#or write for stuff several chapters ahead so I keep... not having a new chapter to post lmao

[midnightwind]

having another fantastic bout of Extreme Fatigue* and I have gotten negative writing done this week so Terrible news for the fic update

[mediumgayitalian]

Can you recommend long fics preferably over 200k words pls (all solangelo centered) 😞

okay so i searched through all my bookmarks and, unfortunately, ive only got 3 fics over 200K, two of which i'm certain i've already recced, and one i'm not quite done myself (but that i am enjoying a lot):

august by @cordelia---rose

Somehow, Nico's life only gets more confusing after he defeats a primordial Goddess. Will Solace accounts for about 90% of that confusion. (A journey through August, and all its ups and downs.)

i have recced this series once i have recced it a thousand times. it is my own personal canon. as long as my fics do an okay job reflecting the will and nico here, i'm happy. august (will's version) has to be one of my favorite fics ive ever read and the updates keep me sane. i LOVE this fic. there is such care in it. it is done so amazingly well and cordelia, in general, is an EXCEPTIONAL author with an unbelievably good handle on characterization and humor.

2. PJO Arranged Marriage/Royalty AU by @gatesofember

In a fictional world inspired by 18th century Europe, Artemis arranges the marriage of Will, the illegitimate son of Duke Apollo, and Nico, the Prince of Pluto. Percy, Prince of Neptune, marries his lover and childhood friend, Annabeth, a foreign heretic native to the islands in the north. After his older sisters pull out of the succession and his fiancee leaves him, Jason, Crown Prince of the Juvian Empire, faces the manipulative power of his stepmother alone...until he finds a new woman to marry.

i love this fic. it is unfinished however and will remain so. ember has an ending outlined on their blog, and who knows, anything can happen. lol. HOWEVER this is definitely worth the read. if anything it will inspire a royal au that lives in your head, like it lives in mine. plot was so so so so catching.

3. Will Solace and the Socialites of Olympus University by @sarcasmandships

Will Solace has enough problems. Between juggling two jobs, surviving pre-med classes, and making sure his roommates don’t burn down their Harlem apartment, the last thing he needs is a hopeless crush on campus legend Nico di Angelo. But try telling that to his heart. Nico and his rich, mysterious, ridiculously good-looking best friends (affectionately dubbed “Nico and the Seven” by students who can only dream of being that cryptic) are the stuff of gossip and wild rumours. Mafia ties? Maybe. Vampire coven? Sure. Time travelers from an alternate dimension? Definitely plausible. Will’s sure he’s never stood a chance… until a spilled drink, a cigarette on a balcony, and one very unexpected dinner invitation send him spiralling into Nico’s orbit. Now he’s stuck somewhere between flirting and a full-blown existential crisis. Because falling for Nico di Angelo was not part of Will’s academic plan; and he’s about to learn that extra credit doesn’t cover emotional disasters.

ongoing, but excellent. i am on....chapter 11?? i think?? so a quarter through. i broke and read ahead to some of the smut lol. and some of the prequel also bc it is excellent. but i am back on the straight and narrow and reading this painful slowburn persist. i am very excited to see where this goes bc anything stella writes is a BANGER and im not just saying that bc we're moots. she genuinely has a very good idea on how to write the push and pull and flow of a relationship, from romantic to platonic to in between and outside.

okay that's it that i have for 200k+. however. i have SEVERAL 20k+ fics?? if you would like?? shoot me an ask and ill do a list of those

[comicaurora]

Out of curiosity, how far ahead are you on the comic? I mean, you must have it all planned and written out, but I imagine that you are drawing the future of Aurora even while we're reading it.

So is Arc 2 already illustrated and ready for upload while you're on like Arc 5 or something? I'm by no means undermining your need for a break; I'm shocked that you've been uploading continuously for over 4 years at this point. I'm just interested to know how long it takes a person to make something this great. And also if you change any details in the final edit?

Basically: what's the workflow like?

Also I think you low-key inspired me to pick up painting as a hobby. I'm ready to pour so much money into creating things that I know I'll hate. :)

God, arc 5? That's a very generous assessment of how fast I can draw!

Typically, when the comic is updating regularly, I keep a buffer of 10 to 20 completed pages. Right now, in the interest of taking a break, the buffer is 0 completed pages.

Chapter 1 of Arc 2 is completely storyboarded, meaning it's sketched out, the dialog is all mostly finalized barring last-minute rephrasements, etc. It can be read in its current form, it just looks unpretty. In fact, just for fun, here's a sneak peek!

In the next month I'll go through and finalize as many pages from this chapter as possible - which means locking down the panel borders, fleshing out the backgrounds, lining, shading, coloring, polish, etc. - which will be the process of building up a new buffer for when the comic starts back up again in January. During that time, I'll also be storyboarding Chapter 2 and as much of the following parts as I can manage.

I have the next several chapters and sub-arcs planned out in loose timelines - event A happens at location B leading to consequences C and D, stuff like that. Chapter 2, being the closest, is a little more fleshed-out, with a more detailed bullet-pointed timeline and various character ideas I've had that might or might not make it into the final version.

What exactly the chapter breakdown is going to look like is a little more complicated. Initially I'd planned for Chapter 1 to be low-stakes downtime and Chapter 2 to quickly kick off the high-octane adventure again, but when I started bullet-pointing out the stuff I wanted to do in Chapter 2, I ended up with a big pile of slower-paced character moments I thought were well worth exploring, so the runtimes might stretch a little.

Translating those brainstormed notes into storyboards and dialog is what I would classify as the "writing" part of this process. It happens at an erratic pace largely determined by the whims of whatever muse decides to get me in a headlock that day; sometimes I go weeks with no storyboarding progress, sometimes I hammer out fifteen pages in one day.

It's kinda like weaving, to me. The soon-to-be-arriving parts of the story are the most finalized, the most densely woven. A little ways beyond that, things get looser - some patterns may be locked down, but the actual work that'll hold it together hasn't been done yet. And in the far-flung future arcs, it's just the basic bones of the story and a pile of the threads I've planned to use. I know the shape of it, but in order for it to be fun and engaging for me to make it, I need to give myself room to be creative when I'm putting the whole thing together.

I actually have a file called the "Toolbox" that contains every random character or subplot idea I've had, and sometimes when I'm debating where to go with a chunk of story, I'll crack it open and scan through to see if anything jumps out begging to be used. Lotta fun stuff in there that may or may not ever see the light of day. Dropping stuff in the Toolbox is one of the most fun and freeing parts of the process for me!

[zannolin]

For the writer ask game: 2, 18, and 47 please! 💛

hello friend! i hope you're well <3

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

i try to plan ahead when writing multichapter fics. it never works out very well for me if i don't. (see: my caspter one that ended up being 43k when it was Not supposed to be 43k or a multichap) but there's always an element of writing as i go; scenes will shift around, pop into existence, get cut, etc. the end results is always something of a surprise.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

before, almost always. i cannot start a fic that doesn't have a title. this is one of my many annoying quirks as a writer. my brain just flat out won't let me! however, sometimes i go back and forth a lot while working on them, before posting. north of desire was nearly borrowed time, and animal instinct was delayed forever (the extended one, since the original was a title-less snippet here on tumblr) because i couldn't choose what to call it. come november changed titles a couple times before going back to being come november. etc. i am a lover of two-word titles and i keep a title doc on my laptop that's just a big long list of titles i thought would fuck that i scroll through whenever i'm starting something new. often i'll come up with titles for certain aus/concepts based on songs i'm listening to that i associate with them, though (this is how the susan fic got a "welly boots" title) if nothing in the doc fits. poor jester has had a front row seat to me going back and forth over what to title my reverse dawn treader au. i haven't even outlined it. and i can't until i title it....

47. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

tricky question. the official answer is something like at least once; i try to do a last sweep to check for typos and flow and stuff before i post, but i also tend to do edits as i go along. every time i open the doc i read over what i've written and revise it a little, so it can be revised as many as several dozen times (chapter four of NoD, because of how long it took to write) or barely once (all in, palms out, which was written in like. just over a sitting). it just depends. i do not do much heavy revision on my fics, though. the only ones i have done this extremely with would be good luck, babe! which got the five separate outlines treatment; the swing of things, which i wrote and then printed off and cut into sections and rearranged them all over my bedroom floor; and to an extent objects in motion, which i just really wanted to be good. i am not a fan of the revision process (which has rendered my creative writing degree Miserable lollll) but i should do it more because on god i just found a typo in pdhmti like five minutes ago and screamed.

get to know your fic writer!

[cardiaccat]

for the ask would it be too greedy to ask about the second chance one and the scent one lol?

Not at all!! The second chance romance is a CJ/Bryce fic I'm hoping to write one day. In it's current state it's an outline but I'm planning for it to be a multi chapter fic that spans across several years. The idea spawned from this Tumblr post

We're starting from CJ's pov here in the diner. It's right outside Kansas City before draft night. The scene plays out pretty much like the post, but with more CJ being angsty about how their relationship is going to be changed once they get drafted to their respective teams. CJ just wants to stay in this moment forever. The moment before their whole lives change.

Here's some of the outline of that scene.

CJ watches as Bryce empties too much creamer into his coffee “Why do you even order coffee if you have to put all that stuff in it to make it drinkable?” “Because I'm not a masochist, that's why��� And CJ just stares at him while he keeps putting more creamer into the mug Something pulls in his chest He desperately wants to confess his love for Bryce right here right now But he hesitates a beat too long “I'm not gonna disappear, you know” CJ scoffs and flicks a balled up straw wrapper at him, hopefully distracting from his warming face Bryce laughs and CJ wishes he could bottle it up and listen to it whenever he wants Their food comes and they settle down for bit and eat in relative quiet “Our whole world changes tomorrow, are you ready for it?” CJ says “Hell yeah,” Bryce answers

From there we skip ahead about 10 years. Bryce and CJ aren't really on speaking terms with each other anymore. Bryce's diaster of a rookie season contrasted to CJ's historic success was just too much to reckon with. It takes a while before they fully pull away from each other. It's a slow, painful process.

Everything is par for the course Until one reporter asks “Bryce Young just announced that he’ll be retiring at the end of the season. What are your thoughts on that?” And CJ's just absolutely rocked to his core Him and Bryce don't really talk anymore They might send each other a happy birthday text every year, but that's about it Even still, he thought Bryce would've at least told him about something as big as retirement before he shared it with everyone else He stands there for several seconds, hoping his face doesn't betray his internal turmoil He manages to collect himself and answers “Well, he's had a hell of a career. I'm happy for him and I wish him a good retirement, he's certainly deserved it”

After this, CJ sends Bryce a text congratulating him on his retirement. He doesn't expect an answer so it surprises him when Bryce actually sends a message back. Bryce apologizes for his past behavior and it's the start of them rekindling their relationship. After that I think the plan was to kinda skip around the years (past and future) highlighting important moments or tipping points in their relationship. And of course them finally finding their way back to each other and promising to never let go again.

