#(ask me about my voice line spreadsheet)

[mqole]

i'm 70 hours into octopath 2 and this is my main takeaway atm (id in alt)

[petrichorium]

It’s his social media manager who sends Noa the video.

And typically that’s a bad sign, but this is through text—not an email with a subject line beginning with “URGENT”—and accompanied by a crying laughter emoji (he thinks, absentmindedly, of how he’d used that once in a text to you and you’d fallen off the couch in your tears of mirth) so he figures it must not be so bad.

The tiktok has views up in the eight digit range. It’s slow to load; Noa silently curses the existence of hotel wifi and opens the comments in the hopes of garnering some clue about the video’s content before it plays.

The first one is no fucking way. The second is NOEL NOA????? UR KIDDING.

The third is nothing but a string of the same emoji; a graphed line trending upwards. It has over seventy thousand likes.

Your voice speaks suddenly. Noa closes the comments, surprised to find that he recognizes the location of the video. It’s the living room of your best friend’s penthouse, four of your other closest friends lounging around with you. It’s clear that you’ve all been drinking wine, the flushed faces and hooded eyes all the necessary evidence (though the half-full glasses scattered about the room and held in hands would do well enough).

You sit against the side of the couch, legs thrown over a friend’s lap. The video has started halfway through a sentence.

“—just don’t understand it,” you’re saying, voice louder and energetic than he’s used to though it’s the only indicator of inebriation he can detect. “Like, no—no, I’m serious! He’s hot and all, y’know, that body, and like”—you wave your hand, mildly clumsy—“one of the greatest football players alive and all that. But they just don’t know how dorky my lame-ass nerd of a boyfriend is.”

Noa jolts up. He watches how all your friends giggle, how you take a sip of the wine in your hand and laugh yourself when a friend reaches over to smack your shoulder playfully. Something coils in the pit of his stomach.

Behind the camera, your best friend calls out, “Don’t be mean!”

“Oh, no, I’m not being mean. My boyfriend is so lame and nerdy and made a spreadsheet to ask me out and keeps another one of all our dates and it’s so fucking cute. He wears those hot old man glasses and he sits in front of his laptop to strategize about taking me to the beach. He might honestly have a spreadsheet for our wedding.” You pause, eyes glazing over, words slurring just slightly for the first time as you seem to lose your bearing. “If he does I might just sit on his face.”

There’s an immediate uproar. The camera shakes and then tumbles to the ground as your best friend doubles over with laughter. Over the din of glee and jokingly jeering remarks, you shout, “IT’S HOT! SPREADSHEETS ARE HOT! DON’T LIE IT’S CUTE—“

The phone shifts again and the video loops. Noa lays over the covers of the hotel room bed, staring at the repeating image of you and your words. He hears you mention him again—“my lame-ass nerd of a boyfriend”—and that low simmer burns hotter as his eyes are drawn to the sight of your bare legs, the way your hand curls around the bowl of your wine glass.

Lame-ass nerd of a boyfriend. Your lips are plush as you speak the words, quirked in a soft little smile that laces your tone with affection and crinkles the corners of your eyes.

His hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweats.

[onlycosmere]

Editing

tahollow: I always wondered exactly what editing was, but I figured it was more of making sure things align with the main focus of the story/characters instead of truncating the novel.

Brandon Sanderson: There's really three big stages to editing.

1) Substantive Editing. This is usually the editor reading the book and offering an "Editorial Letter." The editor often doesn't leave any marks on the manuscript in this stage, but instead writes everything out on the large scale. They might offer suggestions for improvement, but more often than not, they just highlight the problem areas and ask you to rethink them or ask for more clarity. Sometimes, you'll do a call an explain what you were trying, and you'll bounce ideas off each other of how to better achieve it.

I have four people usually doing substantive edits with me. Devi at Tor. Gillian from the UK. Peter from my own company. And Karen, my continuity editor. All are seeing the book early, and all are making large-scale notes about problems to work on. (Karen's focus is on continuity first--large scale continuity like timing of days, and comparisons to previous books. The others don't worry about that much, and focus on things like character arcs and structure.)

2) Line editing. When I had Moshe, he did both substantive and line editing. These days, Gillian is our primary line editor, and she does a second pass to cover this after doing her substantive editorial letter. She's a very good line editor, by the way. This is the "Make the page bleed" type thing you might hear of an editor doing. They go through and try to help you clarify. During this stage, they will trim, though the focus is on helping you find the right words, identify trouble sentences, and the like. Gillian usually has a handful (four or five) of these per page, depending. Some pages have none. Some have more. Tightening IS a focus during this stage, but it's again more about clarity.

After this stage, I do my own revision where--with a spreadsheet and wordcounts in hand--I cut 10-15% of the book, line by line, to really condense and make it pop. This is where I pay attention to language most. If I'm writing a book with a strong voice and distinctive prose, like one of Hoid's novels, I look to really implement it here. If I'm trying something more clear and concise, where I want character voice to dominate not narrative voice, I really try to get the writer to vanish here and let the character and story reign.

Because of this, I can track exactly how much I trimmed from Wind and Truth.

3) After this, a separate set of editors take over. The copy editor is focused on maintaining a style guide and making sure that there aren't line-level contradictions in the book. (Did you say his eyes were green here, and blue in a different chapter?) A copy editor is also a "first line" proofreader. They aren't supposed to make, or suggest, sweeping changes--at this point, the page numbers and the like of the book are getting locked in for pre production.

Peter Ahlstrom, my editorial VP, oversees this. I make changes during this stage, but when I do, he actually puts them into the text. He then works with the proofreaders, doing multiple passes.

So, not counting beta readers and alpha readers, I have five main editors on a Stormlight book.

Devi

Gillian

Peter

Karen

And Terry (our primary copyeditor.)

Each has a different role, though all of them but Terry offer a lot of substantive changes.

[tgmsunmontue]

Where do I know you from? 7/10

Hangster crackfic. There are too many Jakes and Bradleys for Jake and Bradley to be dealing with. Or the Universe is just as fed up with them being blind.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE PART SIX

This one is a little bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Uh. *runs*

PART SEVEN

                Rooster has called Maverick over and they’re both staring down at the phone Rooster is holding in his hand, finger flicking through what are clearly pictures and Jake decides to give them some privacy. Heads over to where several versions of himself are talking to Roosters Three and Five, wonders if he should ask the versions of himself if they have any photos of their kids. He can’t miss kids he’s never known though, not like Rooster might miss his parents. Three and Five are glancing toward Rooster and Maverick as well and he wonders if maybe multiple Roosters might want to see the pictures, and that makes him feel bad for Rooster, and even worse about the time he’d brought up his dead father.

                “You this Universes’ Jake?” a different Jake asks him, sitting beside him, and Jake nods, allows himself to clink their glasses together as he takes a sip of the drink Six made him.

                “Ah, which one do you belong to?” Jake asks, not sure how he’s going to track the versions of himself when he has lost track of most of the Roosters, although the fact that a few have simply not disappeared has helped. How do you make small talk with yourself?

                “I’m with that one,” this Jake says, and he gestures with his glass toward Rooster Six, who catches him looking and gives the Jake beside him the sweetest look it makes his heart ache and also feel like he’s intruding on a private moment.

                “Oh. Cool,” Jake says, and then Rooster Six is coming closer.

                “It was a nice idea, thinking he might like to see photos,” Rooster Six says, and Jake shrugs, because that hadn’t been his intention. He’d thought Rooster could just ask questions. On that thought…

                “What are his, uh, your parents like?”

                “They’re great. Ridiculously in love and over the top. Mav is worse though, but between my parents and Ice they keep him in line. I’m glad to see Natasha here as well, that I’ve got my best friend by my side in this universe.”

                “Yeah, you guys are pretty tight,” Jake muses. “What about you, his parents like you?” Jake asks himself, ignores the roll of eyes Rooster Six makes.

                “Yep. They like me. One big weird combined family, and Phoenix combined with my three sisters? They make our lives hell and we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

                “You have three sisters?” Jakes asks, surprised, because he has three sisters. Well. Had. He hadn’t thought about the possible similarities between universes, only the differences, and he wonders briefly how Three and Five are going with their spreadsheet.

                “Yeah. What’s your damage?” Other Jake asks.

                “Katie, Laura and Ivy?” Jake asks, forcing his voice not to break, and fuck, he hasn’t thought this through.

                “Yeah! Holy shit! You have three sisters too.”

                “Just two now,” Jake admits.

                The other Jake looks horrified and close to tears and Jake grits his teeth. It’s been over ten years, but losing his baby sister to a drunk driver will never not hurt. Other Jake is pulling his phone out, tapping it slowly on the bar.

                “You want to see?”

                He doesn’t know. Laura is frozen in time in his head at seventeen but the idea of knowing she’s out there somewhere, alive and happy…

                “Who?”

                “Laura. Drunk driver hit her. She was seventeen.”

                “Oh shit…” Rooster Six says, then he’s coming around the bar and giving Jake a hug, other Jake is also hugging him, and he’s stiff at first, not expecting the contact but he relaxes into it.

                “Show me…”

                He sits between them as other Jake takes him through seeing pictures of Rooster’s family in another universe. Then his own family, one not fractured by Laura’s death and he sees nieces and nephews that don’t exist and he feels raw suddenly, like someone has taken a meat grinder to his insides. Their families are obviously intertwined, Phoenix sitting with his sisters, his dad standing by Maverick and Admiral Kazansky and grilling, his mom and what can only be Rooster’s mom sitting back with glasses of wine in their hands. And Laura, older than he’s ever seen her but no less beautiful and alive. So alive and laughing and giving the finger in the photos and Jake’s heart aches.

                He chances a quick glance over to where Rooster and Maverick are still sitting, they’re both wiping at their eyes and Jake isn’t sure how they’re feeling, whether he’s done a good thing or not by introducing them to Six. Of course, he had no idea that he was going to be able to whip out a phone full of photos but he’s glad he’s had a chance to see some other version of his sister alive and happy. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, swallows and lets out the breath slowly, centering himself and he slides the phone back to his other self.

                “So what do you do? In your universe?”

                “I’m a professional computer hacker.”

                “What?”

                “He works in cyber security,” Rooster Six interjects, rolling his eyes affectionately at the other Jake.

                “Oh,” Jake says, not really sure what to do with that exactly, although at least computer hacker sounds interesting.

                “Can you… just tell her I love her and miss her.”

                “Yeah. Of course.”

                “Thanks.”

                They sit in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of himself and Rooster talking surrounding him, although he can hear the others as well, and then he feels a hand clasp his shoulder.

                “Javy, hey,” other Jake greets and he hears Javy greet him back.

                “This is wild man, so many different versions of you. And I’m your best friend for nearly all of them.”

                “Yeah, that sounds right,” Jake says, because a world without Javy in it doesn’t sit right with him any more than a world without flying.

                “You know I’m the best best-friend…” Javy says loudly, then he’s dropping to lean against the bar, eyes flicking to Rooster Six and the other Jake. “So what has you guys all looking like you’re at a funeral?”

                “Was just looking at photos of Laura. She’s alive where they’re from.”

                “Oh shit… you okay man?”

                “I will be,” Jake mutters and lets himself receive another hug, this time from Javy, which feels a lot more familiar.

                Maverick has gone behind the bar, his arms around Penny and she’s stroking his back and Jake’s too far away to hear anything, but he’s pretty sure she’s torn between consoling him and being annoyed about something and he glances behind him. Rooster Ten and Fifteen, with the Jakes he’s going to assume are also Ten and Fifteen are making out, although he’s going to assume they’ve swapped, because no one is disappearing and they are far beyond the simple kissing stage. He stands and pushes against the bar, heads over quickly.

                “Okay. You guys need to go and get a hotel room or something. Penny has a strict no orgy policy in place…”

                “You sure you don’t want to join us? The more the merrier you know?”

                “No. I’m good thanks. You four have fun though,” Jake says, and he’s glad he has something else to think about.

                “Oh we will…”

                “Come on, get out of here.”

                “Where are they going?” Rooster asks, coming up beside him, watching them leave and his eyes are red from crying. Or maybe the effort of not crying. He doesn’t know. His own eyes probably look the same but he can’t bring himself to care.

                “Away. And then hopefully further away.”

                “Uh. Okay?”

                “What were those Jakes like with you?” Jake asks out of curiosity.

                “Fine.”

                “Really? Huh.”

                “Why, were the Bradley’s so different from me?”

                Jake turns to look at him slowly, mouth pursed in thought, not really sure if he wants to go there, because those Roosters had been fine, but they’d also somehow been different from the Rooster standing in front of him.

