#very short snippet for this chapter cause the alternative was a very long snippet and i didnt want that...

[courfee]

Before Regulus can convince himself that looking at his phone won’t instantly kill him Barty reappears, his hair now wet and his voice less sleep ridden when he speaks. “What mistakes have you made this early into the day?” Barty pauses. “Besides putting on the dreadful Gryffindor jumper, I mean.”

“Texted James,” Regulus says shameful.

“Texting your boyfriend is a mistake now?”

Regulus lets his head fall back against the table. Everything is a mistake. “I need another coffee,” he mumbles.

chapter 14 of ritardando is here :)

[silverloreleysfanfics]

A few short snippets of the tteotm/lbfad fic I have in the works.

1 - (this is going to be a flashback during the nightmare sequence)

In a corner of the courtyard, Yingxin was sitting next to Jin, who looked at some servant kids playing by themselves not far. They both were wearing much better clothes, new and of high quality, and looked better fed.

Despite so, the child didn't have a smile yet.

He was watching the kids intently, as if he was trying to figure out something.

"Yangfu doesn't let them bully me. He's the owner and they fear him, but they all like him too, so they do what he says"

"So it is" was the maid's reply.

"Why didn't my real father do the same? Isn't a king more important than a landowner?"

The poor maid was taken aback "Prince... kings don't act like other people do"

"She's right" Xiao Run arrived at that moment and smiled to the child "I knew a king, once, who was very harsh to his own family. He drove his mother and then his younger brother away with his cruelty, although many said he was a good ruler, he wasn't good with his family"

"Why?" the child asked.

"Some people are taught wrong, or develop the wrong ideas and no one has the courage to teach them better. Kings are even more so, because they have so much power people are scared of angering them"

Jin frowned "Should I become scary?"

"I thought you wanted to be liked. Scary people are feared, not liked"

"But they don't get hurt and don't need anyone to protect them"

"Jin'er, everyone, even the most powerful person, can get hurt or need to be protected, but they can have help only if they have someone on their side, and if they scared everyone away, no one will aid when need comes" 

§

2 - (this should go in chapter 4)

"Everyone has their secrets, Ye Xiwu. Some are more dangerous than others, some are to be shared only with few, selected, people, others are to take to our graves. By being married, we'll be bound to guard each other and our secrets"

The glow in her eyes dimmed at that "So that's the reason. And here I thought..."

"You thought...?"

"Nothing. I was expecting too much, obviously, for someone like you to grow a heart all of sudden"

"Now I'm wounded, Ye Xiwu, hit in the heart you say I don't have" he grabbed her hand and pulled it flat against his chest "Here, can't you feel it?"

She could. Oh, even through the thick fabric she could feel it, the strong heartbeat, quick and agitated. Not the calm unfeelingness she expected, but a frenzied rhythm.

Her gaze alternated beween their hands and his face, both crazed and soft, the question and longing mixed up, scary in its intensity.

She turned away and retreated her hand from his grasp, unable to take the warmth of it all, his gaze and chest alike, as well as her own face.

[...]

It was hard not to wonder what drove him to her, when they had nothing but animosity and bitter banters in their current history. Yes, even with the secrets he wanted to protect, it was hard to say why he'd flat out propose. Without love strings, he surely didn't love her, that much she was certain of. Unless...

"Are you sure you want this, though?" she couldn't but ask. Then, almost softly: "Why me? Secrets aside"

A shadow seemed to fall over his face, sorrow and guilt, hopeful dread. A strange mixture, for someone who had always been so flippant, so far. It weirdly reminded her of his old self, of the self-deprecating emperor in her prison cell who lied his heart at her feet even in the midst of the pain she caused him.

"I'll tell you after the wedding" was his quick reply, before leaving in a rush. 

§

3 - (somewhere in chapter 6, I guess)

"So complicated" Xiwu pouted.

"Your younger brother is the nominal head of the family while your grandmother is the practical one, your father has two concubines and I can't tell which one is the mother of each your siblings, and you are the only legitimate of his children, but I am the one with a complicated family?"

"If you put it that way..." she pouted, then a thought crossed her mind: "Don't they have concubines in Yungmenze?"

"Some do, but it's not a norm like around here" he then tilted his head "If that was to ask whether I plan to marry others, the answer is no. I find absurd the idea of having multiple partners, love is supposed to be an absolute, marriage a proof of devotion. Divorce isn't contemplated either"

"Till death do us part then?"

"If you think death can get you out this relationship, that's your mistake"

§

4 - (not sure what chapter this will be yet, probably 9)

"I can't believe you've been so foolish" Xiao Lanhua said, the healing flux not stopping "You could have told us, we could have talked about it..."

Jin scowled "You've been very clear on not wanting to allow Ye Xiwu and I to get married. You wanted to take me back to Lucheng" he accused.

"For your own good"

"Taking away my choices is for my good now?"

"Look where your choices led you: you're poisoned, bleeding, marked as a criminal by Sheng, hunted by all parts, and you almost died"

"I'm fine"

"Are you, now?" she stopped the healing and pushed a finger in his ribs, eliciting a pained sound.

"I'll be fine" he corrected.

"Because we're here, Jin'er, but what would have happened to you if we hadn't gotten here in time? You almost had Xiwu killed too, have you thought about it?"

He inhaled sharply and sent a guilty look towards Ye Xiwu.

[smaidjor]

i know they're losing (Chapter 1)

hi mothers and fuckers of the jury, this fic is a hot mess but so am I, please appreciate it. Also, obligatory disclaimer this is about the characters not the people, all that important stuff.

Some important notes:

1. You will probably hate Scott just a little at points. He has chronic dumb bitch syndrome and there's a whole lot of bullshit going on in his life that you don't see in this fic because it's not his pov. That being said, he's still a bit of a jerk.

2. This has a lot of lord of the rings lore. A LOT. You may be kinda confused if you're not a lord of the rings fan. It's fine, Jimmy's confused too, and all of it will be explained at some point.

3. The chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films. The general title is from I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski.

4. General content warnings: there is a little blood, and a little violence, and a lot of mentioned death and morbid jokes. If you don't do well with themes involving death this fic is probably not for you. There is also possibly going to be referenced emotional abuse and generally unhealthy ways to raise children, though that will be talked about much further down the line. I will also put specific cws at the start of each chapter, don't worry!

5. The alternate title for this was '10k words of flower husbands being sad'. You have been warned.

Title: i know they're losing

Chapter Title: under clouds, beneath the stars

Current Total Wordcount: 3740

Content Warning: referenced/past character death, very frank discussion of death.

Snippet:

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.”

AO3 Link

Actual fic under the cut

Scott’s hands are cold. That’s the first sign, the chill that’s uncharacteristic of an elf.

Scott’s chest hurts. That’s the second sign, the bone-deep ache he can’t seem to quell.

Scott is weaker than normal, and that’s the third sign, the one that confirms what’s happening beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s fading, Scott thinks as he leans against a wall, trying to stop his head from spinning. He can’t say he’s surprised, not after all he’s been through; in fact, he’s more astonished it took so long to start.

-

In another world, it happens like this:

Scott’s hands are cold, and Shubble notices as he shows her around the nether. It’s worrying, a bit, how icy his skin is even in the boiling dimension, but Scott’s empire has always been cold, hasn’t it?

Katherine notices how long it’s been since Scott visited her, one of his few allies, and she worries, a bit. But Scott has always been distant, hasn’t he?

No one notices or worries enough to go check on him, and Scott fades away to nothing, cold and alone in his icy empire.

-

What actually happens is this:

Katherine has gotten word of the demon that haunts the server, and amongst all her worry, one of her thoughts is ‘has anyone checked on Scott?’. The answer is no, and next time she has a free day, she sets out for Rivendell. It’s not a long trip, not with elytra, anyways, and soon she’s at the doors to his keep.

“I need to see Lord Smajor,” she tells the guards.

“He’s not taking visitors right now.” is the response she gets.

“It’s a vital matter to the safety of both our kingdoms.”

They let her in.

Katherine spends far too long looking around the elegantly decorated downstairs and storage area before she realizes he must be up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. She’s never been upstairs in Scott’s house before, which makes her a little nervous, but… this is an urgent matter, so she presses on into what turns out to be a very pretty bedroom. Decorated with bookshelves aplenty and gorgeous lanterns, it practically screams Scott.

The man (elf?) himself is harder to spot. At first, Katherine’s worried he isn’t there at all, but eventually she realizes that he’s still in bed despite the fact that it’s a quarter to one, only his pale face sticking out from under the covers.

“Scott?” She asks, cautious. “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her tiredly. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?”

“No, no, stay.” He waves at the sole chair in the room, which is near-enough to the bed. “I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat hesitantly. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Scott laughs, a little bitter. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.”

She obeys, confused, and finds that Scott’s hands are like ice despite the warmth of the room.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott says. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.”

She gasps a little.

“It usually happens to old elves, world-weary,” Scott continues. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

It takes Katherine a moment to process everything, and once she does, she stares at him in horror. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.”

“Oh.” She struggles for words for a moment, settling on “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.”

Try as she might, there’s nothing she can say to that. “Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?”

Something pained and raw flashes through his eyes. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.”

Katherine nods seriously, absorbing the information. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No,” she tells him firmly. “You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.”

Scott stares at her for a long moment, but eventually he takes her outstretched hand. “Alright.” His hand is frozen cold in hers. “We can try.”

Katherine lets him lead her around Rivendell, pointing out the sights. He’s done an impressive job decorating, like her, and an even more impressive job at uniting the elves and building an empire from the ground up. The people of Rivendell are weary and battle-scarred, for the most part, elves who have seen too much, but the children are bright and happy, and the cyan and gold banners wave proudly in the wind.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

Scott nods. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya- well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?”

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer that one.

Katherine leaves feeling unsettled, with more questions than answers. She has new resolve, though, and a new goal: keep Scott from fading. He’s a good friend, though they don’t know each other that well yet, but more than that, he’s a powerful ally. And Katherine can’t afford to lose allies. So while they’re both rulers and busy in their own right, she promises to visit and drag him outside at least once a week.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scott jokes, but his laugh is weak.

Katherine vows to hold herself to it.

-

The plan works for three entire weeks before Katherine has a week that’s so busy there’s no way she can find the time for a trip to Rivendell. Worse than that, because Scott is so isolated, he has almost no other friends, and many of Katherine’s allies are busy too. She’s a little short of options, to be honest, which is how she finds herself on Jimmy Solidarity’s doorstep that Sunday afternoon.

“Hello?” Jimmy asks as the door swings open. Katherine can see why Lizzie calls him the sweet swamp boy- his confused head tilt is frankly adorable.

“Hi! I know we don’t talk much, but I could use a favor,” she says.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to visit Scott.”

Jimmy looks beyond startled. “What- I mean, he doesn’t even like me! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please?” She wheedles. “I promised him a visitor every week, but I have meetings all week this time.”