The scent fic isn't as well thought out as the other one lmao. It's a Bryce/Xavier Legette omegaverse concept. Bryce wants to pick the receiver that the Panthers will be drafting. I came up with this idea that bonded pairs in the NFL perform better than non-bonded pairs and after the abysmal rookie year he had, he wants to guarantee some type of success. So he goes to Dave and sorta demands that he gets to choose who his new wide receiver is. Dave agrees after some hemming and hawing. Scout team collects the scent samples of the guys they think would work best in the Panthers offense. Xavier's scent sticks out to Bryce immediately and he knows instinctively that that's his bondmate.

Anyways yeah! Ramble over lol

[sonicjustbecause]

Shadow's little underwater adventure (Part 4)

I wanted to include Rouge in there, but I don't have a model that match this one. I'm searching around, nothing.

To tell the truth, this little story is unfolding in my mind more than what I'm writing there. I didn't except that as I just wanted to put Shadow in peril and now i wish to give some emotion and character development.

There you have the bare bones. It should contain various flashback.

Perhaps I will develop this further. I might write a fanfiction or a comic about this.

This week I had some stuff to do, like recreating a kitchen in 3d and adding to all, I messed up and I have to redo the screenshot. Most likely there I will reach the 30 pictures so i have to stay contained.

This chapter contains distress. Shadow will suffer. A lot. he's stoic, but he's in pain.

Shadow's model - Dokatz0 Grotto - Edited Dragon's Tower from DAZ studio

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The struggle

Shadow was created for medical reasons before being weaponized. His body was made to endure and survive to extremely stressful situations but also to simulate any human conditions/symptoms (so they could be studied) when properly triggered. And that included what happen to a human child during birth.

Shadow was experimented on this peculiar thing few times. His head was pushed trough a narrow tube, the bones re-arranged. GUN aimed to turn this into a new survival skill for Shadow, but most of the time it failed, they only roughly know how to do it, so they always only messed up, almost breaking his skull everytime. Only twice Shadow ended up with a minor headache, but still able to function.

The other times it ended in dizzyness, losing consciousness, shaking or convulsing or throwing up. Or all things togheter. And a severe headache for the following days.

This was a beat. Actually Shadow hated this. But the other alternative was drowning.

He pointed his feet on the irregular rock surface, his eyes tighly closed and forcefully he pushed his head trough the narrow passage...

At the start it didn't seem to work. It was a while GUN gave up training him for this (really after Rouge's protests). Perhaps he forgot how to trigger the 'birthday' thing...

Then, a sudden, intense pain, and his head slipped in the passage. He felt his consciousness almost fading. But with his willpower he managed to stay awake. He had to keep pushing to free himself.

Holding his mouth shut, he kept forcing his head in the tiny passage. The process was painful, his face got scratched, water stuffed his nose, but those were minor issues... he felt his skull being compressed as under an hydraulic press and his senses altering. Any normal person would have screamed in agony at this point... Shadow was doing this while being underwater for 6 minutes and so. He hadn't much oxygen left.

Eventually he got his head unstuck. He was ready to free the rest of the body and finally swim back.

He felt dizzy and confused. The only thing that was still clear to him was that he needed to breath.

This whole state of discomfort made him forget that he didn't carry the emerald anymore.

Shadow's head hurted intensely. His lungs also ached. He kept swimming fast, wondering, he didn't remember the cave being this lenghty. Navigating was even more difficult due to his messed up senses.

finally the entrance, he had to just cross the passage and swim up,and he could finally breathe again...

But... He could not sense the emerald so close anymore. Then he remembered.

No way, he had to hang on a little bit more. Swim back to the depts of the cave and take the chaos emerald he forgot.

The chaos emerald was far in the dept, near the collapsed rocks. Shadow had to be quick now as he had very little oxygen left at this point. He was sure he never held his breath this long before.

He stored the emerald in his quills again. This time no mistakes ahead. He was finished... only, he was so tired...

The plan was to ascend, not to descend in a different kind of abyss. He felt numb now, no pain, no discomfort, perhaps it wasn't that bad?

Does this adventure ends there? I don't think so. Don't forget about who we are telling about. He'll come back on his own, he's the Ultimate Lifeform after all.

[clown-friend-gt]

Up, Up, and Away Chapter 12

Those of you who've read some of my earlier writing may recognize this chapter. This is technically the same "Pecking Order" that I posted a while back, at least in terms of its place in the timeline. I've reworked it since then, so it's almost entirely different.

I wanted to change the pacing and the conclusion of this chapter. I didn't like how fast everything seemed to happen originally, and I wanted to draw out the process of Wren and Trevor becoming friends over a few chapters instead of a single one.

As always, I hope you enjoy this new version of an old segment of this story.

Link to Masterpost

************************************************************************

Pecking Order

3k words

(CW: brief mentions of injury/violence, misgendering, deadnaming)

It was just after lunchtime at the Lively Institute’s Juvenile Corrections Facility. A group of inmates waited by the door, apparently anxious to leave. It was like that for the first few days Wren had been here, but they’d been stuck doing orientation-type stuff then, so they never got to see what it was they were waiting for. They always got led away from everyone else again.

That would have to change today. They joined the line of people at its tail. The girl who was previously last in line glanced over to them, gave them a curt nod, then looked away again.

“What are we waiting for?” they asked her.

She gave them another look. “We’re waiting on the guards to take us outside.”

“Oh, is it that time already?”

“Just about,” she said. “Though they sure like taking their sweet time getting around to it.”

As if she’d spoken some magic words, a small group of guards approached the people waiting.

“Back away from the doors,” one of them commanded.

People muttered amongst themselves as the group shuffled back a few collective steps.

The guard who’d just spoken turned to the rest of the room. “All inmates! It’s time to go outside! That means everyone has to vacate the cafeteria,” they shouted.

Everyone who hadn’t already joined the people waiting, those still chatting amongst themselves, or still finishing their lunch, or just sort of milling around, slowly began making their way towards the door.

Once everyone seemed to be gathered, two of the guards pushed the double doors open, securing them in place. They gestured for the group to follow them, then began leading them out of the room. The other guards lingered behind for a moment so they could walk alongside the middle and the back of the group.

Wren ambled along with the rest of the prisoners. Their steps echoed off of the smooth concrete floor. As they headed through the prison, Wren spotted a few rooms they recognized, like the classroom they’d been stuck in for the first half of the day, and the rec room they’d barely spent any time in.

Turning back, they nearly ran into the person in front of them, who had come to a stop. Looking ahead, they saw the guards who had led them there keeping people from crowding a set of double doors. One scanned a card at a small black box next to the door. The red light flashed green, and the doors began to open.

Wren followed the rest of the group outside. As they crossed the threshold, they squinted at the sudden change in lighting before their eyes adjusted. They followed the flow of the crowd out into the yard, then wandered off to stand on their own.

They looked around at the area they now found themselves in. It was a grassy field about half of the size of a football field. There were a couple of benches strewn about that were quickly claimed by various groups. To one side, there was a small basketball court where a game was starting up. Sidewalks bordered the court, field, and the side of the building. The entire area was enclosed with a tall fence topped with barbed wire.

Wren felt the tell-tale feeling of people staring at them. They scanned the yard to find the source and found several. Some people quickly looked away when Wren met their gaze, some just stared them down. Some wannabe tough guys even sneered when their eyes met, and Wren glared right back.

Looks like I won’t have to look too hard to find trouble, Wren thought to themselves. They’d likely have to establish that they weren’t one to be messed with. Some things never changed.

A familiar prickly feeling in their fingers stole their attention. Looking down at their hands, Wren could see a light frost beginning to cover their fingertips, typically a sign that their powers were active. Their gaze strayed from their fingers to the strange cuffs strapped to their wrists. The little light had switched from yellow to green without them noticing.

Wren considered the fence again. Their powers would make it easier for them to scale it. But then, one of the guards watching them would reactivate their cuffs, right? They had seen them use the devices they kept at their waists to activate them before, so the guards surely had that capability. But then, why turn them off in the first place?

What’s that old trope in prison movies? Wren thought. First thing you do, find the biggest guy, and start a fight to establish dominance? Suddenly all of the eyes on them made more sense. Everyone here was waiting to see what they’d do in this situation.

Wren didn’t usually start fights. But they weren’t going to let themselves look like a pushover either. And now that they were among their own kind, they felt a strange need to prove themselves.

That settled it. They scanned the yard again, looking for a suitable opponent. There were plenty of people around them who looked like they were itching for a fight. But just looking at them, Wren had no idea if they’d be good targets. Without knowing what their powers were, it’d be impossible to predict the way they’d fight.

Wren’s eyes landed on someone else. Someone they’d seen around plenty of times but had never interacted with. Far away from them, a giant of a boy laid in the grass, basking in the sunlight. From what they’d seen of him before, he was at least twice as tall as a grown man.

Wren wasn’t exactly enthusiastic to fight someone like that. But at least they’d have some idea of what to expect. And if they could beat someone like him in a fight, there would be no messing with them afterwards. Everyone would see what Wren was made of.

Let’s do this, they thought to themselves.

Cracking their neck, they began marching in his direction. As they did, they let more of their power flow into their hands, trying to tap into the level of power they’d achieved the day they’d been captured. They’d need it if they were going to stand a chance.

Trevor lay out in the sun like he always did. The warm sunlight helped to ease the aching from his growing pains somewhat. And it was nice just to get some time alone. No one had really bothered him since the incident with Will. He hoped to keep up that streak for as long as possible.

Suddenly, a shadow crossed his face. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. He kept his eyes shut and pretended not to notice. Maybe whoever was there would leave him be.

“Hey, ugly!”

Suppressing a groan, Trevor opened his eyes. Someone was standing over him, blocking the sunlight on his face. At this angle, with the sun directly behind them, he couldn’t make out who it was. The voice didn’t sound at all familiar.

He sat up and turned to face the newcomer. It was someone he didn’t recognize, with white hair that was turning brown at the roots and pale skin. They glowered at him with deep brown eyes. They looked like they’d lost a fight recently, with one black eye and a crooked, bandaged nose.

The scene was familiar, but he hoped that this time, things would go differently. Maybe they weren’t looking for a fight. Maybe they just had terrible social skills.

“What did you just say to me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Meanwhile, Wren stood stiff as a board. They weren’t short by any means, but this guy was taller than they were, and he hadn’t even stood up yet. Nevertheless, they couldn’t back down now. They stood their ground.

“You heard me,” they responded coolly.

Trevor sighed and slowly got to his feet. He watched the new person’s head tilt back as they stubbornly held eye contact with him. They stood like that for a minute, a silent standoff going on between the two.

Then Trevor promptly turned around and walked away as hastily as he could, trying to escape the situation.

Without thinking, Wren raised their hands. Like their encounter with Lightspeed, a beam of blue light shot out. In the blink of an eye, a cluster of ice sprang from the ground at the boy’s feet, surrounding them and holding him where he stood. Wren glanced warily at the nearby guards, but they, like everyone else, simply watched with rapt interest.