                “Pretty sure you wouldn’t proposition me for an orgy with multiple versions of ourselves…” Jake says, because while he doesn’t think Rooster would do it, he doesn’t actually know him that well.                                 “What? Really?”

                “Yeah. You okay? I didn’t know they’d be able to show you photos. Sorry if that fucked with your head or something.”

                “I – no. I’m kind of freaked out. But it was good, seeing photos you know? Hard. But good.”

                Jakes nods silently, because yeah, he gets that. Hard, but good. He looks around again, can see so many versions of himself paired up with another version of Rooster and it makes something twist inside him, makes him wonder what the whole point of this is. Then he spies a version of himself sitting alone, nursing a glass of something amber colored and he frowns, looks around again and does a head count.

                Fifteen Roosters left.

                Sixteen Jakes.

                Fuck.

PART EIGHT

[bangrychannie]

College AU Stay Kids Fanfiction Recs

Hello! You all voted for college AU for my next rec list, so here it is! I just compiled all of my bookmarks into a spreadsheet for easier recs, and I have 31 under college AU (just shy of 1 million words of fanfic omg). I will not put all of them but I'll make a part 2 at some point. Lots of pairings here but mostly Minsung. I tried to do a mix of explicit and non explicit ones.

My other fanfic rec lists:

Misc

Time Loop

Angst free

Demons

love, friendship, and other complications by flying_dream (Sungbin | 1/1 | 18,363 | Teen and Up)

Jisung has never had a date for Valentine's Day. Never. Never. Naturally, as his best friend and number #1 bro, Changbin steps up to the plate and volunteers as tribute. Yeah, this is definitely going to be one for the books.

Classic idiots to lovers. Obsessed with this one

Attachments by bitsori (Minsung | 1/1 | 16,423 | Teen and Up)

“You can do the 24-hour handcuff challenge!” Felix suddenly suggested, and the gears in Jisung's head immediately began to turn. “It's perfect for you and Minho-hyung, and your viewers would love that,” he added. Jisung took pause; he had to admit that their idea could make for amusing content. He and Minho always had fun when they were together, and he knew that his subs love to see him with his best friend. in which Jisung and Minho spend an entire day literally attached to each other, and certain revelations come about.

Youtuber Jisung, dancer Minho, teensy tiny bit of angst I love it

36 Questions to Fall Out of Hate by leebitcore (Minsung | 1/1 | 15,719 | Explicit)

Images of Lee Minho’s stupidly smug face flash through Jisung’s brain as he marches out of the dining hall to go to the faculty building. He can already hear his condescending voice, arrogant as he teases Jisung about them being partnered up. Something along the lines of “Happy to see me? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we do well.” or, Jisung and Minho are paired together to test the 36 Questions to Fall in Love for a school project. There’s only one problem – Jisung can’t fucking stand him.

Enemies to lovers/academic rivals Minsung what more could you ask for

Sure Strike by falloutgirl (2min | 1/1 | 27,963 | explicit)

Minho's eyes trail down Seungmin’s shirtless body, his toned arms, his lithe form, the bit of lean tummy that Minho has been imagining biting into for weeks. His eyes follow the sweat dripping off Seungmin’s hair and down his chest, rolling down his abdomen as it pools against his bellybutton. His gaze sinks lower, lower, and he sees all of Seungmin, in nothing but the tightest pair of white boxer briefs Minho’s ever seen. A strangled breath breaks its way out of Minho's throat. There’s nothing left to the imagination.

One sided enemies to lovers where Minho is incredibly down bad for Seungmin. Obsessed. The smut in this is insane so make sure to read the tags lol

eight hugs a day (keeps the doctor away) by tuanpark (Seungjin | 1/1 | 20,879 | Teen and up)

Seungmin didn’t want to argue. “Look, can you help me or not? I’m just trying to relieve some stress here, man.” Hyunjin seemed deep in thought. “I can’t help you if you don’t want to hug… But tell you what! We can work up to it. Start small and work our way up to one. Free of charge!” Or Seungmin is a stressed college student, and Hyunjin is a self-proclaimed hug therapist.

I like this one bc Hyunjin is odd af and Seungmin has no clue how to deal with it lol. Very cute

the long game by floraii (Hyunsung | 1/1 16,045 | Teen and Up)

“Anyway,” he continues, voice still sultry, “I’ve been seeing you in class, and I was just wondering—” he moves his hand to curl around a strand of his hair. “Could I get your number?” Han Jisung’s big brown eyes blink again. His gaze darts to his lips, then to his notebook, then up to his eyes. “To study?” “Yeah,” Hyunjin blurts without thinking. What the fuck? Study? What is happening? Why is he agreeing?

Hyunjin has a type. It’s not usually shy boys in his Intro to Statistics class with big round eyes and glasses, but Han Jisung is different.

Nerd Jisung and jock Hyunjin yippeee

reply hazy, try again by mrehk (Chanbin | 1/1 | 14,951 | explicit)

Changbin’s calculus tutor is Bang Chan. Smile wide, eyes shining, curly hair wild around his head. He’s got his backpack slung over one arm, those fuck ass chino shorts with a five inch inseam that make Changbin’s mouth water— and, goddamn, he’s wearing a fucking cropped t-shirt. Jisung and Seungmin are going to string Changbin up and have their way with public humiliation when they hear about this. (OR: solving for the derivative of l+o+v+e)

Changbin drooling over Chan was super funny, I loved this. I don't think mrehk could write something bad though haha

pretty boy, don't you want me to? by sunshinedozing (Seungsung | 1/1 | 11,938 | Explicit)

“You’re cute.” Seungmin says bluntly. “And I kind of want to take you home with me. My shift’s over in thirty minutes, if you feel like waiting.” Jisung blinks at him a couple times. “Really?” He asks incredulously. “Wow, okay. Yeah I’ll um, I’ll wait.” Seungmin grins, and he lets a little sharpness slip into it. “Great, I’ll see you then.” Jisung gulps. “Yeah, see you then.”

Jisung kind of wants the hot librarian who keeps distracting him to take him home and fuck him stupid. Luckily, the hot librarian wants the same thing.

sunshinedozing is also a fantastic writer! love this one, loser Jisung is like the best thing ever

peaches and cream by stellalunar (Minsung, 2/2 | 49,793 | Teen and Up)

Jisung truly doesn't mean to spend his Friday night holding someone else's sopping clothes in the laundry room of the dorm building while said someone else stares at him with an expression that's a mix of amusement, confusion, and pity. But here he is, standing in the laundry room of the dorm building, holding the sopping wet clothes of a very amused college student who's valiantly giving his best effort not to straight-up laugh at Jisung. - Or, in which Jisung's dumb, sleep-deprived self accidentally steals Minho's clothes and then Minho shows up at Jisung's door with an impish grin and a needed favor and accidental feelings ensue.

Jisung is so awkward in this one and it's super cute

falling thru the cracks by liknow (Seungbin | 1/1 | 6862 | Teen and Up)

"Friends don't kiss," Minho says, eyes narrowed. "Uh, sometimes they do? I mean, we're really good friends..." Changbin tries to defend. "Really good friends don't kiss either, idiot."

in which: Changbin and Seungmin accidentally make a habit of making out at parties, then start going to parties just so they have an excuse to make out, then realize that isn't normal.

another idiots to lovers so funny

Ok so that's all for now haha, I will definitely post a part 2 for college AUs but fake dating will be next! That is a much shorter list unfortunately so if y'all have good ones that you think I'd like I wouldn't mind if you sent them over

[spaceprincessem]

if i loved you less | 1.9k buddie fic | ao3 link

6b speculation based on the 6x12 preview clip of hen and buck talking about buck not being able to use his phone for two days

[or Buck can't use his phone for two days. Eddie sends him text anyways]

“Two whole days, huh?” Eddie asks with fond amusement as he folds the last of Christopher’s clean shirts, stacking it neatly in the laundry basket.

“Eddie,” Buck groans, his voice a little gruff with just the quietest tinge of nauseous that tells him that Buck probably hasn’t had anything to eat yet, “how am I supposed to distract myself for two days if I can’t talk to anyone or scour the internet from the comfort of my own bed.”

“You do know you have a laptop, right?” Eddie hums, the phone carefully tucked against his shoulder and his ear as he maneuvers to Christopher’s room to put the clothes away.

“Fine,” Buck relents, “I have a laptop, but you know that doesn’t solve the can’t talk to anyone problem.”

“I know everyone is working tomorrow,” Eddie says quietly, lips turning down in the corner, “but I have the second day off, how about I come pick you up on my way home and you can help Christopher and I with the garden.”

“Did you decide on which vegetables you’re going to pick?” Buck asks, immediately perking up on the other end of the line.

Eddie thanks anyone who is listening that he’s alone, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he pictures Buck’s sunshine grin spreading across his face.

“Not yet,” Eddie answers, “but I’m sure by Saturday you’re going to have a ranked spreadsheet with all of the best options.”

“Admit it,” Buck teases, “you would be lost without me.”

Eddie swallows the sudden lump in his throat. For a moment the room shifts, bright colors melting into a bleak gray, like rain clouds crowding a beautiful blue sky. There’s a buzzing in his ear, like the sound of television static cut by the all too familiar beep of a hospital monitor. The taste of too cold coffee sits heavily on his tongue, washing down the metallic bite that fills every inch of his mouth like it’s the only thing keeping him from screaming. If he reaches out, leans a little forward he can run his fingers along the maze of tubs, big and small, the only things keeping Buck alive—

“Eds?”

Eddie blinks, his fingers curling in the fabric of Christopher’s pillows, the laundry basket askew and spilling his uniform shirts all over the foot of the bed.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, “when do you have to go radio silent?”

He hears Buck huff a laugh on the other end and he strangely feels like he somehow missed a step.

read the rest of ao3

tags for my lovely supporters @alyxmastershipper @shortsighted-owl @sibylsleaves @elvensorceress @spotsandsocks @ajunerose @buddierights @mumucow @rogerzsteven @monsterrae1 @colonoscopys

[xixovart]

Subject: Urgent Help Needed – Your Support Can Make a Difference

Hello, my friend. I hope this message finds you well. 🙏

I am writing to you with a heavy heart and an urgent request for your help. My family is in a perilous situation due to the ongoing war and the famine we have endured for more than ten months. We are facing immense challenges, So please read my story as if I were a member of your family, if my family is your family.🥺

I'm Ola, a graduate student from the Faculty of Science at Al-Azhar University in Gaza, Palestine. I'm dedicated and passionate about becoming a good researcher and teacher.

Unexpectedly, after October 7th, my life took a drastic turn with the commencement of the cruel war on Gaza, transforming me from a passionate student into a person struggling for survival. 🥺

I have created a campaign to help my family rebuild their lives and meet our basic needs for food, drink, and other essentials in these harsh conditions. This will also help me continue my education. At this critical moment, I implore you to share my story with your network, both offline and on social media platforms. Your advocacy is vital to our success.

All I am asking for is your support. You can assist us by sharing the pinned post on my page or writing a post about my campaign. This would greatly help us reach more potential supporters, and I would be very grateful if you could share the campaign link with your friends and family via email or other social media platforms. ❤️

I sincerely hope you can empathize with our dire situation and consider supporting us. Please be assured that any help brings us closer to our goal, and no matter how small your donation might be, it will make a significant difference in my family's lives.

I would appreciate it if you could follow me to stay updated, as I will always need your help. 💔

This is my GFM link:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/empower-olas-pursuit-of-education-amid-crisis?qid=30ec4c502382b9962b96d698a687d9a8

My campaign has been verified by @ 90-ghost, @ northgazaupdates, @ el-shab-Hussien, and @ nabulsi's vetted list (line 205).

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview#gid=0

Thank you in advance for your kindness and support. I am waiting for your response. ❤️

Please donate and/or share with others. 🥺🙏🇵🇸

Sincerely,

Ola

ola is a person. she has ambitions and dreams and she has a life she wants to live, just like you. she has people who love her, and people she loves back. she has a family and friends. you might not know or love ola, but there are people who do. she’s a human being who deserves to see another day. who deserves to pursue a career and spend a life loving and cherishing her family.

she is no different from you and i. the only difference, one is behind a wall she can’t climb over, and the other is on the other side of it.

you’re not able to donate? i get that. neither can i. but you have a platform. you have a voice when other’s don’t. you will be heard where other won’t. speak up. be the voice for the voiceless. be the hope for the hopeless. every bit counts.