He shakes his head, hesitantly at first and then stronger. “No, Katherine. He’d just throw me right out again. I’m his enemy, for goodness sake!”

“If he hates you so much, why do you have his ring?”

Katherine knows she’s won, watching emotions flit across his face too quickly to catch. Grief is what he settles on, and she feels a little bit bad for the ring comment when his voice comes out wobbly.

“I guess I should return that, huh? Alright, I’ll go.”

“Sorry,” she says.

Jimmy brushes it off, saying there’s no need to worry, but he fiddles with the ring on his finger all the more. It’s on his left ring finger, Katherine notes. She wonders if that truly means what it implies.

“I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Jimmy says.

“I’ll hold you to that!”

-

Jimmy isn’t sure why he agreed to this at all, to be honest. Scott may have given him this ring in another world, another lifetime, but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t hate him in this one. What other explanation is there for how all his gifts have been rejected, how cold the elf is? Jimmy would be surprised that Scott’s never tried to take his ring back if it wasn’t for how thoroughly Scott avoids him nowadays. Getting the ring back would require talking to Jimmy, something Scott has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to do. Jimmy doesn’t have another use for it, and try as he might to forget flower fields and warm hands in his, he can’t bear to throw it away. So it’s remained on his hand all this time, a painful reminder of someone who used to love him.

Jimmy tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible, every glimpse bringing back the memory of Scott gently sliding it onto his hand, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Even the faint shimmers in the blue gem remind him of how the starlight seemed to get caught in Scott’s hair when they were out at night. The ring had been one of their most valuable possessions on 3rd Life, the rare silver band and elegant forging more than proof of that. Now, though, the ring has to be one of the least valuable things Jimmy owns; on 3rd Life, they were humble folk in little hobbit holes, their most expensive possessions being their diamond armor and swords, but here, they’re kings and lords. Scott probably has a thousand treasures more valuable in his elven empire, so Jimmy’s not sure why he’s bothering to trek all the way across the world just to return this one.

Then again, it’s not really about the ring, and never has been. It’s about the way starlight used to shine in Scott’s eyes when he smiled, his rare, soft grin that was reserved just for Jimmy, how he gave Jimmy the most valuable thing either of them owned. It’s closure, in a way, giving it back. He won’t have any debt to Scott once this ring is returned, and they can both move on like Scott so clearly wants to.

Shaking off those thoughts, Jimmy slows to a stop in front of Scott’s house. It’s grand, nothing like his old hobbit hole, but still so clearly Scott in the decoration and color schemes. Jimmy would know who built it even if he hadn’t known Scott lived in these mountains.

“I’m here to visit Scott,” he says to the guard stationed outside.

They raise an eyebrow, presumably at the familiar way he refers to Scott. “On formal business or personal?”

“Personal? Sort of? I mean, I don’t have any diplomatic reason for being here.” Truth be told, he has no reason to be here at all, really, but...the ring.

“Then Lord Smajor cannot see you.”

Jimmy grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this whole ordeal. “Then tell Lord Smajor that I need to return his ring.”

“May I see it?”

He sticks his hand out obligingly, and the guard examines the ring, surprise blooming across their face. “I did not realize my Lord had lent you Vilya! My apologies, Lord Codfather, I see the alliance between our kingdoms is stronger than I had assumed. You may pass.”

Vilya? “Thank you, gentle, uh, gentleperson!”

The guard dips their head slightly as he walks by, a gesture of respect that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He shakes off the strangeness of the interaction, though, pushing open the door to Scott’s house.

The inside is beautiful, exactly the kind of decor Scott loves...and empty. There’s no one in the spacious kitchen, the storage room, or anywhere else for that matter. Jimmy’s seconds from giving up and going home when he realizes that there are stairs up to the balcony above. That’s where he goes, finding himself in Scott’s bedroom.

Which is awkward, to say the least. It’s not like they never slept in the same room when they were married, but now that there’s this awkward, painful distance between them, Jimmy feels like he’s intruding. What’s worse is, Scott’s still in bed, laying on his side with his face tilted away from Jimmy’s awkward entrance.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy half-jumps, not expecting that. “How’d you know it was me?”

Scott rolls over to face him, and Jimmy notes that his face is too pale for it to be natural or healthy. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He goes on before Jimmy can answer. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?”

Scott’s laugh is bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks, concerned despite himself.

His (ex?)husband doesn’t reply.

“Save you from what?” Jimmy presses, and gets no answer yet again.

Instead, Scott sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You should go.” He stands, and immediately stumbles, Jimmy rushing to steady him on instinct. Scott’s hands are like ice when he grips Jimmy’s arm to regain his balance, taking several deep breaths, and Jimmy’s instantly struck by how wrong that feels. Scott’s hands were always warm, even on the coldest nights in 3rd life. Some elven thing, probably, that Scott didn’t want to talk about or have time to explain to a silly human like Jimmy.

“Scott, what is going on?”

The elf brushes him off again, heading for the stairs, but the regal effect is ruined by how hard he has to grip the railing.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?”

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.” Scott turns back to the stairs. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

Jimmy follows, reluctantly, trying to think of something to say that isn’t incoherent sputtering with a bit of ‘why do you hate me now’ added in. “You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!”

“You did ask, to be fair.”

Why oh why is he so stupid around Scott? “I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start along the path, Scott walking far too quickly for Jimmy’s comfort given how terrible the elf’s balance is currently. He nearly has to jog to keep up, irritatingly, but at least they aren’t snapping at each other for a few precious moments.

Of course, Jimmy has to go and ruin that. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?” He has to hear it from Scott’s own lips that he remembers, that it affected him even half as much as it’s affected Jimmy.

“No.”

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .”

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

Scott freezes, face going icy calm in the way Jimmy knows means he’s actually upset. The elf’s hands grip the fabric of his robes tight, his back going rigid. This is a bad idea, Jimmy knows.

He’s in too deep to back out now, though, the pent-up hurt of the past few months all coming out in a rush. “Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott breathes out slowly, fury gradually building on his face. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died? You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy ?”

Jimmy’s name on Scott’s lips punches all the remaining air out of him, sounding so wrong in that angry, bitter tone. Beneath all the rage, Scott sounds wrecked , and the fight leaves Jimmy’s body abruptly. “No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

Silence follows those words, only the faint sound of a waterfall in the distance there to break it.

“I buried you on the hill above our houses,” Scott says finally. “I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

Jimmy swallows hard. “Did he?”

“How would I know?” Scott’s tone softens, just a little. “Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now? I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott turns away again, starting down the path a second time. He’s not looking at Jimmy when he says “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” It’s a shock, honestly, given that this is the first time the two of them have really spoken since the beginning of empires. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott still won’t look at him. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says dryly, and Jimmy doesn’t even realize it’s a joke until he looks over at Scott’s wry little grin.

“Scott! That’s not funny!” He scolds, aghast.

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Scott must hear the genuine distress in Jimmy’s voice because he drops the act. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.”

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy demands.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

Jimmy wants to argue, wants to fight him on this, but there’s nothing he can say. Instead, he puts a hand on Scott’s arm to stop him walking any further. Scott turns to look at him, seemingly startled, and Jimmy throws his arms around the elf.

Scott stiffens before slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around Jimmy in return. It’s not as natural a gesture as it used to be, but it’s warm, gentle in a way Jimmy thought he’d never get again. It reminds him of the soft, starry-eyed boy who put flowers in his hair and laughed at him over a cake. Scott will never be that soft again and Jimmy will never be unscarred, but they’re here. They’re alive, that has to count for something.

Scott pulls back, his expression so achingly tender and heartbroken all at once. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” His voice is raw, a little shaky. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

He’s cut off by Scott shaking his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.”

Jimmy’s in too much shock to speak, the ache in his heart returning tenfold as Scott turns back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Jimmy.” He sweeps away, elegant as ever, but stumbles and nearly falls as he reaches the door. Jimmy’s not there to catch him.

Jimmy stumbles home in a daze. It's somewhat of a miracle that no mob manages to kill him, honestly. To be so close to a resolution, to have the person he wanted most right there in his arms, and then to have all that ripped away- he can’t think of anything that could have hurt more. Even his deaths were less painful than this- at least an arrow through the throat is quicker than feeling like your heart is being ripped out through your ribs, Jimmy thinks, a little bitter. He throws Scott’s stupid ring in a pool in the swamp, watching as it sinks to the bottom of the shallow water with hardly a bubble.

Wait.

The ring.

It’s significant, somehow, according to a Rivendell guard, and more than that, it’s an excuse to see Scott again. One last chance to change his mind about the stupid plan that’s literally killing him.

Jimmy dives in without thinking, scrabbling around until his fingers close around the smooth stone and thin band. When he pulls it out, the gem glitters in the starlight even under the layers of dirt, and it looks like something special. It looks like hope.

[deardragonbook]

A post about foreshadowing (Spoilers for Out of Body Experience)

It’s in the title, but I’m going to repeat this, this has major spoilers for Out of Body Experience, you want to read that? Do that first. It’s free, it’s best binged and it’s relatively short. 

Onto the foreshadowing this story uses. 

So, if you haven’t read OfBE, it’s a short novel that takes place in a world where some people get genetical mutations that cause them to develop powers. This would be pretty cool if not for the fact that said mutations attract monsters to your location. Because of this the government found a perfectly functional system where people with this mutation go to a so-called base where they have all their needs met and will study, work, basically it’s a tiny society of magic users. 

The mutation usually becomes evident when you’re older, but there are exemptions. It’s also inherited, so most magic parents know their kids will probably join them. 

This novel starts with a group of girls, most importantly among them is Abigail and Ella. They are enjoying a birthday party and a monster attacks, Ella escapes and Abigail does not. 

We see Ella take the mutation test and come out as positive, thereby having to leave her mother behind to go off to the base. 

The whole novel follows Ella integrating into the base, making her new found family with Lucas and Benjamin. As well as her first mission. Throughout the novel Ella is supposedly seeking out her powers, she know she has magic but claims not to know what those powers are. 

The grand reveal at the very end is she does know. She knows, and those powers are that she can switch bodies with someone she looks in the eyes. The reveal is that Ella isn’t Ella at all, she’s Abigail, and Ella died in her place. 

This reveal is the climax of the story. It’s what everything is leading up to. So what’s everything? Foreshadowing. I don’t know how I can explain foreshadowing, so instead I’m just going to show you. 

1.- In the first Chapter it starts off focusing on Abigail, the final paragraph reads: 

And reflected in those green eyes, she saw the monster pounce and her body fall limp to the ground.

It seems like just creative writing until you know the ending and suddenly it's literal. She looked her friend in the eyes, effectively changing bodies and then saw her own body fall limp to the ground.

2.- In Chapter 1, they point out that it’s Abigail’s birthday she’s nine and is the oldest. Making Ella still eight. 

In chapter 2, she need to think about her age before responding to Benjamin. 

He smiled, "sure, Ella. How old are you?"

A pause, "eight."

