finally calls and it the day she was almost killed. To get her attention, Arkady pops her with a couch decorative pillow. She returns the favor.

Kensi yells that “they’re fighting” – Borisova thinks Arkady set her up in Malta and set her up today – while Deeks is enjoying the “geriatric WWE”. Kensi wonders if they should go in. Callen isn’t sure. Deeks brings up the time Arkady made them de-booby-trap his car because Arkady couldn’t remember how he booby-trapped it. Kensi brings up a failed mission in Chechnya. Callen talks about Arkady cursing his engagement to Anna. They’re going to let Arkady and Borisova work things out for a while.

After Borisova picks up the luggage rack, getting NCIS’s attention, Arkady threatens to remove the tag from a rare Beanie Baby. When he does, Borisova really starts knocking him around. Callen, Kensi and Deeks walk into the hotel room just as Arkady goes flying.

Near Ops, Fatima runs into the Admiral while she tried to evade him. She apologizes for her tardiness. Fatima tells him her dog is doing well. The Admiral, a dog lover, wants her to bring in the dog as he recovers. In fact, he insists.

In Ops, Rountree apologizes for freaking out and going with the dog. Fatima is more concerned about finding a dog. On the big screen, Kensi and Deeks are in the boat shed. Rountree identified the missing object from the yacht – it is one of eight missing decorative eggs, made for the Russian royal family. While killing Borisova to steal the egg makes sense, why go after Arkady? Fatima sends a picture of the egg to Callen, who is interrogating Mira. Arkady is on the back deck in a time out.

Callen shows Borisova the egg. She plays dumb but knows she’s been caught. Callen asks why was the boat registered to Arkady. Again, Borisova plays dumb until Callen says he’s going to turn the yacht over to the DOJ. They have a special taskforce that confiscates Russian belongings. After explaining it is her boat, Borisova tells Callen that she has put Arkady’s name on everything she’s bought – from condos in Cape Town to safe deposit boxes. For all the world knows, they’ve been partners in crime for 40-years. It is the perfect revenge – “petty but effective.”

Bringing up the attack on Arkady, Callen believes someone going after Borisova tried to kill Arkady as part of her fake partnership. Since the men who robbed her thinks she dead, she’s not interested in talking. Callen is – the men are still after Arkady and it is Borisova’s fault.

The men on the yacht were new clients and vetted by an auction house. Callen is surprised – why would an auction house be involved. Antiquities have to be stored carefully not in a storage locker rented by the month. The only people who knew about the sale were the auction house, buyers and the seller, Alexey Pasternik. Pasternik was motivated – he wanted the sale. Moving the item quicky meant selling at a discount. And that means he’s the problem.

Alexey Pasternik died three-days earlier. He “threw himself” from a 12-floor condo by going through the window. A suspicious death. Fatima has a map of billionaires like Pasternik who left Russia days before the Ukraine invasion. More than half are dead.

Callen tells Borisova about Pasternik’s untimely fall. She tries to joke about the Russian national bird being a flightless bird because of all the falling Russians. Callen wants to know what Pasternik was trying to get away from. Borisova explains that the billionaires had their loyalty bought by the Russian government. Lots of money was given to these people and now with the sanctions causing financial pain in Russia, the government wants the money back.

The government was hiding their wealth with the billionaires – they are blood banks. Since the government was not happy with the way Borisova was selling off the assets, they went after her and her partner, Arkady.

Doing a ton of exposition, Deeks explains that the money given to the billionaires to invest and spend was reclaimable. Once the billionaire dies, the money goes back to Russia. All the murders of the billionaires all over the world was to get back the money. “This is so much bigger than we thought.”

In his office, Kilbride tells Kensi and Deeks on his smaller plasma screen that the DOJ will not be cooperating with NCIS. With tactical nukes on the table, NCIS has to be involved in a discreet investigation. An investigation without Callen, since he is joining Sam’s joint task force. It is Kensi, Deeks, Fatima and Rountree on this one.

Since they don’t know the gunmen or how to smoke them out, Deeks thinks they should approach the auction house since the auction house still thinks Borisova and Arkady are in business together. Arkady could approach the auction house to get an item and the insider in the auction house could tip off the gunmen.

Borisova is willing to help but only if she’s running things. The auction house will have rules for wealthy clients and a well-dressed Deeks – fancy suit, tie, and a medal of some sort around his neck – is just that client as Swedish nobility. She reminds everyone that the auction house protects objects, not people. The fire suppression system removes all the oxygen in a room to stop a fire. If there is a person there, well, that’s a problem for the person. For her cooperation, Borisova wants a second chance.

Dressing in the boat shed restroom, Borisova brings Arkady a special suit. He apologizes for leaving her in Malta. She sort of does the same with today’s assassination attempt. “Let’s just call us even.”

