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queenofbaws · 9 months ago

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these weeks just...just keep comin, huh??? like they don't stop or something ;P

another quick update from queenie hq: things are going to c o n t i n u e to be sporadic and strange on my end for the next couple weeks. i'm going to be hosting family, again, until roughly the end of the month, so alas, i'm not anticipating a ton of writing time. or relaxing time. or time where i'm not gritting my jaw and screaming internally. SUCH IS LIFE!

however, i'm totally psyched to report i fiiinally got to cross one long-running wip off my list (the tale(s) of the champion), and oooh the feeling of seeing a complete checkmark for that baby over on ao3 is fueling the fire for me to wrap some others up too ;P my plan for the time being is still to try and get out a chapter or two of like wringing blood in the near future, but i'm also going to be working on finally wrapping of mummy men & bathtub soup so i can open the door for other CREEPs projects. we shall see.

as always, i've thrown some snippets under the cut - strictly supermassive projects this time, hehe - and i hope you're all doing well <3

of mummy men & bathtub soup

“Uh huh. Look. I’m sure you guys have something hilarious planned for me tonight. Another A+ jumpscare courtesy of Washington Pictures, Inc. And I’m also sure that the more of this crap you get me to gobble up, the antsier all your cloak and daggers bullshit makes me, the funnier it’ll be when I fall into a swoon or whatever, but it’s not happening. Am I the brightest bulb in the lamp? No! I’m not! Am I the sort of moron who gets bit by a dog and tries to pet it a second time? Also no!”

Sam had barely started shaking her head when Fliss joined them, an unspoken question in her eyes. She latched onto her instead. “People keep talking about last night. I've heard someone mention weird stuff happening on at least three separate occasions already, so if anyone could give me just a little context, that would be so great.”

“Weird is…one way to put it,” Fliss said. “It’s not the word I would’ve picked. Freakish, maybe. Terrifying, definitely. It must’ve taken you guys forever to set that up! It was—”

“Oh no,” she breathed, dropping her head into her hands. Conrad almost expected her to sink into a nearby chair or go full-on crisscross-applesauce on the floor, so intense was her reaction. She didn’t: If anything, she set her shoulders and squared herself off, assuming the air of a battle-hardened soldier. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Listen to me. I know you think this is about you because you think everything’s about you, but I am telling you, it's not."

upcoming CREEPs project with a title that 100% spoils ALL the surprise of it and thus will not yet be included asdlkfjalskjfklsjdf

“Any word from our housetergeist?”

“Uh, not unless they suddenly share yours and Josh’s love of absolutely inscrutable inside jokes,” Ashley called back, equal measures relieved and disappointed to see the fridge decorated with the same message the guys had put up before their trip: DO THE BARTMAN. Rolling her eyes, she pulled the door open and rummaged around, making a happy little sound when she spotted what she’d wanted. “Hey,” she called again, “are you gonna be upset with me if I drink the last cream soda?”

“Josh might be!”

“I wasn’t asking about Josh, you dip! I was asking about you!”

“Oh. Then, yeah, heartbroken. I-I-I don’t know how I’ll survive! I might have to reassess this whole relationship thing. Honestly, I can’t believe you’d do something as heinous as drink the last cream soda! I thought I meant something to you!”

She grabbed the can and shut the door, groaning, “Ha ha,” before stopping cold.

The fridge magnets had moved.

a fic that started as a joke post but now has almost 40k words written for it

“Hey,” he said, giving the grate a hard shake. They all winced, pulling even farther away until they pretty much fell on top of each other. “Chill. They’re fuckin’ dead. Shit’s fine. Don’t be weird about it.”

Good deed done, he turned back around to rejoin the guys, and—fuck.

Right away, Bobby knew he didn’t like the way Chris was sizing them up. He didn’t know why he didn’t like it, he just knew it spelled trouble, one way or another.

Jack seemed to agree with him. “No,” he said long before Chris even opened his mouth. “Whatever it is you’re brewing in that snowglobe you call a skull, quit while you’re ahead. Or while you still have a head.”

“Your plan didn’t work.” For someone who usually stayed at base during their hunts on account of ‘not wanting to die the world’s stupidest death,’ Chris sure was sticking his finger awfully close to Jack’s face. That was biting range. And Jack could move quick when he wanted to. “Your plan worked even less,” he continued, moving that finger to Travis’s face instead, and Jesus Christ, that was worse!

