#this has the loosest plotline

[twistedisciple]

Griss at the Ball

// ... he's here in the loosest sense of the word. I'm not collecting charms this year, and I'm not sending or receiving asks. I've picked up a couple of minis to expand on existing relationship/plotlines Griss has with other characters, but unfortunately I don't think I'll have the time or energy to hit up all the muses I want to thread with before the end of the month. I don't want these event threads to last past the beginning of June, so I'll be dedicating my time to responding to them as much as possible before then.

[modestlyabsurd]

Breaking Bread (Loki x Reader)

"Mm."

A ... grunt? Growl? A hum? A noise. A deep noise, and it came from Loki's bed. "Where are you going?" he asks, heavy sleep in his voice.

Damn. You really tried not to wake him up.

"I was just gonna go look for a vending machine or something."

"A what?"

You shift on your feet, "Y'know, a vending machine or a drink machine. You put in some money, you pick what you want to eat and it pops it out for you."

Loki stretches his arms, "Sounds very Midgardian." He slouches back against the headboard. "And you're going to go search for one of these machines by yourself?"

"Well, yeah."

"Really? On this foreign garbage planet, in the middle of the night, dressed in your sleep wear?"

"I'm hungry, okay?" you whine, now feeling stupid about the whole thing. "I didn't eat dinner earlier."

"You wasted the Grandmaster's kind, generous, complementary food service?" Loki chides.

"Oh, well excuse me for liking my food to not be wiggling around and staring at me while I eat it!"

He shakes his head. In the dark, your eyes have adjusted and you can see him more clearly; a smirk on his face and the most ridiculously perfect bed head you've ever seen. He's sitting upright, his lower half covered by the blue sheets and you avert your eyes upon seeing his upper half exposed.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" Loki asks, after putting together that every meal the two of you have been provided has been of a similar nature - very much alive, and that he hasn't actually seen you eat anything either.

All you wanted to do was go find a fucking vending machine. Not get the third degree.

A snarky reply is centimeters away from falling from your mouth, but then you consider how different Loki sounds. He's ... concerned. And not just because you woke him up; he's genuinely concerned.

You decide to answer honestly, even though it takes a moment to remember the last thing you consumed. "Do you remember those little bowls of fruit - at least I think it was fruit - but it was served as a side with those blue, tubular creatures that you said tasted like fermented meat?"

Loki's eyes widen, before he drops his face into his hand. That was yesterday morning.

Now he's alarmed. Humans can't go long periods of time without food or water before their bodies begin the grueling process of dehydration and starvation. He's seen what can happen to those unfortunate and impoverished enough to experience it - Asgardians, at least. Never a Midgardian. He can't let that happen. Not since ... well, not since he made that promise.

The silence from Loki makes you fidget. You try to break it, "It was good, anyway. Tasted like berries but was shaped like a garlic bulb. I was gonna try to find more of it if I can't find a vending machine."

He sighs. "You're not wandering these hallways and sectors alone." It wasn't a charming, lighthearted question. It was a statement.

And it was also a relief.

"You'll come with me?" you ask, picking at your fingernails in anticipation.

Loki bites his tongue, rolls his eyes. It's as if you're a child begging for sweets, with your big innocent eyes and hopeful little voice. He feels guilt tripped, even though he can tell that's not what you're doing; it's just you. The innocence, the hope. The excitement.

"Yes - " you inhale sharply before he can finish, "I'll assist on your hunt for food suitable enough for your needs."

You exhale, a huge smile coming with it, and have to control yourself from jumping for joy. "Thank you! ... Ah, are you decent under there?"

He smirks at you. "I'm wearing trousers, if that's what you mean."

~

The hallways of this Sakaarian palace are a flamboyant shade of drab. The architectural effort is visible in the abstract door frames and corridors, painted in bright contrasting colors. These halls in particular are an artificial sunny yellow with dark blue accents - a seemingly modern appealing design. And it would be, if not for the green and brown bloodstains obviously from the mutilated victims of the Grandmaster.

They're all around. On the golden ceilings, the blue diamond patterned floors, on the chandeliers and sconces. A faint stench lingers in the air of these hallways; the best way you've found to describe it is burnt. Pair that with the stains and it's almost enough to kill your appetite.

Not quite enough, though. And it's not like Loki would let you turn back now that you've interrupted his sleep.

In the distance you hear the thumping bass music and constant hustle of Sakaar, but in these hallways, it's dead quiet. Your footsteps achingly echo with every step the two of you make. They remind you of just how big and unfamiliar this place is. How alone you are, in that you're the only living human on this planet.