And in chapter 4 she straight up says the wrong age when speaking to Lucas. 

“Well, duh, what are you like, five?”

“Nine.” She scrunched up her nose in offence.

3.- In Chapter 2 her mother is shown to be attentive and caring, despite this she doesn’t seem to know her daughter’s favourite food. 

“How about your favourite, spinach and eggs?”

Ella’s nose scrunched up when her mother had her back turned, “sure.”

Later, Ella moved the food from one side of the plate to the other, anything to put off eating it.

Of course not, because that’s not her daughter. This also explains why Ella is happy and almost in a hurry to leave the household, in a new society where nobody knows her, pretending is going to be way easier. 

4.- In Chapter 4 we get this scene: 

She sat down and opened up the notebook, there was very neat and small cursive writing, decorated with stickers. Ella held back tears as she flipped to the first blank page and wrote down the date. Then she wrote her name. Her full name, then a description, both physical and personality. Then a list of likes, dislikes, favourite things.

We see her sad, mourning the death of her friend and we see her working to keep up an act. And if that wasn’t enough in Chapter 9: 

She handed back the paper with it’s neat blocky writing about magic and politics.

Blocky writing is basically the alternative to cursive in case anybody didn’t know.

5.- In Chapter 6 she starts school: 

In the classroom Ella was promising. She was invested and eager to learn. Especially geography, history and sciences.

Her numbers were not great, she could barely count much less do anything math related, which was unusual given her good scores prior to her magic.

Again, with context, makes perfect sense. Not the same person, not the same strong na dweak points. 

In that same chapter she had a very awkward conversation with her “mother”. 

“I know what’ll help.”

“What?”

Her mother pulled out a small stuffed cat and handed it to her.

“Mr Whiskers,” she took it slowly, looking down into its eyes.

“I don’t know how you forgot!”

“Guess there were bigger things on my mind.”

This is obviously just a snippet. Another snippet: 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Still, she didn’t look up.

Her mother knelt down, trying to peer under her hair and eyelashes.

Ella looked away.

Her mother moved her hand to her cheek to try and move her head. But Ella closed her eyes tight. “Mother, please.”

It’s pretty obvious why she doesn’t want to look her in the eyes. 

6.- Something spread out more around the book is the fact Ella never looks anybody in the eyes. At no point in the story does it reference her making eye contact and it often references her looking away, turning or staring at the ground. 

7.- Also throughout the whole story Ella talks about not wanting to find her powers and about how it’s not important and... well, makes sense when you consider she knows her power set and doesn’t care for them. 

8.- In Chapter 9 she straight up uses those powers to kill a wolf. 

Growling.

She bit her lower lip and grabbed a stick that was close to her hand. She turned slowly to see the blueish wolf. A monster.

She held the stick up slowly; her eyes were wide. She looked straight at the monster in seeming shock.

Then the monster pounced, but not at Ella, it got the stick she held up stuck in its mouth painfully. It looked Ella in the eyes and the shock was over. She found her knife and stabbed the wolf, standing over it as the blue became red.

“Abel!” she called.

Except, it’s never specifically stated. 

And there is probably more, but I’m going to leave this here because that was the main point. 

Foreshadowing is doing the thing without saying you’re doing the thing. 

All of these stuff are pretty mundane and not noteworthy on their own, but with context they change. And if you’ve been paying attention (the reason I always recommend this series be binged) the revelation is the buildup of all these small details. 

Good foreshadowing makes re-reads way more fun by the way! 

In one of the chapters Ella reacts quite badly to Abigail’s father, she cries and is taken away. Re-reading knowing that he isn’t the father of a friend but her own father, it hits different. And that’s the goal of this short novel! 

I know this post was long but, I love foreshadowing and sometimes I just don’t know how to explain myself without examples. And this is my story with the most obvious examples.  

[theoutcastedartist]

No new art really, if you've seen my original post on the MHA amino then you know where this is fucking going. Right down to Angstville because for some reason I'm obsessed with hurting my favorite Goth Jesus. You'd think I'd talk about my "Stain's Redemption" AU first since I've mentioned it but hahahaha

Y o u w e r e w r o n g ;´)

I straight up just copied and pasted my original post because I'm lazy but I REALLY wanted to share this with Tumblr lmao

Warning for (potential) manga spoilersss

Alrighty sinners, Let's get to the post itself then. Shall we?

·············

So let me just address something real quick about how I feel about the latest chapters of the MHA manga:

Seeing Aizawa cry has to be the most heart breaking thing I've seen in MHA (outside of the whole deal with Eri, sweet baby child ;-;)

And I completely FLIPPED when it was revealed that Shirakumo was BASICALLY turned into Kurogiri and just I'M CRYING--Cloud Angel Baby NOOOOOO!!!

They all deserved better than this T-T

Anywho enough about my grieving over fictional characters, let's talk about my AU, inspired by these recent chapters. Note that I'm a terrible writer. I guess this also includes a snippet of what I plan to write for this AU since it transitions from explanation to literature at some point just because I was kinda bored. Imma let you know right now that I'm a shit writer so uuuuh bear with me.

---------

The Reticent AU takes place in an Alternate Universe where Shirakumo is ALIVE and separate from Kurogiri. Instead of Loud Cloud being turned into a Nomu, Eraserhead is turned into one. His appearance for the most part remains the same, minus the scars all over his body, including around the neck, from experimentation.

He barely speaks due to pain he feels when he does talk and has no recollection of his life before being a Nomu, not even his own name. He manages to escape the League of Villains at some point and "befriends" the Hero Killer: Stain, or well more like the other way around (only because I find Stain befriending an emotionless mute to be funny). He finds Stain's views of false hero-hood and admiration for All Might quite contradictory yet amusing and lets him live during their first encounter.

It is rather hard to say whether he is a villain or a vigilante. He'll kill only if necessary but his intentions and motivations are unknown. He despises All Might as the Symbol of Peace. It gives false hope to the people as well as a false sense of security. He found it completely revolting. Aizawa did believe in good people, but All Might isn't one of them in his books. Pretty much considered one only because he's hanging around with Stain.

He never gave himself a name, nor did he care all that much for it, it was Stain who dubbed him with the alias "Reticent", meaning not revealing one's thoughts or feelings readily. He was never one for being open for as long as he could remember.

It's rather fitting, so Reticent keeps the given name.

·············

* I didn't know Shirakumo was tan, not white before I made the art (forgive me)

Oboro Shirakumo A.K.A Loud Cloud is currently the homeroom teacher of our beloved Class 1-A and best friend of our resident screaming banana, Present Mic. They have given up on their dream to start an agency due to the loss of their closest friend from high school. Fifteen years ago when they were still students at UA, Shota Aizawa had gone missing and authorities concluded that he was dead. It was such a heartbreak to Shirakumo and Yamada, that hurt never fully healed.

Shirakumo is still a friendly and nurturing spirit at heart, but not as open with his feelings anymore. He's more reserved with his thoughts and feelings. He's a reticent person.

He takes an instant liking to Ejirou Kirishima and Hitoshi Shinso. Kirishima's friendship with the explosive Katsuki Bakugou reminds him of his friendship with Shota. Their personalities seemed so different, yet their bond had remained solid and strong. As for Shinso, the purple haired teen reminded him of his old friend. He could see the growing potential in these two and takes them both under his wing. The three of them train together outside of school and the Kirishima and Shinso form a close friendship with each other along with their sensei. Both children are like sons to Shirakumo, he thinks that Shota would like them too if he were still here.

·············

So... Izuku Midoriya, the "villain magnet" of class 1-A, ended up finding himself standing face-to-face with the Hero Killer: Stain and... his partner? The news never reported anything on him having a partner. How strange. Either Stain's partner is a very recent addition or this guy was really good at covering his own tracks.

"Stain, leave them be. They are just mere children. Killing them would serve no purpose to your cause. I wouldn't waste your time with Native either. "

Midoriya grimaced at the sore and raspy voice. It sounded painful, but he could hear the underlying threat. The Hero Killer sighed and backed off from Iida's paralyzed body.

The two villains left before Todoroki had arrived.

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile."

Agakuro sat down next to Reticent, who was currently petting a stray cat, and offered him some fruit. The smaller man hummed quietly and took a few slices of apple. Both men sat quietly with the soft purring of the stray.

"I've been meaning to ask, what is your quirk exactly? You can erase quirks, but you can also manipulate basic elements and the blood in people's bodies."

Reticent signed, 'I have more than one.'

"More than one quirk?" Stain cocked an eyebrow.

Reticent nodded and quietly spoke, "Nomu."

"I've heard about their appearances here in Hosu. They are these large looking creatures with their brains exposed. You sure as hell don't look like one of 'em." Agakuro mused as he chewed on some cantaloupe. His friend was making his signals again.

I was suppose to be a more perfected Nomu. All for One took care of my progress himself.'

"Is that why you have so many..."

'Yes.'

·············

"Principal Nezu?" Shirakumo and Yamada stood in the white creature's office. Both men wondering why they were called to see him.

"Ah Loud Cloud and Present Mic! I apologize for pulling you out of your classes, but it seems you both are being called to assist Gran Torino with something he found." Nezu explained. The two men in the room looked at each other confused.

"What does he need us for?"

"Well it seems that they have another one of those Nomus in custody. I think you may remember the name Shota Aizawa?"

·············

Shirakumo was BEYOND annoyed about the situation. It must be a mistake. Their old friend was not some gruesome quirk experiment accompanying the Hero Killer. Shota Aizawa wanted to be a hero, despite feeling that he was inadequate for such due to the nature of his quirk. It has to be a mistake.

"How much longer-"

"Calm down will you! I'm frustrated about this too. There's no way it could be him, but... who knows."

They arrived at the police station withing a few minutes and walk inside. They see Gran Torino standing there waiting for them. They follow him to where Tsukauchi is finishing up with questioning the person inside. Looking through the window, Shirakumo and Yamada's eyes widen with disbelief. The other person looked just like...

"Ah Present Mic, Loud Cloud. Thank you for arriving on such short notice. I know you are both very busy men."

The two Pro-Heros turn to the detective as he stepped out of the interrogation room. Present Mic appeared alarmed and Shirakumo just looked... mad.

"Well it appears that he doesn't remember anything before being experimented on. We have a case of amnesia on our hands."

Shirakumo practically growled,"Experimented on? What the hell are you going on about detective!?" Why was Tsukauchi being so damn vague?

"That man in there is indeed Shota Aizawa. His base quirk of Erasure is still there and DNA results confirm this. From what I'm gathering, fifteen years ago he was kidnapped and had been subjected to illegal drug testing as well as having multiple quirks forced into his body. He's a more sophisticated Nomu it seems."

"More 'sophisticated'? What stopped him from having brains popping out of his skull like all the others we've seen?" The voice hero questioned. Something wasn't adding up here.

"All for One..."

The other three men became tense.

"Isn't... Isn't that the villain All Might fought at Kamino Ward?"