[dangerous-disposition]

WIP Wednesday - here i have found some peace of mind (formerly titled 'spent all winter waiting for the sun to arise')

This is from the modern AU I'm writing where Eddie is a rockstar and Steve is a group housing coordinator at a hotel that Corroded Coffin is staying at, except during a whole mix-up with a typo in the system and Eddie being a disaster and stealing his tour manager's phone, Steve thinks he's talking to the tour manager of the band whose name is Chris and not the front-man of the band 😩

“Good afternoon, this is events, Steve speaking?” he said quickly.

“Good afternoon, handsome. How are things going in hotel land?”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes a little bit. “Busy, as always. Can’t complain though,” he replied as he tapped his pencil against his notebook. “How can I help you, Chris?”

“What if I just wanted to hear your voice?” Chris teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m on the clock, Chris. How can I help you?” Steve asked again, but there was a part of him that was still flattered by the attention, interested in the attention even.

And so began the almost-daily calls from Chris. Steve never actually reached out from his end because there was no reason for him to until closer to the actual cut-off date. It was always Chris calling him to make requests, to discuss the area a bit more, or sometimes just to chat. As their work relationship progressed, Steve found it easier to fall into more friendly banter, even returning some of the flirting.

Steve still refused to try to find out who the band was or look Chris up, but mostly because he didn’t want to give a face to the man he was talking to on the phone just yet. He knew that if Chris was even half as hot as he sounded he wouldn’t stand a chance.

As it stood, most days Chris would call, they would discuss matters pertaining to the band’s stay in July for five minutes, then spend the next twenty minutes just talking about other stuff. Usually, it was just Steve talking about his job and and complaining.

“The worst way to receive a rooming list is as a PDF,” Steve grumbled into the phone as he painstakingly copied and pasted a rooming list into a spreadsheet. “Please know that if a group housing coordinator receives a rooming list as a PDF? They hate the client just a little bit.”

On the other end of the call, Chris chuckled before stopping abruptly. Steve smirked a bit as he could practically hear the dots connecting in Chris’ head.

“Didn’t we send our rooming list as a PDF?”

Steve snorted. “Maybe,” he replied cheekily, and Chris groaned.

“Is that why you are resisting my charm?” Chris whined and Steve laughed.

“That, and I’m also on the clock,” he reminded Chris teasingly.

“You could always give me your number?”

Steve sighed and thought back to the employee conduct manual. It would be wildly inappropriate to give a client his number. “Not while you’re my client,” he responded, resolving to pull out the conduct manual and read it over again.

“So… after?” Chris pressed and Steve laughed.

“I’m not making any promises, Chris,” Steve sighed, chewing his lip while a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

There was some shouting on the other end of the call and Chris sighed. “Alright, Stevie, that’s my cue to go in a bit. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Steve almost said yes, but then remembered he had requested the next day off. “No, unfortunately I won’t be in the office tomorrow. I’m taking a personal day,” he replied.

“Oh, doing anything fun or interesting?” Chris asked, and Steve actually grinned at how interested he sounded.

“I wish. Uh, nah, I have appointments and then visiting a cemetery, so,” Steve trailed off with a shrug before cringing. Chris couldn’t see him shrugging, what the hell?

“Oh shit, sorry. That was really stupid of me to ask,” Chris said and Steve laughed.

“It’s all good, man. I wouldn’t’ve answered if it bothered me,” he admitted and on the other end of the line, Chris chuckled lightly.

“That makes sense. I’ll talk to you another time then.”

“Or you could relax and not call me again about your stay in July,” Steve insisted as he always did when they were about to hang up.

“Mm, no. I think I’ll continue to micromanage our stay, just to keep you on your toes, Stevie,” Chris replied and then hung up.

Steve sighed with a little grin as he hung his receiver up, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

“What the hell was that, Dingus?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin and looked up at Robin peering over his cubicle with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Steve lied, and he could feel his face burning with his blush.

“Stephen, are you flirting with a client?” she hissed as she hurried around the cubicle wall to sit on his desk.

“No,” Steve hissed back, glancing around but thankfully no one was paying attention. “No, he is flirting with me.”

Robin gasped dramatically. “He?” she questioned excitedly.

“Did you need something? Because I’m kind of busy,” Steve said, shoving his glasses up to scrub at his face.

“I texted you about food in Dustin’s Office, but you didn’t respond so I came to find you,” she immediately replied, smiling when Steve locked his computer and got up.

“I’m definitely in,” he replied happily.

“We’re talking about everything I overheard there tomorrow, you hear me, Harrington?” Robin said as they walked, pointing at him accusingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes with a chuckle.

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for snippets and/or when this goes live! Taglist! @scarcrossdlvrs, @patchworkgargoyle, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @afewproblems, @mylilplanet, @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa

[ltwharfy]

"Bob's Burgers" Season 14 Episode Ranking Rewatch (long post)

So, I've been rewatching "Bob's Burgers" from the beginning and ranking the episodes using the spreadsheet that @babsvibes created! If you want to know why I'm doing this or how I view the 1-5 rating scale, you can check out my Season 1 post! If you want to check out any of the other seasons, I've been using the "bob's burgers episode ranking rewatch" tag for all of them.

Now, on to Season 14:

Average (Mean) Score: 4.54

Mean (Most Common) Ranking: 5

Ranking Breakdown: 8 5s 4 4s 1 3

Season as whole thoughts:

I won't call it a comeback...but you can check the previous posts and see that the strike-shortened Season 14 has the highest average score since season 9 and that it's numbers put it right up there with my personal Golden Age of the show. It's possible there is some sort of recency bias with these ratings- with one exception (guess which one...) I've only watched these episodes maybe two or three times now so the jokes might feel a little fresher and make me laugh a bit more than they otherwise would. But, I don't really think that's the case. Rewatching these episodes I think that Season 14, like my beloved Season 7, features a great blend of humor, creativity, and emotional resonance, both within individual episodes and throughout the season as a whole.

I also feel like this was a pretty great season for the show's supporting characters: Rudy becomes the first non-main character to be the focus of an episode, we learn more about Zeke's past, they actually made me feel sympathy for Logan, interesting new characters like Will and Sam were introduced, and we get the long awaited (possibly only by me) return of Downtown Randolph Brackenbrown!

Some thoughts on specific episodes (and feel free to ask if you want my thoughts on an episode I didn't comment on):

"Fight at the Not Okay-Chorer-al": The bedtime story- and the way the telling of it went back and forth between the parents and Louise- was a really fun, unique way to break out of the normal world of the show without doing another anthology episode (even though I love those.) So many of the visual details of the western town were beautiful, compelling, and fun. And I'm a sucker for an emotional Linda and Louise story.

"The Amazing Rudy": I am totally normal about this episode. Writing two fics inspired by an episode within a week of it airing is normal, right? Okay, yeah...this episode emotionally resonated with me more than any piece of entertianment I'd encountered in a while. The way it captured the feelings of being a child of divorce- the stress, the anxiety, the loneliness-hit home for me so hard. I can pause this episode at multiple points and tell you about similar things that happened in my own life. And, while I know it's just a coinceidence, it's so weird for me that this story came out last year. Because when I wrote my first fic about Rudy earlier last year, I foiund myself crying while writing a line mentioning his parents divorce- and that lead me to think about why- and to finally do something to process how my parents' divorce decades ago had affected me in ways I hadn't acknowledged before- and to work to move beyond that. So, maybe it's a coincidence, or maybe the Molyneux sisters are witches who can see into my soul? Really, who's to say?

Okay, sorry to do two paragraphs on one episode, but that kinda turned into a weird autobiographical essay, didn't it? As an episode, I think this is top notch in terms of writing, direction, animation, music, and especially the voice-acting of Brian Huskey and Kristen Schaal. Also, while this might sound like a weird comment coming from Mr. "I've been shipping Louise/Rudy since the first airing of 'Carpe Museum'", I really didn't think about the end of this episode in romantic/shippy way until I came on here and saw some other Roudise folks squeeing over it. Because, while you can view it that way, I also think at its heart this episode is really a story about loneliness and friendship-about how we can all help ease each others pain just by being there for one another. And I hope folks can appreciate this lovely story of friendship even if they don't enjoy Roudise from a shipping perspective.

"The Pickleorette": That was fun! Really, both the A story and B story in this episode are a hoot. TIna immediately forgetting about the board game and scheming about how to see Pickles in the restaurant is one of the funniest moments all season. The lines about big sisters making mistakes so little sisters know its okay not to be perfect are some of the best moments between both Linda & Gayle and Tina & Louise.

"Running Down a Gene": I am always a sucker for weird dreams, and Mr. Ambrose always cracks me up. The Louise and Tina cricket storyline is funny and weirdly sweet. But what ultimately puts this into 5 territory is Gene's sweet song at the end- I always love when they have him write a surprisingly moving song (see also "The Gene and Courtney Show").

"Bully-ieve It or Not": It was great to learn more about Zeke's past and get a new (hopefully recurring) member of the 8th grade class. But the character I really loved the most in this one was Jimmy Jr.- in this story, he is the voice of reason, displays some emotional intelligence, and you see how much his friendship with Zeke means to him. Really, this is an A+ story for both Zeke and J-Ju in my book.

"The (Raccoon) King and I": If I need to choose an episode from the whole series to cheer me up when I'm feeling down, it might be this one. The storylines are all pretty low stakes (except for Little King Trashmouth) but the endings are all super sweet! Tina gets to "woo!"; Arnold, Andy, Ollie, and Rudy dance like the nerdy boys they are; Bob dances like the tired middle-aged man he is; Louise fills up a giant bowl with soft serve ice cream to bring to her friends (this is literally one of my favorite images from the whole series); and Little King Trashmouth and His Husband Gary are reunited!!! It is all so freaking beautiful, man!

"Fraud of the Dead: Zombie-Docu-pocalypse": Just a really fun episode- a great way to break from the show's usual formula while still telling a funny, emotionally resonant story. I kind of wish we could see another episode that was the "behind the scenes" of the movie from this episode- I particularly enjoy wondering about if Louise scripted everybody's lines or if it was more improv (Yes, I am particularly wondering about Rudy's "I don't want to be remembered as a complainer" line). Also, Louise beginning to sing in the documentary was one of the biggest laughs in the season for me just because it was so unexpected.

"Jade in the Shade": Putting this in here for Babs, as her reward for creating the spreadsheet and making it through all these posts, but my biggest laughs in this episode came from Cynthia and Logan's interaction. I think anyone who's ever been a teen boy with a mom can relate to Logan in this one. The Linda and Louise interaction is also great, and I loved the return to some of the settings of the movie.

"Butt Sweat and Fears": The Tina storyline and the way it ends- both with her and Sam dancing and with Jimmy Jr. leaning on her- is just so freaking sweet. It's also a really funny episode throughout (call me immature, but the stuff about Chelsea's potentially sick cat and it's poop really cracked me up). And it was fun to see Dalton again- one of those enjoyable recurring characters who I forget about until he's on screen! Funny, sweet, good supporting chracters- this served as a fitting ending to this short season.

Random thoughts (stuff that doesn't affect the ratings):

-Rudy was in six of the first nine episodes of this season, making me hope he was on track to tie or pass his record for most appearances in a season (seven in both Seasons 5 and 10). Alas, he didn't appear in any of the remaining episodes. Who knows how many episodes he would've appeared in if it was a full length season? Too bad the season was shortened by the strike. Rudy's kind of like the 1994 Montreal Expos in that regard. (This is an incredibly dorky joke put in solely for my own amusement, please feel free to ignore it.)

Is this the end of my Episode Ranking Rewatch Long Posts?!?! Probably not, I'll probably do one or two more with some thoughts on the series as a whole and sharing my writer and director rankings, since those were one of the reasons I found Babs' spreadsheet so exciting to begin with.

[subliminalbo]

Hypnovember Day 10: Futurum

This is a sequel to The Conditioning Initiative

Corbin got a lot of tips for her crime blog, but few were as massive as the one about Futurum. For years, Futurum had been something of a Romero mystery. What exactly did applied science mean? If Corbin had to guess, the shady corporation was developing weapons for the government. They kept their projects secret and their employees silent with aggressive NDAs. Of the ones willing to talk to Corbin, none even knew what they were working on, admitting that Futurum delivered work orders to engineers with purposely stingy context.

That was too interesting not to chase before she received the email. And then one day Corbin opened her Outlook to find the message: an internal memo detailing The Conditioning Initiative—Futurum’s top secret research into mind control, real MKUltra stuff. Definitely the kind of thing the government would be interested in.

“Fuck,” Corbin whispered as she scrolled through pages of names and processes.