Of the few people - or, beings that you've walked past so far, none have been friendly. They all seem to detest your existence, as if you smell bad or look horrifying. For the most part you keep your eyes on your little slippers padding across the glittery floor.

You must admit, though, having Loki with you takes away some of the fear about walking around this place late at night.

Unbeknownst to you, you hadn't actually woken Loki up. He knows better than to sleep in a place like this; rest will do just fine. But that doesn't mean he was prepared to drop everything and go blindly walking the palace in search for a "vending machine".

As he walks now, after putting on some more appropriate attire - lightweight boots, proper leather trousers and a skin-tight blue tunic, all courtesy of and chosen by the Grandmaster himself - he glances down at you. He notices your inward demeanor. You're taking small steps, you're breathing shortly, and he can't even see your face with your head hanging so low.

Isn't this what you wanted? he wonders. He's doing as you asked for Norn's sake.

You near two civilians congregating near a corridor to another sector. Wearing typical skimpy Sakaarian wear, both were as tall if not taller than Loki. One was frighteningly thin and the other was frighteningly large. They appeared similarly built as you and Loki, save for their bleached white skin and black gums surrounding animalistic fangs.

With eyes an unsettling shade of gold, they widen and they immediately lock onto you - not you and Loki, but you - like cats watching a mouse. The tiny hairs on Loki's neck stand on end. He immediately narrows his own eyes at the creatures, daring them to do anything further. They don't even as much as glance away from you.

Loki claims ownership. His right hand brushes your right shoulder guiding you closer to him, once again daring the aliens to make a move. The two of you pass the corridor and Loki cranes his neck to watch the creatures, long after you've passed them. His arm stays around you, connecting you at the hips the entire time.

Monsters...

"They didn't look very nice, did they?" you laugh nervously from below him. Loki looks down at you and notices you ever so slightly, probably unconsciously, leaning into him.

His face feels hot. Quickly he retracts his arm.

"Ah, no. No, they didn't."

You on the other hand, were coming down from being fucking terrified. Those people looked at you like their next meal; at any minute you thought they may step closer and say something or do something or attack ... Relief, when Loki pulled you close and hid you away, is a huge understatement.

"Thank you. For protecting me and all." You lightly elbow Loki in the arm - for emphasis, of course - sending him shuffling a foot or so outward.

He dramatically collects himself and says, "Don't get used to it. I could sense your fear from a millennia away."

Straightening his tunic and looking forward, he doesn't look at you again. He was too annoyed with everything, including himself.

But you glanced at him as you walked. He had to be tired and was definitely a little on-edge, which wasn't completely unusual. He's taking the whole trapped-on-Sakaar thing much more gracefully than you, but that isn't saying much. Yet somehow he remains composed and in control. Reserved.

Except when you elbowed him. You really caught him off guard and you haven't stopped grinning since you did it.

Seeing his ever so serious eyes locked in front of him, his clenched jaw and tight mouth. Ridiculously long, dark eyelashes, fluttering in his stupid little frustrated way. That may have played a part in your grinning also.

His intense green eyes meet yours while you're watching him. "What?" he snaps.

"Oh, nothing," you chirp. I could get used to this, you think to yourself.

Loki's face twists up in offense. "If you think that I - "

"Look!" you grab his forearm and run to a sign on the wall. It had an arrow, with an image that vaguely resembled a plate of food. Vaguely. It also had some lines that could possibly mean something if you were to understand Sakaarian, or whatever. "Wonder what it says."

"It says 'Food, this way.'"

You scoff. "Not funny, Loki."

"I'm telling the truth! It says 'Food, this way.'"

"How can you read that?!"

Loki sighs. "Have I given you a reason not to trust me?"

You think of what happened moments ago. "No," you say timidly.

"Very well. The sign is a directory sign to the eatery. I think my duties here are finished. Good night." With that Loki starts to walk back down the hallway.

"Wait!" you call, a bit louder than you meant to. He's already a few feet ahead of you now, but groans and stops to give you an unnerving glare. "You can't just leave me here, you said it yourself!"

"What I said was you can't wander these hallways alone," he corrects. "I've brought you right to your destination. What more? Would you like me to hold your hand all the way through the eatery as well?"

... Yes?

"Now if you'll excuse - "

"Loki," you plead, trying to think of a convincing reason for him to stay - something to do with him, maybe - but you think of nothing, and now if looks could kill you'd be a bloodstain with all the others.

With no other choice, you desperately explain yourself. "Look, the truth is I don't stand a chance in this place alone. I mean, did you see how those things looked at me? By the looks of it I'm probably gonna be mauled in cold blood in the middle of this floor and they'll all gather to watch! No one would bat a eye. No one - " you shove his chest sending him backwards, "no one but you. Maybe. I don't know," you hiss.