The sound of ice cracking brought their attention back to the boy in front of them. With a grunt, he pried one foot from the ice, then the other. Wren’s eyes widened. Not even the professional superhero they pulled that move on before had been able to free himself. And here this guy was doing it with apparent ease.

He turned to face them again, his gaze a little harder this time. Wren crouched into a fighting stance. It was a little tricky to ball their hands into fists with some of their fingers in a brace, but they did the best they could. Mist swirled around their hands.

Their opponent rushed forward faster than Wren expected, leaving them no time to react. He bent down and grabbed them by the torso, slinging them roughly over his shoulder. The air rushed out of Wren’s lungs.

“Oof!”

The boy carrying them stood back up with practically no effort. After a brief pause, he began walking towards the edge of the yard.

Rattled by this turn of events, Wren hammered their fists against his back. “Let me go!” they yelled indignantly.

He ignored them and kept walking. Wren heard laughter ringing out behind them, and they felt their face flush with embarrassment.

Their opponent only stopped whenever an authoritative voice rang out from behind him.

 “CASTILLO! LET HIM GO!”

Wren glared at the guard who’d spoken, briefly forgetting their predicament. They had bigger things to worry about than being misgendered, however. The boy, Castillo, released Wren, and they fell to the ground in a heap. Before they could try to get up, their cuffs buzzed and clapped together, binding their hands in place.

Wren glanced up at Castillo, who stared back, his own hands now latched together. The look he gave them was more annoyed than angry. He looked away soon after making eye contact.

A few guards headed over to make sure the fight was really broken up. One pulled a walkie-talkie from their waist to report the situation.

“Director, we have a fight in the yard,” they said into the walkie.

You’re just telling them this now? Wren wondered.

“Copy that. Status?” a voice on the other end said.

“Two detainees, subdued,” the guard replied.

“Roger that. Bring them here.”

The guard put the radio back on their belt and turned to the two.

“You two. Warden’s office. Now.”

Wren rolled their eyes but got to their feet. Castillo stomped off ahead of them towards the doors inside. The guard with the radio rushed to follow after him, and a second guard pulled Wren by the arm to join when they lingered behind for a second too long.

Castillo had to bend over to get through the doors, then straightened out once he was inside the hall with taller ceilings. His irritated pace quickly put him ahead of the others, who had to do an awkward half-jog to keep up. After a few hallways and a few more turns, they all arrived at their destination.

A lone door stood at the end of the hallway. Windows on either side offered a brief preview of the office within. A man sat behind a large wooden desk, his hands clasped together as he watched them approach.

“Wait here,” one of the guards ordered, eyeing the two of them. Then he stepped into the office and began speaking to the man inside.

The other guard who’d accompanied them stood watch over the two of them as they all waited in the hallway outside of the office. Castillo, apparently unbothered by this, lowered himself to sit on the floor with a thump. Wren examined him out of the corner of their eye.

He had a mop of brown curly hair on his head and light brown skin. Despite his size, he had a fairly skinny build, with no muscles to speak of. Wren was almost surprised by the amount of strength he’d displayed earlier.

His suit was strange too. It was the same style as the one that Wren and every other prisoner here wore. But it wasn’t the same orange color as Wren and the other flight risks’ uniforms. Looking closely, it wasn’t even the same dull gray that the majority of the prison population wore. It was almost a combination of both, but a perfect match for neither.

He seemed to notice Wren watching him. He turned his head slightly to meet their gaze.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Nothing,” Wren replied, looking away.

Castillo huffed, but said nothing more.

They all waited in silence for a few more excruciating minutes. Then the door opened again and the guard inside poked his head out.

“The warden will see you now,” he told them.

Wren pushed themselves off of the wall they’d been leaning against. They glanced over at Castillo as he stayed put.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“You first,” he responded.

They gave him one last weird look as they walked past him and into the office. Inside, two chairs sat before a fancy-looking desk. The man sitting behind it—Warden Douglas, according to the placard on his desk—gestured to one of them.

“Sit,” he told Wren.

The other guard filed in as Wren sat down. She joined the first guard in standing behind the warden, adding to his air of authority. Finally, Castillo squeezed himself through the doorframe.

Wren saw now why he’d waited for everyone else to enter the room before he did. It wasn’t a small room by any means, but it did feel more cramped with him in it. He nudged aside the second chair and sat on the floor next to Wren. They unconsciously scooted their own chair to the side as he did so.

“Well, Trevor, I have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you back here so soon,” the warden addressed him. His words held familiarity, but his tone was cold.

He continued, “You seemed so remorseful after your last fight.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly my idea,” he said defensively.

Douglas ignored him, turning to the other inmate. “And you—Caleb, was it?”

“Nope.”

The warden frowned, clearly thrown by the interruption while he was building up steam. “Excuse me?”

“That’s not my name,” they spoke coolly.

“Well,” the warden began with a condescending smile, “that’s what it says on all of your records.”

“I don’t care what they say. That’s not my name,” they shot back.

Trevor eyed the person beside him as they leaned back in their chair. Even though they’d treated him poorly so far, he did kind of have to respect their attitude, at least in this moment.

“Fine. Inmate C-90520—is that better?” Douglas asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Whatever,” Wren responded, rolling their eyes.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re getting into fights so early on into your sentence?” he demanded suddenly.

Wren stammered, but nothing coherent came of it.

“What? Nothing smart to say in response?”

“Everyone seemed to be expecting it,” they answered eventually.

The warden’s brows lowered, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening in his disapproval. “That’s hardly a good reason.”

“No?” they leaned forward, their tone challenging. “Your guards seemed perfectly content to sit back and watch until the fight was well underway.”

“What are you suggesting?” Warden Douglas asked, his voice now dangerously low.

Wren paused, his tone making them lose some of their bravado. Eventually they sat back in their chair.

“Nothing,” they mumbled. “Just seems suspicious, is all.”

The warden shook his head, then turned his attention back to Trevor.

“And what about you? You promised me that this wouldn’t happen again after last time.”

Trevor’s shoulders sagged. “I told you it wasn’t my fault. I tried to walk away.”

Despite themselves, Wren felt a small pang of regret. They’d pulled him into this, after all. At the time, it had felt like a necessity. But looking back, they’d had plenty of other options. Their eyes fell to the floor.

The warden continued pressing him. “And yet, here you are. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from laying your hands on another inmate.”

“I—” Trevor tried to interject, but he couldn’t really justify his actions either. When he was attacked, he started to panic and acted without thinking again. Just like he had with Will. He was lucky no one had been hurt this time.

He slumped lower, wishing that he could just disappear.

Wren felt like they should speak up, but couldn’t bring themselves to. What were they supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know I just tried to fight this guy, but stop picking on him!’

God, they felt like an ass.

While they both stewed in silence, the warden spoke up one final time.

“Both of you will have all privileges revoked indefinitely. You will also spend three days in solitary.”

He clicked his fingers, and the guards behind him snapped to attention.

“Take them back to their cells,” he ordered.

The guards nodded and took positions next to the two prisoners.

“Come on,” Wren’s guard told them, grabbing them by the arm.

They stood, sparing Trevor one last glance. He was hunched over, almost as if he was trying to appear as small as possible. He glanced at them, and they looked away, ashamed.

The guards led them out of the room and back down the long, empty hallways. Their steps seemed to echo throughout the silence of the prison. The walk back to the cell block seemed to take forever.        

They parted ways shortly after they arrived. It was the last they’d see of each other, or anyone else, for days.

First/Last/Next

[celtigxr]

I feel like you spoil us with all these quick updates 😵‍💫

How the hell do you dish out 3k+ word chapters so quickly.

Good question, lol.

Before I even made this account, I was already about 25K~ words into the story. I waited until I was ten chapters in before publishing. So as of right now, I am 11ish chapters ahead of what is actually published. So currently, I'm writing chapter nineteen, which is about halfway done, then I'll start on chapter 20.

There's three reasons why I do this:

One is that if anything happens, such as I lose muse, or life, I can still have chapters to post, and give myself time to catch up if need be. This way I don't disappoint anyone, and the reception always motivates me.

Two, is that if I decide to go in a different direction, I can go back and edit previous chapters to fit the new narrative I want, avoiding plot holes and forgotten storylines. I wouldn't be able to do that if the chapters were already posted, and I was forced to keep with old ideas.

And lastly, which is something I learned from Stephen King, is that this is the most effective way of proofreading. Reading a chapter right after you write it or even a day or two after, makes you overlook obvious mistakes. Reading it with fresh eyes after weeks (or months if you are writing your own personal novel) of not reading it, makes obvious mistakes more glaringly obvious. You read it as if you are a stranger to the story, and it gives you another opportunity to reword things to make it sound better than how you previous written them. I call it bias eyes.

Another writing tip, also I learned from Stephen King, is word count consistency. He stated in On Writing: A Memoir of The Craft, that if you are struggling with muse, to keep pushing yourself regardless, and set yourself a daily goal. 1000 words for a writer isn't a lot for one day. If you write 1000 words a day, in 30 days, you will have 30k words, and you will have dished out several chapters by the end of the month. I took that advice and gave myself a realistic goal of writing no less than 3k words per chapter, which takes me about 3 or less days to write, give or take irl stuff.

I hope my little tips and advice helps people out there! I've been writing for 20 years recreationally, so if anyone wants any advice, don't be shy.

[runningfrom2am]

BESTIEEE I need your best tips to write long fics/series PLEASEEE shower some of your wisdom on me 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

omg sorry i let this cook for so long i had to come up with some advice for you :)

okay so idk where you write your stuff, i write every single thing in wp bc of the chapters feature, it makes it easy to organize everything AND it has a previous versions thing on browser so if you have a laptop you can’t lose your work

my first piece of advice is to have a separate “chapter” to just dump ALL your ideas in for what you want to happen. quotes, songs you want to pull inspo from down the line, plot points, everything, and it doesn’t have to be all at once or in any chronological order or anything. literally i just dump all my ideas in there as they come to me. i find often too when i get stuck i can open that and find something i can include next and it brings me back into it!

next, and this kind of sucks, is write as far ahead as you can and don’t post anything as soon as you write it. i like to stay five or so parts ahead of what i’m posting bc that creates a great buffer for life. like if something comes up and you’re busy or need a break you still can post consistently even without having written in weeks. this also makes it easy to make changes! like sometimes i’ll be writing something and realize it doesn’t line up with something said or done a few chapters before but i like this new idea better, and you can go back and change it!

also i reread and edit things several times before i post it (it’s still not perfect but whatever). when i’m bored i’ll just go open it and read and reread it a few times even if i have no intention of posting it right away just because it keeps me locked in basically on what the vision is and was, if that makes sense

also make a pinterest board for it bc it’s fun and you can often get ideas for it that way too!

but seriously back to the first thing my best advice is just dumping every single idea you have into one doc even if you don’t use all of it

[teddy-the-queer-wizard]

so i saw someone upset about the two cakes thing

because like. they did it they wrote a fic thats been done several times before and no one interacted

and i just. idk. like. i love seeing a fic idea get popular

like idk how long ago. probably a couple years ago a new fic popped up that was likethe main character is trapped on an island with animalistic things out to get them but its sexy? and like. for a while thats what all the new fics were

and like sure some were better than others or promosed different things but whenever im terminally reading fanficition i see it time and again

someone does something new and everyones on the bandwagon

and its great but also after a minute youre pretty over it or kinda like youve seen it done once you've seen it enough times thanks

so like. the two cakes rule doesnt mean youre gonna get popular cause youre doing the popular thing with everyone else

and while it does suck to feel left out

mostly the two cakes rule is like "oh hell yeah i read x thing and need like. 60 things just like it or different but still the same in whatever way"

it basically is just saying. hey you want to do x? well anyone who likes x is going to be happy to see it dont feel like you cant do it just because its already been done before.

idk i just feel very... sad when i see someone whos like "why did i even bother writing this if no one will read it" because. you wrote it for you surely? thats largly the point?