Travis didn’t answer him. Not at first. He sucked his teeth, though. Stared at Chris’s finger. Probably thought about breaking it off if he didn’t get it out of his face. “If you don’t get that outta my face, I will break it off, so help me God.”

Yeah. Checked out.

#queenie writes supermassive #ya gurl is already exhausted and the fam hasn't even gotten here yet x_x #the past two weeks have been. so much funeral planning and let me tell you. i am not. looking forward. to the day itself lmfao #it's been. such a time over here y'all.#let me go back to sitting at the kids table i fucking hate being one of the grownups in charge of shit lmaoooooooooooooo

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guesst · 2 years ago

Note

❔❔❔❔❔❔

ask game ❔choose a random wip and talk about it (x6)

well if you insist on 6 whole wips heeheehee

okay first off

because we both like dc i have one (1) single dc wip which is a fairytale au and i cooked it up it quite a while ago with [redacted] in eeby deeby. i started writing it somewhere *rummages in folder* well it’s been quite a while, but i like it a lot still because it ended up fusing a bunch of fairytales together. for example, bruce is the beast from beauty and the beast, dick is snow white — although obviously with no romance: instead it’s his arriving at the ‘beast’s’ house for shelter from the evil huntsman (that guy who killed his parents) and i was planning on some sort of sleeping beauty-goldilocks fusion for jason where he joins bruce and co. just by breaking in and finding the perfect lunch n bed and later falls under a sleeping curse. with jason it also ties in a lot with tim because tim plays a rapunzel in this au — guarded by the same witch that puts the sleeping curse on jason for breaking into his tower. as you can see there is a trend of jason breaking into places and witches putting curses on people. incidentally talia is also a witch and damian is red riding hood. if i did decide to put duke in — though i dont know about him much, so it might be hard — i’d say maybe he’s the goose girl? (because of the ‘we are robin’ thing) or maybe cinderella? it would be interesting either way. anyway thats about the extent of my plan, though ive written a lot less (its just bruces origin story and dick arriving at bruce’s house :p)

here’s a snippet to get you through the rest of this rant

secondly

PURSON FIC PURSON FIC PURSON FIC

im not going to spend a lot of time talking about this one. im pretty sure it’s a character fic. i just spend a lot of time trying to figure out how purson thinks and acts and feels especially in the earlier arcs of iruma. somehow i feel like there’s not enough knowledge in my brain of him and so it feels like he’s too serious and its fun trying to balance his snark and aversion to attention. this wip’s meant to span the manga up until the music festival arc (so, until probably season 4 of iruma?) and yet i havent figured out what im going to write about the harvest festival. on the other hand i started this fic purely because i wanted a reason to write purson making friends with a caretaker that lets him onto the roof so he can become pixie. caretaker has become an oc with a whole backstory, which will probably mever show up in canon, but im still attached to her. yeah

and THIRDLY

iruma again! it’s an amnesia fic!

this one is for panda’s prompt for an ask game which they sent in last year. as you can tell, it is taking a long time. however, i love it a lot because i get to write iruma pre-canon-development (considering he hasnt got any of his memories!!) interacting with azz and clara who are simultaneously attempting to seem like normal humans, and have become his coworkers somehow, and who keep making ‘secretive’ comments about iruma which seem really suspicious to iruma because he keeps hearing them out of context. i have absolutely no clue how to end it, but it’s a lot of fun :D

FOURTH

these speeches are getting shorter and shorter arent they. hm.

OK WHATEVER this one’s iruma again (promise its the last one) nd this time it’s a rarepair that afaik nobody has written! although it’s platomci and not romantic. anyway it’s a childhood friends au with kiriwo amy and urara valac and kiriwo gets to become friends with urara valac because they run into each other a lot — i havent written much for it, again, but i did try outlining and formatting the outline slightly differently and it’s worked pretty well so far, actually! i think the part im most looking forward to writing is the part where kiriwo realises he’s properly stuck with the valacs, and that he doesnt actually care, nor does he really want to see them despair properly. so he grows pretty differently to canon, because canonically, afaik kiriwo’s only proper friend was the one childhood friend whise bracelet he destroys and after that its just demons who dont give a shit because hes too weak. so it’s fun exploring how that would change if he had people like the valacs who are strange and different, and also really caring.