Loki licks his teeth. Sorting through conflicting thoughts; mostly from the fact that someone just laid hands on him, and that that someone was you. All else aside he's rather impressed with the nerve you do possess. You unknowingly could survive here, perhaps, if not for your innate earthliness.

He sucks on his bottom lip while eyeing your ironic fluffy slippers. "Fine," he nods, looking up. "if that's what you want. I'll be your personal chaperone."

Finally, a bit of understanding! Your arms outstretch for a gracious hug - until the cold blade of his voice, as well as a silencing pointed finger stop you dead in your tracks.

"But if you give me one reason - one reason, to believe that you'd betray me, you will be all alone to fend for yourself in this wasteland. Do you understand?"

You nod. Dry mouthed.

"Good. I don't wish to repeat myself."

And, what a perfect time for your stomach to growl perhaps the most obnoxiously it ever has, in your life. A reminder as to why you're here in the first place.

You squirm and fidget with the hem of your sleep shirt, "Sorry."

For the millionth time and counting, Loki sighs and rolls his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

~

"Why does everything have to be alive?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down, for Heaven's sake. And don't be so disrespectful to the culture of these people."

You look blandly at your plate. It appears nearly full with it being so small, since apparently Sakaar cares greatly about portion control.

The food court, eatery, cafeteria - whateverthefuck, was displayed in a ring formation with patrons on the inside and servers on the outside. Surprisingly you weren't the only patrons at such an hour; a handful of people stood around eating and drinking cocktails - minding their own business, thankfully.

You find Loki contemplating the mixing bar to the left serving drinks, but he ended up staying with you. He translated the description of each food from the charming little labels standing near them. Charming, indeed, compared to the elaborate display of every item. At first glance to you, they appear to be expensive delicacies, until Loki read the labels.

And while the water-centipede noodle soup looked very appetizing at first, that ended when you approached and the bugs begun to stir.

Throughout the menu you're left with few alternatives that weren't moving. Your plate currently consisted of a tiny loaf of stale bread and a blue jam made of the same fruit from the other morning (which you couldn't begin to pronounce the name of). It won't sustain you for too long, but you've already gone this far on way less.

That's of no comfort to Loki, though.

Though he won't say it, he relates to your disgust and is still plotting on a way to escape this place. He hasn't forgotten about the obedience disk implanted in your skin - quite the opposite, as he continues to recast his Seidr on it every night, while you sleep. To keep you from complaining about it. But if it's not one thing, it's the next ...

Like now. You can't possibly survive long on a mere bit of bread and jam. He can't even do that. Oh, but it's the only thing that isn't alive. Death? You'll face death with a mighty fist! Unless death is alive, of course.

Loki does have a conscience, so he can't just abandon you here. But Gods, you're making him want to.

"Come on, there's a few more courses to choose from," he urges you forward.

The last two items looked promising. One was a pyramid display of small black eggs, which were in fact not eggs at all. "What are they?" you ask Loki.

"They're called 'eyes of the dead'. It consists of - "

"Nope."

Loki scoffs, "Would you let me finish?"

"No, I'm not eating something that has eyes."

"You are insufferably prejudiced."

When you say nothing in return, Loki feels a pang of regret. After all, the eyes are rather unsettling. He likely wouldn't eat them either. Especially now that they can't seem to look away from him, following his every move.

"I guess this is my last choice," you sigh. "Looks promising, at least."

He finally musters the courage to look away from the nasty creatures. You're standing somberly by the end of the court; he leans over your shoulder to read the label and is astonished.

You look up and find Loki's jaw dropped, his face close enough that you can see the green ocean swirling in his eyes. "You okay?"

Loki glances down at you, still in shock. "This is from Asgard."

"Really?" you blink. "What is it?"

He shudders. "They're calling it 'Tastes of Asgard', but it's just mutton chops, sheep's cheese and honey cake."

That sounds like heaven. Or Asgard, apparently.

But before your stomach takes over your mind, the answer to Loki's distress hits you. "How do they know what you eat in Asgard? Unless you've told them?"

Loki eyes you wordlessly, but says enough.

You hiss, "You don't think there's more Asgardians here, do you?"

"We'll talk about it privately. For now, do you want to try this or not?"

Your minds still running a mile a minute. How could anyone else from Asgard end up here? This place is for bottom feeders! You and Loki stick out like sore thumbs in this landfill with Loki practically being royalty and you - well. You being with him. You begin to shift on your feet anxiously when your eyes land on the mutton again.