Hopefully you didnt just write it for bandwagon purposes to draw in engagement because. its not. sustainable?

like i see that with artists a lot. "yall only follow or interact with this one specific thing i draw thats nice but could you like the 20 other things i put out there?"

like you drew in an audience and thought you could idk trick them into liking other stuff

and like. sure that may work - but most of the time you end up resentful of the people you deliberately asked for.

like. in the end theyre being selfish to try and force you to draw or write things you dont care about and you're being selfish by demanding they like content they didnt show up to care about

no one wins

the only people i think are winning truely are people who are happy doing what theyre doing and if they get responses to it fuck yeah. if they dont alright theyll just keep doing what makes them happy until they find their people

like i think some people think of the two cakes theory like a pot luck - without understanding how a pot luck works

you think oh everyone can bring what they want and everyone will try every dish equally. when really everyone brings what they want and some things on the table dont get touched at all.

like does it suck that everyone's raving about marthas cake and yours is sitting there uncut? yeah so much.

but two cakes isn't about a magic cheat code for engagement. its about getting people to do the thing they want to do and not feel like they shouldn't bother because someone else already did it.

idk.

I'm not a great writer and even if i was decent I don't update regularly enough to get a lot of engagement.

people generally want a completed or almost completed fic, or at least a decent amount to get them started. people generally want a regular or at least somewhat frequent update schedule.

ive seen people who have at least a handful of chapters done ahead of posting if not nearly all or actually all of the entire thing so they can keep engagement regular while they work on the next chapter or story.

ive seen people in bigger fandoms be super picky about what they read because they have that luxury, meaning a lot of fics get passed over for stupid shit that wouldn't matter at all in a smaller fandom.

ive seen writers litterally get better at writing the longer they work on their fic - and ive even seen it where no one wants to give them a chance because their first many chapters are painful in some way to read despite later chapters being top teir shit.

ive seen popular writers spit out the.most random ideas and everyone eats its up - because whatever they did first was so great people will take table scraps from them when they wouldnt take the same idea as a full meal from an unknown author.

ive seen writers give up on one fandom and go to the next because the first fandom was toxic.

and i gotta say.

for me, and basically every even semi happy author out there - theyre happy because they're having a good time doing whatever theyre doing and everything else is idk icing on the cake.

make a cake - make a hundred cakes and at some point youll be really good at making cakes. but dont. get discouraged because no one likes your first cake or 100th cake. like. surely youre making the cake for you first and formost?

like itd be nice to share but...at least you got the cake you wanted out of the deal?

dont bake cakes you dont care about?

rambling and tired.

/rant

[fleurriee]

— unwind ; neteyam sully

pairing ; neteyam sully x fem!reader

synopsis ; when the pressure becomes too much, all neteyam needs is some comfort from his mate.

themes ; fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship (mates)

warnings ; none bc neteyam is bby

author’s note ; this is just a cute little idea i thought of & couldn’t help myself from writing. makes a change from all the long ass things ive been writing that hurt my brain sometimes.

main masterlist  request a fic!

After finally mating before the eyes of Ewya, yourself and Neteyam came together as one. It wasn’t too long ago now since the ritual occurred, and you found yourself continuing to bask in the blissful phase of your relationship - something you hoped never disappeared between the two of you. 

Neteyam couldn’t have been a better mate towards you; when the two of you moved in together, you were sure your eyes were only filled with the love you held for him. The way he carried all of your stuff, insisting that he would do it all for you, setting everything up within your tent, making it your home, had you feeling pure domesticity.

His family, too, had been nothing but welcoming. Obviously, they had been doing so before you mated with Neteyam, but after the event, everything heightened ten-fold. Perhaps his parents understood the sudden feelings you were going through now - those of nerves, of excitement, of pressure. Now that you and Neteyam were mated, it wouldn’t be long before other Na’vi would start questioning the next chapter in your lives’ - children. 

You loved Neteyam and you loved your relationship with him, but you still felt as though you could wait a little longer before deciding to grow your family. After all, the two of you were still young, and you had time before getting into anything serious. Thankfully, after speaking of your worries to your mate, he had agreed wholeheartedly, ensuring you that he didn’t mind if you wanted to wait. You had been a little worried about talking about it to him, in the beginning, not wanting to break his heart - two newly mated Na’vi were normally not too far off from their firstborn - and if he had an idea such as that in his mind, you’d feel more guilty than anything by letting him down.

But, like you said, you couldn’t have asked for a better mate.

However, there have been several occasions where Neteyam was slightly... unfavourable. Spending days on end training alongside both his father and younger brother eventually took a toll of him, constantly sticking up for the latter’s reckless actions, and taking on all of the pressure and responsibilities the former asked of him. Such days only left him feeling groggy and grumbling, mumbled words thrown over to you before slumping over to the mat, too mentally drained to do anything else.

You don’t mind these days, though - everyone had them, especially when you were the heir to the Olo’eyktan title. As his mate, your role was to always be there for him, through thick and thin, no matter the circumstance. Whether Neteyam needed some time alone, some peace and quiet, or whether he just simply needed you, held within your arms until the sun came up and he felt better about the next day ahead. He couldn’t let all his emotions go when he was out within the clan, keeping himself composed and acting as though unbothered of the chaos swirling all around him - but, he could when he was with you, letting everything go until he felt brand new again. You’d do anything for your mate.

That’s why as you’re cutting up the meats sent over from the latest hunting trip, situated comfortably on the floor as you concentrated on getting Neteyam’s portion the way he liked it, and Neteyam stormed in, you’re mentally preparing yourself for whatever he needs. 

The greeting you had once you spotted him in your peripheral vision dies in your throat when you notice his scrunched up features: furrowed eyes, pursed lips, fangs pointing sharply against his mouth. You can only begin to imagine what got under his skin this time.

Your ears perk up subconsciously, desperately trying to make out what he’s saying, but his moans are hushed under his breath. His head is angled towards the ground, fists clenched tightly as his body subconsciously moves him closer towards your awaiting figure. Once situated behind you, you feel him immediately slump down, getting closer until your back is pressed directly against his middle, sitting together as though you were one being. His arms wrap around your waist tightly, holding on like he never wanted to let you go, before shoving his head in the crook of your neck, nose taking a deep inhale of your scent, no doubt to calm him down.

Pausing to properly discern the situation that has quite literally been thrown on your lap, mind thinking over the best way to approach him when his actions clearly call for affection, you gently place the knife you were previously using down on the board, food long forgotten within your mind. 

You bring your hand up to caress the top of his head, fingers slightly carding through some of his braids, turning your head and pressing a lingering kiss against him. You want to make sure he understands how much you appreciate him, even when you’re yet to find out what’s caused his agitation. Neteyam sometimes finds himself overthinking a lot of things, ranging from whether he’d be a good Olo’eyktan when the time comes to take over; whether he was a good son or a good brother; whether he was a good mate. You hated it when he got this way, desperate to reassure every raging thought troubling his mind and force it away. 

Neteyam was perfect, and you just wished he saw himself that way.

A purr sounds against the skin of your neck, rumbling from the chest sat comfortably behind you as he only snuggles in closer, desperate for more contact. The action has you chuckling softly, your mind telling you that it was a good sign if he was purring, that he didn’t want to just succumb to sleep and pretend like the world wasn’t waiting for him.

“What is wrong, my munxta (mate)?” you asked him affectionately, words light so as not to disturb the peace surrounding the two of you. You make sure to continue caressing the top of his head, movements slow to calm his racing heart and bring him back down to earth, slowly lulling him away.

He doesn’t bother lifting his head away from your neck when he speaks, only taking in another waft of your scent for comfort. “I just-” he starts, before sighing deeply, as though trying to summon the correct words that can truly convey his feelings. You feel his body shift impossibly closer to your own, arms wrapped around you only holding on tighter. “It feels like too much sometimes... like I can’t do anything properly...”

His words are so quiet, so vulnerable, they have your heart aching in sympathy. Neteyam should never put himself down, because he has no reason to - but, he doesn’t see himself that way, too caught up in all the negative results of his actions and decisions. This is just how it is when you’re the eldest child within a big family, you guess. “That’s not true, and you know it isn’t,” you insist, slightly shifting your body in his direction, wanting him to recognise the pure sincerity within each of your words, never once detaching your hand from his head as it rubs soothing circles. “I know it can feel like too much sometimes, but you are doing an amazing job - anyone can see that.” As you continue speaking to him, insisting, you start to feel the tenseness of your mate begin to subside. “The clan are so entirely lucky to have you with them, let alone as their next Olo’eyktan.” This time, you decide to make it a little more personal, knowing that’ll only reassure him more. “And, you are always providing for us, for our home, for our future... I really couldn’t ask for a better mate, ma’teyam.”

With one last inhale, rubbing his face against your skin to bask in everything completely you, he gradually lifts his head up, eyes trained directly at your figure. The edges of his lips are starting to curve up, too, a sense of relief floating through you. “Really?” he asks quietly, seeking out every ounce of comfort and encouragement you’re offering.

Tilting your head affectionately, smiling down at him lovingly, you lean forwards, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips that still held a small pout to them. When you pull away, you watch in amusement as he subconsciously leans further for more, eyes closed in a haze. You lean your forehead against his own, basking in the warmth he’s emitting to you, waiting for him to look at you, dazed, before speaking. “Really.”

For a moment, neither of you do anything - neither of you move, neither of you speak. Instead, you fall into one another’s embraces, staring so intently into one another’s gazes you’re sure you can see into the depths of his soul. You don’t want to do anything else but be in this moment with your mate - your perfect mate. From then on, you told yourself you’d always ensure that he knew how helpful he was to every living Na’vi in your clan.

After the silence had enveloped you whole, just the two of your breathing peacefully, you move further away from him, but make sure to stay close. “Now,” you sigh, gesturing your head over to the mat in the corner of your tent, “why don’t you go and rest while I finish up our dinner? You’ve had a long day out hunting - it’s the least I can do.”