"According to him, it seems that All for One was the one who did this to him personally, there was extra care in your friend's 'recreation'. As to what his added quirks are, we're not sure yet of what they are or even of how many."

Gran Torino turned to the younger men,"We were hoping that you two would talk to him. Maybe to help trigger any memories from before his disappearance."

"So what? You think the 'power of friendship' is going to magically bring back his memories?" Shirakumo scoffed at how ridiculous that would actually be.

"No, but miracles do happen. I've seen many things during my time. They are rare, but they happen."

"Shirakumo," Present Mic started, "if there is even a slim possibility of getting Sho's memories back, shouldn't we at least try? For him?"

Shirakumo sighed at his words, "Fine. For Shota's sake."

The two younger men walk inside.

--------

"Shota?"

'Who were they talking about? Is that his name?'

After the detective had left the room, two other men had walked in. He assumed they were Pros based on the costumes. No normal person dressed in THAT much leather (referring to Present Mic).

"Do you... remember us, Shota? Hizashi and I?"

It looks like they ARE talking to him. He shook his head no. This was the first time he has seen these two men. The way they were looking at him made him uncomfortable.

"Sho...ta? Is... that my name?"

The two men standing winced at his croaking voice. In all honesty, he would sign, but he had no clue if these two even knew sign language. So he just resorted to talking.

"Do you remember your own name?"

"No."

"Do you... remember us?"

The raven haired man shook his head, 'No.'

"Is... Shota my name? Do you know me? I'm sorry I- I'm just... so confused."

His voice was so raspy and weak. Black hair covered the scar under his eye. Hizashi and Oboro wore sad looks on their faces at the sound. The taller of the two, Oboro, knelt down by the man's knees.

"Yes. We do know you. Your name is Shota Aizawa. You were once a member of UA's class 2-A about fifteen years ago." Oboro started as he gently pried one of Shota's hands from the yellow blanket the officers gave him. His arm was covered in scars... like his legs. God only knows what they did to him all those years. Hizashi just observed their movements, unsure of what to do he added on to what Shirakumo said.

"You love cats and taking naps, you were the most rational one out of the three of us. All three of us had dreams of starting an agency together..."

The two pro-heros continued talking for what felt like hours. Shota listened to every word as they recounted their old adventures from highschool. Maybe with enough luck, they could help Shota get him memory back. Shirakumo was starting to think that the raven wasn't ever getting his old memories back until...

"Sushi... I- We had a cat named Sushi?"

Hizashi had flung himself so fast to Shota as he held onto him tightly and cried. Shirakumo also had a tear-streaked face, but he held a blinding smile as he watched Shota awkwardly pat the blond's back.

Miracles do happen.

More of this angst shit coming soon ;)

[purrincess-chat]

Number 8 for the 40 questions, please 😊

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oh dear, my favorite?? Ohhhh, let me go look.

Okay, can I do like a top 5 or something?

From Moves Like Jagged CH2:

“How did you get a piano here?” She asked, and Jagged glanced at it nonchalantly.

“I know a guy.” He shrugged. “You’re worrying too much, Marinette. I’ve been working all day on this song, and there’s no way he’ll be able to refuse you.”

“Look, Jagged, I’m not sure if tonight is the best time to- What are you doing?” She flinched as he hurled a pebble at Adrien’s window.

“Haven’t you seen all the movies? We have to get his attention.” He stated simply with an impish grin. “Would you like to throw one?”

“No, I would not!” She hissed, glancing nervously up at the window.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged before tossing another one.

“Jagged!” She caught his wrist before he could throw the next one.

How did she get herself into these situations? Standing outside the love of her life’s window in the middle of the night with a famous rockstar, who had her phone number she might add, who was hell-bent on setting them up, and while she appreciated the gesture, she was absolutely mortified by the reality. Why did life pick her for all of its craziness? Wasn’t being a superheroine enough?

“Shh, here he comes,” He said, rubbing his hands together excitedly and taking his seat at the piano and beginning to pluck out a soft melody.

Adrien peeked out his window with furrowed brows that raised in alarm when he saw the piano and Jagged Stone. Marinette offered him a sheepish wave, and he clicked a button on his remote that opened the pane outward.

“Jagged Stone?” He gaped with a small smile. “Marinette, what’s going on? And how did you guys get a piano out here?”

“I know a guy!” Jagged called with a grin, and Marinette’s face fell into her hand.

This fic in general is super fun to write, and this is why I want to get back to it soon because Jagged is just so wild, and I love it. “I know a guy!” It just makes me laugh every time, like, Jagged, boy XD

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From Moves Liked Jagged CH3: (god this fic has good lines)

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Damocles?” Adrien announced, knocking on the door as he entered.

“Yeah, come in and sit. I want to have a little chat.”

Adrien gulped, letting the door shut behind him as he stepped inside and took a seat. His fingers drummed on the arm of the chair until the chair spun around, and he found himself face-to-face with Jagged Stone.

“No way! But you’re not-” Jagged held up a hand, a smirk curling on his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, I know who I am,” He said, leaning back and propping his feet up on the desk. “You and I need to have a little chat.”

“Wait, so I’m not in trouble, am I?” Adrien’s eyebrows creased, and Jagged shrugged. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanna talk to you one-on-one, man-to-man, rockstar-to-whatever it is you do with the perfume ads.” He waved it away.

I’ve always been really proud of that last line. I fear that when I come back to this fic I won’t be able to capture Jagged’s essence as well as I did initially, and I fear that it won’t be as funny. Cause a lot of Jagged’s lines in this fic are hilarious. 

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Not really a dialogue clip, but just a clip that makes me laugh every time I read it

From Lady Luck CH2:

For a moment, she thought he hadn’t noticed her presence as he hadn’t made eye contact or even so much as looked at her since he walked in, but the moment he stepped onto the platform and let his robe fall to his feet, he turned to face her head on, a small triumphant smile on his lips when his eyes locked with hers. She felt her face heat up instantly and averted her gaze as a few classmates giggled in delight.

“Ready?” Mr. Rousseau asked.

“Yeah,” Adrien replied, placing a hand on his hip as those green eyes remained locked on target.

“You have two hours, class. Make every second count.”

Adrien Agreste better be counting his seconds because the number he had left was dwindling. With a soft groan, she picked up her sketchbook and went to work, starting with the head and trying her very hardest to keep her eyes north of the border. He was an excellent example of male physique, and she hated herself for even admitting it in her mind. Every inch of him was physical perfection, and as she was inevitably forced to discover, she did mean every inch.

She was convinced this was some method of torture because every time she glanced up she was faced with toned abs, perfect skin, dazzling green eyes, as well as a certain other body part she was doing her best not to think about too much which was, incidentally, the thing she was reserving for last. Each time he caught her gaze, a tiny smile curled at the corner of his lips, and her eyes darted back to her drawing.

All that she had left was the particular region she’d been refusing to look at the whole time, though given his position in front of her, it was hard to miss. She wondered if Mr. Rousseau would protest if she refused to draw it. After all, she already had one big dick on her page, she wasn’t certain why she’d need two.

Okay, so it’s mostly just that last sentence, but you needed some context for the scene first lol. Again, not really dialogue, but I just really love the “she already had one big dick on her page, she wasn’t certain why she’d need two.” This fic was another one that was super fun to work on which is why I went back and read over it again when I was considering what I wanted to work on. I read back over a lot of my old writing, and I feel like to some extent it’s better than what I write now which is a shame because my older works have gained way less views than my newer ones. I just feel like some of my turns of phrase are better at times in my older stuff, and Idk if I’ve just gotten lazy, or if I’m just not as funny anymore. Probably a little of both XD

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So this one is actually old and now obsolete, at least maybe until I figure out what I want to do with this story, but this comes from the bonus stories I wrote for Lady du Coeur way, way, waaay back, and this was an alternate scene from Marinette’s perspective from one of the chapters:

“Wake up!” A demanding, scratchy voice ordered, and Marinette sat up, rubbing her eyes in confusion. She glanced up at Adrien’s kwami floating just above her, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“Where are we?” She glanced around, but there was nothing but blackness as far as she could see.

“You’re dead. Adrien poisoned you,” Plagg replied spookily, and Mari gave him an unamused glare. “Fine, Adrien got these two magical cups from Master Fu hoping to make the two of you forget that you knew each other under the mask, but long story short, Master Fu lied and now I’m here to show you all of his deepest and most embarrassing secrets as revenge for not listening to me.”

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Why what?” Plagg grunted. “Why did Adrien let you drink tea from magical memory cups? Because he’s stupid. Why did Master Fu lie to him? Again, because he’s stupid and needs to be taught a lesson. Why am I going to show you all his secrets? Because it’s fun. Oh, and he’s stupid.”

Really that whole chapter is funny just for Plagg’s commentary on Adrien’s life alone. Looking back he’s kind of harsh, but given the context of the scene the roasting is kind of deserved. Maybe one day I’ll figure out what I want to do with this fic and it will come home from the war. Maybe. Someday. 

Dammit I need a 5th one shit fuck

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From the unfinished chapter of WYBM(F)L?

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Lila said, cocking a hip as Marinette approached with a cutting glare.

"What poor soul did you lie to in order to be let in?"

Honestly this whole exchange with Lila is peak pettiness to me. I’m not spoiling anymore than that, but Marinette gets in a few good quips. 

But there you have it. Most of the time when people ask for my favorite lines I’ve written, I gravitate toward Moves Like Jagged and that scene in Lady Luck. I’m sorry to tell all of you that my writing peaked two years ago. 

[sarasa-cat]

fragilespark replied to your post: “Ok. It needs to happen About to start sharing headcanon and snippets...”:

aaah there's so much! given the chronological order, how are you placing scenes that are happening at similar times - are you going to switch character focus or just do a long stretch with one character and go back in time to cover the others?

THE GIANT CAN OF WORMS. This is the question that has plagued me since I began thinking about this story. To be honest, it is hard. This is the most complex story I have ever put together and the level of challenge has been difficult, mostly in a good way. 

I am really glad you asked this question because it forced me to remember how I am making this work and writing this response reminded me of all the hard work I need to do this month. O_O

Concrit and/or further discussion is so very welcomed.

Here’s the current plan:

At a macro-structural level are only two linear storylines:

(1) a “present time story” that is told in the present (6 months before Dirge to 18ish months after Dirge) and has conflicts that occur in the present but it has many flashbacks that, obviously, are in the past.

(2) a “past story” told in the past (mid 1960s through late 1970s) with conflicts that resolved in a the past, but the denouement continues decades later, eventually catching up with the present timeline.

How this structure will hopefully work:

(1) The Present Time Story starts about 6 months before Dirge and ends about 18 months after Dirge. The POV alternates between Vincent and Yuffie telling that tale and, at this moment, they’re both in 1st POV voice, each quirky in their own way.  