Another opportunity to try food from Asgard may never arise again. Of course you want to!

"On one condition."

Loki huffs and rolls his eyes. "What?"

"Will you try some with me?"

~

Those emotional nights when cheese and crackers are more satisfying than the most elaborate Thanksgiving dinner; that's what you thought of. Somehow you were reminded of home. The Sakaarian bread was stale, but had a pleasant sourness that complimented the sweet, blue fruit jam and the sharp sheep's cheese. It was a means of comfort.

And when you and Loki played rock paper scissors to see who would try the "mutton" first, he indeed informed you that it wasn't authentic sheep from Asgard, but rather it was from Midgard. You tried it next and were pleased.

It didn't cross your mind how little manners you were using - wiping the grease and jam from your mouth ravenously - until you looked across the balcony and noticed that Loki had barely eaten any of his food. Instead, he gazed into the empty, colorful Sakaar sky. Something was bothering him.

"Why aren't you eating?" you slur, covering a mouthful of honey cake with your hand.

Your voice breaks Loki away from his thoughts briefly. He cringes. "You've killed what little appetite I'd acquired."

"I told you I was hungry," you defend yourself. A moment of silence passes as Loki looks back to the sky. It was easy to stare at, as it seemed to lure you in. As if it were trying to hypnotize you into believing there was some kind of beauty here. But the real beauty sat beside you.

"Do you think there's more of your people here?" you mutter.

Loki nearly bites back something about his true heritage, but chooses not to. He senses your honesty, your naivety. He absently cuts his honey cake with his fork. "I think there's one person in particular here."

"Who?"

He smirks despite himself. "Well, this meal is the true indicator. It isn't the same as I recall, but it's a cheap attempt to replicate it."

You stay quiet, confused as hell. You take another bite of the delicious honey cake that tastes anything but cheap.

"I knew this would happen eventually. It always does."

"What?" you ask urgently, not wanting him to veer away.

"This is Thor's favorite meal."

~

another tale from Sakaar! I love these. And to those who read the whole thing, I seriously applaud you. I don't know what happened. It started as one little sentence/idea and it just kept going and going and going and going and

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

[goldeneyedgirl]

Hear me out!!!! Daddy Jasper coming home to his baby after a hunting trip!!!!

Goddamnit, not only did this give me brain rot, it also fuelled the beginnings of a plotline for this version of Baby-verse.

It’s the same ritual every week or so. It’s the thing that breaks into their little domestic bubble. The thing that stops everything from being normal.

Hunting. 

He knows that he’s not human; Alice is in the loosest possible sense. That’s never going to change. But it’s so… healing to be able to simply live that simple little life. They’re both in college, Ollie’s in pre-k, and it’s the kind of organised chaos that Jasper never thought that he’d appreciate. 

Having to go hunting breaks that facade, and he resents it. He resents watching Ollie pressing his face against the window, watching him go; Bella and Edward bring Ness with them, and Ollie doesn’t understand why he can’t go too - though Ness looks older than him now, so it’s easier to convince him that he has to stay with his mama. 

Alice is good about distracting him, but Ollie is whip-smart and fast, and the sight of him scowling against the front window is one that he hates. He does’t want Ollie to ever feel left behind or left out or in any way lesser. 

It happens again tonight, Ollie in his pyjamas as he vanishes into the darkness; there had been tears tonight, that Ollie didn’t want Jasper to leave. Alice was there with kisses and his blanket, and he knew that Ollie would be fine, but it broke his heart that Ollie had to watch him walk away. 

Alice tells him that it’s good he spends time with his family, that it’s normal for him to have time with them. The same way she encourages him to see Peter and Charlotte, to take time to be himself. Alice always seems to have an easier time with that balance; she sees Cynthia regularly, goes to dinner - with and without him and Ollie - with her parents, and makes it seem easy to be ‘Alice’ as well as a mom, a sister, a daughter, and a ‘wife’ (in all the ways that mattered).

So he tries to savour it - roughhousing with Emmett (something he refuses to do with Ollie present, lest he get hurt trying to join in), bickering with Edward, listening to Rose - who mostly wants to talk about Ollie, her current fixation being on his education. Alice wants to go back to Washington for Ollie to start kindergarten, whilst Rose (and Esme) are both campaigning heavily for some private school in New Hampshire, and he’s having keep the peace. 

This part of the country has more than enough choice for a hunt, and its a good choice too - black bear and moose and lynx. He likes the fight in the moose, even if the bear taste better; Esme always worries when he or Emmett take on something as large and aggressive as a moose. As if it can do any true harm. 