But, despite loving the way you want to provide for him, he can’t let that happen. He shakes his head, adamant, sitting up straighter and finally coming back to life, showing off the real Neteyam again. “No, no. I want to help.”

“Neteyam,” you urge, doing your best to perceive yourself as stern as possible. You can tell instantly by the amused look on his face that it isn’t working the way you had hoped. “It is fine, go and rest-”

“No,” he continues shaking his head, almost playful now, although you can still see the seriousness in his features. “I am not taking no for an answer.”

You’re practically whining now, wishing for once in his life that he’d let you do something for him. Practically since you had met him, since he started to court you, Neteyam had done everything for you, and whilst you loved it, whilst you adored every action he took with the thought of you in his mind, you wanted the roles to be reversed sometimes, even just once. But, he was unwavering, stating that he loved to take care of you in every way possible, that as your mate, it was his job. Somehow, he didn’t understand that it worked the same way, too. “Neteyam-”

You didn’t know what you were going to say, how you were going to convince him to just give in, but you don’t even have a slight chance of trying anything when he cuts you off with a kiss. His lips meet yours, tender and soft, but there’s undying passion left within the action. It has your heart stuttering in its beats, mind foggy until you’ve completely forgotten what you were arguing for in the first place. You can feel your cheeks start to get flustered, no doubt the colour of your skin starting to darken. You both love and hate that he can have you acting like this - stuttering and speechless - just from a simple kiss.

When your eyes flutter open, you find Neteyam already watching you. “If you keep disagreeing with me, I’ll keep doing that.” His words are soft-spoken, barely a whisper, and they flutter onto you, sending bumps along your skin, drowning in his sensations. There’s a smug smile present on his lips, cocky - he knows he’ll win this one.

Your words are just a whisper when you speak, too drunk on wholly him. “Don’t tempt me.”

There’s still a hint of amusement lingering within your voice that Neteyam catches onto quickly, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips as he shakes his head at your actions. The sound of his voice, of his happiness, only has you basking in it, too, joining in with his laughing and relishing in these moments the two of you shared.

As you give in, allowing Neteyam to help you prepare your dinner, sitting side by side and stealing not-so-subtle glances to one another, you can’t help but feel quite proud of yourself. Neteyam had come home, slightly grumpy and annoyed, and now here he is, all wide smiles until your cheeks hurt and helping his mate with dinner. It’s happened like this before, but it was nice to feel like a good mate from time to time, helping and comforting him when he only needed you the most.

That night, as the two of you finally lie on your mat, ready for sleep to take over your senses, you can tell Neteyam isn’t all that comfortable - he’s turning from one side to the other, fidgeting in place like he doesn’t really know what to do. When you question him on it, confused as to why he’s acting such a way when you previously believed he was feeling a lot better now, his only response was his puppy eyes. That’s when you knew - and instantly, you moved into action, wiggling yourself higher on the mat so you were looking down at him, opening your arms wide in a welcoming invitation. Eagerly, he let himself fall into your embrace, his arms circling around your waist, whilst yours went around his shoulders, his head sat comfortably upon her chest and tucked under your chin.

It wasn’t often Neteyam wanted to be in this position when you fell asleep, but when he did, you loved it.

With one last look down at him, not caring if it was so painfully obvious, eyes raking over his entire figure and drinking him in entirely, the butterflies began to swarm in your stomach like they always do. He was so beautiful, so enchanting, and so caring - you’d do anything for your mate whenever he called for you, because Neteyam Sully simply deserved the world.

taglist ;

@bakugouswaif @andraga12 @draiochtwrites @teyums​ @neteyamslovrr @tinkerbelle05 @netesanrr​

[astridthevalkyrie]

chand ko chakor dekhe, tujkho naseebo wala (the bird looks at the moon, a lucky one looks at you) | hawks x reader | chapter 2

“You’ve died twice? From clocks?” “I know you’re not blind to the rocks and debris flying literally everywhere! The world would be better off without you in it!” you scream at the villain. The machine is even louder as it breaks and jams into the ground. “Flying building pieces or something, I don’t know—one hit me yesterday. The first day I got knocked into a wall, and then I woke up hugging my body pillow. Same thing the next day. And the next, and the next. Did my number three pro hero partner save me? No, he let me get stuck in a fucking time loop!” Or, you’ll do a lot of things with infinite time on your hands, but falling in love with Keigo Takami isn’t one of them.

a/n: you know it's a good writing kick when i'm updating despite no one liking this but me LOL

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns. FOUL language, reader curses so much, and just general rudeness, lots of death because reader is morbid, reader slutshames hawks

1

“So how many times have you told me?”

“Jesus, you must be allergic to asking original questions.”

Hawks levels you with an unimpressed look. “I’d say something about how I obviously wouldn’t remember my past self’s questions—”

“‘But you’ll probably make fun of me by repeating verbatim what I’m saying.’” You smirk at the pained look on his face that accompanies your air quotes. “Yeah. Now you’re going to try and think of an original, out of the box question to ask, which, if you can believe it or not, varies on how I move or what I say. I look right, you ask me what past you has said so far, but if I look left, you ask me about how I’ve been keeping myself entertained.”

After a long pause in which you think about how much you hate this fucking coffee, Hawks says, “You’re going to be a pain to talk to.”

“I’m a goddamn delight. You’re the one I’ve had to convince of this six whole times.”

“But you keep tellin’ me, sweetheart.” Ew. Ew. “Why is that?”

“I told you, you’re a constant everyday. Besides me dying.”

“You die—”

“Yes,” you sigh impatiently, “I never get through the day without dying. The longest I’ve gone is till 4 PM.” Gesture to the clock that you know is five minutes ahead. “So, one hour left to go! Yay me.”

Now you both only stare at each other, which is new, since Hawks can usually never shut the fuck up. There’s a question you want to ask, have wanted to ask for the past few days you’ve told him (with some breaks in between because come on, you’re not a walking Wikipedia page for fucking time loops and Hawks has no idea how to not be a pain) but you’re not going to because. Uh. Insecurity or some shit. 

Taking a long swig of his yucky strawberry bright pink dark-as-his-soul drink, freaky golden eyes observe you. You only darken your own gaze. What is this? A death match? Well, you’ve died several times and he’s still stuck at zero so. You know. He can suck your dick.

“Why don’t you ask me some questions?” he finally offers, and when you narrow your eyes, he grins cheerfully. “C’mon, songbird, you know you want to.”

“What’s the ratio of men you’ve been with versus women?”

“Four to nine. Challenge me next time.”

What a smug little shit. “Slut. How crazy do you think I am right now?”

“Not any more than normal.”

“How do you not sweat in that oversized jacket?”

“Bird stuff. And style takes priority over comfort.”

“Wild.” This is boring. Fucking boring, you’re bored, and you could die at any time. How boring does something have to be for you to not be nervous about death? Goddamn. 

You’re nearly beaming when a gunshot hits the ceiling, only for your happy mood to be replaced by a horrified one when a literal mini feather takes the robber out of the store and knocks him against a lamppost. What the fuck. What the fuck, dude.

The waitress who makes the least shitty coffee in the whole cafe has tears in her eyes. “Oh, thank you, Hawks! Thank you! I was so scared!”

“When?”

A fat tear catches on her lip as she quivers. “W-what?”

“When were you scared? He dealt with that in a second! The asshole didn’t even give you time to be scared!”

“I’m fast,” Hawks winks at her, stepping too close for your comfort. Slut. WHORE. “Oh my god,” he snaps his fingers in realization, “you knew that was going to happen. You’re a bad person.” For some reason, that thought is abso-fucking-lutely hilarious to him. “You were so about to let this store be robbed.”

“Um, no. For your FYI—”

“Redundant—”

“The same things don’t happen everyday. I mean that stupid fucking shit for brains asshole clock bitch always shows up, but the cafe has never been robbed before. That’s just the universe trying to kill me. Look.” You stomp out, waving away the waitress who seems too hesitant to tell you that you have to pay they can put you in jail give you a life sentence it won’t matter now innit and kneel down by the robber.

“Aha! One more bullet. This was my death instrument. But you interrupted.” 

SCARY shimmery golden eyes get closer closerthanhewastothewaitress until you’re knelt up against the same lamppost that gave Mr. Robber a concussion. “So I saved your life. Do I get a thank you kiss?”

“You get a choke on my balls, man. Also, you’re being, like. Really casual about this. Consistently. You’re telling me to try stuff and I’m trying the stuff, like I watched the Bill Murray movie and I gave myself a really good orgasm, and none of it worked, but if I didn’t know better I’d say you were living this with me.”

“Nah.” The corners of his lips quirk up genuinely. “I’m just trying to match whatever you’re giving me. You’re not panicking, so I’m not gonna be the one who tries to push you over the edge.”

“But I am panicking. Like, it’s whatever because I can’t stop it, but Hawks, I’m still...” You blink, looking at him, for the first time, with a defeated look. “Stuck.”

The pro catches your chin before it falls, forcing it up to meet his gaze. Ugly, lemon-colored eyes. Lips that at least four men and nine women have kissed. You wonder if Hawks is into degradation. He looks like he has a praise kink.

His hand encircles your wrist, he leans in, and then he blows a cherry on your cheek.

“Gross, dude, you’re gross!”

“Tell me everyday.” he replies cheerfully, “not that I’m gross.” You’re going to tell him exactly that everyday. Even when you’re not in a time loop. If you’re ever not in a time loop. “But about what’s happening. I’ll help get you unstuck no matter what.”

Why. You’re not gonna ask that. You’re just gonna accept the help that he owes you for not saving you the first day. And fuck that little butterfly-flutterfly shitstain feeling that’s usually reserved for your pussy that’s creeping up higher and twisting into knots in your stomach.

(The only time you’ve ever felt it with Hawks in the past was that one time he was fucking stuffing his gob with cheap street vendor fried chicken and when he swallowed he. Groaned. Out loud. All disgusting and unghhhh and shit.  And your womanly wiles liked it. The fuck.)

“Fine.” Your palm touches his cheek right as the robber comes to, taking the gun that you cleverly left at his side and blowing a hole in your head. 

—————————————————

You will not be telling Hawks you died while caressing his prickly bird face.

—————————————————

In three days actuallynodaysatallhowSPOOKY, it’s 4 PM, and you and Hawks are at the top of the highest building in the city. 

“You never did ask.” Hawks looks and sounds like a villain, surrounded by so many feathers pointed outward. You feel like a civ too, in the middle of it all, standing helplessly. But you’re not scared of him. If you weren’t sure you could take him? Then maybe. Are you sure? Maybe. Whatever. You can work on that confidence todaymorrow.

“Ask what?” The way your hands are up as though you’re ready to fight invisible demons would you make you fucking cackle if it was anyone else.

“Why my questions are different depending on the way you turn.”

You release a heavy laugh, eyes darting around like a madwoman. What will it be? A comet? A criminal? The building itself crumbling? You’d think a person would know what to expect after…nineteen? twenty? however-many-the-fuck-days. “You shit. That’s why you’ve been telling me to ask you stuff each day. Clever little birdbrain.”