In the present time story, Vincent has an ongoing conflict regarding Chaos that is far more expanded than what is shown in Dirge. Yuffie has an ongoing conflict with her career aspirations that springboard from her canonical novella (On the Way to a Smile: Case of Yuffie) and Monsters takes it forward to one possible post-canon conflict/conclusion. Meanwhile, during that 2+ year period, Yuffie/Vincent flounder their way into an undefined, unexamined relationship that neither of them are ready to have … until they finally decide they are ready for their definition of a “relationship,” but by then a larger conflicts loom in their life (points up: Chaos, career), threatening all the good that they have found in their friendship/relationship/partnership/whateverthehellthisis-ship.

As the present time story and its conflicts moves forward in a linear direction, there are many flashbacks that hang off of it. Sometimes the flashbacks are very short digressions, such as a moment in the present causing Vincent to have an internal thought that jumps back in time for a paragraph or two. Sometimes the flashbacks go on for the bulk of a chapter or even a few chapters in a row, such as Vincent and/or Yuffie individually relaying to the reader things that happened during FFVII:OG. Sometimes there are moments where one character prompts the other character to tell a story from their past — for instance, there are scenes from Yuffie’s pre-FFVII:OG childhood & teens that are narrations inside of the larger narrative that she tells to Vincent (and the reader). Likewise, sometimes Yuffie prods Vincent to divulge actual details about his childhood, his university years, or his time in the Turks.  Other times, Vincent wallows in the abyss of his brain and relays lengthy backstory details to the reader that Yuffie isn’t privy to or, at least, not in their unedited, extremely unflattering form. ;)

If things go as planned, all of these flashbacks will find natural places in the linear present time story. For instance, Vincent (in the present time story) rummaging through a box of archived documents that were from his father’s lab, documents dated 1968-1972, and that takes Vincent’s brain into a long digression about Relevant Backstory that occurred while he was a university student. Or Yuffie and Vincent lazing around the apartment that Vincent leases and Yuffie just sort of, uh, lives in, and something from a recent phone call from her father causes her to tell Vincent (and the reader), a relevant piece of backstory from 10 years ago in Wutai. Regarding V/Y’s developing relationship in the present time story, there is a bittersweet, delicate backstory that takes place during FFVII:OG and OtW2aSmile:Yuffie that I have already woven into the timing of the present times story conflict of Vincent and Yuffie’s a “we’re not in a relationship,” which runs from the beginning of Chapter 1 (Yuffie invites herself into Vincent’s apartment with her suitcase). Meanwhile, there are unflattering pieces of Vincent’s backstory (late 1960s - late 1970s) that he tells the reader and I need to get these to sync up appropriately with the portions that Lu tells in the “Past Story” described below, in (2).

All of those flashbacks set up context for the three conflicts in the present time story (Vincent’s Chaos, yuffie’s career aspirations, and their confused relationship). Or, at least, that is the plan. As the tension ratchets in the present time story, moving closer and closer to the BIG FINAL CRISIS, I suspect/plan/assume that the ratio of words spent in flashbacks versus present time will shift more and more to favor the present time crisis and its resolution.

Lucrecia fits into this present time story but … I consider all over her story as something part of the “Past Story” So…

(2) The Past Story starts with Lucrecia’s POV, told in 3rd POV (unlike all of the stuff above which is in 1st POV). The part of her story told in 3rd POV is very linear and very conventionally told, with scenes from her university years, her post-doctoral work with Grimoire, Grimoire’s death (uh-oh…), a brief period of time she took off from working, and then her work on the Jevona Project. Various OCs and minor character appear: her family, her friends, various fucktoys, an affair with Grimoire, her friendship turned friends with benefits turned potential marriage+lab partnership with Hojo, and her mess with Vincent. Above all, this story ships Lucrecia/Science because that is her number one ship and her number one goal. She desperately wants to receive their equivalent of a Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine. When I say DESPERATELY WANTS, I mean she fantasizes about it all the time. ;)  Oh and then there is the sexism. Anyhow, eventually this story gets into canon territory and we all know how that ends.

And then there is the complication: The denouement to Lucrecia’s story is told 30+ years later by other people (because Lucrecia is dead) and the reader gets the denouement of this story via scenes told in 1st POV by Yuffie or Vincent, their conversations with other people, and various documents they find. I suspect I might write some of these documents in partial form and just present them as pieces of the story. So, like, Yuffie rummaging through old archived records, finds pieces of Lucrecia’s Ph.D. Thesis, and she starts reading it — and the reader sees a combination of summary thoughts in Yuffie’s brain plus actual passages from the thesis. Or Vincent remembering conversations with Lucrecia from 30+ years prior and now seeing those conversations in a totally different light. Or other narrative devices like these that allow for a denouement to her story.

FWIW, Lucrecia’s denouement continues up through Yuffie deciding that Lucrecia needs to receive posthumous credit for her contributions and then rallying for this to happen. Monsters sort of treats Lucrecia like a Rosalind Franklin figure regarding her theoretical work, albeit with added moral ambiguity given what she did when translating theory into bioengineering creations.

The REALLY TRICKY BIT is how to intersperse the Lucrecia chapters (3rd POV, Lu in the past) & the Lucrecia denouement (present time as told through other people and through remaining documents) into the ordering of the present time story detailed above in (1). From the reader’s experience, I am kind of seeing it looking something like this:

Ch 1: Vincent POV (6 months before Dirge), setting up the big conflicts Ch 2 & 3:  Vincent and Yuffie’s alternating 1st POVs, more set up. Ch 4:  Lucrecia’s story (3rd POV, past), first section of N sections. Ch 5 & 6: More of V & Y’s alternating 1st POVs, story moving forward with sneaky hints of Lu denouement previewed. Ch 7: Lucrecia’s story (3rd POV, past), second section of N sections. Ch 8 & 9: More of V & Y’s alternating 1st POVs pushing their present time conflicts forward, and occasionally with sneaky hints of Lu denouement appear. Ch 10: Lucrecia’s story (3rd POV, past), third section of N sections. Etc etc etc etc. Until we finally get to: Ch ??:  More of V & Y’s alternating 1st POVs, as the present time story’s crises really start ramping up a few months after the end of Dirge, and obvious pieces of the Lucrecia denouement start getting their own scenes. Ch ???:  Lucrecia’s story (3rd POV, past), final sections (likely multiple chapters interspersed as her chapters will probably never appear back to back, so more of the “??” between these “???” Chapters) of her POV as Vincent’s body rots, gets operated on, rots some more, and become proof of her theories written up in her PhD thesis. And then her final demise. Ch ????: More of V & Y’s alternating 1st POVs, as the present time story’s crises come screaming into center stage. Lu’s denouement in present time creates it own special little surprise crisis. Ch ?????:  V & Y’s alternating 1st POVs as each of the crises resolve. Ch Last: V’s POV as the story wraps up with him in a Very Very VERY different headspace from where he was in Ch 1.

I have a magic spreadsheet where I am organizing all of this such that each of the story lines ramp up in intensity together and so the flashbacks from Vincent and Yuffie ratchet tension and/or explain to the reader why they are engaging in erratic/unhelpful/offkilter behavior in the present.

I guess it goes without saying that Vincent and Yuffie both do a lot of maturing and coming to terms with reality between the beginning and end of Monsters, at least as planned

At the micro level, things get really complicated. For instance, I have a series of 6 separate scenes that about Vincent’s failure to deal with Lucrecia’s decision to marry Hojo. These scenes occur in the past, before, during, and immediately after the Lu/Hojo wedding. About half of those 6 scenes are told from Lu’s POV and the rest from present-day Vincent’s memories of what happened 30+ years prior. Thus, I need to make sure these scenes line up in sequential chapters. So, something like: Ch 9. Vincent, in the present (1st POV), while doing other things in the present, has a reason to tell the readers something dreadfully uncomfortable regarding what happened when Hojo and Lu announced their marriage. Thus, the chapter includes a scene of 1200 words (or whatever) that are pure, unadulterated memories of the past. Ch 10. Lu, in the past (3rd POV) covers (amongst other things) the lead up to her wedding and the horrible thing Vincent does during the wedding night. Ch 11. Vincent, in the present (1st POV), does his thing in the present, but has reason to flash back for 1000 words to share an embarrassing scene from the week after the wedding night.

Likewise, there is a backstory about a climatic moment that occurs between Vincent & Yuffie during FFVII:OG and how their memories of that event affect their ability to talk in the present about whatever it is they are doing in that apartment Vincent leases while Yuffie… “lives with him?” Again, these present events need to sync up with their flashbacks in order for it to make sense as to why the suck even more at “couples”(??) communication than fandom already expects (as we already have very low expectations for their ability to engage in high quality couples communication, lololol, so Monsters gives them reason to make it worse).

All of this micro alignment is where the current complexity comes in. I am spending this month (please let it ONLY BE thiS MoNTH onLY PLZZZ) finishing up the jigsaw puzzle and getting it all into scrivener in a coherent chapter by chapter, scene by scene order. Hahahahahaha. Uhhhhh.

This is a Monster. Literally.  ;)

[drundertalescum]

The Kings Beneath The Mountain - Fic Questions

SOOOO...

@audaciousanonj asked a few questions, and then @rabbitpietale decided to challenge me to do ALL the questions for this fic, so I’m doing all the questions for this fic.

Please send me questions for not-this-fic.

I’ll put it under the cut. It’s long.

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I was in an angst mood and started writing for a few hours and ended up with a huge, disconnected mess. A week later I decided to publish the first part since it was pretty solid and could stand on its own. Then I made the mistake of trying to continue before I was really ready for it.

I don’t really remember the exact inspiration for the first night of mad typing. It was probably a migraine. That’s the cause of most fics I write down.

2: What scene did you first put down?

HONESTLY? It’s a scene way in the future. Like... 20 chapters ahead if it continues at the pace I want to? I’ve got doubts about going down that route for a few reasons, so there’s a chance the fic will divert before it ever gets there, but it’s... uh... it’s really not pleasant.

Maybe if I do divert I’ll spin that off into another fic. I do really like the scene. I just... I dunno. Self doubts.

3: What's your favorite line of narration?

It’s a paragraph, not a line, but this:

Undyne would have known what to do. She knew all sorts of things about magic, and about Asgore, too! She knew how he handled things, the way he made it all work. This was knowledge he desperately needed now. And it just would have been lovely hear her stories and share a cup of tea! (Papyrus himself hated tea, but he drank it all the time now. Asgore must have had good reason for drinking the stuff. Which flowers did he use again…? He was so forgetful lately.) They didn't have to spar or cook or do any of the stuff they used to. They could just chat or walk around the garden and reminisce about older, better times. His joints hurt so much; that sounded more appealing. She'd probably think it was boring, but he could make it fun! She could play piano for him and he could try to sing along. They should have done that more. It was fun. Or maybe they could watch some of those baby cartoons together. He didn't know which one was her favorite, and he felt now that he'd really like to know.

I just love their friendship so much and it hurts knowing how much he missed her and how much he was ignoring about his own self-destruction while still thinking about her opinions and ways to spend more time with her.