The Conditioning Initiative had started out small, recruiting from a pool of remote Carpenter State interns. After successful trials, the initiative was expanded to Grade E employees—people leaders who would in turn oversee further expansion of the initiative to Grades D, C, B, and A, moving down the chain until all of the working class associates at Futurum had been conditioned.

All of this was confirmed and detailed by Corbin’s source. Stephanie Mason was a manager at Futurum who had grown disgruntled when she discovered upper management’s plans to expand The Conditioning Initiative to every employee. She explained that she had reservations when she learned about the research, but had ultimately assumed that common sense and human rights would win out.

“But every day there was a new spreadsheet on my desk,” Stephanie recalled to Corbin. “Productivity numbers. That’s all they kept talking about: ‘Look at these productivity numbers!’”

“That’s all this is about?” Corbin asked.

“Time theft has been a concern in office spaces for years,” Stephanie replied. “My bosses believe they can transform the workforce into perfect laborers, singularly focused. It really is something. I mean, it’s spooky to see people work like that.”

“In my experience, mind control conspiracies tend to be a bit more…sexually motivated,” Corbin said, crossing her legs as she spoke.

“Not at Futurum,” Stephanie shook her head. “It’s all about the bottom line.”

Corbin recognized the bravery it took for Stephanie to come to her. Even having a coffee in public, she was taking an incredible risk. Corbin caught her mistake when she noticed Stephanie’s eyes darting back and forth around the cafe. She promised that next time they met she would choose a location that was a bit more suited to clandestine meetings.

But it was Stephanie who arranged the next meeting, texting Corbin the address to the anonymous motel in River City with a room number. The motel rented by the hour and was a popular spot for secret hookups and sex work. Corbin thought it was appropriately clandestine, but when Stephanie greeted her wearing nothing but a bath towel, she got the feeling that Stephanie had more than just new information to offer.

“Just caught me getting out of the shower,” Stephanie laughed. 

Corbin tried not to ogle too much, but she was already crushing on Stephanie after their first meeting, and seeing her now like this was only making it worse.

“Make yourself a drink,” Stephanie pointed toward the little minibar. “I’m just going to change real quick.”

When Stephanie disappeared behind the bathroom door, Corbin opened the mini fridge to find it full of small bottles of alcohol which she assumed Stephanie had stocked herself. Planning for a fun night, she thought.

“I was surprised when you got back to me so quickly,” Corbin said, raising her voice to project through the bathroom door. She twisted the cap on a bottle of Smirnoff and took a swig. “I thought you’d want to play it safe and lay low for a bit before jumping back into…”

Stephanie had exited the bathroom, but she hadn’t changed her clothes. Instead, she dropped the towel before Corbin, exposing her nude body to her. Corbin exhaled. “Stephanie…” she said.

“Do you like what you see?” Stephanie asked.

It had occurred to Corbin that Stephanie was too good to be true. The inside woman with intimate knowledge of her company’s brainwashing conspiracy was the kind of trap that Corbin had learned to look for. No more mistakes, Corbin had resolved with herself after everything with the Alphas. But goddamn, she really did like what she saw.

Corbin set her bottle down on top of the fridge. “When did they get to you? Was it a trap all along? Futurum was hardly on my radar before you came to me.”

It was like Corbin could see Stephanie’s personality melt away in real time, the giggling Stephanie who had greeted her in a bath towel simply a facade that hid the fine-tuned automaton underneath. Stephanie was right: it was spooky. That vacant expression, her mouth hanging loose as she spoke slowly and deliberately to Corbin.

“The correspondence was an aberration in No.33’s programming,” Stephanie said. “Appropriate measures were taken to recondition this subject. Do you like what you see?”

Ohhh fuck, referring to herself in the third person and everything. It was like Futurum had a dossier on Corbin and knew which buttons to push. Seeing Stephanie go full robot woman brought some serious flashbacks for Corbin. She still hadn’t fully recovered from the months she spent as one of Madison Wells’ brainwashed Alphas. She couldn’t help but see a bit of herself in Stephanie, that part of her that, no matter how hard she fought, would always want to submit.

Stephanie approached Corbin slowly, repeating, “Do you like what you see?”

Corbin nodded her head yes. When Stephanie reached her in the middle of the room, she pressed her lips to Corbin’s, and Corbin kissed back. Stephanie’s tongue was warm in her mouth. Corbin was already so wet. Futurum really couldn’t have pulled this shit at a worse time for her. It had been so long that she was completely folding to Stephanie’s advances.

“What’s the plan here?” Corbin asked as she pulled her shirt over her head. “Futurum gets me laid and I’m supposed to be so thankful that I don’t write about it?”

“I am bound by my NDA to refrain from discussing Futurum business with non-authorized individuals,” Stephanie said.

Corbin’s bra dropped to the floor. The pair moved to the bed, Stephanie flicking her tongue over Corbin’s nipples as her fingers rolled her clit. Corbin’s Alpha instincts took over, pleading and moaning like the horny slut Madison had trained her to be. It was bad. It was so fucking bad.

When Corbin reached what Stephanie determined was optimum arousal, Stephanie repositioned herself between Corbin’s legs. 

“Fuck, that’s hot!” Corbin cried when Stephanie’s face sank into her soaking pussy. Corbin had cum to the tongues of a dozen Alphas, her own brainwashing being a days-long session under the visor as Madison’s best slaves took turns assaulting Corbin’s clit. But Corbin had never felt anything like Stephanie’s tongue. It was a tireless assault of pleasure, starting slow but strong and picking up speed as she went, building to the most efficient orgasm Corbin had ever felt.

She didn’t open her eyes again until she felt the small sting on her forehead.

No more mistakes.

“Oh,” Corbin said, recognition coming to her slowly and fading fast with the rest of her free will. The small device that Stephanie pressed to Corbin’s forehead would only subdue her, but by the time Corbin’s mind returned to the conscious world she would already be strapped to a chair in a Futurum conditioning room.

[iamnotthere-idonotdie]

dream of me

part three

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synopsis: reader has been moved away for a few months and wishes they’d stayed in gotham. but a trip to metropolis may provide the opportunity they need to try to reconcile with bruce.

content: bruce wayne x reader, implied depression, some cursing, no smut

a/n: this one took a bit longer to get written down because i kept getting stuck, but im glad i was able to finish it. i still have more parts in mind that i want to include in this series but i don’t know how fast i’ll be able to get them all done. also thanks for the likes on the last two parts!

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“are we still on for dinner tonight?”

your boyfriend is on the other line.

“yeah sure. my place or yours?” you ask.

“how about we go out? there’s this japanese restaurant i’ve heard is good. we could try that.”

“okay. 7 o’clock sound good?”

“sounds great. i’ll pick you up?”

“sure.”

“okay, babe. see you then.” your phone beeps after he hangs up. the screen goes back to your favorites list in your contacts. bruce is still on it. you haven’t had the will to delete it.

it’s been three months now since you left. you didn’t think you’d move on this quickly but robert has proved to be a good companion for you. or at least some kind of distraction. you sit there at your desk, just staring at bruce’s contact. you know you shouldn’t make personal calls on company time but you needed to hear a familiar voice. today has been difficult. some days are better than others. some days you feel fine, happy, content with your job and with robert. other days, like today, it’s like a rain cloud is looking over you and at any moment the monsoon will come. you glance at the top of your screen and the clock says 4:56. you suppose you can leave a few minutes early. you grab your bag and leave your desk, heading toward the elevators. your mind sends you a flashback to that first elevator ride with bruce. sometimes you wish you could just forget about it. all of it. press a button and make the hurt all go away. the memories. the reminders that drip with pain and longing, filling your mind to the brim with tidal waves of regret.

you regret so much. you regret not telling bruce how you felt. you regret not insisting that you stay, whether he wanted to be with you or not. you regret leaving. you thought being away from him would allow yourself to heal but it’s just made every little detail of life remind you of how it all went wrong.

you often find yourself still checking gotham news sites. almost every article is a new story about how well he’s doing. how the company is thriving, how he’s creating new outreach programs and divisions to help the city. he even started a new program, like the one you worked with him on, this time supporting students interested in fine arts. photograph after photograph shows him in different gotham schools, giving out new supplies and resources. he’s doing amazing work there. and you’re still here, coming in every day to sit at a desk and make spreadsheets. the job offer turned out to be too good to be true. you were promised travel, but the furthest you’ve gone is phoenix. and it wasn’t even for work. you finally step off the elevator and into the garage where you see your car where you left it. at least you got that assigned spot.

back at your apartment, you drop your bag on the kitchen table and flip through your daily supply of junk mail. you go into your bedroom and open the curtains to let the remaining rays of sun come through. you look out over the city. you can admit it’s a beautiful view.

you sit in your armchair and stare out the window until robert texts you that he’s downstairs. you get another notification on your phone at the same time, from the gotham gazette. the headline stops you in your tracks toward the door.

“bruce wayne and mystery woman seen leaving local restaurant”

you feel a gasp get caught in your throat and your chest tightens. you can’t be mad that he’s moved on when you have too, but the pain still comes. you click on the link to the article. paparazzi pictures of him with his arm around her shoulders threaten to bring tears to your eyes. the restaurant sign behind them glows and you realize it’s the one you suggested you’d go to with him. the one you almost suggested you’d go to. you never got the chance, because he instead had his own suggestion in mind.

you close the app and sit down at the kitchen table, putting your head in your hands. it’s all starting to rush back again. that pain. that intense, overwhelming pain that takes your breath away.

your phone dings again with a text from robert, telling you to hurry up or you’ll miss your reservation. robert. not even him can make you catch your breath.

you grab your bag and head out anyway, not wanting to stand him up. you get to his car and open the door. bruce would’ve come up to your apartment and walked you down. he would’ve opened the door for you.

“hi babe,” robert says cheerfully as he leans in to kiss you. you turn your head so he just catches your cheek.

“long day?” he asks, sensing your mood.

“yeah. long day.” you say flatly.

robert tries to the fill the car ride with small talk. you can only muster the occasional one or two word response every few minutes. you get to the restaurant and robert leads you inside.

“reservation for robert?” he asks the host.

“right this way.” you get to your table and sit across from robert and open up your menu.

“i’ve heard the steak here is really good.” he says as he flips through his menu.

“hm.”

“or i’ve read that their salads are good too...”

“mm hm.”

“do you want to get a bottle of wine?”

“sure.”

“maybe an appetizer?”

“okay.”

“…these dumplings look good.”

“yeah.” you feel irritation rising.

“or the edamame—”

“jesus rob just fucking pick something.”

he closes his menu fast and all but slams it on the table.

“what the hell is your problem?” his voice rises and you feel people starting to look in your direction.

“keep your voice down.” you set your menu down too.

“no, i’m tired of this. what is going on? why are you being such an ass?”

“i’m not being an ass, you’re being annoying.”

“i’m trying to talk to you.”

“then talk to me.”

“i try but you won’t so much as look at me let alone actually engage in conversation.” he looks at you with hurt in his eyes.

“what’s going on? you’ve been acting so weird lately and it’s been freaking me out.”

“i’ve been acting how i always do.”

“no, you’re not. over the past few weeks you’ve been getting more and more distant. you never actually talk to me about what’s going on with you and you’re always angry or upset or…” he lets out a disgruntled sigh.

“i’m just worried about you.” he says quietly.

“it’s just been stressful at work. that’s all.”

“no, i know that’s not it. look, i understand that you left a lot back in gotham, including your ex.”

you look down at your lap and your cheeks get hot with anger.

“but it’s not fair to punish me for the decisions you made.”

with that you grab your bag and stand up from the table and leave the restaurant. you wave down a cab and open the door, but robert comes up behind you and closes it.

“you can’t just run away. we need to talk about this.”

“talk about what exactly, robert? the fact that i’m miserable here? the fact that not a single moment goes by without regretting leaving? the fact that i can’t sleep at night because all i can think about is him? i can’t do this! i’m stuck! i’m stuck in a city that i hate because it’s not home. i’m stuck at a job that promised me the world and i all i get is a shitty desk and a worthless title. i’m stuck in a pointless relationship with someone i know i’ll never love. i’m done, robert. i’m just… done.”

you open the car door again and get inside. you look out the window and see a tear roll down robert’s cheek. that’s all you know how to do now. spread the pain around onto other people and watch the tidal wave crash into them too.

you lie in bed that night and just let the tears flow. you pick up your phone and delete robert from your favorites list. bruce wayne still sitting there, waiting. you click on his contact and remove it too.

your eyes are puffy that next morning from crying yourself to sleep. you park your car in your spot and head inside. you sit at your desk and try to wake yourself up with a cup of coffee. you just try to get through today. one thing at a time.

after a few minutes jonathan locke walks up to you and hands you a folder.