hhhh next is number 5

number five isnt a fic it’s the choose your own adventure ive rambled about a few times. im terms of the routes the mc could take ive changed up the dragons route and also added one called the bakery route, which ive also been thinking of taking back out. let me backtrack a little in case you forgot. the premise is that mc is a kid and has been prophesised to defeat the great dragon. however when the great dragon rises mc is still a little Kid. now the player can make one of two choices: choose to escape this situation (which lends itself to human and orc found families) or choose to fight the dragon (high risk of death but there is a chance you can make friends woth the dragon) . so i added two new characters that might be p important in the dragon route: bel and caelan! bel short for belesis. he’s mc’s village friend and caelan is his sister and they’re both a bit older and more streetwise than mc. and also! i changed up the setting a little bit so it’s hotter and more deserty. when mc discovers the Forest where the great dragon lives they are going to be very shocked at the Wet

FINALLY NUMBER 6 LAST ONE

league theatre troupe au. this is an imaginary wip but its so stupid funny i want to write it so bad. i am planning to when i get the time also do not fear. if u didnt read the conversation it’s that shigaraki talks like shakespeare because afo lived longer than everyone thought (like, since the middle ages) and when he got his face pumched in his brain reverted to shakespeare talk. now when shigaraki got kidnapped by afo at a young age he also started speaking liek afo. this spreads to the league of villaims. everyone now thinks the lov is a theatre troupe and applauds them whenever they appear. they are legally licensed to use quirks in public because everyome thinks they are performing. stain is a big fan and so is present mic. all might asks for shiggy’s autograph at one point. shiggy calls him a knave.

#ask game #a wild blou has appeared #i had sm fun ty blou #yellow writes #m!ik #bnha

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klinefelterrible · 2 months ago

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sooo I’m doing it for @k-kizkhalifa :} Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

There are times when I daydream a lot about a certain idea, like for example about the one about pairing Ron with Blaise, but mostly it’s just a Boom! and if I don’t write it now, it’s dead and gone.

Where do you get your fic ideas?

I imagine my (as in “original but in my way” or headcanonly or au) characters during certain activities (mostly: fucking) and I add something or someone extra, or I set the scene right before or after - as it comes to me.

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?

I rarely have a big idea that is different than a shortie I am writing or wrote already, but in my head it’s like once I say it, it’s done and gone - so sharing is equal to abandoning it most likely forever

How do you choose which fics to write?

Since I don’t understand the question really I will try answering how I feel it: I choose just by how I feel about right now. When I think of Eomer, I write about Eomer. As simple as that.

How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

GURL YOU NOT READY!

I have many wips, mostly of HP wizarding world, and probably sometime soon I will release another chapter of two halves of Draco’s broken wand and my favourite pairing there is Draco/Bill Weasley and Fred/George/Hermione and since it’s me, it’s going to be juicy as fuck. Literally.

What’s the last line you wrote?

“He’s a cuckoo”

Post a snippet from a wip.

Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Draco is being blackmailed and fucked by Bill Weasley

Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?

Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

M u l t i p l e

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

I truly have no idea what I’m doing

Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

It depends. For Lucy I invented a whole new interest and branch of magical creatures for Lucius to be interested in and for the moment I was even sad that I am doing all this work to finish it with some porn scene.

Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

Rarely as I am bilingual and most of the music I listen to is English so I get distracted very easily

What is your favorite location and position to write in?

Any. Sometimes I park my car on my driveway and just START WRITING

What’s your favorite time to write?

Any. No particular favourite time. But I don’t like meal time to use on writing if I really must differentiate between this or that

Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?

99% phone.

Do you have a writing routine?

I barely have any routines!

Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

Research yes, sometimes a lot! But for a fic? They don’t require much researching… maybe just checking if I remember something correctly or not.

Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters?

I like creating OCs based on characters from other fiction and I am not ashamed at all.

Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

Asking that a guy who writes hardcore gay porn from Wizarding World…

Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

Why not both at once?

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

I hate titling!

Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

I never know how to end stuff. Ever. Anything. I have to force myself to shut the fuck up.

How do you choose whose POV to write in?

I don’t like POVs

What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

The part when I am just a finger that clicks and my subconsciousness does everything else.