Afterwards, he watches Edward and Bella praise Renesmee for her hunt, for the mutilated   foxes she brings back. Her teeth just aren’t as sharp as theirs yet - Carlisle predicts her adult teeth, less than a year away, will do a better job. But for now, her kills are messy and uncomfortable to look at. 

There’s something about watching Ness at the hunts, at Edward with his whole family at his side, that makes him feel torn. 

But mostly, he watches Edward teach Ness to hunt and is impossibly relieved that he’ll never have to teach Oliver the cleanest way to rip out the throat of an animal. A hundred times over, he’d rather learn how to make sandwiches and toast and cereal, and cough up hunks of birthday cake than have his boy join them. He knows that Edward resents those thoughts, but Jasper would be a piss-poor father if he didn’t want the very best for his son. And that is, absolutely, for Ollie to be human. For Alice to hold tight to the humanity she has. 

And that’s why this was his favourite part - the run home. 

He’d shower and change at the main house; Alice was cautious of any kind of bacteria being spread to Ollie, and to him there was something so dark and grim about handling his son after ripping the throat out of an animal. No, he refused to go home before he showered and cleaned up. 

The house would be dark and warm; the toys forgotten on the floor, perhaps a blanket thrown over the back of the couch. 

Ollie’s bedroom is the first at the top of the stairs, and he already knows what he’s going to find. The little bed is empty, the blankets kicked back and his plush animals scattered. 

The bedroom he shares with Alice is the next one, and that’s where he finds them - Alice is curled up in her usual position, her hair in her eyes and one arm reaching out to his place in the bed. 

Ollie is curled up in the middle, with his blanket and his plush dog, pressed tight against his mother’s front, and still sucking his thumb (they’re trying so hard to break that habit before he starts Kindergarten but it’s so hard when he looks so damn cute). It’s one of those moments that Jasper is certain that he’ll remember forever, long after Ollie has grown up and gone off on his own. It’s the kind of trusting innocence that he’ll be coming back to them. (There’s still so much guilt over the Joham debacle, having to leave them both, and then coming back for Alice. They both agree that it was the right choice - then and now - but it doesn’t make it any less hard knowing that Ollie was without his mother and father, and was too young to truly understand why.) 

He assumes Ollie is asleep until his eyes flutter and then he’s sitting up and reaching out for Jasper.

“It’s late.” He sounds grumpy and just like Alice’s father David when he says that as Jasper scoops him up. 

“Are you sleeping with Mama tonight?” He asks, carrying him out of the bedroom so that they don’t disturb Alice. There’s a reason he got the family to start hunting on Friday and Saturday nights; getting Ollie to sleep during one is near impossible.

“Need to keep Mama safe,” Ollie said determinedly, rubbing his eyes, and Jasper has to resist wincing. He doesn’t want to pass his own fears down to his son - especially a totally human child. Esme was right - children heard everything. 

Ollie’s looking out the window as they walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. “It’s dark,” he informs Jasper, and he doesn’t miss that Ollie’s grip tightens on him - they’ve got solar lights dotted through the gardens to diffuse the darkness, but at the side of the house there’s nothing but gardens and forest. The fear of the dark is new - since he and Alice can home - and almost certainly the thing that Ollie was guarding Alice against.

“It’s very late.” He opens the fridge and Alice knows - Ollie’s tumbler is there with milk already in it; entirely so that Ollie can’t convince Jasper that he wants chocolate milk or apple juice so late at night. 

He puts his son down for just a second, just long enough to find a straw for his drink, and Ollie’s anxiety at the darkness outside the tall windows of the kitchen spikes - Jasper’s hand on his head reassures him.

It’s a regular post-hunt night on the couch with his son lying against him, transfixed by the cartoon on TV, and his milk cup in one hand. It’ll take the best part of an hour, for Ollie to finish his milk and fall asleep. He knows these days are numbered - that it won’t always be as easy as a cartoon and a cup of milk to fix Ollie’s problems, so he appreciates this; the smell of lemon-orange baby shampoo, Ollie’s curls tickling his face, the little giggles that Ollie lets out at the cartoon… 

“There you are.”

Alice appears sleepily, looking adorable and inviting with his old Forks High hoodie over her tank top and sleep shorts. It’s a cliche, but he swears he falls a little bit more in love with her every single time he sees her. 

(Sometimes he thinks about asking her if she’d consider having another child. Give Ollie a sibling. But then he wonders if he really wants a second child, or if he just wants a chance to do it all right, from the very beginning. As if he can undo the mess he made of everything by doing it correctly this time. And that’s not how it works. He would love any child, but he truly does not want more than he has right now.) 