Walking into the auction house wearing a tan three-piece suit, a light blue dress shirt and a red paisley tie, Arkady introduces himself to the woman in the reception area. He is followed by Deeks and Rountree, who is all in black, dressed as a bodyguard. Asking for Rupert and giving his account number, provided by Borisova in the plumbing van with Castor, Arkady and Deeks welcomed in. Rountree must wait in the reception area – company policy.

In a waiting area, Rupert is excited to greet Arkady after working with Borisova on his behalf for years. Rupert starts speaking to Deeks in Swedish – that goes poorly. Rupert is going to speak to Deeks while Arkady opens his locker. Arkady is freaking out – he doesn’t have the key. The earwigs are failing – the building is secure. When Kensi asks about Borisova, Castor is shown out cold and Borisova is gone.

In the vault area, Arkady is met by an armed Borisova.

With no response from Arkady or Castor, Kensi and Rountree are going to move into the auction house.

Entering the locker behind Borisova is Arkasha, the man who shot her on the boat. Arkasha thought he was going to have to kill Borisova twice that day but she cut a deal with Arkasha today. She would kill Arkady, turn over her client list and she gets back the egg and her freedom. Arkasha suggest she shoot Arkady in the head. She doesn’t. Instead, she knees Arkasha where it hurts, turns on the CO-2 suppression system and sets off all sorts of alarms.

Making his way through the building, Rountree gets to the vault but can’t open the door. Rountree shoots open the vault door to find Arkady.

When the alarm goes off, so does Rupert. He pulls a sword from the wall before Deeks can get his gun out.

Rountree finds Arkasha and subdues him before they both suffocate.

Arkasaha’s men have Arkady and Borisova. Kensi causes a distraction and takes one henchman out.

Deeks finds his own wall sword and he and Rupert duel. Deeks wins in a way too short scene.

Kensi is stuck between Arkasha’s two men. Arkady tosses her a silver platter and a vase. She takes them both out before Deeks arrives. Promising to make a scene to distract Kensi and Deeks, Arkady wants Borisova to flee. She’s not going anywhere. Kensi puts her in cuffs.

Back in the office, Rountree asks Fatima for friends dinner - tacos or udon. She has to pass - she’s having a friends dinner with Riffat. Rountree thinks that’s great. He also found a shelter that lets people borrow pets – she could use that for the Admiral. Fatima is just going to tell the truth. That’s when the Admiral arrives with the excuses notebook. He also noticed all the same frappuccino cups in Ops so Fatima needs to come on time.

On the back deck of the boat shed, Kensi asks Arkady if he is alright. He has Anna, Grisha – his family. He wouldn’t rewrite one minute of his life if it meant he wouldn’t have them. Kensi asks about Borisova. She will always be on his credit score with all the accounts she took out. Besides, that means she is thinking of him. He shows her the beanie baby. Kensi tells him she knows it is worthless and so does he. She says goodnight.

Arkady watches Kensi leave and pulls the beanie baby apart. Inside is a very expensive necklace. With the soundtrack from “Titanic” playing, he holds it over the water. Then decides it was too expensive to drop into the water. Instead, Arkady takes it with him as he leaves. Anna calls. Suddenly, he wants to talk about the open bar at the wedding.

What head canon can be formed from here: There is a continuity issue because in “Answers”, Deeks joked about writing for a reality series. Now he’s shocked to find out they are scripted.

My goodness this was a chatty episode. TV should be show, don’t tell. This was all tell, tell, tell. And a generic tell, tell, tell. This episode works completely in season three. In season six. In season nine – you get the point. A mention of Callen’s wedding here and there but otherwise, Hetty could have picked Arkady at the bar, Sam or Callen could have been on bodyguard duty instead of Rountree.

And I know the lack of Sam (all) and Callen (a lot) in this episode has to do with the upcoming crossover episodes but just have Sam up on the big screen in Ops telling Callen to drop everything, he’s needed.

It wasn’t a bad episode – and anytime Arkady shows up, the fun level goes up, up, up – but it just wasn’t much of an episode.

Episode number: This was episode nine of season 14 (though it was filmed after “A Long Time Coming”), episode 311 overall.

#NCIS: Los Angeles Rewatch #NCIS: Los Angeles #NCIS: LA #NCIS Los Angeles #ncis la

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foundress0fnothing · 1 year

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Chapter 2 of "more thicker than forget" is here, featuring an awkward reunion, a lot of academic worldbuilding, and a tentative truce between our favs.

I thought this fic would be a two-shot, but as I got further into the story, I realized that some of the scenes I had planned needed more time/deserved their own chapters, so the expected chapter count is now 5 as Eris and Azriel re-meet each other after 5 years apart. This chapter is relatively short, but the next ones should allow our two more time to interact and come to terms with each other. I don't have an upload schedule for the other 3 parts yet, but expect them soon--I'm starting a new writing project sometime in July and want to have this story finished before I move on.