What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

Making sure it all makes sense! Fuck. That!

What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

Area of writing? As in I AM A DIALOGUE MASTER and a little bitch for remembering what the fuck did I start with

What area of writing do you want to improve in?

I won’t improve in remembering so maybe I can start making sense more…?

What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

I can make literally anything about gay men crossdressing or women wearing high heels and sometimes I can even make them sassy. I am not proud of myself at all so whatever

How much do you edit your fics? Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

Wips are being edited hard, especially longshots. I write, I stop, I edit two weeks later, I write and so on and it all depends on my mood.

Do you use a beta reader/editor?

Only for bigger or more serious projects and even then extremely rarely because I don’t know anyone that committed to my writing or weird enough and with so much free time

Do you take fic requests? Why or why not?

I WOULD TAKE REQUESTS ANYTIME BUT BEAR IN MIND THAT I AM NOT VERY GOOD AND YOU WILL SUFFER A LOT OF GAYNESS AND WEIRD SEX IN THEM, hit me up only if you’re ready for some hardcore porn or smut or sass

Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most?

I never think of that

How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?

Barely anything other than sass and heels and my own stupidity

What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

I am currently a fan of my short incorrect quotes, it’s my most recent and most read work on ao3.

What fic are you proudest of?

Two Halves of Draco’s broken wand maybe?

What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

WHAT IS WIP IS A WIP BECAUSE IT IS HARD FOR SOME REASON

What is your most self-indulgent posted story?

Everyone would want a friend like you

What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

all of them :>

What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?

I honestly have no clue!

Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?

From a fic? I enjoy writing young Narcissa, but frankly speaking I loved writing young Lucius and adult Draco.

What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?

I hate titling! Next question!

Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

Next question!

What is your favorite genre to write?

Genre… as in dialogue-based fantasy weirdness?

What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?

PORN

If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?

one type as in the one where guys that canonically don’t fuck all of the sudden do?

Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

naaah

Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

my most favourite of all times character is Sam Vimes but I don’t want to write ff about him really that much

What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

oh geez if you really need to think of me as a writer, please don’t read my fanfics EVER, I am writing them for fun and for fun only

How would you describe your writing style?

Funny, weird and sometimes even full of meaningful connections between the characters

Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?

I try to be as good as my favourite writers!

What’s the average word count of your fics?

as me if I care about the numbers again and I will start telling random things

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

maybe… blow jobs? High heels?

What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics?

Harry/Draco!

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

well yeah, blowjobs, denial, high heels, netorare, crossdressing, getting convinced, girls knowing and getting what they want… stuff like that

Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?

If I had, they’d be done already

How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

I have no idea. Next!

Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

No idea. Next!

Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges? If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?

not yet! I plan on getting at drarry in january 2025!

Arethere any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

The only fics that ever influenced me to write anyhow were Guarding Dark and some other fic about Sphene/Zeiat from but it was about writing more, not how

What are your favorite fics at the moment?

previously mentioned Guarding Dark, about death of Sam Vimes and dwarvish mine sign that happened afterwards. A very good fic, really a small treasure.

Are you subscribed to any writers on AO3?

no… I am a terrible subscription reader, I never have time and I always postpone to the point I hate myself

Do you spend more time reading or writing?

lately writing, but it’s a wave

What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

that someone read my book/story/fic and loved it or that it resonated with them somehow

What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?

that it is funny I guess

Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

yeah all the shorties that got little to no hearts on tumblr, it’s always that longer one that someone didn’t read whole I presume… if it’s long I had an idea! Not always a good one, but long idea anyway

Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

yeah my collection of those shortest fics is currently my most read anything on ao3 like wtf

How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?

there is no external pressure but internally I am in a constant state of chaos so I really have no idea what I’m doing. Sometimes I feel pressure, sometimes I don’t.

Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

are you kidding me? It makes me happy, it makes other people happy and it’s an act of creation so naturally I enjoy that. Also that bitch jkr did nothing to make them more interesting so I had to make a stand for them

What motivates you during the writing process?

a thought that “this will be fun”

Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

just write anytime you feel like writing, if you don’t have an idea for a name or some other detail, simply put [name] or [detail] and continue and it will clarify later if the character is Clark Bones, an architect who likes tomatoes or a Roan Desmond Ruttington, a gardener who killed his mother’s lover when he was twelve and noone ever found out; never let yourself stumble on some minor details and change major things AFTER you write an entire chapters or bigger parts, really, you will thank me later. Also if you write sex, please please please remember that fucking is a machine-like activity and courting and talking about it must be witty, with a good taste and if not that, at least dont be gross and remember that there is nothing less fun than gross AND boring sex scenes.