“we have a lead for a project in metropolis i’d like you to take a look at. if all goes to plan, you can go next week and present it.”

you take the folder and open it. it’s for a renewal project that will target the growing unhoused population.

“metropolis?”

“yes. it’s far but i think you can handle it.” he says with a smile.

you can’t help but feel like he’s patronizing you. you look back down again at the folder. it’s either your desk or metropolis.

“okay.” you just say quietly.

“oh, well great. that was quick. i’ll get you set up with tim who’ll be spearheading the trip and you guys can coordinate on responsibilities.”

“okay, thanks.”

“and it’s close by gotham so you could visit your old stomping grounds too.”

jonathan walks away from your desk and to his office. you think back to that night you met him, when he gave you a folder similar to this with an almost-irresistible offer. you thought you’d be leading the division. turns out the proposal said you could be leading the division. you should’ve read the fine print.

you and tim meet up that afternoon to discuss the trip. you like tim. he’s nice, respectful, and understands you want to be doing more so he delegates a lot of his responsibilities to you. or maybe he just wants a free trip to metropolis so he’s dumping the work on you, hoping you’ll appreciate it. no matter his true intentions, you do enjoy the extra work. it helps distract you.

“oh, also,” tim stops you as you start to leave his office after your discussion.

“jonathan wanted me to let you know that we can bring a plus one on the trip, on the company’s expense. my husband is gonna fly in after the meeting, you should bring your boyfriend.”

“oh… i think i’m actually gonna be flying solo, tim.”

“oh, is everything okay with you guys? i’ve only met the guy once but he seemed pretty great.”

“um, not really... we ended things last night.”

“last night? i wouldn’t have come into work today, honestly.”

“yeah, it was pretty rough.”

“well, for the record, i lied. he kind of seemed like an ass.”

you laugh. “he isn’t so bad. we just weren’t right for each other.”

“well i can attest to that. before chris i was with this guy who i just knew wasn’t the one for me. it took meeting chris to see that though. i realized that i never saw a future with the other guy. but with chris, he’s the one i always want to be around. when we’re apart it’s like… i don’t know like—“

“like you can’t breathe. like all the air in the room has been sucked out.”

“exactly… you sound like you speak from experience.”

you just look down at the floor.

“well whoever they are, if you get the chance again, don’t let them go this time.”

you look up and smile at him.

“thanks tim, but i’m pretty sure he’s long gone. and he’s with someone else now too.”

“if he’s really the one you want to be with, the one you really see a future with, don’t let anything stand in your way. fight for it.”

you pause for a second and think about tim’s advice. you want to fight for him, you do. but what if he doesn’t want you to?

“all i’m saying, is if you’re able to see him, it’s worth it to at least try again. then you’ll at least have an answer.”

“…you’re right. the uncertainty, i just know it’ll eat away at me forever.”

“right. so where is this guy? is he here in san fran?”

“no, he’s actually back in gotham.”

“well perfect! you can take a visit while we’re in metropolis.”

“i guess i could…”

“you should. you will. do it.”

tim starts to stand up to head home for the day.

“and you’ll tell me everything when you do.” you chuckle.

“you got it, tim.”

“i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“yeah, see you.”

you go sit back at your desk long after hours and think about this new plan. how are you even going to go about this? do you just show up at his home, knock on the door, and hope he answers? if he does, what do you even say?

you spend the next few days leading up to the trip trying to configure your plan for talking to bruce again. you’re more nervous about that than the actual work you’ll be doing.

you and tim sit next to each other on the flight to metropolis. you work on your computer trying to distract yourself from how nervous you are about possibly seeing him again. curiosity gets the better of you, and you search online to see where he’ll be.

“glad to see you’re using the in-flight wifi responsibly.” tim says sarcastically.

“i just…”

“if you’d have told me bruce wayne was the ex you were going to see in gotham than i might’ve given you some different advice.”

“and what would that advice be?”

“that, for one, you were stupid to let him go at all. and second, that you should go visit him on that school trip he’s doing. for that new fine arts project.”

“why there?”

“well you weren’t gonna just show up to his house and ring the doorbell, were you?”

you pause for a second and let your silence be your answer.

“okay yeah, not a good idea. trust me. rom coms do not portray that as accurately as you’d think.”

you chuckle.

“so you think i should show up at his event?” you ask.

“i think so. make it like you’re there for work. use that as an icebreaker, then you can get to talking.”

“that’s not a bad idea tim.”

“it’s a great idea. it’s right after our meeting tomorrow anyway. it’ll be perfect.”

“i’m not sure about perfect. what if he—“

“don’t torture yourself over the what-ifs. they’ll just burden you. and while i know i’ve been talking quite positively about this whole grand romantic gesture of yours… don’t get your hopes up either.”

you look over at him with furrowed brows.

“i heard someone say once that expectations are just premeditated disappointments. just… don’t set yourself up to get hurt.” he says quietly.

“well now i’m a little confused, tim. because you’re the one who’s been urging me to do this in the first place. and now you’re telling me not to get my hopes up?”

“you’re right. i’m sorry. just… tell him what you need to say. not what you think he wants or needs to hear. not what you think you should say. not what someone else would say. you have things you need to get off your chest, whatever they may be. and you need to speak them out, otherwise they’ll suffocate you.”

you get quiet again and realize he’s right. you’ve been so hung up on what you should do or say and didn’t stop to think about what you actually want to tell him.

“you’re right.” you say, barely above a whisper.

“i know i’m right.”

you smile and grab tim’s hand.

“thanks, tim. you’ve been one of my few friends since i moved here.”

“what can i say? i’m a peach.” he says with a smile and you laugh.

“can i just ask one thing?” he says softly. “…stay in touch?”

you just look at him, his face plastered with a sadness you’ve never seen from him before.

“if all goes well with… bruce wayne—god that’s still so weird to think about. but anyway, if you two get back together, and you move back home to gotham, and you two live happily ever after…” you laugh lightly.

“promise to stay in touch?”

“…of course, tim.” you smile at him. he squeezes your hand and smiles back, then he lets go and goes back to his in-flight crossword puzzle. you look back down at your computer and find the article detailing bruce’s trip to a gotham middle school where he’ll be implanting new support and funding to its, and every other gotham school’s, fine arts program. you sigh and close your laptop.

you spend the rest of the flight with your headphones in, listening to music and staring out the window. you know it’s a cliche, but you don’t care. this plan of yours and tim’s hangs over your head, that cloud ready to pour at any moment. you suppose the floodgates will open if things don’t go well tomorrow. the rain will come and the tidal wave will crash and you’ll be left to pick up the soaked pieces of your shattered heart once again. as though fate herself has heard your dark thoughts, the plane goes through a rain cloud and wet droplets scatter over the window, blurring your vision, each one shaking in the wind as if laughing at your melancholy. you just turn your music up and close your eyes, hoping sleep will find you before you land in metropolis.

of course, the sweet release of slumber doesn’t come and the plane jolts as it touches down. tim helps you carry your bags out of the overhead bins and out of the gate, and the two of you find a cab to your hotel. you discuss your meeting and go over your key points as you ride through downtown. when you get to the hotel and up to your room, you realize the time difference is working against you. the sky outside is dark and the stars are beginning to shine through the city lights, but your body is adjusted to the pacific time zone now. it’s not until almost three hours later that you are finally able to find rest. all the while thinking not about the meeting tomorrow, but of bruce. and what you want to say to him. you trust the words will come when they need to, and you close your eyes.

the next morning, you meet tim in the lobby of the hotel and you take a cab to your destination. your mind is preoccupied, and it shows during the meeting. you stumble over your words and forget your lines. you hope this doesn’t backfire on tim as he steps in and leads the pitch with confidence. his quick thinking proves successful, as you’re met with approving smiles and impressed nods from the room. you’re just glad tim was able to do well. to be truthful, you don’t care very much about your job security today. in the lobby, tim calls a ride for himself back to the hotel, and one for you to the train station.

“are you sure about this, tim? you don’t think it’s a mistake?”

“don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now.”

“well, i just…”

“look,” tim puts his hand on your shoulder.

“i told you, just say what you need to say. everything will fall into place as they should. you’re doing the right thing.”

you let out a nervous sigh and look down again with tears in your eyes.

“what are you so afraid of? that he’ll say no?”

“no… i’m afraid he’ll say yes.” you say quietly, fighting back the tears.

“if things go well, if we get back together… who’s to say it won’t go wrong again? i don’t think i could handle going through that grief again.”

“just remember what i said before. once you’ve got it, don’t let it go. no matter what. fight for it. for him.” tim is getting choked up now too. he pulls you in for a hug and you will yourself not to cry on his pressed suit.

“now go. your ride’s here.” tim smiles at you as he opens the door to his separate taxi.

“good luck.”

“thank you tim.” you smile back and he closes the door. the car drives off and you’re standing there, giving yourself one last chance to back out before making your way to gotham. you open the door and get inside.

your heart is racing the entire ride to the train station. you feel yourself switch to autopilot as you purchase your ticket and get on the train car, choosing a window seat. you sit there like on the plane, your headphones in and your mind full. as you get closer to gotham, you see the blue sky and white fluffy clouds fade to the familiarity of the dark grey and rainy empyrean. after being away for so long… you find this gloomy atmosphere quite beautiful.

the train takes you to the heart of the city, where you take yet another taxi to the school. these different modes of transportation you’ve taken these last few days have at least been offering you some time to think. though those thoughts have not been the most pleasant, you still appreciate the solace the rides bring.

the car stops right in front of the school.

this is it.

you step outside, the rain being uncooperative with your entrance into the building. you inform the woman at the front desk you’re here for the outreach event and present your work id. she directs you to the gymnasium down the corridor. you walk quickly, nearly jogging to the gym. when you enter the room, you’re met with a large crowd of school staff members, students, members of the press… and there’s bruce, handing a violin to a child who’s face beams. bruce is smiling too, and he says something to the student before they walk back to their group of friends. the kids compare their gifts excitedly and you smile at their childlike enthusiasm and appreciation. when you look away and back towards bruce, you see that he’s looking right at you. you lock eyes and he begins making his way toward you. you try to gauge his facial expression, is it sadness? disdain? confusion, happiness? the closer he gets, the harder his face becomes to read. he weaves through the crowd, avoiding cameras flashing in his eyes and reporters sticking microphones up to his lips. finally, he’s standing right in front of you. and he smiles.

“you’re… here… what are you…”

“i had a meeting in metropolis this morning and i decided to take the trip here, to see gotham again.”

“and you just so happened to stumble in here?”

the press seems to have gotten bored of your conversation, because now you’re alone with bruce in the back of the gym.

“well i wanted to see… what this new project was. it’s amazing. these kids… you’re changing lives here, bruce.”

those feelings start to flood back. those feelings you got the last time you were in a setting similar to this one, when you saw how great bruce is with the kids, how much he cares about them. your heart somehow starts beating even quicker.

“it’s all because of you. if you hadn’t given that first pitch… none of this would be happening.” he replies.

you smile and look down.

you and bruce continue talking there, in the back of the gymnasium. you talk about your job, about san francisco, about how your life was going. you decide not to be entirely truthful for this reunion, not wanting to put a damper on the more than nice conversation. bruce tells you how he’s been too, how he’s been busy with new project after new project, how well the company is doing. how well he’s been doing. he seems happy. a part of you almost wishes he seemed a little sad that you’re there. that he’d be brimming with regret for letting you go. you start to feel guilty over your selfishness.

“well, i’m glad to hear that you’ve been doing well, bruce.”

“i’m glad you’re doing well too.”

“and you’re… happy? with everything? i mean with your um new—“

as if he read your mind, he stops you from finishing your sentence.

“i was hoping you wouldn’t see that. that was just a… a one time thing. i met her at a gala and we went out for dinner but i haven’t seen or even talked to her since. i just didn’t… feel right about it.”

you feel a sense of relief flood over you.

“and you? you’re not… seeing…” he starts.

“oh no, i mean, not anymore.”

“oh… okay.”

you just smile at each other for a second, then he suddenly takes your hand.

“come on. we’ve got a lot more to hand out… and i could use the help.”

you know he has a large group of team members standing by, waiting to help in the continuation of the gift giving, so you’re surprised at his request for you to help too. the two of you resume handing out the items. more instruments, paint sets, books, and more. it’s like christmas has come early, with every child getting something they’ve always wanted. you’re smiling more than you have in weeks, months. bruce is elated too, as he and the other team members provide these resources to this school. this specific event was to promote this program, but every gotham school will get this opportunity for new items as well. finally, the school day ends, the press leaves, and you’re standing the middle of the gymnasium. it’s quiet now with just a few more people here packing things up. you take this opportunity of peace to catch your breath and prepare yourself for what’s to come. bruce starts making his way toward you again and clench your hands into fists repeatedly.