Read here on AO3, or continue below the cut.

5 Years Later—Eris

Late August

Eris checked the time on his office computer, sighed, and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. He only had a few moments alone before he had to pull himself together to greet the visiting scholar Prythian was hosting for the semester.

Or—to be more accurate—the visiting scholar he was hosting for the semester.

Thankfully this would be the last time he’d ever have to do something like this—in two months, he would finally, finally have tenure, not just be on a tenure track, and he could slow down—could stop working so hard to have a new publication every other month, could stop worrying so much about what students wrote on their course evaluations, could stop having to volunteer for every little thing the department needed, all to prove that he was—how did they put it?—“an asset to both the department and the university at large” and worthy of tenure.

Helping visiting scholars like the one coming that day was one of the volunteering responsibilities that he had taken on. The weeks or months spent playing host were typically monetarily and intellectually thankless time sucks, but they at least earned him a fair amount of good will—the senior scholars in the department were more than willing to pawn off the visiting researchers and the responsibility of making them comfortable to an underling whenever possible. And it’s not like the work was particularly hard at this point: Eris took them out for drinks, made polite small talk about whatever their niche research was, helped get them set up in their office and hotel, and was on-call to answer any question about university bureaucracy that might come up during their time on campus. Easy, distant, and—typically—quite dull.

At least this final scholar actually promised to be interesting. Eris couldn’t remember the man’s name—the department had certainly told him when he agreed to help him settle in, and he was sure there was an email buried somewhere in his inbox that would have the man’s CV and relevant publication information—but he remembered enough for their meeting today.

He was another modernist, albeit an independent scholar, working on an accessible reading guide to Finnegans Wake (a pointless task, Eris thought, not that anyone had asked him—no one tried to read the book except for the most dedicated Joyce scholars, and even then, it was more of a curiosity than a work of serious literary merit. It was just too strange—he first read the book one summer as an undergrad and felt drunk for a week after). Apparently, the project was in its final stages, and since Prythian housed the largest collection of Joyce’s letters and drafts, the scholar had requested a visiting position to have access to the archive. He and Eris would be co-teaching an undergrad survey class on Joyce as well, thus necessitating their meeting today—who would lecture when, what they would ask the students to read versus what the students would actually read, how harshly they wanted to grade essays—all the usual logistical nonsense that came with teaching a class.

At the sound of a soft knock on his office door, Eris snapped his eyes open and shrugged his blazer back on, the tweed slightly itchy at the back of his neck where the jacket rose over the collar of his shirt. As settled as could hope to be, Eris called out, “Come in.”

“Dr. Vanserra!” Thesan Aubade, the department chair, greeted him as he opened the door and stepped into the cramped space. The office was clean, and as elegantly outfitted as an 8 by 8 cell could hope to be, but Eris was victim to the occupational hazard that befell anyone making a living off of their words: every spare foot of space was devoted to books, each wall lined with overflowing shelves that intruded into the already too-small room. There was room for his desk and a single chair for students coming in for office hours, but not much else. “I come bearing your charge for the semester, Dr. Azriel Moreno.”

Eris took a moment to study the man who followed Thesan into the room. He looked vaguely familiar, tall and broad and with an unfairly beautiful face framed by rounded tortoiseshell glasses, wearing a white oxford tucked into black jeans with a black blazer over top. Eris had probably seen him on the conference circuit at some point over the last few years, but at this point, the names and faces of the minor scholars who attended those blurred together. Deciding that it wasn't anything worth worrying about, he smiled and said, “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Moreno. I look forward to working with you this semester.”

The man held Eris’ gaze for a beat too long, not offering a greeting in return, his hazel eyes boring into Eris’ own before he slowly raised a brow as if in challenge.

Before Eris could start to make sense of the man’s expression and the odd hostility it conveyed, Thesan cut in. “Facilities couldn’t find him a space in the building with the construction in the east wing, but I assured Dr. Moreno that you would be more than happy to share your office space for the semester.”

Eris blinked at Thesan, who had the gall to meet his confused expression with only a bland smile. “Is that so?” Eris said slowly, biting his tongue before he said anything ruder. Because god, it was just like Thesan to spring this on him here, in front of the scholar, rather than giving him time to argue or plan or figure out literally any better solution than cramming two people into the same small working space.

Moreno, however, simply smiled at Thesan. “I’m sure Dr. Vanserra and I can make it work. Who knows?” He said, cutting his eyes over at Eris again. “Perhaps we’ll find we enjoy such close quarters.”