“How was the hunt?” She leans over the side of the couch to offer him a kiss. 

“Productive.” They aren’t the same, honestly. He doesn’t bother to explain it, but there’s always a pull in the other direction, away from the hunt and towards his family. It steals some of the satisfaction away from feeding, but mostly he loves that he has something his instincts have deemed more important than blood. 

(Alice is getting too good at noticing when his resistance is stretched to its limit; when he’s swallowing down the burn in his throat, when his temper is short. He hates that knowing, gentle look she gets when she redirects Ollie, and kisses his cheek and says his name in that way that he feels guilty and… well, it’s just how they live. It’s why they have the family hunts, now. A regular schedule that he has to stick to.)

“Ollie says he had to keep you safe.” His words are playful, but Alice nods in silent acknowledgement of the fact that Ollie is becoming old enough to retain everything he sees and hears, even the things they want to protect him from. 

“Mmm, Ollie was trying to protect me from the dark. Lots of scary things out there,” she says. “I think Dad was right, and a nightlight is our next step. And get Esme to add some solar lights to the side of the house.”

“Tomorrow.” Ollie’s fear of the dark had started after they had come home from the Joham incident, and Alice had had more than a few nightmares. It’s worse in the winter, but sneaking into their bed to sleep wedged between them was at least a weekly occurrence. 

Alice yawns and as comfy as Jasper is with Ollie asleep snuggled into him, curling up in bed with Alice is enough of a temptation that he gently gathers his son up in his arms. 

“Bed?” He asks and Alice nods, switching off the TV. She yawns again, and her emotions are all soft and content. But Ollie murmurs in his arms, curling against him and sighing in his sleep. 

He knows he’s spoiling Ollie, indulging him, as he follows Alice into their room, to tuck Ollie into the middle of the bed with his blanket and his dog, as Alice crawls back in her side of the bed. He tugs off his sweatshirt to slip in on his side, carefully sliding Ollie so that Alice can pillow her head on his shoulder (he has no idea how she sleeps like that, but she insists that she’s comfortable). 

“Love you,” Alice mumbles, Ollie tucked against her. He’s always been fascinated about the way she just drops off to sleep - she’s come a long way since the screaming night terrors she’d have if anyone was in the room when she slept that she had had when he met her. 

He treasures this, the way both Alice and Ollie are completely relaxed, their breathing even, and their emotions that insubstantial sensation that he likens to floating underwater. 

It’s calm. It’s peace. 

“Love you too.”

[janeypeixes]

mmm i was never really the kind of person who ~discussed upd8s~ on here but gosh the epilogues were such an Experience that i gotta put words out somewhere instead of letting them clog up my head

when the prologue came out i was SO EXCITED because the dialogue was so spot on to That Homestuck Feel

but the actual meat and candy routes??

like holy fuck what the hell

i’ve always been of the opinion that fanfiction has 3 pillars: good writing (in like the actual words sense), good characterization/interactions, good plot (in the loosest sense of ‘what is the actual thing that is happening’, whether it’s as simple as ‘they snuggle in bed’ or w/e)

and sometimes maybe the characterization isnt good but the plot does have a unique spark so i keep reading anyways, or maybe the writing isnt that nice but the character interaction is so sweet that i dont mind

well, for these epilogues, it’s only the writing i can say was good.

like, that really was really good!!! all props goes to the author for turning such a garbage plot into such good writing

there were tiny things i liked about both (mostly dave, and certain convos if you ignore the context around it), but on the whole.... it’s still like a fever dream and i cant believe i actually read... That...

is hussie punishing us

is this punishment

is there supposed to be a lesson here

we love these characters so much!!!! and to see them turn into horrible adults... is personally such a letdown. janey already wasnt too popular of a character compared to the others, and her plotline in Candy really didnt help that

was the entire story /really/ leading up to THIS??? as the epilogue???

did hussie start the webcomic, 10 years ago, with this outcome in mind....

i can kind of compartmentalize this epilogue away as Not The Real Homestuck, but, since i cant unread the epilogues, it’ll still cast a shadow on the eventual reread i still wanna do one day. and like, my memory’s shit and many things are fuzzy, but the epilogues where such a Negative Shock that i’m afraid they’ll leave a stronger impression than the webcomic as a whole :(

it’s kind of like himym all over again: that very last episode Doesnt Exist, and yet, it still has soured my entire enjoyment of it

the one universal truth that /doesnt/ change is the awesome music. i can cherish that forever

i really hope we get a pumpkin route or whatever instead of this meat/candy bullshit

fandom experiences like these are why i have trust issues

but homestuck has been such a huge influence on my life that i staunchly refuse to stop loving it despite the grief it’s giving me rn

i’m disappointed precisely because i care too much emotionally

[texanredrose]

do you use worksheets or outlines?