Thank you, Kiz!

Fanfiction Writing Asks

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Where do you get your fic ideas?

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?

How do you choose which fics to write?

How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

What’s the last line you wrote?

Post a snippet from a wip.

Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?

Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

What is your favorite location and position to write in?

What’s your favorite time to write?

Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?

Do you have a writing routine?

Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters?

Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

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

Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

How do you choose whose POV to write in?

What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

What area of writing do you want to improve in?

What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

How much do you edit your fics? Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

Do you use a beta reader/editor?

Do you take fic requests? Why or why not?

Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most?

How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?

What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

What fic are you proudest of?

What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

What is your most self-indulgent posted story?

What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?

Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?

What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?

Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

What is your favorite genre to write?

What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?

If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

How would you describe your writing style?

Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?

What’s the average word count of your fics?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics?

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?

How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges? If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?

In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?

In [insert fic], what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

In [insert fic], is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included? Why did it get cut?

What was the hardest part of writing [insert fic]?

If you rewrote [insert fic] now, would you change anything?

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would happen in it?

What’s a fun fact about [insert fic]?

If a fic was titled [insert made up title], what would this story be about/how would you write it?

Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

What are your favorite fics at the moment?

Are you subscribed to any writers on AO3?

Do you spend more time reading or writing?

What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?

Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?

Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

What motivates you during the writing process?

Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!

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kuiilandtorch · 1 year ago

Note

For the Author Commentary, a few snippets, all from A different kind of blood! (One from each chapter instead of a huge slug :P)

ch 1 Finishing his ministrations, Luke wiped the sticky, pungent residue of bacta from his hands and stowed the supplies back into the medkit. Placing it back into his bag, he pulled out the canteen of water and considered how to compose his next offer, since all he had to go on were assumptions drawn from Grogu’s memories and the context of their parting on the cruiser. In all of Grogu’s experiences, at least the ones he’d imparted to Luke, the Mandalorian had always worn his helmet, even on occasions where other parts of his armor were removed. The fact that Grogu had asked to see his father’s face before leaving with Luke meant that he had never seen it. The Mandalorian’s decision to grant his son’s request had likely been as sacrificial as his choice to surrender him to Luke. Just for once…let me look on you with my own eyes. And Luke hadn’t turned away from it then, too caught up in his own memories and fighting to wrestle them under control, lest he show weakness at a crucial moment. ch 2 He’d promised Grogu he’d see him again, and while knowing it was at best a placating lie to comfort the child, perhaps one he’d forget if enough time passed, Din did not give his word lightly. That was one thread he could grasp. He’d thrown away his honor for the life of his foundling, and no matter how deeply the Creed was etched into his mind and spirit, somehow he could not imagine a universe in which it mattered more than that. ch 3 Grogu squealed with glee and made grabby hands for the canister, and Luke sighed in amusement. “I guess Yoda didn’t have bad taste because he lived in a swamp, he just had bad taste.” That you share, kiddo, he thought, but charitably kept that to himself. He supposed he was one to talk — he thought womp rat tasted just fine in Aunt Beru’s stew, but he knew people outside Tatooine would be disgusted. “We should probably take this outside so we don’t stink it up in here.” He could see now, peering down into the canister, that it held some kind of fermented fish, which explained the intense odor. Sitting out on the walkway, Luke settled for some more of his own jerky, though the reeking fish had stolen any appetite he might have had. He only kept up appearances so that Grogu wouldn’t be distracted from enjoying his meal. The child tucked into the canister with gusto, digging his claws into the fishmeal, and Luke hoped he wouldn’t get it onto his smock, though he knew he probably wouldn’t be that lucky. Unless Luke successfully managed to clean him up in whatever facilities were available in the room given to them, Din was going to have a very noxious son on his hands. “Did you know I went nineteen years without ever tasting fish?” Luke said, just to make idle conversation. “The first time I ever tried some, I couldn’t get enough. It was like the first time I’d seen rain and puddles of water after growing up in the desert where there was nothing but sand everywhere.”