Eris almost rolled his eyes at that bullshit, ingratiating answer, which would have wrecked the image of careful control he had cultivated over the last five years of dealing with departmental politics. Thesan, though, pleased that he wouldn’t have to do any mollifying, clapped his hands and started moving toward the door. “Well, that’s excellent. I’ll leave you to it, then. Can’t wait to hear what you plan for the Joyce class.”

There was a beat of silence in the wake of his departure as Eris stared after Thesan’s retreating form, silently seething as he imagined the intrusion that Moreno’s presence would present to his routine: a person in his space and in his business, for whom he’d be expected to give up his desk and his peace of mind whenever the other man decided he needed it, nevermind how snowed under Eris was with trying to keep up with teaching responsibilities and research and preparations for his tenure review.

And that wasn’t even taking into account that the man himself was apparently going to be insufferable—oddly standoffish with colleagues like Eris, irritatingly sycophantic with higher-ups like Thesan. Any enthusiasm he might have felt about working with Moreno this semester was rapidly draining away.

Still, he had a job to do, but Eris was not about to tackle the rest of the day sober. “There’s a bar a few blocks away that the undergrads haven’t discovered yet. Why don’t we do this over a drink?”

Eris saw something flash briefly over Moreno’s face—again, that strange, brief hesitation—before he said simply, “Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, they had settled into a booth with their drinks, both men slightly sweaty from the walk to the bar through Prythian’s late summer humidity. Their conversation on the walk over had been stilted: Eris made some innocuous comment about the weather and Moreno agreed brusquely that, yes, it was quite hot; Eris asked after the general details of Moreno’s travel to Prythian and Moreno informed him that it was “fine;” Eris asked after the details of his research project and Moreno told him that it was “almost finished.” And that was it.

Perhaps the man was just awkward, Eris mused as Moreno raised his pint glass to his lips to take a sip while staring at the street outside of the bar, just someone who never mastered the politicking and the small talk and the conversations that came with academia. It would explain why he wasn’t at a university, at any rate.

Even so, he didn’t relish the thought of spending any more time with him here than he had to—sharing an office and a class with Moreno all semester would be enough of a headache and, if the walk over was any indication, this meeting would be much the same, with Eris carrying the discussion about semester logistics while the other man grunted agreement instead of offering real answers and insights like an actual person. He sighed internally— only two more months until tenure .

Pulling out his laptop, he said, “So. The Joyce class. I figured we’d alternate lectures rather than splitting them, and I’ve made a tentative weekly lecture and reading breakdown. What’s your email? I’ll send this to you to review.”

Turning back to Eris, Moreno looked at him blankly for a moment, apparently not quite ready to jump into the work of the meeting, and Eris resisted the urge to sigh and scold him like he was a distracted undergrad broodily gazing out of a window.

“Of course,” Moreno said, shaking himself slightly and pulling out his phone. “Email is [email protected].”

As Eris typed in the email, he noticed that Moreno began to roll up the sleeves of this shirt, the sunlight streaming into the bar having made even the indoor space uncomfortably warm.

And then—fuck .

Because the man had tattoos across his forearms, intricately swirled and somehow elegant in their brutality, and Eris had only seen tattoos like those once before—years ago, at another bar, in what felt like another lifetime—and he realized why the man had seemed so familiar back in his— their —office.

Eris dragged his eyes away from the man’s arms only to find Moreno studying him. With a smirk, Moreno asked, “It was the tattoos then?”

Eris felt his mouth go dry as he remembered the last time he was with this man, was with Azriel Moreno. He was high on his job offer and cool and articulate and utterly in control. But now? Now, he could only rasp out, “They made an impression.”

Moreno barked a mirthless laugh at that. “I suppose they did.”

Silence stretched between the two men after that for a few beats as Eris, caught wrong-footed, scrambled for something to say to salvage the meeting, hoping desperately that Moreno wasn’t petty enough to say something to Thesan about the disaster this was becoming.

To Eris’ surprise, however, Moreno was the one to break the tension. “Look, Vanserra, I’m here to continue my research and finish my book and teach this class. Nothing more. I haven’t been with a university in five years, and I just want this to be simple and professional and uncomplicated.”

Eris hoped his relief didn’t show too clearly on his face. “I think we can manage that.”

“Good.” With that, Moreno turned his attention back to his phone, pulling up the email from Eris and skimming through the document. “I have some thoughts.”