“bruce, i have something i—“

“would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” he cuts you off.

“sorry, were you going to say something?” he asks.

“no, i… i was actually going to ask you the same thing.”

“great. we can head out now. alfred’s already started cooking.” bruce smiles at you and he leads you out of the school and to his car.

you make small talk as he drives you to his home. you forgot how grand it is as you step inside, alfred greeting you with a smile.

“it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“thank you alfred.”

“dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

alfred goes back to the kitchen to finish up.

“fire?” bruce says, starting to make his way toward the living room fireplace you’re all too familiar with.

“yes, that sounds nice.”

he lights the logs and sits down on the sofa next to you.

“i’m glad you agreed to come tonight. i was hoping we’d get a chance to talk.”

“me too.” you smile lightly.

“the truth is… i—“

the light clanking of dishes distracts you and bruce from your conversation as alfred begins setting the dinnerware on the table.

you and bruce stand and thank alfred for the meal. you eat in mostly silence, the occasional compliment of the food filling the quiet void. bruce takes your dishes to the kitchen and cleans them once again and you go sit back down on the sofa, the orange and yellow light of the flame illuminating your troubled mind. you need to get this off your chest.

bruce comes back and sits down.

“bruce, there are some things i need to say to you…”

you grab his hands in yours and look down.

“i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since i left. i haven’t slept, i haven’t been happy. i… even tried seeing someone else. work didn’t help, i hated being so far from home… and i hated being so far from you.”

you finally look up at him.

“i love you, bruce. i’m in love with you. i have regretted every single day not telling you before. i hate that i didn’t show you how much you meant to me. and i hate that i left just because i was scared of what you’d say back.”

you choke back tears and look down again.

“you’re the moonlight that breaks through the clouds at night and into my bedroom window. you’re the soft fall of snowflakes that land on my eyelashes. you’re the rain that makes my hair wet and reminds me i’m still human. you’re everything to me, bruce. you are everything.”

you look back up at him and see tears in his eyes. he puts his hand gently on your cheek and kisses you. it’s slow, it’s gentle, it’s tender. it’s love.

he pulls away and chuckles softly.

“i have loved you since i met you. i’m everything to you? without you, i’d fade to nothing but a pile of ash. you being gone, tore me apart more than anything ever has before. even alfred can attest to that.”

you chuckle lightly and he laughs too.

“if i’m everything to you, then you’re more than everything to me.” he pulls you in again for another kiss.

“if i’m the moon then you’re the stars.”

he kisses your right cheek.

“if i’m the snow then you’re the fire.”

he kisses your other cheek.

“if i’m the rain then you’re the sun.”

he kisses your forehead.

“you’re my entire life.”

he kisses your lips.

you sigh as he runs his hands down your back and onto your hips. he picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist and stands up. you continue kissing as he takes you upstairs and to his bed. you run your hand through his hair, down his neck, over his arms. you want him, all of him. and he wants you.

suddenly the tidal wave secedes. the rains don’t come. the dark grey cumulus fades away. and now your mind is only occupied with bruce.

you thought once before that nothing beautiful lasts long in gotham city. but you were wrong. one thing has lasted. and it’s him.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

[marypsue]

I'm very, very close to finished drafting Blood Will Out (I've gotten to the big evil third act reveal I was so excited about!) and unfortunately, it looks like this scene isn't going to fit anywhere into the finished fic. But. I love it. So here you go.

(Some of the exchange in this scene was inspired by a tumblr post, which I unfortunately now cannot find. If you know which one, drop me a link and I'll add it to this post.)

...

There are hushed voices coming from the nave. Two, it sounds like, having a furious whispered argument.

And…splashing.

The argument doesn’t stop when Father Mackenzie steps out of the office and starts down the rows of pews, only grows louder. He doesn’t think either of the teenaged girls bent over the font by the door have noticed him yet.

“- nothing saying they can’t get in here! Especially not if you can.”

“Maybe not, but it’s gotta be more defensible than the motel room. At least there are more places to hide. I don’t even know if they need to be invited in, if the rooms are -”

“They don’t need to be invited anywhere, it just renders you powerless against them if you do. Edgar said -”

“Jamie, no offense, but I’m taking everything ‘Edgar says’ with a big, heaping bucketful of salt -”

“Can I help you ladies?”

The argument stops dead, mid-word. The two girls twist around to look at Father Mackenzie and freeze in place, blinking at him like deer in headlights.

The redheaded one recovers first, nudging the brunette in the side with her elbow. “Let me do the talking.”

“Jamie, you’re the one who can actually touch -”

“Good evening, Father!” the redhead all but shouts, with a big step forward in front of the font, drowning out whatever point her partner in crime was trying to make. “So sorry to disturb you, we didn’t realise anybody was here.”

“I can see that.” Father Mackenzie looks from the dripping water pistol the redhead hastily tucks behind her back, over her shoulder to her partner in crime, who seems to be trying to fill a plastic bottle of water without actually submerging it in the font, her fingers dancing at the surface like it’s hot. “You know, if what you need is to have some water blessed -”

“Hey, yeah, uh, actually, I have a question about that?” the redhead says, stepping sideways into his line of sight, poorly hiding her partner in crime’s strange actions. “Church doctrine says that any water you add holy water to doesn’t dilute the holy water, but becomes sanctified itself. Right?”

Before Father Mackenzie has a chance to agree, she’s already barrelling on with her little speech. “But, because of the water cycle, if that was true, then eventually all water on Earth would have become sanctified, and every time it rained – I mean, we wouldn’t be able to drink or cook or wash without committing some kind of sin, probably. So there’s got to be a point of dilution. What’re your thoughts on that?”

It's a lot of words, delivered rapid-fire in a bright, perky voice, like a presenter on a game show. Father Mackenzie blinks at the girl, trying to bring his brain up to speed with his ears. He’s spent the last three hours staring at spreadsheets, trying to make the expenditures for the Ladies’ Auxiliary make any sense. He has a nasty suspicion that somebody’s making off like a bandit somewhere. What they’re supposedly doing with all that lumber – “Isn’t this more a sort of question for a rabbi?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure Judaism doesn’t do holy water.”

There’s a hiss of indrawn breath from over by the font. “Jamie can you ask him if he has any rubber gloves -”

Father Mackenzie takes a deep breath, and offers up a silent prayer for strength. He has the sudden sense he’s going to need it. “So, you’re correct. The official position of the Catholic Church is that holy water sanctifies any water it’s added to. But – and this is just my personal opinion, my observations, which, you know, do of course officially align with the Church, but as I can see, you both understand that sometimes, we must make…practical considerations -”

“Father. Time is a factor.”

“Of course. Of course. Well. Holy water can sanctify water. Theoretically, it could also sanctify the water in a suspension, but personal experience doesn’t bear that out. Too much in the suspension that isn’t water. So, if you add holy water to…Gatorade. You don’t get holy water, or holy water with added electrolytes. You get Gatorade with some holy water in it.”

“Okay. And since the ocean is a soup -”

Father Mackenzie sighs, and embraces whatever madness this is with both arms. “Gazpacho, I believe. It’s served cold.”

“Gazpacho. That’s why the water cycle isn’t affected. Thank you, Father.”

Father Mackenzie wishes he didn’t have to ask. But, well. The redhead’s still poorly trying to conceal a water pistol full of holy water behind her back. And this is Santa Carla. “…is this about vampire hunting?”

The redhead’s huge grin freezes into a rictus. The brunette’s head snaps up, her eyes wide. A second later, she yelps, snatching her fingers away from the font and leaving the water bottle she was filling to bob gently toward the centre as she sucks the tip of each finger in turn into her mouth. And then seems to immediately regret that.

The redhead raises her voice over the quiet litany of ‘ah, ah, ow, shit, shit, shit’ coming from just behind her. “Why – haha, uh, why, Father, why would you think a silly thing like -”

Father Mackenzie lets out one last, long sigh. He’s getting too old for this shit. “If you borrow any of the silver crucifixes, just make sure they’re back by morning.”

As he turns to head back into the office, hoping against hope that someone in the Ladies’ Auxiliary is just particularly bad at embezzling and they haven’t actually started a wooden stake production line, Father Mackenzie hears the girls start whispering again.

“What a weird fucking town.”

“Tell me about it.”

[at-thestillpoint]

weird questions for writers: 22, 32, 38

[ask me weird questions for writers!]

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

I use Google Drive to write and organize myself. I have a nested folder system broken down by ship, then story universe, then individual fic (if needed). Each fic doc is titled with the pairing, a number, and the title of the fic. The number is honestly for aesthetic purposes—it corresponds to the order in which I had the idea, though 000 is always the headcanons, blotter, and darlings catchall for that ship or fic. I write each fic in a single doc, and use headings so I can quickly jump from chapter to chapter. When I’m in editing or finalization mode, I’ll even use subheadings to tag the areas I’m still not happy with so I can easily navigate from place to place via the Google Doc outline sidebar. I also have a spreadsheet to track all my WIPs, ideas, and completed fics.

So, yeah…I’m quite an organization freak for my writing, but I have to be because I write out of order, and things would otherwise get lost.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I’ll give you lines from a poem and a novel, because I couldn’t pick!

“There are years that ask questions, and years that answer them.” (Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God)

I read Their Eyes Were Watching God in high school, but didn’t realize how much this line had stuck with me until I’d graduated college, and faced some tough, uncertain years in my early 20s. I used it then as a reminder that answers would come—things would get more clear, or better, or whatever it was I was looking for. I still come back to it as a reminder that the moments I’ve felt most aimless, most lost, most overwhelmed, those are the moments I look back on with the benefit of time and now realize the impact they had on my life.

“Life is short and the world / is at least half terrible [...] / though I keep this from my children. I am trying / to sell them the world” and “You could make this place beautiful.” (Maggie Smith, Good Bones)

I get goosebumps just thinking about it, in particular, I got actual chills when I read this the first time. There is something devastating and poignant in how this poem summarizes the despair and the hope I feel about the world every day. 

Honorable mentions go to the entire timshel passage from East of Eden and “and time yet for a hundred indecisions” from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

I feel like my entire writing process is Really Weird, but the weirdest thing I think I do is act out dialogue in the shower. I struggle with the beat of a conversation when I’m just typing, and find characters’ spoken voices come more naturally when I say them out loud, so I will have the conversations with myself, as the characters, over and over again, and just hope that I don’t forget the words while I blowdry my hair.

[missoblaine]

Tag Game!

Yay tag game! I was tagged by @evaofkonoha and I am tagging @shameless-fujoshi to do this (if you want to haha).

Are you named after anyone?

Nope! I like my name though 😊

What sports have you played?

If dancing counts as a sport then I danced for about fifteen years quite intensely! Otherwise, no. I dislike sports so much actually 😣 I used to pretend to be sick to get out of PE at school. I don't like the physicality and conflict and outside-ness of many sports. I am a squishy little indoors person!

Do you use sarcasm?

Yes! It is why writing in Sasuke's voice is easier for me than writing in Naruto's.

What is the first thing you notice about people?

Hmm, I don't meet new people often actually. I think in general, I am not very good at reading people and it takes me a while to properly make friends. I think both online and IRL, I notice someone's way of speaking/writing/communicating. Their tone and voice and word choice etc.

What's your eye colour?

Very dark brown.

Scary movies or happy endings?

I can't do scary movies eeek. Thrillers, I can do, and I enjoy watching people play scary games sometimes, but horror is too much for me. In general movies are kind of overwhelming for me, I don't watch many of them!

So by default, I guess I like happy endings? I do think for me to enjoy them they have to be purposeful and earned (not necessarily by the characters but by the story).

Any talent?

Writing! While it has ebbed and flowed in its presence over the course of my life, it has always been with me in some form and I am proud of how I have grown with it, especially in the last two years. I am a pretty fast reader as well so I guess that's another one?

What are your hobbies?

Writing, reading, board games, and occasionally crafting things (sewing, crochet, painting miniatures).

Do you have any pets?

My partner has a dog!

How tall are you?

155cm. I am pretty short lol.

Dream job?

I am honestly quite happy with my current job (board game adjacent, relatively not stressful, lets me play with spreadsheets lol). I think my dream job is just not working tbh or doing something just mentally stimulating enough but not stressful and getting paid well for it! 😅 Isn't that the dream?

I will say, I wouldn't want to do any of the creative hobbies I love dearly, especially writing, as a job as I strongly believe it would ruin my love for them.