A fly barely gets into the fray before a crimson feather wraps around it and tosses it to the side. Hawks does many things, but taking chances when it comes to doing his job isn’t one of them, apparently. Not that this is his job. Or at least you didn’t ask for it to be if he’s making it his personal mission to ensure you live that’s on him and only him.

“So why?”

“Oh, I’m not gonna tell you.”

“What!? Why not?”

“Because now there’s at least one piece of info that you won’t know and can’t parrot to poor tomorrow me.” He grins, showing you his stupid pearly whites. “Sucks to suck.”

“Fuck you.” You flip him off. “I’ll just manipulate it out of you tomorrow.”

Hawks’ voice comes out in a song—only this bitch would somehow find a way to one-up you when you’re literally immortal. “No, you woooon’t, songbird. Oh, hey!” He holds up his phone. “4:01!”

“4:01?” Your eyes bulge.

“Four o fucking one!”

“4:01!” you shriek happily, throwing yourself into his arms. Hawks squeezes you tight, burying his face in your hair like you two are the parents of some graduating high school student who was also the class president as THOUGH your combined genes would ever create such a genius. 

Hawks is warm.

A plane fucking crashes into you. He’s miraculously spared.

Bitch.

[butterflies-dragons]

GRRM's latest 'Not a Blog' entry:

WINDS, you say?   Yes, still working.   Finally finished a clutch of Cersei chapters that were giving me fits.   Now I am wrestling with Jaime and Brienne.   The work proceeds, though not as fast as many of you would like. —Good Stuff, Bad Stuff, Strange Stuff - Not a Blog - JUNE 1, 2022

Where did I read this before???

AC: How do you decide what you’re going to work on, whose voice you’re going to work in today?  GM: Well, I don’t write the chapters in the order in which you read them. I get into a character’s voice. It’s always difficult to switch gears, actually. When I do make that transition from one character to another, I usually struggle for a few days trying to get back the voice of the character I’m just returning to after some hiatus. But once I get into it, I tend to write not just one chapter by that character, but three or four.  So I’ll be writing Jon Snow chapters, and I’ll carry that Jon Snow sequence as far as I can. And then at some point, maybe I’ll get stuck or not be sure what I should do next, or maybe I’ve just gotten way ahead of all of the other characters in the books, so I need to sort of rein myself in and make myself switch from Jon Snow to Sansa or Daenerys or somebody like that. —LoneStarCon 3: The George R. R. Martin Interview - AUG. 29, 2013

～～～

UPDATE

Q: You worked for several years doing scripts for television and it is common to hear that this is palpable in A Song of Ice and Fire, in the structure, always the same size of the chapters, and the cliffhanger endings. Do you agree with that notion? GRRM: Yes, there's an element of truth to that, I think the 10 years that I spent writing in television and film did teach me some techniques that I carried over to Game of Thrones and subsequent books. You know, one of the realities of working for a network like CBS, which was the primary network I worked for during my years in television, is of course you have commercials. So you may be doing a one-hour drama, actually you have 46 minutes, and you have that broken up into depending on the structure four or five segments, and the fear of the network's of course is always that people going to change the channel when the commercial comes on, so you have actor breaks every, every segment ends with an act break, and of course one of the strongest act breaks is the cliffhanger, but that's not the only kind of act break, you know, you'd go crazy if every act break was a cliffhanger, but usually an act break is, there's a revelation, there's a twist, there's an important new piece of information that comes, there's a reversal, there's a character revelation, something big that comes right before the commercial. And the idea is that that will hold the viewers in place while you, you know, try to sell them a yogurt, or a new car, or a can of coca-cola. It's a good technique and it became second nature to me, so when I started writing Ice and Fire, essentially all of the chapters end with actor brakes, of once or another, and the idea is much the same. I don't have commercials in between my chapters, but I do want the same thing, I want to keep you reading, so you read a Tyrion chapter and you end it, and it's got a ciffhanger, a reversal, a reveal, and you're very eager to find out what happens to Tyrion next, but of course you can't because now you have to read about Jon Snow, and then at the end of it there's an act break there and you want to find out what happens to Jon Snow next but of course you can't you have to read about Sansa. So, you know, I structured it this way deliberately, to provide a certain momentum, and, you know, judging by the reaction of you guys and other readers around the world, it seems to have worked pretty well, so I think I learned something useful from TV there. —KOSMOPOLIS // George R. R. Martin - July 28, 2012

Always with the triangles, huh???

～～～

UPDATE II

—GRRM's 2003-2004 Outline for AFFC

[existslikepristin]

Bullyrene (chapter 4, "Twisted")

Missed a chapter? Here’s a handy link to the index!

Thanks to @brokennightmares01 for beta reading and @worldsover for editing (yeah I know you didn't get very far, but you deserve credit and have always been good moral support, so) Okay it was mostly self-edited