#azris #azris fanfiction #academia au #five years later #one bed trope? NAH one desk trope

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shastafirecracker · 1 year

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Heyo! Sorry for coming into ur ask box randomly but I was thinking about one of ur responses to the last ask meme about how you have some ideas stewing on the backburner that, if you wrote them, would probably be huge and maybe more work than you could have time/energy for. if the universe was the perfect place that we deserve where we could just. beam our thoughts into a blank doc perfectly somehow, what are a couple of the things that you'd write?

aw man... well, in no particular order, I've done very rough idea-sketching for the following trigun AUs:

basically Stephen King's The Mist except a bunch of people are stuck in a diner were Vash (vagrant with mysterious past) is working as a dishwasher and Wolfwood (priest who manages the orphanage attached to a megachurch with deep corruption) is taking about a dozen kids out for lunch so that Miss Melanie can get some shut-eye. the mist happens and all sorts of dramas afflict the diner and then when a select bunch end up running for it (led by the newly-bonded-in-fire V&W) they need to traverse a town full of fog and nightmares to find Melanie, the rest of the kids, and a way to escape

seafaring AU wherein Knives and Vash are selkies and Knives stole his own twin's skin and keeps Vash imprisoned in the belly of his infamous Flying Dutchman-style ghost ship called the Ark. Wolfwood died at sea and was offered a soul-indenture deal as crew for the Ark and now he's the assistant ships' cook and has all sorts of religious trauma. he finds a mysterious naked, scarred man in the bilge and slowly unfolds the truth and vows to steal back Vash's skin, even knowing that he himself can never leave the Ark.

beauty and the beast AU with uncanny monster Vash in a thorned-in castle... parts of this ended up in my big bang fic

fae court AU where Vash and Knives are the summer & winter, seelie & unseelie double faces of the same entity, who maybe split themselves in half during (or in reaction to) a past trauma? (some of the aesthetic of this made it to the BB fic)

a fantasy prince!Vash & knight!Wolfwood AU in which the twins are supposedly the children of the late princess Rem and her husband Alex but actually they were secretly foundlings of unknown origin and it's a scandal for them to be claimed as royalty. meanwhile the king's master alchemist is doing some human experimentation bullshit on the downlow and is stealing scullery kids and orphans who muck the stables for pennies or whatever, and doing Eye of Michael nonsense to them. Wolfwood is such a success that he's quietly slipped back into palace life as a page, to act as a closed mouth and open ears to the affairs of nobles etc. He and Vash are age peers and end up running into each other and becoming fast friends over years; meanwhile Knives is uncovering the corruption in the castle and instead of reporting it, he's taking it over. this one would for real for real be way too long for me to ever write, because I was daydreaming that it would go on for like, multiple action set pieces and changes of status quo, and several decades of Vash & WW's lives, and eventually Knives would kill the king and take over, and V & WW would be the outlaw & his rogue knight, and yadda yadda yadda it's a 450K fanfic that I want to read but not write

music scene AU in which WW is stage crew and Vash is the reclusive identical twin of famous punk/glam rocker Knives (stage name), and WW finds the person he thinks is the talent wandering lost backstage and is like these goddamn stars always so goddamn high, ugh, until he chases Vash down and Vash is like ohhh no I'm just back here because my brother invited me ahaha... hi you're cute... IDK, this could be long or it could just be a short PWP of vashwood hooking up in the green room, lol

direct Green Knight AU in which Wolfwood is the fledgling knight starved for praise who doesn't actually like violence and prefers softness and comfort, but when he perceives his masculinity as being tested he goes all-in on violence and does the classic thing of beheading the Green Knight in the contest of blows. and then he goes on his journey etc etc and encounters Lord Bertilak, who would be Vash, and they play the game of exchanges of gifts, except in this version when the lady of the house gives WW a sexual favor he doesn't cheap out like the movie did and not have Dev Patel give Joel Edgerton a handjob! it was right there! come on, we were robbed! ahem. uh. yeah. a lot of this ended up in my BB fic also. XD

like a Mr & Mrs Smith comedy AU in which Vash and Wolfwood both are either criminals or one is a criminal and one is an undercover operative and they're both trying to blow the whistle on Knives' crime ring without letting each other get wind of what they're doing and it plays out for way too long before they finally realize they were doing the same thing the whole time

I did the research for this whole fuckin thing set in 1814 England of Vash having just come home from losing an arm in the Napoleonic Wars and becoming friends with the local Anglican priest who takes his confessions i.e. is just the only person he can talk to through his PTSD and also both of them agonizingly realizing that they're queer and into each other... and after doing all this research I was like, what the fuck am I doing, I don't even really like historical dramas.

Great Fall happens on a water planet??? (I mean everyone's gotta wish they could do an alternate-biome-Trigun, right? I've seen the ice planet AU art out there which is PHENOMENAL)

Vash is a high school chemistry teacher who pranks his students at least once a semester by pretending to blow up his arm, Wolfwood is a special education teacher, Milly's the coach (of everything), Meryl's the haggard and perpetually harassed economics teacher, the climax of the plot is prom and V&W goofily act out the proms of their own they never got to go to, and they fuck in a limo, idk. this one's a comedy

I think about AU ideas a normal amount

#sf writes #most of these are drawn from an AU scratchpad i had for a while #and they're mostly vashwood just because i was looking at a vashwood prompt list at the time #but like ill be real. they could all be polygun or mashwood and i'd still be into it #and this isn't counting the scraps of shorter ideas that come to me #since you asked about the fics that are just too damn long for me to have the energy to sit and write #I used to not like AUs so much... idk what happened to me... i love them now #shiromouse #asks #thank you for the question! and for listening to me ramble!