OK- *rolling up sleeves*

Ch. 1: I will forever foam at the mouth at all the missed opportunities in the S2 finale, and the fact that we have to imply them ourselves. Like, don't even think about the crack shipping for a second, THEY MADE MR. STAR WAR HIMSELF STAND IN FRONT OF A GUY TAKING HIS HELMET OFF FOR HIS KID, SHARING THIS BLATANTLY EMOTIONAL MOMENT, AND YOU EXPECT ME TO BUY THAT HE TOOK THAT WITH A DEAD-INSIDE STRAIGHT CGI FACE?????????

That was the biggest, most painfully obvious parallel and all jokes aside, it would not have stolen the thunder from Din and Grogu connecting and it would have only enriched the moment to take a second to show Luke's facade cracking to show the haunted, bittersweet joy and grief you know he had to have been feeling witnessing this. No matter how many versions of this scene I rewrite into different WIPs, I always have to include this framing because it's essential and inescapable to me. Luke survived and the galaxy was saved because his father ultimately chose selfless love, and he saw that beauty again; he was inadvertently included in this extremely intimate, powerful moment and it's such a profound honor. And he had to hold himself together because he knew this guy giving up his kid was devastated enough, he didn't need the stranger he was trusting with Grogu to fall apart too. (At least, that's what he tells himself.)

That's really the driving motivation Luke has to do what he does for Din in this story - yes, he wants to be a compassionate Jedi, but like his father, Luke holds strong loyalty and love for specific people, and while he wouldn't or doesn't want to name it as such at this time, Luke already loves this man on a soul-deep level for being a selfless father to this traumatized child, even if he knows nothing about him, and if he can show kindness to him in any small way, he'll do it. He wants Din to feel appreciated for everything he had to go through and give up.

Ch. 2: ok here's the thing-

I get the face-value notion that when Din said those words, he really was determined to see Grogu again. For me personally, I think something very very important about the S2 finale - removed from anything that came afterwards - is viewing it through the lens of Din and Grogu mutually agreeing they need to separate for their own good, no matter how painful it is. Yes, we see Grogu being sad and clinging to Din's leg, but he's a kid, it's understandable, yet he's showing great maturity in being willing and ready to leave with the Jedi. He's the one who urges Din to let in whoever's on the other side of the blast doors. He's the one who mentally informs Luke that he wants Din's permission, not that he's resisting departure. And as badly as Din's heart is breaking, I think the pragmatist in him would be accepting the fact that this was likely the last time he'd ever see Grogu. He would at least be preparing himself for that. It was literally his quest: return the kid to his "kind," and then it's over.

Din is absolutely a man of honor who does his best to keep his word, and if somehow, some way later on he'd get the chance to reunite with Grogu, he wouldn't turn away from it. But I took the view that Din said that more as a reassurance to help Grogu feel better about leaving than anything else. That moment was about Grogu, that was the entire reason for him putting the final nail in the coffin of his creed and taking his helmet off right there, to grant the kid a parting gift of love and respect for his wish. Din realized and accepted that he loved Grogu more than his own soul, regardless of the fact that his own creed does hold children in the utmost importance. If he saw any contradiction in his principles, he was going to fall on the side of preserving an innocent life no matter what the cost, fuck himself and everything else.

But that's why Din was crying in that scene. He felt this was goodbye. He'd fulfilled his obligation, and it was tearing him apart, but this was what needed to happen, this was what was best for Grogu. The kid was still so little; he thought maybe, eventually, if he was content wherever he was, Din would just fade to a blip in his life and Grogu would move on to better things, and that would have to be okay.

The other parallel I don't see talked about nearly as much in this scene is that Din is Shmi Skywalker. Din is ripping his heart out of his chest and handing it over to a Jedi, and being as brave and reassuring as possible to his son to see him walk towards a more promising future, away from strife and misery.