Tags: Red Velvet, Irene, a bunch of OCs, sexual stuff happens eventually but I wouldn’t call this a smut cuz it’s dark as fuck, if you don’t read stuff with trigger warnings don’t read this story, I’m just not gonna bother listing them all because there’s a lot, abandon all hope ye who enter here

~~~~~

Irene walked, as calmly and quietly as she could manage, down one of the main halls of the mansion.

What few people she passed paid her little mind.

She could remember some of their names. Dae-seong, the chef. Ada, the Hispanic woman she saw on her first day, some sort of PR manager. Mikkel, a heavily tanned European, the computer guy.

Others, she remembered only by a few distinguishing features. A young woman with nearly pitch-black skin who always wore a lab coat like Silje’s. A boy with an unreasonably long Japanese name who seemed to run around doing things for people like Mahia did. A middle-eastern-looking girl with enormous glasses.

Not all of the people in the mansion spoke Korean. It seemed that the few of them who couldn't speak Korean or English could get whatever information they needed through a chain of translations and a vibe of comradery that Irene had come to despise. The fact that they were so chummy despite all—or almost all—being here as slaves rubbed Irene the wrong way.

Simone passed by as well. Irene made eye contact with her just long enough to feel the disdain that Simone held for her. She was one of the few people who Irene saw leaving the mansion regularly. Irene, on the other hand, not only hadn’t stepped foot outside the mansion in nearly two months, but barely deviated from this one single pathway that led from her room.

Irene shook it off though. She had arrived at her destination. Silje's second floor office. The door was already open.

"Ms. Bae. Very good, come in."

Silje's insistence on calling Irene "Ms. Bae" was frustrating. Everybody referred to Silje by her first name, and she spoke casually to everybody else. Irene didn't want to be on a first name basis with her, but the distinction was annoying regardless.

Irene stayed standing while Silje walked around her desk, sat in one of the several comfortable armchairs in the room, and motioned for Irene to begin.

With a deep breath, Irene followed the silent order, lifting her tablet. "The president announced this morning that last week's trade deal with Japan is being revised to account for new concerns over conditions in the Fukushima area, as tech companies are building their chip factories nearby due to cheap rent."

For about a month, this is what Irene had been doing, once every day. She was to summarize any noteworthy news as it pertained to South Korea, and regurgitate it back to Silje. It seemed that the topics didn't necessarily matter, as Irene had covered news as insignificant as animal shelter funding, to as critical as North Korean peace talks.

Despite not always being noticeably attentive, Silje soaked the information up like a sponge. Even if she was busy writing a letter by hand, she would still double-check the information Irene provided with shockingly direct questions.

"Where is this Wagging Tails Shelter? I would like to send a donation."

"If the minister is unwilling to negotiate on the munitions demand, is he going to concede the nuclear deal instead?"

Irene had learned to anticipate questions and find the answers ahead of time to avoid Silje's impatient glares.

"... and Kim Choon-Hee was declared the winner." Irene finished her report on a high note about a baking competition, hoping to keep Silje in a good mood.

"Excellent! I was rooting for her. What was the prize?"

"One million won and a victory plaque made by Officer Hoseok himself."

Silje chuckled. "That might cover a month of rent. Some time today, ask Mahia to check if they cater. We could do with a macaroon day."

Irene forced a smile. "Of course. Will there be anything else?"

Silje stood and approached her. Irene tried to keep her smile up, but failed. She could already feel her heart rate spiking.

Just as expected, Silje's hand cracked across Irene's cheek, barely hard enough that it might leave a mark for a few minutes.

One hand clenched around her tablet while the other held her cheek in pain, Irene’s nerves went wild, and she could hear her blood pounding in her ears.

***

Irene ran from her room, stumbling over nothing but her own bare feet in the dark. Her throat still stung from the vibration of her scream.

She needed someone. Anyone.

The silence that surrounded her was hellish. She didn't understand how the only sound could be her frantic breathing, her gasps, and her feet hitting the floor. There had to be someone else in the mansion. It was too big to be empty.

Rooms with open doors were black voids. Rooms with closed doors were death traps. Any one of them could be Silje’s.

She flew down the stairs and missed the last step, crashing to her knees on the immaculate, hard floor. She could bear the pain. She'd fallen in the practice room more times than she cared to count.

Seulgi. She needed Seulgi. No, any of her members. No, anyone.

She heard voices. Laughing. It was distant, but she was getting closer. A light around a corner. An open door with a light on, finally.

"Bitch tried to crash my car!" It was Simone.

Irene slowed down and stood out of view in the hall. She smelled coffee.

"She's just dumb," said a man whose voice she didn't recognize, "She probably hasn't even bothered looking at slavery laws."

A couple of chuckles. Some words were spoken in Spanish. More coffee was poured. "She had to have been rich enough to have considered getting a slave for herself, right?" another woman asked.

Simone again. "I looked her up. She was super fuckin famous until some scandal. Big time diva, like literally the most popular chick in the country. Almost surprised I hadn't heard of her. I guess she was a bitch to some of… her employees, I think? Treated them like shit."

Irene scowled. She hated that anybody could talk about her that way, let alone while she was trying to find some justice, or comfort, or something. Someone in the room slurped their coffee far too loud.

"Guys, I think we should go easy on her," said a woman whose voice Irene recognized, but couldn't place, "You saw how she looked when she came in. She was a wreck, and her life just got flipped on its head."

Finally some sympathy. Irene put a foot out to step inside.

"Give her a chance," the woman continued, "After she gets to know Silje, she'll come around. The rest of us did!"

Irene stepped back. She was clearly not walking into the correct crowd to accuse Silje of rape.

"The rest of us aren't psychopaths trying to commit a murder suicide." Simone's snippy comeback earned a few chuckles.

***

Irene sniffed and composed herself as quickly as she could. Every day for sixteen days, Silje had hit her at least once during or after her report. It was all she could do to not strike back. Every part of her screamed at her to do it, except the part of her that told her to open her eyes on her first night in the mansion. Her self-preservation was in part to spite Silje, Simone, and everyone else, and in part to eventually see vengeance.

“Will that be all, Silje?”

“I think it will, Ms. Bae,” Silje said, sitting back down at her desk, “Same time tomorrow. Don’t forget the macaroons.”

The way she found herself meekly shuffling back toward the office door enraged Irene’s inner voices even more. She should be stomping and making a scene. Joy would tell her otherwise though. Joy...

She reached for the handle, but froze. “Silje… May I ask a question?”

There was no response, but Irene asked anyway. “When will the rest of my members be arriving?”

“They arrived about two weeks ago.” Silje’s bland tone and off-kilter accent were infuriating. Irene spun around, suddenly fully attentive.

“Where are they now?” Irene may have let some of her desperation slip into her voice, but was too wired to reflect on it.

Silje was already head-down in a notebook, scribbling away. “They’ve been staying in a room in the west wing but they left an hour ago, roughly.”

Once again, what little hope Irene had was swatted away. If she had squeezed her tablet any tighter, it might have broken. “Why wasn’t I informed that they were here?”

“You were, Ms. Bae.”

It was too much. Irene was sick of the way she spent so much time preparing answers to Silje’s stupid questions, of being treated like she had a disease by the rest of the mansion staff, of being physically abused daily, only to be lied to. It had been a month since she arrived, and one month since she’d been drugged and raped. Whether it was courage or stupidity that caused her to do it, she raised her voice.

“I was not!”

Silje looked up from her work, piercing Irene with her gaze, but didn’t speak.

“I wasn’t! I just needed to know they were here! I wasn’t told! I want to know why I wasn’t told!”

“Because with an attitude like that, Ms. Bae, you can’t expect Mahia to try to tell you the same thing more than once, though she did.”

“She didn’t tell me shit!”

Irene’s sense of self-preservation kicked back in as Silje put her hands on the armrests of her chair as if to stand.

“I’ll let you in on a not-so-well-kept secret, Ms. Bae. Mahia happens to be the only person in this mansion who likes you, or even appreciates your presence. Be my guest if you would like to be so dedicated to this pattern of burning down bridges, but if you intend to see these girls, perhaps you should learn to take note of when and which people try to help you.”

“But she… She didn’t tell me about my members.”

“Mahia came to me in tears two weeks ago, ashamed that she couldn’t get you to leave your room to see your friends. She said it was like you weren’t listening to a word she had to say, or like you were angry with them. She was distraught.”

The connections started to form in Irene’s mind.

Silje continued. “Heartbroken, even. According to her, Seulgi was struggling not to cry because you refused to take a break from building your daily report. I'm still quite upset that what seems to pass in your eyes as hard work is more important than taking the time to comfort these girls you were supposed to have once led. I didn’t give you a difficult job.”

***

Irene frowned at the tablet propped up on her desk. She couldn't decipher what she was looking at. She knew that it needed to be deciphered, but she didn't know why. An article in a Seoul newspaper said that Soo Man was willingly divulging all of his tax information. He'd already had his finances exposed once before and it was damning. Why he was doing it again, Irene couldn't fathom. It couldn't just be an act of goodwill. He didn't have anything especially incriminating come out in the first reveal, but the bad stuff was a mere hour's worth of digging beyond that.

But it had to be related to why he sold Irene. It was obvious. Irene chewed through a fingernail as she read and reread the article, searched through more and more, looked for any threads she could grasp.

"Ms. Irene! Are you there?" Mahia’s voice and knocking startled Irene out of her concentration.

"I'm busy. What is it?"

Opening the door wasn’t necessary to hear and be heard through it.

"I have a surprise for you! I think you'll really like it!"

Irene paused. That woman had so much nerve. She should check Irene’s calendar. They were required to make them publicly viewable, and Irene had started to make a habit of blocking out time for research.

"Later, Mahia."

"Are you sure? It's very exciting!"

"I'm sure. Leave me alone please."

There was a pause. Irene glared at the door. When it seemed that the interruptions were finished, she looked back down at the computer. An interview with Soo Man. He wanted to prove that he had nothing to hide from the Korean public.

If that’s what he wanted to prove, he shouldn't be revealing everything.

"Ms. Irene? Please, I cannot open the door without your permissi—"

"Then stop trying and leave!"

Perhaps it was harsh, but Irene didn't have much time to research without it seeming suspicious. She didn't know how much of her activity was tracked. She had to focus. There wasn't time for treats. Irene must have struck the right tone, because she got the blessed silence she was hoping for.

"Please. I really…" Mahia just couldn't shut up. There was another voice layered in with hers, quieter. Irene recognized it, but she couldn’t place it. Likely just another slave or employee talking shit. She stepped up from her desk and slapped the door as hard as she could. The sounds of stumbling on the other side were enough for Irene to know that her point was getting across.

"Stop! Leave! Now! I don't want your surprise, and you're interrupting my work!"

"But—" It wasn't Mahia’s voice, but it wasn't welcome.

"No!" Irene screamed, "Get the fuck away! Do I sound like I'm in the mood for this?"

Another pause. "No, Ms. Irene. I apologize."

And finally, silence. Irene sat back down and finished her work for the day. She'd look into the Soo Man story another time. Surely it wouldn't be long before more information was released.

The time for Irene’s report came quickly that day. She took her tablet to the office and made her presentation. Nothing out of the ordinary: A painter pulling off a major publicity stunt, parents vehemently protesting a raunchy new television series, a couple of feel-good bits in between it all, and an accused corrupt politician facing backlash to finish on a serious note.

It was different from most days though. Irene could feel sweat beading on her forehead as Silje picked something from the desk, stood up, and slowly approached, bit by bit, pausing to listen to the news stories, but appearing somehow distracted, deep in thought.

"... and he has declined interview offers across the board." As she closed the last story, Silje closed the last meter of space between them. She held her breath as she caught a glimpse of the object Silje was holding. A scalpel.

Irene had nearly forgotten the difference in their heights. It was like standing beneath some grand, oversized monument. The kind that would make you dizzy if you looked up. Irene felt that dizziness, even without looking. She tried to focus on the tiny blade in Silje’s hand without looking directly at it, ready to spring back. If not for that focus, she might have seen the hit coming from the opposite direction.

"Leaders? Hmph."

It was all so quick. The pain came first, then the staggering, then the rush of air. It wasn’t until she was on her hands and knees that Irene processed what happened. Her breath hitched.

"I didn't give you a difficult job."

Irene's thoughts were immediately taken back to her first night. She wanted to scream again. But instead, she choked out a few tears, scooped the tablet off the floor and ran past the doors and to her room where she doubled over the toilet and wretched.

***

Irene clamped her eyes shut. “I swear, Silje. I didn’t understand that Mahia—”

Silje snapped back, louder than Irene could recall having ever heard her speak. “Perhaps you should listen to her more carefully, then!”

Irene flinched. Her instincts told her that she had to placate Silje, avoid more pain. That instinct struggled against her desire to shout in kind. Her voice cracked from the effort of holding back. “I’m k—sorry.”

The idea of looking so pathetic made Irene’s eyes burn, but tears would only lend more authenticity to her words, both true and untrue, swirling around each other. “You’re… right. I should have. I will, I promise. I need to… I need to see them. I need to apologize.”

“To whom?”

“Her members” was the correct but inappropriate answer. “Mahia. And Seulgi.”

“Start with Mahia. Your friends will be back in a week.” The answer was stern, but it was exactly what Irene wanted to hear.

Irene opened her eyes, cursing the sticky feeling of her wet lashes prying apart. “Yes. Thank you Silje.” She turned to leave and avoid seeing Silje’s face any longer than needed to assess the threat level.

“Ms. Bae.”

Stopping in place only resulted in silence, so Irene spun back around. Silje was holding her scalpel, twirling it slowly. “I expect to hear of your apology very soon, and then I want you to articulate to me how you intend to adjust your behavior before you will be seeing anybody. Understood?”

Irene dug her fingers into her palm. “Yes, Silje.”

“I will see you tomorrow.”

Of course.

Irene wasted no time. She checked Mahia’s schedule, found her, and gave her a brisk apology. The woman was a bleeding heart, accepting immediately and crushing Irene in a teary-eyed hug. From there, Irene ran to her room and drafted Silje’s second demand. It was easier than she expected. Years of spouting promotional bullshit turned out to be useful experience after all.