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autumnslance · 2 years

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In your answer to an ask (and just to say it, I LOVE Aeryn and Thancred!), you wrote the following that really stuck out to me:

I can't find it, but at some point I've noted that characters that seem to "do their own thing" are really just our subconscious taking the wheel; we are responsible for our characters' builds and their choices, but for me, a "successful" character who unfolds like I'm discovering them and their life, who surprises me with choices and actions, is cuz I gave them a solid enough grounding, know who they are...and my unconscious goes from there, usually cuz my conscious is holding myself back due to all the usual fearful, imposter-syndrome-laden reasons.

That really resonated with me, especially considering the various discussions I had about that with pretty popular fanfic writers who have never understood how a character surprises a writer.

And I mean, I get the argument - as you said, we as the writers are controlling the character and the story. And still I get surprised by my characters, even if I deliberately bring them into a situation with an intended outcome - suddenly, I'm in the middle of a scene and go "No, wait, they wouldn't react that way / do that actually."

I never really had an answer to counter the "I control everything, I never get surprised by characters", but I think your point about having given them a solid enough groundwork and the subconscious drawing from that is very, very true.

Thank you; I'm still always a little surprised when people like my shippy nonsense! You'd think I'd have accepted that by now and yet.... 😅

And yeah, we know how we, the writers, respond to things and can want a scene to go. But if we are "listening" to our characters--to ourselves and how we built them, and trust those instincts, then the characters seem to take that "life of their own." We let go of our own inhibitions and what we know are the "right/correct/etc" choices and let the characters be themselves--be who we made them to be.

If I made my character to be impulsive, then she ought to be; while I deliberate over an action, to make sure it's the "right" one (optimal, moral, whatever)...am I writing what I know is the "best" choice, like choosing a particular path in a video game to get a specific ending, or am I being true to the personality I created, especially when my deliberations are hung up on "the character 'wants' to make this choice but..."

Because I made that character, with these personality traits and backgrounds informing her life, and if I am writing (or roleplaying) true to that then she can seem to "make her own decisions." But it's really decisions I pre-made in deciding who she was to begin with, and sometimes we slip things in there without realizing--like, for instance, an enjoyment of snarky, emotionally complicated, disaster rogues that for my dear WoL daughter turned into a romantic interest when consciously, I had no intention of a pairing. But the choices I made in creating Aeryn, and how playing/writing her to react to the story based on those creation decisions, made that interest the correct choice for the character when confronted with it. Then it became a matter of convincing myself to just roll with it, and figuring out how it would work--mutual or one sided pining, everything fine, disastrous attempt(s), etc. Based again, on how I made my girl, and how I saw and wrote for That Damn Rogue.

Anyway, the step after that is learning to let go, trust your own character creation and writing, and lean into that. Let the character make those choices, good or bad (sometimes the "bad" choice leads to more/better story, besides). It is all our own choices and control as the writer/player, it's just when did we make those decisions: in the moment, or ahead of time when deciding who this character is to begin with--and realizing how we sometimes make some unconscious choices that we can lean into, rather than fight against.

-----

Now in a RP situation, one might have to bend or wrangle the character more to not entirely screw over the party/scene partners; a little mayhem and bad choices can be good, but not to the point of being a disruptive dick about it with the excuse of "that's just my character!" That either means the character has to (relatively quickly) grow and change as a person with their player considering how that will best work...or the character (or maybe the player) is not suited for that group/situation. Depends on if everyone's cool with it and having fun, or whether someone's trying to spotlight hog in a shared group setting, or just didn't make/bring a character appropriate for that group/situation/setting/etc.

RP characters should be made with a mind toward being somewhat team players, even if not outwardly. Otherwise the player isn't going to have too good a time trying to get into social situations--or especially at a closed game, if not taking their group and the GM's story into account. I saw it a lot at our LARP back in the day, and have seen it too at many open social events in MMOs; someone makes a mysterious loner who hangs at the fringes, doesn't have much reason to be there, and the player is bored or even upset no one's interacting with their uninvolved character (Edgy broody loners can be done, but I think often requires a little experience in knowing how to balance that with the needed social interaction aspect--and also already having some OOC connections that can be relied on to play off of and form connections with IC to draw those characters in).

So it again comes down to choices made early on, and how that will affect the "yes and..." situations once actually roleplaying them, and letting those early choices, conscious and subconscious lead the way, but with a little more deliberation and consideration for the other players.