Ch. 3: I COULDN'T NOT GIVE MANDALORIANS SPACE SURSTRÖMMING >:D

And look, for the record, I fall squarely in the "Luke is domestic enough to be functional in a rural capacity because you can't exist on a farm and not know basic useful life skills along with farm chores" camp. No, he's no chef, but he can skin and dress a varmint like nobody's business and make a decent stew and cheese because he wants to keep his aunt's memory alive. No, he's not much of a fashionista and he couldn't make couture, but he sure as fuck knows how to mend shit to keep it going and sew some basic patterns. He's fond of his fair share of pickled and fermented and dried and heavily spiced foods from back home, but nothing on Tatooine can touch Mando space surströmming, that's for sure. XD

I love to showcase Luke idly telling Grogu silly anecdotes about himself and trying to inject some fun into Jedi teaching because he just wants to make this kid happy, and it buoys him to see Grogu being happy at whatever, even if it's super stinky fish.

#i am squishing your cheeks very affectionately #asks #my fics #luke skywalker #din djarin #grogu #star wars

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the-stray-storyteller · 2 years ago

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Characters Out Of Context

Tagged by the lovely @isabellebissonrouthier

Tagging : @avocado-frog @aohendo @on-noon @bookish-galaxy @ehlaaaaaaaa

Rules:

Include one character quote — of your choosing ⁠— from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like).

Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it.

Have fun, no pressure!

Gonna go with my very first (and dead) WIP called Trinity since that has the most chapters and I feel like the out of context dialogues would be hilarious. That and I am feel nostalgic.

@usernamewastaken (it is only fair if I tag my old writing partner who I collaborated with for Trinity)

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 1 : “I’ve caught a FRIEND!!!! A LIVE ONE TOO can you believe it??”

Chapter 2 : “Shhhhhhhhhh! There’s a corpse walking on stage. Watch. I think He’s going to speak. Is speaking now” she said as she clapped a hand on my mouth.

Chapter 3 : “Who? Do they at least have cookies? Please tell me they have cookies.”

Chapter 4: “Oh yeah I just climbed that tree over there.”

Chapter 5: “Back to the principal topic, anyone else getting Captain Underpants,Professor “P” vibes for the principal’s name?”

Chapter 6: “Spongebob Squarepants. He was asking for the library card.”

Chapter 7: “Did you know the trickster god Loki is tied to a rock with ropes made of his son's intestines for poking Baldur with a mistletoe dart?”

Chapter 8: “They apparently don't use the oil lamps, guess they are only for decor.”

Chapter 9: “The door has lost the battle against the brave Aidene Rayners but the war is coming,”

Chapter 10: “PUNCH HIM! PUNCH HIM!”

Chapter 11:“Darlin’ this ain’t no act”

Chapter 12: “I can punch Roy. Then he will have something against me”

Chapter 13: “Aidene said you were like a ghost. So where would you be?”

Chapter 14: ( know it is only one quote but the first two are a packaged deal and I couldn't leave out the third)

“We will catch you,” Aidene said, luckily not as loudly.

“No we won't,” Penelope said.

2. “I prefer high maintenance with a talent to over exaggerate actions for absolutely no reason,”

Chapter 15: “OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH! I AM A GHOST RAT,”

Chapter 16: (since we are on the topic of ghosts)

“Hickory Dickery dock the ghost went in the house,

The clock struck one and the ghost killed one hickery dickery dock

Tic toc, tic toc,” I sang.

Chapter 17: “Cobwebs… more cobwebs… huh… Hi there little spider,

Chapter 18: “It’s a girls dormitory and...I am a boy,”

Chapter 19: “You guys look like you are about to declare war over the dorm,”

Chapter 20: “Wait. Wait . Wait. Why do I have to go with the irritating one,” she complained.

Chapter 21: “Had his judicial, what?”

Chapter 22: “That would be the signal,” I said under my breath.

Chapter 23: “LET’S BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND,” she made her voice sound like she had been gargling acid.

Chapter 24: “Base like a goose,” Aidene’s tone full of wonder, “does that mean a butt with feathers?”

Chapter 25: “Andromeda galaxy high,”

Chapter 26:“Bird Poop,”

Chapter 27: “You broke several rules and in addition to that you threatened and blackmailed a fellow student,”

(And then it was discontinued)

#writblr #writers on tumblr #writers #my writing #teen writer #stories #writers and poets #tag game #writing community #Random Writing

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belphegor1982 · 3 years ago

Note

Please tell me everything there is to hear about the Rick-and-the-Carnahans-learn-about-each-other-at-Hamunaptra fic that you mentioned in your WIPs post!