But the presentation had to be given at the right time. The next day, Irene entered the office expecting Silje to hit her again, and she was correct. It was fine. She’d acclimated. The pain was unwelcome, but the end was in sight, she hoped. If Silje had any decency in her, an idea Irene scoffed at, or at least wanted to act logically, the abuse would surely stop if she made it seem like she was surrendering. Waiting an extra day would make it seem like she was pouring thought into this, feeling more repentant, as if there were really something to be sorry for.

In fact, that night, she determined she would give it two more days. She would wait to be slapped and pause, tear up again, collapse to her hands and knees and say, “I deserve this.” Willingly submitting herself to physical abuse is what would trigger it. Silje would ask for further elaboration. Irene would put her forehead to the floor. She would first beg to be allowed to see her members. She would wail about how she (and not Silje) was the cause of their grief, and that she needed them to tell her how to improve. Silje would interject with some snide remark about Irene’s improvements, and Irene would ask to be taught, promising to listen and act on the feedback. Of course, she’d play the part of the penitent after the fact while in secret, employing the help of her members to figure out how to be freed and finally find some truth. All she had to do was be Silje’s obedient little girl. Just like her trainee days. Disgusting, but easy.

Then, she didn’t sleep. Irene’s mind swam with her plans that night. She leapt out of bed to create the next day’s report and pad it with pleasant stories, and to refine her confession.

The next day went perfectly. The sting in her cheek didn’t bring Irene down. If anything, it strengthened her will. She brought forth tears again, refusing to break down yet, praising herself mentally. She should have been an actor after Red Velvet.

She replayed her script so many times. She even practiced out loud. Reaching the end for the hundredth time, on her knees in the dark of the night, one fleeting thought passed by. She didn’t know what Silje would demand of her yet.

The next day was not so perfect. Irene’s report was ready, but her performance was not. The memory of her first night in the mansion returned with a vengeance. Silje’s lightning eyes pierced through time to stare at her. Throughout the day she found herself briefly freezing in place, wondering if she’d been poisoned or drugged again, or whatever happened that night. Her limbs shook as she walked to the office. If she remembered that night correctly, and she knew she did, the concept of “being Silje’s obedient little girl” became sinister. She dropped her tablet when Silje slapped her, and forgot about her plan.

Irene had to revise. She snuck into the kitchen, late, to get coffee. Jitters plagued her through the night. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep anyway, so she didn’t. If she could come up with her own rehabilitation spiel, she could surely avoid whatever sick plot Silje was concocting. The sun came up, Mahia brought her breakfast, and she learned exactly when her members would be arriving. Four more days, not too long after Irene’s report for that day. That wasn’t too long. Focusing for four days was nothing Irene couldn’t handle.

Her report was fine. She was exhausted, but her ability to fake alertness was unparalleled. Her new script was ready, and all she needed was for Silje to strike, but Silje never even rose from her chair. Irene stood rigid, waiting.

“You can go, Ms. Bae.”

Those words shocked Irene more than the smack would have. She stepped out of the office, jittering as if the coffee from the night before was still coursing through her. Not a day had passed in weeks that she hadn’t been hit. “Why?” she asked the floor in her room. She was going crazy and she needed sleep, so she tried. She faded in and out, missing dinner and finding she was unable to get back to sleep once it was past midnight.

Irene stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. In every iteration of her plan, her speech always started when she got hit. Silje must have known somehow. The same thing would probably happen the next day. Irene needed another contingency. If only she could figure out how Silje was a step ahead.

The first night’s memory came back again. Irene felt her muscles locking up, and she needed to snap out of it. She glared into her own eyes and steeled her nerves, then slapped herself.

“I deserve this.”

Looking at the mark she left on her own cheek, processing her own reflexive words, Irene wrapped her hands around her shoulders. She didn’t deserve this.

Before she knew it, she woke up on the bedroom floor with an hour to get to Silje’s office.

“You look terrible, Ms. Bae.”

Irene blinked slowly. She knew how she looked. Silje didn’t need to say it. “I’m sorry.”

Either Silje moved impossibly fast, or Irene’s senses were having trouble keeping up. Her lack of motor control indicated the latter. Her hands lifted far too late to block Silje’s strike, and her mind caught up even later to tell her she shouldn’t have tried. “I deserve this,” she whispered.

“It’s good that you recognize that. Get some sleep tonight. I expect a proper report tomorrow.”

Clocks stopped mattering to Irene. They only conveyed chronology relevant to everybody else in the mansion. She didn’t deserve this. The sun’s rays and the moon’s glows weren’t indicative of the days and nights. All that mattered were her reports and the fact that she had to give two more before she could see her members again. “I deserve this,” she recited. She had to say it again, two reports in the future. After the next, she swore Silje hit harder, or more than once. It made no difference. She didn’t deserve this. It was only one more report until she could see Seulgi. “I deserve this.” Sleep in the afternoon or night or morning before was as sporadic and sparse as the next time frame. She didn’t understand. She didn’t deserve this.

Irene barely registered the transportation of her own feet to Silje’s office. She leaned against an armchair to stay upright while Silje remained behind her desk because she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. “The president issued the following statement about the integrated circuits shipment to the UK from last month…”

Her voice cracked. The office’s window had a high view of the mansion’s driveway, so she could clearly see Simone’s car pulling in. Simone had been scheduled to pick someone up from the airport. Irene dropped her tablet onto the chair and shuffled closer to the window. A voice in the back of her mind told her she was insane for walking past Silje, exposing her back to the most dangerous person she knew. That voice had nothing more to say when the car stopped and Yeri stepped out of the passenger seat.

“I deserve this,” Irene mumbled. She fell to her knees, barely able to watch over the windowsill as Joy, Wendy, and Seulgi exited the car as well. They looked so happy down there without her. They were laughing. “I deserve this, Silje. Please let me see them.”

“Stand up…”

Irene’s legs felt far too weak for that. And her words were no stronger. “I’ll do anything. Anything. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“What nonsense are you talking about? Get. Up.”

Hot streaks ran down Irene’s face. She could only blubber between the beginnings of sobs. “Anything. P-please. Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Silje’s jerk on Irene’s shoulder carried more power than it needed, twisting Irene around but also nearly throwing her to the floor. Irene’s vision was blurred, but she could still make out the blue of Silje’s eyes, impossibly high up. There would have been silence if not for Irene’s constricted whines.

“Finish your report, Ms. Bae, and you can see them.”

It was really that easy. Irene didn’t have to give a full presentation of any kind. She crawled back to her feet and dragged them to the front of the office. Her mind raced. That was it. Finish the report. She deserved this. It worked. The abuse was over, she was sure of it. She would see them so soon. Seulgi.

Irene’s mouth worked automatically, transferring information from her tablet into the air. She hoped it was enough. She wiped her cheeks and nose with the back of her arm. Her members couldn’t see her cry, or see that she was crying. That’s always how it was. They were allowed to be weak because she was strong. She deserved this.

She was done with the report. The text on the tablet wouldn’t scroll any further. Silje picked up her cell phone with one hand, twirling her scalpel with the other. Irene heard the muffled ringtone, followed by a muffled voice, then Silje. “Yes, Wendy! I hope the trip was lovely. I wanted to welcome you home with a small surprise. Could you and the girls come to my office, please…? Good. I’ll see you in a moment.”

Irene stared, silent and shaking. It was happening. Her knuckles turned white from her grip on the tablet.

Silje cocked an eyebrow. “They’ll be coming from the foyer.”

When Irene didn’t move, Silje jerked her chin at the door. Irene got the message. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her. She spun and flung the door open.

It was like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel. It was going to be an end to the suffering.

Suffering. Irene’s first night came back again. She felt so helpless, powerless, alone that night. Nobody was there to save her. Joy and Yeri weren’t there. Wendy wasn’t there. Seulgi wasn’t there. That wasn’t their fault. Irene loved them all the same, and she deserved this.

The adrenaline pumped again at the sound of Yeri’s voice around a corner. It was still distant, but it echoed, and there was no mistaking it. She sounded happy, the same way she and the others looked minutes earlier. It was good that they were happy.

Irene paused. The enormous, empty hallway seemed to grow longer. Her members were happy. She was miserable, and she might make them miserable too if they saw her like this. She deserved this.

The hallway shrunk and came into harsh focus as the first person rounded the corner. It was Seulgi. Irene didn’t care if she deserved this in that moment. She loved Seulgi. Seulgi knew she loved her.

Seulgi screamed and broke into a run toward her. Irene started walking again. She was doing what she was supposed to do. She didn’t cry. She deserved this. She loved Seulgi, and Seulgi closed half the distance before the other three came into view.

Unlike Irene, Seulgi cried. The closer they got, the more Seulgi broke. But when she slowed, arms outstretched for a hug, Irene broke too.

The crack of Irene’s palm striking Seulgi across the face echoed louder than Yeri’s voice did, and was followed by a stunned silence.

Irene lifted the same hand again. Seulgi’s glistening eyes went wide with disbelief. The hand came back down. The second attack was more of an inaccurate claw. Irene’s wrist clubbed Seulgi’s collarbone, and nails raked flesh. Seulgi dropped at the force.

In the background, Irene saw Wendy and Yeri bursting into sprints, but then her vision tunneled down to the crouched, cowering Seulgi. Irene’s other hand was still clenched around her tablet. She noticed Joy shrieking, but that was the last of her thoughts as she raised the device over her head.

“You deserve this!”

[dangerous-drabbles]

update

i've been putting off writing this, but i can't exactly not, so... i'll try and make this brief.

in short: i've had an epiphany.

(tl;dr at bottom)

i've been writing/brainstorming this fic since november/december last year, and since then, my ideas and understandings of the show and it's characters have evolved. and with them, my plans and understandings for iwf.

i want to be clear: this is not me saying i'm done with iwf, or going on some long hiatus. in fact, it's more the opposite.

having graduated, with summer in full swing, and feeling more sure than ever about where i want to take this fic (as well as remaining fully invested in this fandom), i plan to do more writing than ever before B)

that said: something needs to change.

this fic has been, and continues to be, my baby (besides my ever-growing, yet rarely spoken of, tmnt iteration) for most of the time i've been active in this fandom.

i've long struggled with motivation for big writing projects, but i am resolved to keep with this one because i have a story worth telling. will it be worth reading? who's to say!! (i hope so /gen)

but, as you might've noticed, my more recent updates (especially around the end of arc I) were... bad. maybe not bad-bad, but still bad from a 'technical writing/story' perspective. i struggled a lot with them, and i think that really shows.

i've was trying to figure out why its come to be this way while pushing forward by forcing myself to write, but that didn't work. it wasn't until this week, tuesday, when realization struck me (while watching a video essay, lol).

it made me realize a big part of what was making me unhappy was something i already knew, an issue underlying the fic (and my writing style) as a whole.

with this in mind, i can't keep going forward in the way i had planned.

i'm not gonna go back and change arc I. while the problem is there, especially in the later chapters, i'm early enough on that i can turn things around and (hopefully) root out the problem(s) without any major changes to what i've written/set up so far.

but to do this, i need time.

i know i know i just took a 2-3 week long break, but to pull this off, i need time to prepare and rewrite. i'm halfway through revisions for the arc II outline, and i'll need to heavily revise/rewrite several chapters, plus write some new stuff (since i'm axing the next couple i had planned/written out... rip.)

if all goes well, it shouldn't take longer than two weeks. best case scenario, i get it done in one. we'll see.

until then, i humbly ask for your patience.

as a note:

i could go deep into my inspirations for this fic, where i wanted to go originally, what's changed since then, and especially what brought me to my realization (plus the specifics of said realization) but i said i would try to make this brief, and here we are, [insert amount of words] later.

are you really surprised, though? (/lh)

[if you would like to see me talk more about that (i would absolutely always be down, i love talking about myself /j /lh), feel free to shoot me an ask. in fact, i would beg on my hands and knees, if i were not a silly guy who lives on your computer (/j)]

(tl;dr -- i am not done writing iwf. however, i had a realization that led to me reevaluating my writing and determining that i need to rewrite/revise my arc II outline, and edit/revise/completely rewrite the next several chapters.

this means i am planning to take another week or so off (i am sosososo sorry) to iron everything out and get ahead.

this whole post was me trying to explain the reasoning behind this decision, with an underlying sense of desperate patheticism to match (/j /lh).)

to conclude, i want to say thank you so much for your support, silent or otherwise, from all who have read and (hopefully) enjoyed this fic thus far. i genuinely couldn't do it without you (yes, sun, this includes you /lh.)

especially to my frequent commenters, who i promise i do see and appreciate. you guys are the real mvps <3

i have some really big plans for iwf, and i hope you'll stick around to see them come to fruition (:<

[bubblegumflavor]

Short update to everyone who worries that I won't finish my fanfic... I haven't updated for a month for several reasons, lack of motivation, lack of muses, I got sick (just a cold but I had to take antibiotics which made me too tired to function right for a week) after that catching up with stuff I couldn't do in that week so I know I don't have to excuse myself for updating a little slower.. I was constantly working on the new chapter when I could but it was slow and I actually planned to write ahead 3 chapters so I will get back in the flow so.. I mean I get if people wonder if I finish when I didn't update for 2 years but 1 month seems a bit hard to build up that pressure for me, lol. Anyway I cut the chapter short now and will update soon, hoping I get back in the flow anyway.. At least I'm in a place where I have some space in my mind again.

Also please keep in mind that I write for myself, means when it does sth for me, makes me happy and so on. Times will come when I push myself for the readers to update fast because the feedback makes me happy too but when I get no feedback, that motivation will fade and I will go back to only do it for myself and if I don't feel like it, I won't write until I feel like it again.

So instead of starting to make me feel pressure after just a month, maybe leave some nice feedback right away if you really love my story, it might work wonders, just saying. =)