#final fantasy xiv #lyn meta #characters #character development #writing #roleplay

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hospitalterrorizer · 15 days

Text

diary351

9/5/24

thursday

i'm sick for the millionth time.

very exhausted, i sent the email over to the director with 6 tracks, some overlap, or one overlaps with another, so maybe it's closer to 5 songs but one kind of moves between scenes or helps to move between scenes in a way, it's like covering multiple bits. i think 2 more songs are what i need to sketch out, basically, and with whatever feedback i get, live in these tracks a little longer and get them sorted, whatever issues there may be.

i put a little too much oil in my hair but that's okay since i'm going to sleep soon.

i guess i ought to sleep now. i wrote a tiny bit. i need to assemble something, with the nonsense bits i have, i think they're all coherent together in a way, i just have to figure that out, and then... i'll have something 'complete' in its non-complete-ability. that seems good. hopefully the people i trust to read my writing do not hate it. i can do that tomorrow. i also should try and get to the other bits of the soundtrack as soon as possible, before edits come in, even if these are unused. one bit, there's an idea i have for recalling some musical bit, during the second argument of the film. i am a little gutted thinking about how the soundtrack at the end is going to be set to something else, i feel like i could make that really freakish, but it's what the director really feels i suppose. i hope i've hit at some kind of emotional thing for him. i wonder if maybe my composing / writing is really immature or something. as in, not many interesting moves in scales, nothing daring. i wonder if that's true or not. i don't know what daring i ought to go for and i don't want to do things which would be too far, you know. i like going wild, when i go wild, this feels like an exercise in creating something recognizable, understandable emotional territory. sometimes i write things that are pretty to me in their fucked-up-ness, i wonder if for most people that just tracks as horror, i don't think so honestly, but for people who don't really listen to music maybe. or anger, people probably think i'm angry. i guess i can be but not so much that i'm making fast fucked up music to deal with it. but this is all whatever.

youtube

good szszszsonggg.

i really hate being sick, there was blood in my nose this morning from it drying out. kay. i guess i'll do my nasal spray when this song ends and go to sleep. it really sucks. tomorrow i'm still gonna work out. i always do because i have have have to.

okay song ovarrr. time to sleep, i hate how the nasal spray leaves a fucked up taste. i made myself sneeze and got it all over my thighs... cool.

okay. i also hate how the spray makes one of the nostrils impossible to breathe through. my life feels so dumb sometimes.

i have to sleep now,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#Youtube

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misireads · 5 months

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Pussikaljaromaani ("Beer bag novel") by Mikko Rimminen

[ physical book, read in finnish ]

one day in the life of three drunk men in helsinki. they wander around, mostly in the kallio area, and get in trouble with the police. sometimes they sit down to drink with underage girls. at one point it starts raining. yes that's it, that's the book. over 300 pages.

➕ i need to elaborate why i read this book…. over 2 years ago i decided i want to read more finnish literature, so i googled a list of recommendations (+ recommended authors), took one list, started going down it. this was the last one i had left on the first side of the slip of paper i wrote my list on -- even though it continues on the other side of the paper lol, it still felt like i finished A list that i'd been working on for two years now, and this was the one last title remaining on it, so i was really determined to read this even though i had already read another novel from rimminen that was total nonsense, yeah idk how two of this author's books made it to a rec list but they did. so that's why i read this and didn't drop it.

➕ i mean… the author sure has a way with words. this novel truly is about words, not about any story or characters. the finnish language clearly provides rimminen with endless entertainment.

➕ besides words, this novel is about helsinki. it was pretty fun following the places mentioned here on a map, especially since this book is twenty years old and many things have changed since then because helsinki is developed REALLY rapidly these days and kallio has become significantly gentrified. it was pretty funny that one of the key locations in this story is this iconic kiosk where they get cheap beer and hotdogs and whatever, which these days apparently sells wine.

➕ fast to read because nothing happens. no need to pay attention to anything so you can just run your eyes through every page

➕ the relationship between the three men is actually kind of wholesome? i guess.

➖ this is the definition of nonsense. there's no story here to speak of. the characters hardly have any characteristics either. clearly this is supposed to be Haha Funny Humorjoke but reading about drunk men walking around stealing shit, and then drinking some more, and then drinking some more^2 with teenage girls is truly……. not my definition of a good time. most of the novel is description of them walking somewhere. or running. there's also a scene where they meet "a tranny" and iiiiii yeeeaaaahhhh yes.