I use outlines in the very loosest sense, and only on sufficiently long stories or ones involving multiple plotlines. 

Hunting for Haunts, for instance, has 16+ pages of notes, but the chapter/arc outlines are boiled down to one sentence per “needed scene” and only 4-5 of those per chapter. Those are the key plot points that must be hit for the story to progress; the rest is determined as I’m writing by the characters. Kinda like in improv, where there’s a jumping off point and everyone is free to do what they will.

Losing Sleep, on the other hand, had little outlining done; I just knew about 10 parts I wanted to write, and wrote the others to support those. It was very much off the cuff with whatever came to mind. But, I still had a general theme and loose outline just to keep track of how old everyone was and what sort of trials would, inevitably, crop up for people that age.

Omega’s Strength is literally a list. Not even full sentences, just quick blurbs on what needs to be addressed. I let Yang do the rest of the work and… welp… she’s certainly doing that.

Partners was entirely written by the characters; I had no idea what was going to happen after the end of the second chapter. Even before that, actually, I’d only plotted out until the Monochrome happened, and then the characters were like ‘no, this is Bee’s Schnee now, motherfucker’ and I just didn’t argue, go ahead, y’all do what y’all gonna fucking do, whatever, I’m just the author.

Black Cat Song only had outlines for Adam & Cinder’s group, what they were doing in the background. All of Blake and Weiss’ scenes were left to the characters- which is probably why they tend to run much longer than any of the scenes with the “villains” of the story. I also wrote down the very basic rules because I constantly forgot some of them- like the fact that none of the characters within the story actually need to breathe, which I forgot more than once, lemme tell ya- which probably counts as an outline.

I like to use outlines when I can to prevent plotholes/exposition dumps. If a plot is sufficiently complicated, I make notes that help me keep track of that and pepper the explanations throughout the story. But I don’t make the outlines explicit; I like being surprised by what characters do in a scene and, sometimes, I find plotholes I didn’t even know I had when it becomes obvious I’ve missed a crucial step because the next point I need to hit can’t be reached because the characters aren’t cooperating. I find that I’m often times telling a story just as much as I’m hearing it for the first time.

[veiledflattery]

Does writing fanfiction really make you a better writer?

Does writing fanfiction make you feel conflicted? Do you ever wonder if you’re lazy, unproductive, untalented compared to writers who produce original fiction?

I definitely do. Building worlds and characters from scratch has always seemed so much more marvelous and praiseworthy. Fanfiction is great, of course. Just look at the community it helps you build, and of course the sheer joy of returning to beloved places and people long after the canonical series has ended. But as someone who aspires to be a published fiction author one day, I want to consider just one aspect: writing. Does fanfiction really make you a better writer in the long run?

That depends on where you fall on the fanfiction spectrum.

1.      Plain fun

This is what happens when someone doesn’t put effort into a fic. There’s a difference between writing and splashing words across a page. These fics are all over the place – often with wildly swerving plotlines, or ridiculously long descriptions, or Mary Sues… the list goes on. A seasoned reader can usually tell from the very first paragraph that the author didn’t spend a whole lot of time on this

If you want to become a better writer, it’s an active process: editing and re-editing your drafts; reading endless ‘how to write good dialogue’ articles; taking your readers’ feedback and using it. Just producing huge amounts of fanfiction doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed to improve, even though you’re getting so much ‘writing practice’. Your practice has to be deliberate effort. So, this sort of ‘plain fun’ fic does nothing to get you close to writing original fiction

Of course, I don’t mean to say that these ‘lazy’ fics are worthless. There’s still lots of fun to be had exploring ad expanding the characters and worlds of your favourite series. As long as you’re clear that that’s all it is – fun, not something that will magically improve your skills.

The next few categories apply only to fic authors that do not fall under this category – meaning that they are actively trying to improve and produce good writing.

 2.      Might-as-well-be-original

These are fics that are only fanfiction in the loosest sense of the term. Usually very AU and OOC (not necessarily in a bad way). If you swapped out a few names and descriptions, tweaked a few scenes, this fic would be completely original fiction. Of course, it may still be dependent on the series it’s based on for backstory and such, but the individual scenes and plot of that story are entirely the fic author’s own craft.

MAWBO fics definitely count as great writing practice. While some fanfiction readers may not be happy (read: enraged) with your non-canon-compliance, what you’re doing is incredibly close to writing original fiction. You’re building plotlines, creating character personalities (if writing really OOC) and also practicing world-building (for AU fics). You’ve found your own unique voice, creating descriptions and dialogue in an original style. Writing original fiction is barely a hop away.