I also like this ultra secret future snippet:

Creativity was always strongly associated with humans, and for good reason.  Papyrus had seen so many old maps and books about human buildings and architecture. If, with unlimited time and resources, you asked a single human to build you two great cities, you would get exactly that: two cities. Different streets, different buildings, different names. A monster, on the other hand, would just build the same city twice. After all, the first was fine, wasn't it? There was no reason to betray tradition-- even if it was a tradition of just a few short days.

There’s another actual line that might be my favorite but it’s spoilers.

4: What's your favorite line of dialogue?

Of what’s currently written:

“WOWIE, UNDYNE! I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WERE FRIEND RULES!” “OBVIOUSLY! That's rule number two of the Friend Rules!!” “AND WHAT'S NUMBER ONE?” “‘Don't talk about Friend Rules!’” “BUT YOU JUST--!!!”

I also like: 

COOLSKELETON95: THERE ARE LOTS OF THINGS FOR BABIES THAT ARE STILL VERY GOOD FOR GROWN MONSTERS! LIKE MILK! AND DEADLY SPIKES!

ALPHYS: * ummmmm * spikes!?

COOLSKELETON95: OF COURSE! KIDS LOVE SPIKES!!!

There’s a conversation way down the line that I love (part of the sequence that might get cut that I mentioned) but the whole thing is spoiler-town.

5: What part was hardest to write?

The next chapter. (:

I’m serious. It’s awful. I thought  I would be able to get it done months ago! It’s not really all that hard, it’s just finding a balance, because the way the scene plays out really determines the direction of the story in a lot of ways. It’s just the chat with Undyne, it’s not some big surprise, but it’s hard! It doesn’t seem to want to work out right! And I get overwhelmed when I try to work on it.

The dinner with Sans was really tough, to, and the conversation that followed dinner. I didn’t want to give too much away from what Sans was thinking or what he’s aware of and that made it pretty tricky getting the dialogue to not go the wrong way.

The brothers actually wanted to talk things out and this is an Undertale fanfiction. It cannot be allowed.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

It’s really long.

And uh... aside from Papyrus and Alphys friendship showing a bit it hasn’t really reached any of the “different” parts yet. 

Fun fact though: pretty much every detail of the King Papyrus ending Papyrus came from is the reverse of the details of my other (planned) King Papyrus fic Observe:

TKBTM:

Fell down 9 months in

Aborted genocide run

not Frisk’s first rodeo

features at least 2 timelines

Papyrus banned himself from sleeping

Papyrus has near-perfect reset memory (from origin timeline to new timeline)

Flowey died in Origin timeline

KPCV:

Takes place 1 year into reign

“Coward�� run

the first Frisk run

the only Frisk run

Papyrus sleeps whenever he can he gets it now

No reset memory, only deja vu

Flowey lives

7: Where did the title come from?

It’s a reference to Asgore’s intro-to-battle music, which translates to The King Beneath The Mountain. Only there’s plural kings. Because Papyrus is also a king.

It’s really clever, you see. I’m really good at names.

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

Naw, not this one. This one is just pure self-indulgent fulfillment of my Papyrus angst needs.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Not really! There’s a lot of scenes that I changed or cut and by the end of it there may be a very different ending than the self-indulgent trash I was aiming for but right now its not that far.

Here’s a cut part of the scene where Sans and Papyrus are goofing off after Papyrus throws a glove at Sans’s face. Originally he missed:

“i feel so attacked right now. i better get going before you start throwing your boots too. ‘m weak, not sure my sole can handle it!”

“ARRRGHHH!!!” Sans had shortcut a short distance away before the shoe could properly land, as both knew he would.  They’d played this game many times, but it never got old. If anything, it only got better with time. It was hard for Papyrus to maintain his look of great offense while he was holding back a giggle. He started to chase after him, using his magic to prevent himself from tripping from having only one shoe.  “GET BACK HERE!!”

“i wouldn’t do that! you’re running a temperature!” Sans dodged out of the path of the second shoe before it even came close. “later!” Sans yelled from his spot down the road, then shortcut out of sight once more, this time for good.

Papyrus smiled as he floated above the ground and gathered up the strewn pieces of his gear.

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

There’s no pairings here besides maybe one or two if-you-squints in the future. And one of those squints is... really not a healthy relationship if you read it as a relationship. Please don’t ship that.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

This isn’t clear yet but it’s super self-indulgent on my favorite tropes.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

This isn’t clear yet but it’s super self-indulgent on my favorite tropes.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

hmmm....

You know, I don’t really listen to music when I write. It doesn’t work. (Conversely, I MUST listen to music while I draw). I can’t remember what I was listening to around the time of writing, since music usually plays a role in brainstorming.

Maybe a nice, soft, sad orchestral ASGORE. Or if it exists, a soft, sad, orchestral ASGORE/Bonetrousle mashup.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

Sleep is healthy.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

“Nope! Still can’t handle longfics! A pity!”

[anavoliselenu]

Manwhore chapter 8

“You never stop working, do you?” he interrupts, scowling a little. “In that sense, you’re like me.”

I scowl too. “You’re answering with a question.”

“You’re not asking the right questions.”

“God, Justin! Why do you like to tease me so much?”

Laughing, he leans closer, until his face is level with mine and I can smell the soap on his skin. He holds me by the chin with the pad of his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you blush every time I do?”

“My skin is white, it’s almost translucent. I blush easily.”

“I only see you blush with me.”

His eyes are both comforting and disturbing, hot and cold, closed off at the same time they seem to be stripping me. “Do you think about me, Selena?”

“At work, yes. I think about you in the office. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Partly, yes. I think about you in the office too, but I also think about you in bed.”

“Justin, the commissioner would like to speak with you. Miss Livingston, I’m Dean.”

I’m so hot right now, I’m mortified I get to meet Justin’s PR person like this, but I shake his hand nonetheless and try to act calm and collected, not in the least Justin-affected. “Dean, oh yes, so nice to meet you.”

Justin extracts the badge from my grip. “Press time is over,” he informs me. All the cold has fled his eyes; they look beyond warm, blazing like fireballs as he looks at me. “Take care of her, Dean.”

“I will.”

He goes inside.

Dean and I soon follow.

I ask Dean how long he’s worked at M4, how the hiring process was. We’re talking about his job, and how impressed I am with Interface, when I spot a familiar face across the room. I stiffen when the hawklike, tiny pointy nose and the long dark hair register in my brain. Victoria?

Her eyes widen from across the room, and she points at me, to my complete and utter horror. She starts charging over.

“Selena?” she calls.

God, seeing a colleague from Edge, one whom I don’t trust and one who knows exactly what I am doing here, I did not expect to feel so small.

I brace myself for a second, then I stand to greet her.

Playing the perfect innocent, she seems absolutely delighted as I perform a quick, perfunctory introduction to Dean.

“Dean, wow, and you’re Justin’s PR person?”

“Victoria . . . meet me at the ladies’? Dean, will you excuse us?”

I try to appear calm and mermaid-like as I start in the direction of the restrooms, keeping my eyes ahead while Victoria walks smugly next to me.

Even the way she walks is like she’s having sex with the floor or something.

“Justin is absolutely eating you with his eyes. Why aren’t you clinging to him, chatting him up?” Victoria says when we’re finally in the ladies’.

I make sure that all the stalls are vacant, then go to the sink and open the water.

“It isn’t like that.”

“What? It isn’t like what? Like that dress isn’t begging to be peeled off—”

“Shhh!” I glance around at the stalls, checking a second time that they’re empty.

She follows and inspects every one of them herself. “Don’t worry, I’m not telling. Helen will kill me if this blows up.”

I rub my temples and sigh. “Can you explain to me what you’re doing here?”

“I called a few of my contacts when I heard you weren’t on the press list. I wanted to get the deets.”

“The deets on what, Victoria? I’m here. This is my . . . I’m here. And it’s all under control.”

She eyes me dubiously. “Okay. Well then.” She makes a ceremony out of washing her hands, taking forever to pat them dry. Then she checks her makeup. “I suggest you go out there and use your feminine wiles. You’re a woman, a pretty one. And in case you haven’t noticed, every other woman out there is giving Justin come-hither looks but you.”

She leaves.

I stand there, looking at myself in the mirror. I’ve lost all semblance of color from my face. I feel physically ill. I’m certain that if I walk out there, Justin will see right through me. He’ll know what I want from him, that I want everything including his secrets, and he’ll know why I shouldn’t have kissed him the way I did at the Interface building. What we did there felt so intimate to me, so . . . so unprofessional on my part, considering what I have to do.

All my insecurities rising to the surface, I call for a cab with my cell. I wait a few minutes, then slip out of the bathroom and find one of the women from the press-badge table.

“Could you please tell Mr. Justin that the woman whose badge he has in his pocket had to leave, she wasn’t feeling well?” I ask her, grateful when she agrees.

Outside, my cab is waiting across the street, and I leap over a few puddles and climb inside, the bottom of the dress completely ruined. I thank the driver when I get home, then I pull off my dress and my shoes, slip into my Northwestern T-shirt, and sit on the bed, motionless, thinking and feeling blank and numb.

I never thought I would ever do anything to hurt somebody. I always thought I was on the good guys’ side, on the side of rightness. Seeing Victoria today while I was both working and not working made me see what I am. What I’m doing.

I’m a hypocrite. I’m . . . a liar.

That little game bullies try to make you play when you’re a little kid—if you were forced to kill one to save the other, your mom or your dad, who would you choose? Sometimes in life you have to make a choice like that, a decision so hard you can’t make it, you would rather sacrifice yourself. But that still means Edge goes down.

I peer into Gina’s room, but she’s not back yet. I go back to my fetal position on the bed and I turn on a local gossip show on television, trying to distract myself.

“Tonight at the Interface inaugural, Justin Justin speaking . . .”

A snippet from a while ago appears, and my stomach tumbles as if I’ve just taken a steep drop on a roller coaster. The video cuts back to the news anchor and an image of us, Justin and me, as he took my hand and led me to the terrace.

OHMIGOD!

“A young lady’s early departure is causing confusion among the press; this is the image taken earlier of Justin with her, arousing much speculation as to whether Justin’s got his eye on her. Early word is that she’s a member of a small magazine in the area but wasn’t on the scene as press. First time ever Justin’s been linked to a reporter. It will be interesting to watch future developments.”

“Agreed,” the coanchor says.

“Ohmigod!” I turn off the TV, toss the remote aside, and cover my face in my hands. I’m breathing in and out, in and out, when my cell phone vibrates. It’s Helen.

You’re on the news. Vicky texted. Said he looks absolutely hooked? I’m impressed

I groan, “I’m going to throw up now.”

Sick with self-loathing over my disgusting duplicity, I grab a pillow and bury my head there. I don’t answer Helen. I delete her text instead, then I reach for my lifeline, the only thing that has kept me going when it’s gotten rough:

Love you, Momma

14

AFTER THE PARTY

My mother’s probably asleep. She hasn’t answered. I still feel like shit. Hell, I am shit. Groaning, I pull my T-shirt over my knees and wrap my arms around my legs; then I bury my face there. I’ve been here for a while when I hear the downstairs buzzer. I’m not answering. I really am not.