➖ what's not description of them walking is description of the sort-of-main character thinking that he should say something, or recurring dialogue of one of the guys saying something nonsensical and either himself commenting how it was nonsense or the others commenting that it's nonsense. i don't even know how to adequately describe how little content there is in the dialogue. the average scene is just about this: "'huh,' he said. 'what huh,' another he said. 'well huh huh,' he repeated" my brain cells are dying as we speak

➖ the author has a way with words yes but those are extremely, extremely repetitive words. this reads like stuff i wrote as an 11 year old, packing every sentence full of LOL SO RANDOM XDDDDD metaphors and hehhe funny words haha sounds soooo funee. i wrote down some drinking game ideas: take a shot at each instance of the finnish words "jotenkin" (somehow), "jonkinlainen" (some kind of), "sellainen" (that kind of), "siten" (therefore). you'll be piss drunk in five minutes

➖ the last 50 or so pages are just lists of things in helsinki. feels like the author ran out of ideas of what to write so he made the characters walk even more and just listed the locations.

⭐ score: 1 -- yeah. bye

#author: mikko rimminen #genre: finnish lit #genre: humor #score: 1 #read in: 2024

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kinetic-elaboration · 11 months

Text

October 30: Writing Out Some Thoughts

So, I’m just going to write down some thoughts today because I’m feeling in a kind of weird mood. I think it comes from a four-day weekend and also from this… Halloween hangover I’m experiencing, on the day before Halloween.

I really feel Halloween-ed out. This is sad because again the holiday is literally tomorrow and it’s my favorite one, but I think I was just anticipating it and building it up to it for too long. Like I was actively invested in thinking about Halloween in July. At this point, I’m still hoping to have a nice day tomorrow but after that I’m really ready for a re-set I think. I know it’s an arbitrary re-set but aren’t they all? I’ll take it; I’ll take anything.

Writing wise… I feel quite frustrated and knotted up. I feel like I failed, to be honest. Which I KNOW is nonsense-talk on many levels. I really wanted to write ficlets this year but I think what I actually wanted was that pleasant creative experience of writing a whole bunch of very specific, short genre-pieces, all in a row. And that’s really hard to do with me being… as I am right now. Like it’s just too tall a task. So then it becomes more about the outcome than the experience and that stresses me out and I get all tied up in knots about it. It starts to feel more like an obligation. I’ll be honest, I do like the idea of my ficlet series for this year. But I just don’t think it’s plausible to do. Or rather, it’s not plausible to do in, like, half a day, and I don’t want to push it forward. I don’t want it separated from Halloween and I don’t want another (ANOTHER!!) thing on the to do list.

I think if I continue to pretend I can write even some more of the ficlets that I’ll just ruin Halloween like I kinda ruined today: avoiding, overthinking, worrying, doing nothing either productive or fun. I have such a wall up about this second ficlet, I just… it’s not fun. I’m all blocked up about it.

It’s a little annoying to me that I wrote one ficlet because now it’s just this random story. I think it would work way better in the context of a series. But I don’t want to just not post it because I feel like that would be defaulting to, essentially, putting the series, as is, these 5 specific ficlets, onto the WIP list and I don’t want to do that. Also, while I have other ‘vault’ stories that I’m posting on a delay, I think this one should be posted now to reflect when it was written. So, I guess the best available option is just to post it tomorrow by itself. It bums me out, but whatever, it’s fine.

The thing is that I actually have written a lot of Halloween stuff this year, it’s just not the Halloween stuff I intended to write. I basically made my Time Loop story into a Halloween novel, and I wrote three-fourths of it. And I wrote an Exchage fic that, I will be honest, was not terribly exciting to me and was quite challenging especially in the development of the concept, but it does exist, it is quite long imo, and it is scary (hopefully).

Another consideration here is that I really do feel like I want to take a step back from horror. I’ve been reading horror since this summer, writing horror since this summer, watching horror since this summer. I need a palette cleanse. But I also really, really want to finish the Time Loop. I took a month’s break from it and that is more than enough. I wanted to get a bit of a reprieve from writing the same scene over and over but if I wait too much longer it’s just going to disappear into WIP Purgatory, where I forget everything about it and have to start from scratch. Which means I have quite a bit more creepy writing ahead of me. It’s another strong argument for not attempting the ficlets or even worrying about them anymore.

Blah. So the agenda for writing: tomorrow, post the ficlet I did write, and see my Troped Exchange fic posted; in November, use the Time Loop for my CalmWriMo project, with the goal of having it written, edited, and posted by the end of the month. I think that’s very doable. I only have 10 more scenes to write, which for some reason seems like no big deal to me. I guess that’s because I’m not sitting down to write any of them now lol. I’m also going to try to get a handle on my fic notes; I’m very behind on typing them up. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll work on after Time Loop—I have some ideas but I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. Something off the WIP list though. Maybe… the first chapter of a multi-chap? I’ve been sort of drawn to some of those ideas lately. That’s probably the devil talking but—eh.

(Also I have NOT forgotten SGAU. It just… got sidelined yet again but I swear, I swear, 2024 is its year!)

#the year 2023 #2023: rl #2023: writing thoughts #i don't know if this help or just stresses me out more

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