3.      Scary clone-stories

We’ve all read these fics. The ones that are based on a book series, and when you finish reading them you rub your eyes and say, “woah. I can’t believe that’s fanfiction. It’s like the actual author of this series wrote it!

Does writing scary clone-stories make you a better fiction writer? On one hand, you’re missing out on important skills. You’re taking the easy way out – using a ready-made world, ready-made characters, even ready-made tone and style. It’s like cup noodles: dump it all in a bowl, add a little water, stir, and voila! Insta-fic

But if you are really, truly achieving the sort of writing that makes people believe you could be the original author of the series in disguise, you are doing something special. Not everyone can produce that kind of an imitation

That’s because it requires study. You need to read through your source text intensely, dissecting how the writer achieves their affects, analysing and maybe even taking notes. Then you need to meticulously reproduce those effects to create a completely different yet inherently similar piece.

That is a skill. In fact, it is such an important skill that lots of high school and college courses test you on it. It gives you the ability to explore different voices and styles, making you a far more flexible writer

So, if you’re writing scary clone-stories based on the works of a variety of authors, you’re definitely improving your writing in a very important way that’s often underappreciated. Of course, you’ll eventually need to learn and practice other skills – plot and world-building and characters and all those obvious things, but you’re not nowhere.

4.      The in-betweens

The above two cases are extremes. An in-between is what happens when people mix them both. For example, a story in which the setting is an incredible replication of the canon world, but the authors uses characters that are entirely their own

Most fic writers probably fall into this category. If you do, then you automatically have the core benefits of the previous two categories: you’re getting great practice of the basics of writing (punctuation, spelling, dialogue, descriptions, etc). You’ll also have some of the additional benefits of the categories. In the above example, you’re learning to observe and replicate an author’s world-building while at the same time gaining skill in fleshing out your own realistic characters. There might be even more of a blend than this (canon-inspired characters who are similar to the author’s yet original?), but you get the idea.

 So, once you’ve figured out roughly where you fall on this spectrum, what can you do to make sure that you’re really milking your fanfiction hobby to get in some writing improvement?

It’s simple: write a mix. Confining yourself to any one type of fic won’t help you reach your fullest potential. With every single fic you write, ask yourself where it falls on the spectrum above. Note which skills you’re developing, and which are still weak. Then target those weak skills and build them – whether by writing a different kind of fanfiction or by some other means.  Actively push out of your comfort zone.

If you’re an in-between writer, consider switching around which parts of your story you ‘clone’ and which parts ‘might as well be original’ so that you develop a full set of skills. If you write scary clone-stories, consider gradually adding more original elements until you transition to in-between and maybe even MAWBO. If you’re writing MAWBO fic, make that final jump to writing 100% original fiction.

Naturally, this works backwards as well. If you write original fiction already but struggle with character development, for example, you could write some fanfiction on a favourite series where you ‘clone’ the world, plot, descriptions and so on, and focus all your efforts on creating original and effective character development within that framework. It’s a good way to concentrate on the bits that really need development.

[cresselian]

Hihi, folks who follow me! Come read my fave fanfic with me!

I’m rereading @mangaluva‘s wonderful nuzlocke series (yes, on fanfic.net, I have nostalgia for the first medium I read it on). It has such gems as:

Pokemon in a post-apocalyptic universe where ANYONE CAN DIE

A+ writing quality from the start, and it only gets better

Semi-regular updates (formerly weekly, currently intermittent but always present)

A cast of thousands due to the effort she puts in characterising every one of her Pokemon. You can pick your favourites!

Every. Single. Pokemon. Has a verbal tic. Usually, they’re based on different variants on British accent or rooted in character quirks. You haven’t lived until you’ve read the dialogue of a Geodude with the same accent as the moles from Redwall

A trainer who always picks the Fire starters but will train ANYTHING

Some epic backstory for why the nuzlocke setting came about

Mountains of character development for everyone you love, from stock Pokemon characters like Blue and Silver to a Chimchar princess and the Red Gyarados

All of the genres. All of them. In the first 10 chapters alone, I’ve encountered action, drama, horror (hi Bill), tearjerker, family drama, and at least three slowly building plotlines that have only the loosest of roots in the games

An author who blogs fantastic stuff and is the biggest sweetheart. When I started gushing to her on fanfic, she was great about replying without giving any spoilers. And I for one applaud her for it!

So yeah, come read with me! I’m currently on chapter 10, and I’m leaving a review every chapter because I know how much authors love that!