The third time it buzzes, I give up and go answer from the kitchen. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

Justin.

I glance frantically around the place I share with Gina. It’s in a Chicago factory-turned-apartment building. The doors to our bedrooms are both in a short hall, one on the right side, one to the left. Painted wooden bookcases and framed metal columns stand between the kitchen and living room. We have a hole in the wall between the dining room and the pantry, and the cheapest alternative we could think of at the time was to hang a huge whiteboard over it on the dining room side, where we write things when we get drunk or just feel like it. It used to be my idea board, but the girls hijacked it.

It’s . . . home. My home. What will he think of it?

This apartment is my pride, my little spot of peace, and now HE will be in it, and it will be intense. It’s been a while since my friends and I have had this conversation, but no man has crossed the sacred barrier of my apartment threshold. Ever. He’s the first. The very first.

I’m nervous about him seeing my place, my safe zone, my pride and joy, through eyes that have seen far too much of the world. Far more than me. What is pretty to me may be simple and uninteresting to him.

“C’mon up,” I murmur and buzz him in, then hurry back to my bedroom, slipping on some leggings and exchanging my T-shirt for a long blouse, checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Sighing in despair over my swollen eyelids, I scrub my face with soap and head to the door. He’s waiting outside when I open it, leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, staring down at his shoes, his eyebrows furrowed.

He looks up at me. My legs feel paralyzed, as if they’re not getting enough blood. He doesn’t know how monumental it is for me to step back and wave him inside. God, he looks so good—as good as he did minutes or hours ago—that I almost trip on the rug.

“Do you want coffee?”

He glances around my place with a nod.

His tie is unfastened and hanging around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair curls at the collar of his shirt, and when he rumples it and keeps surveying my place, it sticks out all over his head, dark and lovely. I have to fight the urge to reach out and touch it. Instead, I bring us two cups to the coffee table. I take the couch and watch him lower himself into my favorite oversize reading chair, the one I do my best thinking in. I’m a little afraid now that I won’t ever use it again without remembering he was parked right there.

“I’m sorry I bailed,” I whisper, sliding a cup across the table and retrieving my hand before he can reach for it.

“I heard you weren’t feeling well.” He leans forward, ignoring the coffee. Ignoring my apartment and everything except me.

His dissecting look makes me lower my face and exhale. “Yeah, I guess,” I agree.

“Somebody hurt you, Selena?”

“Maybe . . .” I raise my head at the protectiveness in his tone and cross my arms over my chest. A male figure has never been concerned over me, protective. I like it so much I smile a little in happy amusement. “Will you punch her for me?”

“Her?”

“Me,” I specify, shaking my head. “I’m referring to me, she’s the one who hurt me.” I tighten my arms because seeing him in my place makes my mind keep going elsewhere, to another time, at the top of the Interface building. I can’t believe I’ve kissed those lips. I can’t believe he kissed me for so long.

He laughs softly, runs a hand through his hair. “Then no, I won’t punch her.” A pause, a laden look.

Then kiss her again, I think recklessly.

Groaning inwardly at the thought, I put my face in my hand for a moment.

Justin seems to be beyond puzzled by me right now.

“Is this a girl thing?” His voice brings my head up, his tone a mix of confusion and amusement that, coming from such a hard and closed man, is unexpectedly sweet.

“It’s a me thing,” I admit. “I saw someone tonight—she works where I work. She’s always so spot-on. Everything she writes is absolute gold. Her topics, her metaphors, her similes!”

His chuckle fills the room—a rich, beautiful sound—and then he reclines farther back in the chair, the embodiment of a businessman relaxing.

“I’m personally a fan of your work, Selena.”

My . . . what!?

“You always lay out your topics with refreshing honesty.”

“You’ve been reading me?” I’m sure my voice and round eyes betray my surprise.

That small smile again, combined with a scowl this time. “You think I give interviews to just anyone?”

“Honest?” I ask.

When he nods, I dip my head low. “I thought you saw my boobs pushing out of that top on my profile picture and told Dean you’d see me.”

His eyes crinkle with humor, but then we stare for long, heavy minutes, and our smiles fade.

“I read your column before that interview was granted.”

“I must’ve been such a disappointment in person. That first interview? It’s the most embarrassing interview I’ve ever had,” I admit.

We stare again.

I want him to say something, so I wait.

“I thought you were lovely.”

I’m blushing red.

He’s not known to be big on compliments, or a big flatterer. He’s known to be blunt, his honesty close to making people uncomfortable.

I’m uncomfortable now because I feel him looking at me with new intensity, and when he speaks again, the girl inside me feels euphoric.

“It gave me great pleasure to watch you walk out with my shirt. It seems every single one of my employees who saw you knew that I wanted you. Everyone knew this except maybe me.”

My breath catches.

“Oh,” I say, when I manage to expel it.

“I didn’t know then,” he specifies, his stare unflinching.

The desire I feel is so absolute, so powerful, I cannot think of anything else but him and the fact that I cannot have him.

I’m acutely aware of the distance between us—of exactly how many feet lie between him and me in my living room. I turn on a lamp, and the room becomes more alive; all the light seems to make love to him, to the angles of his face.

“Why are you here, Justin? If it was because of what happened at Interface, I made a mistake.”

“Then let’s make another one. A bigger one.”

I laugh nervously. “What is this? Am I a challenge to you now?”

His lips quirk. “A challenge is something you stop wanting once you acquire it. I can’t know if you’re a challenge yet until I make you mine.”

I can’t believe how sexy that short little word, mine, is when the man I want utters it. I want to hear him say it so many more times, in my ear, closer to me. Oh god. Livingston, get under control.

But how can I? The tension is so thick in the air. I inhale the scent of him with every breath; every breath reminds me my body is tight and throbbing, every breath hurts because of him.

He’s watching me as if he wants to figure me out. “So, your friend . . .”

“Victoria. She’s my age, but she’s had short stories published already, she’s writing a children’s book for sex education, she makes success look so effortless. I can never do as much, think of the concepts she comes up with.”

“Use it, use it to become better. You do your best when someone else is right there trying to beat you. I was . . .” he begins, then laughs softly as if amused at himself. “Okay, let’s try this.” He edges forward in his seat. “I was a disappointment to my father.” He speaks casually, but he watches me as if he wants to be sure his words have an effect. “I’m not sure if it’s been since I was born, or later . . . when I got sick. Dad never forgave me that weakness. He asked for DNA testing, sure my mother had had an affair, wanting to prove I wasn’t his son. I got bigger, faster, stronger, just because the one man I wanted to prove myself to underestimated me.”

“Was he a tough dad?”

“Tough as nails. Nothing anyone did was good enough to suit him.”

“Is that why nothing you get is good enough, why you’re always chasing after more?”

“Not because of him. It’s because it never feels like enough. I never stop unless I want someone else to catch up.”

“You’re tough as nails too.”

He laughs and shakes his head, his hand restlessly running over his head. “You okay now?”

I nod. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“You being here right now is holding me back from a pretty nasty hell.”

He stands, and my heart stops beating as he comes and drops next to me. I’m pudding when he tugs me into the nook in his strong arm. “Come here.” He holds me for a while, his arm encircling me. He’s not soft at all—his chest is hard, his shoulders square—but I feel his warmth and heartbeat, and suddenly I realize I’m pressing my mouth to his throat.

He circles my waist with his arm and traps me against his chest. He caresses my neck from my collarbone to the edge of my jaw.

I slide my hand up his chest.

He meets my eyes with blazing force, and I start chasing my breath in fast pants as he ducks his head.

He kisses the edge of my mouth. My lids sweep closed from the pleasure, and I don’t dare move a muscle.

He frames my face with the palms of his hands and slowly brushes his lips against mine. He eases back an inch, looking at me again, making sure I’m okay before bending again and opening his lips against mine.

He holds me loosely as I kiss his mouth, as if giving me space, letting me get accustomed to him. Everything about him is hard. His jaw. His chest. His arms. His hands. But oh my god, his lips. His tongue. His lips are warm and soft, kissing me hungrily. His tongue lightly slipping through my lips, making me melt into him.

We sink into the couch and I let him kiss me because it’s the most exquisite thing I have ever felt. I open my mouth wider, savoring every minute, every second, that his lips are on mine. He kisses me for a long time, over and over again, until I’m breathless. I never want to stop. I could do this for hours. It feels perfect. Amazing.

He draws back and rubs his thumb across my bottom lip.

My brain is thinking so many things at once it isn’t thinking anything at all. I’m breathing hard, looking at him with his hair tousled, eyes hooded, and lips slightly swollen, and he looks back at me like a tiger does its prey. We shift, and I sit on his lap straddling him. He kisses my jaw. I hold on to his biceps, big and strong. He kisses the side of my mouth again, reassuring me that I’m okay, while parting my blouse with his hands. Then he leans down and places a kiss right below my throat.

I look down to his jet-black hair, feeling his warm mouth kiss across my collarbone. He places another kiss right between my breasts, then all the way up to my jaw. He kisses my throat again. Sucking a little here, licking a little there, kissing a little more. I’m looking up at the ceiling, trying to memorize the feel of his lips on me. I feel like I’m separate from my body. If someone were to talk to me, I probably wouldn’t hear them. All I want in life right now is for him to never stop.

He makes his way back to my lips, giving me another soft kiss. I open my mouth immediately and wind my arms around his neck to hold him to me. His hands are big and warm on my thighs—without them I would probably float off somewhere near Cloud Nine. Or in this case, Cloud Ninety-nine.

I melt when I hear his hot voice against my skin. “I keep thinking of that day. And you couldn’t have possibly tasted this sweet. . . .”

I open my mouth, and suddenly I’m kissing him with my whole heart. He is exquisite. Kissing me tenderly, and then kissing me hungrily. The smell of his cologne surrounds me, the heat from his body warms me, and his lips slowly drive me crazy. This little make-out session of ours is going to end up with me in a psych ward.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe, rocking my hips with the sudden ache to get closer to him, to feel his skin on mine.

My body’s trembling. He raises his head and kisses the edge of my mouth, starts nibbling. He groans, and I can tell he’s really getting into it. “Don’t stop,” I beg.

“I’m not stopping until morning.” He draws back and cups my face in both hands. I’m looking into his glowing green eyes, which stare at me with a light in them I can’t describe. He’s looking at me like I’m a goddess. Like he could never have imagined me. He’s looking at me with so much need and tenderness I can feel my throat tighten again. I’m not ready for this. I’m scared. I’m nervous.

“What in the—”

The overhead lights snap on and I sit up in confusion, covering my hot face with my hands.

Gina blinks.

Justin closes his eyes tight, then opens them, and he looks so perfectly hot, so manly, so angry and so debauched by me, I reach out and quickly start to button his shirt, too jealous to let Gina see his chest, his abs, what I’d just been touching so madly.