My answer to this particular question got very long so the rest is under the cut if you are interested in my thoughts. Otherwise, if this is your off ramp - thank you for reading and thank you to @evaofkonoha again for tagging me 🥰

rambling (a.k.a. why i don't want to write as a job)

Even if I worked for myself and got to create the things I wanted, I don't believe I would enjoy it, perhaps simply because it would be a job and it would become something I had to do instead of chose to do. I also believe that whatever I created wouldn't feel truly mine. I think part of the joy of a hobby is getting to do it whenever, however, whyever you want - I value that freedom highly.

For example, if I were to write a novel, even if I wrote it for myself, I would need to, eventually, pitch it to agents/publishers etc and it would always be in the back of my mind that 'this needs to be something that an agent/publisher believes would sell'. Even if I wrote it exactly as I wanted, perhaps someone further down the publishing line would ask for changes to improve its commercial value because, hey, they have to make money too, no? (And perhaps this view is jaded from working in a retail/sales environment for a couple years but if anything, I am even more sure of it now.)

From my time in uni studying creative writing (in which we got some experience pitching short pieces/essays to journals/student publications), I saw the level of ambition needed to succeed in a career like this and I just…don't want that kind of stress to be tied to my finances and living situation. I don't want my ability to be creative (which can wax and wane with the moon, it feels) to be what my paycheck hinges on. Perhaps this is because my creativity is so personal and sacred to me - it is the channel via which my soul interacts with the world - but perhaps it is to everyone? Maybe I am simply very sensitive about it, as I am with many things.

Studying creative writing made me fall out of love with the craft for a couple years, constantly overthinking my words and weighing them against form, content, industry, moral and message. I distinctly remember writing an memoir/essay I was quite proud of part way through my third year (within which I was quite vulnerable about myself) and being disappointed with my final grade on it, as it was so detached from my own personal pride in it. (To be fair though, looking back, it was not as technically sound as I had believed it at the time.)

To be clear, it is not that I wish to create completely void of external input and influence, and I do understand the importance of assessment and external feedback when it comes to developing technical skill! But for the point where I am in my life now, where I have done some formal learning and am starting to realise the infinity and freedom of informal learning, I just think there is a sweet spot where the amount and type of external input/influence is nuturing and kind and motivating and authentic. Too little influence and it can feel like screaming into the void - no resonance. Too much and . . . well, you get the above experience, where it feels like the thing you created as well as the process of creation becomes no longer wholly yours.

For me and what I have learned thus far in my life, my writing is best as this weird wildspace. That's what works for me! And I share my writing online in the purest sense of that word - share - because I want to show this small community something that means something to me, with no kind of transaction behind it. It's just out there, and you're also out there, and if you stumble upon it (or go looking for it) I hope this thing that means something to me means something to you too. I hope it creates resonance with you in this incomprehensible vastness of life.

Um, yeah. That's cool to have that written out and articulated! Thanks for reading 😊

~13/03/2024

[cavalierious-whim]

Zhongli is terrible at Daddy Kink.

This was a sponsored prompt from my spreadsheet. If you'd like to sponsor a work, you can find the information here!

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Childe is in a playful mood which isn’t inherently unusual. 

He leans back in the bed with his legs spread, fingers tracing the length of his cock. He’s hard. Leaking. Aching. Zhongli watches from the edge of the bed where the mattress dips just slightly underneath his wet. 

“Like what you see?”

Zhongli huffs, offended, but his eyes are warm like honey, and humor dances in them. He’s in a good mood. Childe can play this to his advantage. He grinds the heel of his palm against his cock. They both watch it jerk under his touch. How precome drips from the tip in a tacky string against his stomach. 

If Childe didn’t know any better, Zhongli would eat him up, right then and there, his gaze is so intent.

“Are you just going to watch?”

“Just taking in the sight of you,” says Zhongli. He crawls over the bed slowly. Kisses Childe’s ankle, his calf, his knee, his thigh—and then skips over the best part, leaving Childe hanging.

“Oh, that’s cruel—”

“There’s nothing cruel about wanting to take my time with you.” 

A kiss against his abs. Zhongli swipes his tongue through the precome that pools there, humming softly at the taste, and Gods, he’s going to be the death of him. Unfair. Wicked and foul. Childe whines softly as Zhongli nuzzles his belly button, tongue tracing every curve as it follows.

Zhongli bites at a nipple, tugging the nub between too-sharp teeth. Childe gasps, arching in the bed—only for Zhongli to press him back down with impressive strength. 

That’s how it’ll be, then?

Childe can be a brat. He shoots Zhongli a sly grin, his mouth curled mulishly. “Taking it slow cause you’re an old lizard?” Zhongli snorts but says nothing, opting to kiss across the line of Childe’s collarbone instead. “Nothing? What’s a boy gotta do to get your attention?”

Zhongli slides his hand down Childe’s side, squeezing the sharp jut of his hip.

“Daddy?”

Zhongli freezes. Goes so still that Childe thinks he might’ve fucked this up. “Oh,” breathes Zhongli. He leans back, his gaze half-slitted. Zhongli isn’t stupid. He’s read the books, he knows Childe’s fantasies, and while he’s teased Childe about this in passing, they’ve never given it a spin.

“You want me to act like your father?” Zhongli’s voice is cool. Too calculated. Where’s that hitch of his breath, the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he watches Childe, ready to devour him alive?

What a tease. Childe’s gut burns at Zhongli’s pointed question, he sears at that weighted look directed at him. “I do think I called you Daddy, instead. Father is too—”

“Are you a good boy?” A simple question. Nearly undoes Childe. His veins burn hot like liquid fire. Zhongli nips at his neck, his fangs ghosting the tender skin there. Hovering. Waiting. He kisses him instead of biting, which pulls a frustrated groan from Childe’s throat. “I asked you a question, Ajax.”

“Yes,” rasps Childe. “Yes, yes.”

Zhongli chuckles under his breath and dips closer. Childe shudders at the wet breath on his ear. He moans at the soft purring that leaks from Zhongli’s mouth, rumbling from his throat. Fuck. Childe’s gone. Wasted. His dick is so hard it hurts, but he’s good, he’s good. He won’t touch. 

“Then,” whispers Zhongli into the shell of his ear, “why are you the Eleventh Harbinger and not the first?”

What? 

Childe’s cock flags immediately because what on earth? It’s hard not to laugh, especially when Zhongli keeps going. 

“Dead last,” he continues, the low timbre sinking right into Childe’s soul. “Do you think that’s impressive? I didn’t raise you to be so utterly substandard.”

Childe can’t help but wheeze. Laughter bubbles from his gut and he fucking loses it, leaving Zhongli to pull back, a frown etched across his face. “Archons, that look,” he says, laughing so hard that his gut hurts. “Zhongli, what are you doing?”

Zhongli, to his credit, looks utterly confused. 

“Is that your idea of a Daddy kink?”

“I’ve never been a father,” says Zhongli with all the seriousness of a grave. Childe only laughs harder. “Ajax.”

“Fuck, I should’ve known you’d take it a little too literally. Wait, wait, don’t leave—” Zhongli is already pulling away when Childe grabs his wrist. “I’m only teasing. It’s funny. Go on.”

“Not if you’re going to laugh at my expense.”

“I’ll stop.”

Zhongli doesn’t look convinced. “I find myself doubtful.”

“Hey,” says Childe, pulling him closer. “Honest to Celestia—”

“Don’t bring her name in here,” murmurs Zhongli.

“—I swear it to you, then; I’ll stop making fun of you.” Zhongli sighs, hiding his face in Childe’s neck. “I humbly lay myself out before you—”

“That’s equally terrible,” is Zhongli’s dry reply.

“And equally embarrassing.”

Zhongli huffs into his nape. “You aren’t embarrassed.” 

No, he isn’t, but that’s because so little causes Childe that sort of discomfort. At this point, Zhongli’s just about seen it all. 

Zhongli kisses the juncture where Childe’s neck meets his jaw. “You make me feel old at times,” he mutters against the skin there, nipping at it.

“You are old.” A pause. Childe sighs breathily, sinking into the sheets as Zhongli nibbles at him, sucking a possessive mark into his skin. “My old lizard.”

“If this is your way of getting me to try it again—”

“Come on.”

“It will be just as terrible.” It’s a promise. Zhongli is terrible at this sort of thing, eternally awkward and out of touch with the weirder things brought out in the bedroom. 

“Try me, Daddy.”

Zhongli groans and Childe isn’t sure if it's arousal or annoyance—but at least Zhongli’s cock is hard. Childe sees the bulge of it pressing against his trousers. Zhongli kisses the length of his neck before he says, “Your bank work—”

“My what?”

“—weeks behind. Dear Miss Katya was complaining over tea the other day.”

“Zhongli.”

“I also took a peek at your personal records—why haven’t you filed a proper IRA? Aren’t you thinking of your retirement?”

Childe’s red in the face, trying to hold it in. “Zhongli.” He has to be teasing him.

Zhongli’s gaze tips up as he drags down the length of him before settling between Childe’s thighs. Oh, yes. Teasing for sure. He wears a damnable smirk so rarely seen, and when it is, Childe is always a goner. “Zhongli?” he asks as he kisses Childe’s inner thigh.

“I’m—”

“I thought you were calling me something else? Are you no longer being good for me?”

Childe’s throat goes dry. So, maybe Zhongli isn’t so terrible at this, but then—

“I saw your score on the Conversational Liyuen Proficiency test. Abysmal. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Stop—stop—Zhongli, I can’t.” Childe’s going to bust a gut instead of a nut because this is the least sexy that Zhongli has ever been. 

Zhongli knows, laughing against the base of his cock. Childe sighs as he pets his hair. “I’m proud of you, though,” he says then, softer, lips to the sweaty crease of Childe’s leg where it meets his groin.

Oh. Childe swallows, his throat bobbing as the energy in the air changes. “What?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack.

Zhongli pauses, his gaze tipping back up, head tilted as he watches carefully. “I’m proud of you,” he repeats, every word dripping slowly from his mouth like molasses, every syllable said with perfected intent. Zhongli’s golden gaze never leaves him, not even when he mouths down the length of Childe’s cock, peppering it with kisses until it’s twitching against his lips.

“You try so hard and you’ve done so well. Perfect for me, always perfect for me.” 

Childe moans. He can’t help it. Zhongli licks a stripe along the length of his cock, tracing the vein that runs the side of it. “And this boy, here—” He pauses to weigh the heft of Childe’s erection in his hand. “Perfect for me too.”

It’s not a secret that he likes praise, but this is different. Zhongli treats him so delicately, stroking his length with a too-loose grip. He suckles at the tip, tonguing at the slit, lapping away the precome that drips. “Ajax,” he says sweetly and that just about does Childe in.

His hips buck, chasing friction, the heat of Zhongli’s mouth, the calluses of his palm, anything. “Zhongli—”

“No,” says Zhongli, nipping at the tip of his cock. “Only good boys get more. And what do good boys do?”

They beg. They beg. “Please,” keens Childe. “Please, please—”

“There’s a good boy,” murmurs Zhongli before taking Childe’s cock fully into his mouth. 

It’s too much. His mouth is hot and slick, and Zhongli sucks him down to the root, nose buried in the thatch of hair that dusts his groin. Zhongli moans. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks slowly, humming around Childe’s dick which is lodged as deep as it’ll go. 

“Daddy,” hisses Childe. He pulls at Zhongli’s hair, and Zhongli groans around him. “Daddy. I’m—oh, fuck. Oh—”

It’s that quick. Not even Zhongli’s terrible dirty talk could stave it off. The tight grip of Zhongli’s throat is too much to bear, and Childe spills right down it with a hoarse cry of that infernal word. This’ll haunt his dreams. This is a nightmare. 

Childe is sufficiently embarrassed. Truly fucking mortified.

Zhongli slides off of his cock with a wet sound. “Disappointing,” he says, frowning.

“I’m sorry, but what?”  Childe is anything but. He can barely string a coherent thought together, but he’s aware enough to know that.

Zhongli traces the shape of his softening cock. He knows a hundred ways to make Childe come in less than a minute, and sucking his cock right to the back of his throat is easily in the top three. It was a pointed attack. He knew Childe would lose.

“You can’t be serious,” continues Childe when Zhongli doesn’t elaborate.

Zhongli lifts his balls, digging his thumb into the soft skin underneath them. He drags that thumb down until he spreads his asscheeks to look at his prize. “Would you like Daddy to take care of you?” The word tumbles from his mouth like sin incarnate, hooded in the deep baritone of his lust. 