“I hope what’s happening here isn’t really happening.” Gina scowls with her hands planted on her hips.

“It isn’t,” I blurt; then I look at him as he looks down at me in complete puzzlement, eyebrows slanted low. His hair is standing up adorably, but his expression is beyond annoyed.

“Your roommate,” he curses under his breath as if he should’ve remembered I had one.

Mortified, I pull him to his feet—with much effort—and then to the door. “That . . . was beyond a mistake. I don’t know what got into me.”

His stare is dark as night and his voice is gruff with desire. “I know what got into you—the same thing that got into me.”

“No.” I go into the hall, call up the elevator, and then push him in with all my effort. “’Bye, Justin.”

“I’ll call you, Selena,” he murmurs as he grabs my face and kisses my mouth, rubbing his tongue a little over mine and making me moan before I tear free and the elevator leaves.

Oh. My. God. What have I unleashed?

“What was that?”

“He was saying goodbye.”

“I’m Gina, remember. Your best friend. I can tell when you’re lying. Were you guys . . . sleeping together on the couch like some item?”

“I had a few drinks. So did he. We had that . . . thing. I’m beyond . . . not thinking well.”

“Okay. ’Cause we know deep down he’s Lucifer, right? The Arch Douche himself? We don’t sleep with the bastard, we do not drop our walls!”

I nod and go to my room. I scrub my mouth with the back of my hand and brush my teeth and then look at my face in the mirror.

What am I doing? I poured my heart out to him. Why didn’t I just tell him I was writing an exposé?

This wasn’t part of my plan. I’m supposed to write an exposé about him, not let him expose me.

But I can’t sleep. I remember the frustration on Justin’s face when Gina came in. A little later, I turn on my lamp and get my cell phone.

I’m sorry about the way I said goodbye, I text, but before sending the text, I dial the number and wonder if he’ll answer. I don’t wonder for long: I hear the sound of him picking up, his voice saying hey.

“I’m sorry about the way I said goodbye.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he answers, relieving me. “If that’s what it takes to get you to call.”

I laugh, then go sober and cuddle up in bed with the phone to my ear, shyly whispering, “You’re different with me than anyone.”

“Because of the ‘fragile, handle with care’ sign you wear.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“You’re so fragile you’ve boxed yourself up so you don’t break.”

“I like my safe zone.”

“Nothing happens in the safe zone.”

“That’s the point—you control everything and it’s predictable and . . . safe.”

There’s a long silence.

Then Justin says, “When you come outside of your box, I’ll be waiting.”

15

A MAKEOVER

What did that even mean?

I don’t want to be unsafe. It’s the last goal of my existence. I’ve always liked that I have never been reckless.

On Friday, I pour myself mindlessly into a piece Helen wanted for the week. I can’t think; I can’t stop to think or I’ll start to drown in my own fears and confusions. I tell myself to stay detached and keep my eyes on the prize, and that’s all a sensible reporter would do. And I am sensible. At least, I was for the twenty-three years before I met Justin Justin.

I’m typing furiously when my phone buzzes and I peer absently at the screen, only to have a heart attack when I see the word I saved him under in my contacts. SIN.

Meet me tonight at the Tunnel?

What is my heart doing right now? It’s doing cartwheels in my chest. I’ve become this girl, this ridiculous girl. The Tunnel is a hot spot known for its dark and winding rooms, its loud music. Hardly anyone comes out sober or unmussed from the Tunnel. Selena, you can’t go with Justin to the Tunnel unless you’re totally prepared to get your libido in check, and you’ve been doing a lousy job of that.

“So are you ready?”

I lower my phone when Victoria tries to peer over the top of my cubicle. “Ready?” I repeat. “For what?”

“Don’t you remember? Your beauty day! Getting you prepped this weekend to work.”

“I . . . ah. Right. How could I forget? The clichéd makeover. Normal girl gets her hair cut, gets the guy, lalalalalala,” I say as I grab my things.

“Yes.” She laughs.

I get my phone and close the file I had open on my computer with a few too many links—but never enough—featuring what Justin did this week. In all the pictures there were girls too, but he looked detached. He didn’t look like he was having fun, but then, he’s hard to read.

Once I close up my computer, I follow Victoria to the elevators and we head to a spa. Pedicure, manicure, a trim.

“Highlights.”

“I’m platinum blonde, Vicky, it doesn’t get lighter.”

“Slightly lighter streaks and slightly darker ones give light to your hair.”

“I’ll take the haircut, but I won’t be enslaved by hair color until my hair turns gray. It’s a tip I learned from my mother.”

“What Justin likes is a good ol’ easy woman. He’s not used to working for it—it’s always available to him, and that’s how he probably likes it. Though he really did seem thoroughly hooked on you, Selena.”

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[daviddelavari-blog]

What no one tells you about periodization for team sports

First periodization models and concepts can be found almost 2000 years ago, in ancient Rome

and Greece [1] however what is currently understood about traditional periodization came from

our Comrades in 1949 [2], when training was divided into general, preparatory and specific

stages. Later it was including competitive calendar and climatic factors. [3]

Periodization has been defined as the methodical planning and structuring of training process

that involve a logical and systematic sequencing of multiple training variables aimed to optimize

specific performance outcomes at predetermined time points. [4] In team sport, like in a lot of

individual sports this traditional model was used. However the current competitive requirements

for the team sports challenge it. Below I will describe the traditional model, and after that I will

propose alternative methods based on recent studies in team sports and testing. This is a

snippet from my eBook about volleyball performance (book that just sits on my computer so far,

if there will be an interest I will probably release it) so this will focus around volleyball, but the

methods are applicable to most modern team sports in terms of intensity and frequency of

practice and competition games.

Traditional periodization has an annual plan that can be divided into Macrocycles:

Preparation or General Phase - Sessions are to prepare/develop physical capabilities (strength, power, endurance, etc.) it lasts longer in younger or amateur athletes. It consists of periods of Anatomical Adaptation, Strength and Power [5]

Competitive Phase - To keep the strength gains, coaches following the traditional periodization model are encouraged to keep the training more volleyball specific and have strength to power ratio in their training 1:4.

Transition Phase - The end of the calendar for this Macrocycle.                                        

However due to the demands of modern competitive volleyball we can observe up to three-peak periodization in the traditional model, so you would have up to 3 macrocycles with all the phases spread out, see picture below for one peak, two-peak and three-peak periodization examples.

Transition phase is for players to rest before next macrocyle or season. Light full body activity

with 30% - 50% 1RM is recommended [6]

It gets more complicated. Each phase or macrocycle is then divided into mesocycles.

Mesosycles are usually composed of 5 microcycles:

Introductory or applied

Standard or ordinary

Shock

Restorative

Competitive or activation (which include the session allocated before competition or test) [7]

Below I will show you examples of an annual periodization model based on traditional model for

college and elite volleyball players. [8]

Annual periodization model for college players

Traditional periodization model for 18 month for players in national leagueSo if we have everything figured out, why did I say in the beginning of this chapter that the

traditional model isn’t optimal for today’s athletes?

Reasons are plenty. The traditional model was based on individual sports. Very often it was

matched to drug taking performance of one or three peaking moments in the athletes’ annual

calendar. These days competitive athletes play many friendly games, attend many different

tournaments, their competitive calendar can go on for about 9 months, so it is impossible to

taper and peak for 20-30 competitive microcycles, or 100 games in a season [9] based on the

traditional model of periodization, therefore it makes very little to no sense to do so.[10, 11, 12,

13]

This model is still viable though for young and amateur players, whose competition phases are

relatively short and can be matched to those done by individual athletes. The other problem with

the traditional model is that even though work seems to be focused on sequencing different

goals, going from general, to specific to power, etc. Trying to hit too many abilities and therefore

can result in conflicting physiological response, due to exercises interacting negatively and

excessive fatigue caused by long periods of multi-targeted training. Then on the elite level, sport

specific progress demands large amounts of training stimuli that cannot be obtained by

concurrent training for many targets in multi-peak environment, where top teams are involved not

only in national championships, but also national, european and world cups.

Then there is the fact that the carryover is not necessarily optimal for volleyball or athletic

performance. Strength phase is a great and important aspect of every periodized training

programme, but often improvement in 1RM squat don’t automatically mean that short sprints on

the court will be faster or that jumping ability will improve. [14, 15, 16, 17, 18]  It makes more

sense to challenge athlete with resistance that will not reduce the force and can develop power in

more specific situation that they encounter on the court or field [19]

Based on the above I think it is impossible to have a specific model for planning a team sport

season. Below I will go through some alternatives that are more suited for multi-peak preparation

and successful performance during the entire annual cycle, which complement the traditional

model is in contradiction.

For elite athletes the training programme needs to be more specific.

Rather than sticking to rigid structures of the periodization model, repeated effort testing that

resembles demands of the match is a much more favourable model, especially in the competition

phase [20] also known as ‘in-season’ training. This will allow to assess if any changes to the

programme need to be done, especially when the season is in full swing, as there is no way of

predicting the outcome of the players, injuries and situations so coaches need to take into

account the challenges as they face them.

For preparation and transition phase, which I will call ‘pre-season’ and ‘off-season’ from this point

respectively, can have similar approach to traditional model. It can be combined with more sport

specific movement for best result. Currently, best alternative in my opinion, to traditional

periodization is Block periodization where workloads focus on a minimum, highly concentrated

training stimulation per block (60-70% of time, e.g. spike and block, usually two to three targets),

total number of proposed blocks is small (3-4) and a single mesocycle block lasts between 2 and

4 weeks, which allows for the desired changes without excessive fatigue accumulation.

Specialized blocks form periodized training.

Types of mesocycle blocks:

Accumulation: developing basic abilities, general aerobic endurance, cardio fitness, strength and coordination, high volume and reduced intensity, 2 - 6weeks;

Transmutation: sport-specific ability, proper technique, tactics, 2-4weeks;

Realization: rest and preparation for competition, drills for modelling competitive performance and sport specific programme for quick active recovery, 1-2 weeks.

The correct sequencing of the mesocycles within the training stage makes it possible to obtain

"optimal superposition of residual training effects", so as to allow competitive performance at a

high level for all motor and technical abilities every 5 weeks if needed to.

This possibility arises because the training residuals of the basic abilities last much longer than

the residuals of more specific abilities, while the residuals of maximal speed and event-specific

readiness are the shortest.

This can be scaled in intensity in pre-season, season and off-season period with minimal losses

of performance, based on regular weekly testing. Below is a table illustrating multi-peak

conditioning within one annual cycle using block

periodization training.

Another way, and this what you will probably end up with, is to observe the athletes and skills you

want to focus on, test them weekly and apply changes accordingly. However, I feel that the block

model will work best for it, as it allows to apply a lot of focus to specific changes in performance

desired without loss of performance. [21]

But most important thing to remember is, to train a person, not a theory.