Childe’s brain cuts out. Zhongli nuzzles the back of his thigh and kisses it. “My darling boy, is that what you want?” he asks next, knowing that it’ll be Childe’s undoing.

“Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Please, fuck me—”

“Your damage output in the Spiral Abyss is startlingly low. I think some training is in order.”

“Zhongli!”

Zhongli laughs. Spreads his cheeks and licks across his hole, and laughs the entire damn time as he opens Childe up painstakingly slowly, torturing him with the world’s worst dirty talk. 

When he sinks into Childe’s ass, they both lose their words. The moment softens and though they still laugh, it’s with adoring affection blooming in their chests. “Baby boy,” whispers Zhongli into Childe’s ear on the first thrust.

“No, no—Archons, that’s worse. Just—”

“Ajax,” cuts in Zhongli with a grunt. “My perfect boy.”

Yes, yes, his perfect boy. 

When Zhongli says it this time it’s a prayer, a mantra, a hymn in their bedsheets; and suddenly, it doesn’t feel so silly anymore.

[aldbooks]

14 Elucien (Lucien finds out about Elain)

Angsty Prompts

Modern AU, let’s go. This one has a happy ending

---

“Hey, Fey,” Lucien answered his phone distractedly as he stared at the spreadsheet before him. “What’s up, I’m at work.”

“Lucien...”

At the tone of her voice, Lucien paused, his coffee mug lifted halfway to his mouth. A sense of foreboding crept up on him but he forcefully shoved it aside. There could be any number of reasons for that tone, he tried to tell himself. He was a liar.

"What is it Feyre?" he asked, trying to remain calm.

"I-" He heard his friend take a deep, shaking breath on the other end of the line. The knot of dread in his stomach tightened. "There's been an accident," she whispered.

The world stopped.

No.

No, he would not hear it. This was not happening.

Lucien was completely frozen in his seat, he wasn't even sure he was breathing. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could. His lungs seemed just as frozen as the rest of him, refusing to expand even to meet their own demand for oxygen.

"Elain's in the hospital," Feyre continued.

His grip on the mug in his hand slackened. He managed to catch it before it tumbled completely, but it still tipped enough to splash hot liquid in his lap. He barely noticed as he set it aside and hurriedly began shutting down his computer and gathering his things.

"Where is she?" he demanded. She told him. "I'm on my way."

He hung up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and marching out of his office and down the hall to the large corner office with the shiny name plate beside proudly announcing it as the residence of the company's CEO. Through the glass, he could see the man at the desk was alone, and not on the phone so he barged in without knocking.

Beron looked up at him, scowling from behind his computer screen. "What the hell do you think you're-"

"I'm leaving for the day," Lucien announced, not caring one wit he'd just interrupted the man who signed his paychecks. All he could think about at the moment was getting to the hospital. "My sister-in-law just called, my wife's been in an accident, she's been taken to the hospital."

The man's expression did not change. "Well I hardly see how that matters. It's not as though you can do anything for her." He looked back at his computer screen in a clear dismissal. "You'll finish out the rest of the day, or you'll pack your things."

Lucien's blood boiled. His boss had always been a prick, and Lucien had always just put up with it, usually taking his insults and in stride, but today, he didn't give a damn anymore. "Fuck you, Beron."

This got the man's attention. His head snapped up again looking vaguely startled and utterly affronted. Very quickly that expression turned to rage, his eyes darkening menacingly and color rising to his cheeks. Again, Lucien spoke over him.

"Fire me if you want, I don't give a damn anymore. You've always been a miserable asshole to work for. My wife needs me and I'm going. No job is worth that."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the office, ignoring the man's outraged shouts that followed him out the door.

All along the hallway, curious faces poked out of cubicles and office doors, wondering what the racket was about. When Eris, his prick of a boss's son, and half brother saw him with his bag in hand he grinned until he noticed Lucien's expression.

Eris stepped out his office into the hall, blocking Lucien's path. "What happened?"

"Feyre called. Elain's in hospital."

Eris' eyes widened slightly. "Shit. Hang on, I'm coming with you. I'll drive."

"I don't need a chauffeur," Lucien growled. "I need to get to my wife as soon as possible."

"And you will," Eris assured him, reemerging moment later, keys in hand. He quickly locked his door then placed a hand on Lucien's back and steered him down the hall. "But you shouldn't be driving right now-" he held up a hand when Lucien started to argue. "You're angry and worried and if you try to drive without a clear head you'll wind up doing something stupid. You'll be no use to her if you wind up in hospital beside her after your own accident."

Lucien sighed, knowing there was little use in arguing. He allowed himself to be led to his brother's flashy sports car parked in one of the labeled spots near the doors reserved for company officers and slunk into the low bucket seat.

The entire ride to the hospital, he stared out the window, darkness threatening the edges of his mind as he considered all the terrible possibilities of what might have happened to Elain and what state he might find her in when he arrived. He then appreciated his brother's wisdom in not allowing him to drive himself.

Eris tried to distract him after few minutes, asking what had happened in his father's office. "I heard him shouting all the way down the hall."

Father and son held corner offices on opposite sides of the building for good reason.

"I told him I was leaving and he tried to tell me he saw no reason for me to as there was 'nothing I could do for her anyway'."

Eris practically snarled. "Bastard. He was already awful when he was still married to mom but he's been practically unbearable since the divorce. And it's been almost thirty years."

"I'm surprised he hired me at all," Lucien said, looking back out the window. "He's clearly never liked me, and I suppose now he finally has reason to be rid of me. Not that I needed the job."

His own father was a very wealthy man in his own right and had generously provided Lucien with a very sizable trust. Neither he nor his mother had been thrilled when he'd gone to work for Vanserra Inc, but they were one of the premiere financial companies in the country and he was not the sort to live an idle, privileged life. He liked the work.

Eris winced, his expression slightly guilty. Lucien noticed, catching it from the corner of his eyes. He turned back to his brother and narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Eris scratched the back of his neck. "Technically, he didn't hire you. I did."

Lucien huffed laugh. He shouldn't have been surprised. While the rest of Beron's children utterly despised Lucien for 'taking their mother away' as though it were his fault she'd had and affair and then left Beron for his father, Eris had always tried to foster a relationship with him. It had been rocky at first, but over the years, they'd grown- if not close, then at least fond of each other.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know." Eris shrugged. "Don't let it go to your head. I'm the Vice President, I don't make hiring decisions based on sentimentality or narcissism. My brothers do not work for me for a reason. You were the best candidate we interviewed. I wasn't going to let the talent go to waste. I tried to keep you and Beron out of each other's paths as much as possible but he's a micro managing bastard. I won't blame you if you if you want to go but... I'd like you to stay."

"I'll think about it," Lucien muttered, turning back to the window as they arrived at the hospital. Eris found a spot near the front of the emergency entrance and whipped into it, earning several disgruntled honks and shouts from other visitors who'd been moving through the lot and Lucien was out of his seat before the engine had stopped rumbling.

He practically sprinted to the doors, Eris strolling sedately behind him, and went straight to the front desk where a harried nurse sat, checking patients in.

"I'm looking for my wife, Elain Day-"

"Lucien!" He turned at the sound of Feyre's voice. She barreled into him, her husband, Rhysand following behind her. He watched his wife worriedly, but kept his distance from Eris who now stood behind them.

Lucien wrapped his friend up in a tight hug, catching sight of her other sister, Nesta and her husband, pacing the waiting room behind them.

He pulled back, holding Feyre by the shoulders.

"Thank goodness you're here," Feyre said tearily, wiping at her face.

"What happened?"

"She was on her way home from the school when she was t-boned by a truck who ran a red-light," Rhysand answered.

Lucien swore violently and Eris laid a hand on his shoulder before he could get too worked up. "Where is she now?"

"Surgery," Rhysand answered again as his wife returned to his side, curling her arms around his waist. "We don't know much else."

"Come," Feyre reached out, taking his hand and he once again allowed himself to be led to the waiting area.

---

The wait seemed to last an eternity.

By the time someone came out to tell them Elain was out of surgery and would be moved to a room once she was out of recovery, it was dark outside the windows. Not that that meant much. They were deep into Autumn now and the days had been growing shorter for weeks.

It was another agonizing hour before they were allowed to see her. Eris held Lucien back while they allowed her sisters to go in first. Lucien paced anxiously in the hall while Eris, the bastard, leaned against the wall, watching him, looking unconcerned.

"She's fine," his brother assured him. "The doctor said she'll make a full recovery."

Lucien blew a heavy breath through his lips. He hadn't heard much else the doctor had said beyond those words, relief practically making him faint dead away, though he'd thought he'd caught the words broken ribs, shattered collarbone, punctured lung, and concussion. She would make a full recovery, yes, but it would be painful.

He heard the muttered curses of the nurses who swerved around him as they moved between rooms, checking on patients. He was in the way, he knew, but there was too much nervous energy fizzing through his body to remain still.

Finally, Feyre, Nesta, and their husbands left the room. Nesta walked stoically as ever beside her massive brute of husband, and Rhys cradled Feyre tenderly against his side as she wiped tears from her eyes and gave him a shaky smile.

"She's awake," she said. Lucien didn't wait to hear more as he pushed past her into the room.

For a moment, he froze in the doorway, staring at his wife. She looked so small and frail in that bed covered in blankets and attached to all sorts of tubes and wires.

Her beautiful face was marred by ugly, dark bruises around her eyes and nose where she'd probably smashed her face against the air bag, and a large gash had been stitched up across her forehead, another on her cheek along with several smaller cuts. Gods. The window must have shattered.

He swallowed hard and forced his feet to move, falling into the chair by her side as she blinked her eyes open to smile tiredly at him. When he finally saw those familiar chocolate eyes, he was so dizzy with relief, he thought he'd be sick.

He reached one hand out to tuck her hair behind her ear while the other took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Hello darling."

Her smile widened. "My sunshine," she sighed. Lucien felt tears spring to his eyes and pressed his lips more firmly against her fingers.

"It's good to see you, love," he said. "You had me worried."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't ever do that again."

A laugh wheezed out of her and she raised her other hand to her forehead, saluting him. Several wires moved with her. "Yes, sir."

"Smartass," he grumbled affectionately.

"You love me."

"I do," he grinned, stroking her cheek. "Gods help me."

She swatted him and he laughed, leaning forward to kiss her carefully, mindful of her probably broken nose.

The door opened behind him and Eris slipped into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed, hands tucked in his pockets. Amber eyes slid over her assessingly and then he said, "You look terrible."

Elain barked a laugh. "Fuck you, Eris."

A smirk touched his brother's lips. "Good to see you're still with us, kid," he winked and turned to Lucien. "I'm heading back to the office, I'll have someone bring your car."

Lucien didn't leave his wife's side but turned to his brother. "Thank you," he said quietly. He didn't need to say what for. For looking after him, for keeping him from losing his mind while he waited, for always being there, even when he didn't ask.

Eris held his gaze for a moment then nodded and left.

Lucien turned back to Elain, bending his head close to hers as he continued stroking her hair and murmuring sweet nothings while she clutched his hand and smiled at him.

A few minutes later a nurse came in to check her vitals and ask if she was in any pain. A doctor followed not long after, carrying her chart and glancing over it before smiling at them.

"Good news," she said. "Your wife and baby are both doing just fine."

Lucien froze, feeling the color draining from his face. Beside him, he heard Elain suck in a sharp breath and then groan in pain. The doctor's eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I thought you knew!"

Lucien whipped his head back around to stare at his wife who smiled sheepishly. "It was supposed to be a surprise. I was actually headed to the store to get you card."

Lucien stared at her for a moment, blinking hard, then burst out laughing. Loud, joyous, laughter as he peppered her hand with kisses. "You beautiful, vexing minx."

Elain grinned. "You're happy then?"

"Of course I'm happy," he gave her an incredulous look. "We're having a baby. Mom's going to burst when she hears." He turned to the doctor who was watching them with a faint smile. "How far along is she?"

"I'd guess about 8 weeks?" she glanced questioningly at Elain who nodded. "Still fairly early, so we'll be monitoring her condition throughout her recovery but, as of now, all looks well."

Husband and wife grinned giddily at each other and the doctor quickly excused herself. Lucien's hand slid over the blankets to lay over her still flat belly, staring wondrously at her.

"I'm going to be a father," he said hoarsely, tears rising to his eyes again.

Elain just smiled, a faintly dreamy look on her face. She tried to tug him into the bed with her but it was far too small and he did not want to aggravate her injuries. "You just had surgery!" he protested even as she pouted. He remained by her side for the rest of the night until she fell asleep, holding her hand and talking quietly. His other hand, never left her belly.