[ask me about my WIPs!]

Aw yeah :D For now there’s about 3k words and I still don’t know how I’m going to wrap it up, but here’s the last part I wrote (for now). For context, Rick woke a little hangover up with Evy wrapped around him and had a little conversation with Jonathan, who was dismayed at the thought of missing out on his baby sister getting gloriously drunk :P

(...)

The sound of rustling cloth made both men turn. One soft closed-mouth moan later, Evelyn’s head emerged from the blanket, face rumpled, eyes screwed shut, hair a glorious rats’ nest.

“Oh,” she said in a very small voice. “Oh. Oh.”

She parted her lips and shuddered. For a second her whole face was a grimace.

And if she wasn’t the cutest thing Rick had ever seen, it was only because that spot was already taken by her shining eyes and flushed face just before she plunked into his lap, unconscious.

“Oh God,” she finally said as her eyes slowly opened. “I am never, ever drinking again.”

“Now that’s a familiar tune,” said Jonathan with a smile so wide it even looked loud, his own hangover seemingly forgotten. “Hello there, old mum. You look a fright.”

She threw him a disgusted look.

“Not that I look much better, I’m well aware of that, but goodness me, sister dear, the night you had! You faced enemy fire, you drank yourself to oblivion, and then you shared a man’s bed, such as it is – what would Mrs Pemberton say?”

“Okay, stop right there,” said Rick, because those two clearly had their own thing going on but he didn’t like the fleeting panic on Evelyn’s face at the thought of sharing his bed. Either she’d remembered the previous night or she’d realised the blanket wrapped around her wasn’t hers. “Evelyn, nothing happened. We drank a lot then fell asleep. Well,” he amended, “you drank a lot then fell asleep. But that’s it, I promise.”

Jonathan made a face.

“You’re no fun at all, old son.” Then he filled his cup again with the contents of the steaming kettle, got to his feet – still rather unsteadily – and handed the cup to her.

“Tea?” he asked much more gently.

Evelyn’s narrowed-eyed squint softened as she took the cup.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

She didn’t drink from it right away, just laced her fingers around the china for a bit. Her eyes found Rick; her gaze warmed up. So did her cheeks, by the look of it.

“Thank you, Mr. O’Connell.” For all that it was low and still rough, her voice still managed to worm its way into Rick’s chest and squeeze things that weren’t used to be squeezed.

He nodded.

“You’re welcome. And hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. At least you’re conscious – you should’ve seen me first time I went three rounds with a bottle of scotch.”

“How much did we drink?” Evelyn asked, closing her eyes and gingerly – very gingerly – running her hands through her hair to bring some order into it.

Jonathan rummaged behind him and picked up the bottle by the neck.

It was mostly empty. Even the most glass-half-full kind of guy would have admitted that.

“A lot, evidently,” said Jonathan, before remarking casually, squinting at the label, “You know, the French call an empty bottle a corpse. I’ve always found it funny, considering how corpse-like one feels after a proper night of revelling.”

_______________

It’s true, by the way. Apparently the English equivalent is “dead bottles” but I’ve yet to see it used in this context.

I really really hope I can make something out of this!! In the meantime, feel free to ask about other fics ^^

#the mummy #sometimes I write #ask reply

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dreadwulf · 5 years ago

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not-a-WIP Wednesday

I was going to put this up on Work In Progress Wednesday but it’s not exactly a WIP so here it is today. This is essentially a one-shot scene from a modern AU Braime series that does not exist.

I’m going to do something a little weird and post an excerpt from a modern AU series that I am not going to write. I was never going to do anything with this one, for several reasons - it’s modern AU which I don’t typically write, it’s first-person (AHH I KNOW, WHY???), it’s a pretty different take on Brienne that I don’t think people would like, I can’t do another series right now... it’s something I’ve been doing just for myself, and I’ve been having fun thinking it out.

But I did get this scene written down and I like it, so here is a Tumblr-only bonus.

You can probably put the scenario together from context, so I won’t say too much in set-up. The story would have been called Dogface, and this is well into it. J/B met under traumatic circumstances and have kept in touch afterwards via phone/internet, but rarely see each other in person. They definitely caught feelings but have kept it to themselves for reasons that will be clear.

So here it is.

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

I hug my raincoat around me. I’m getting his fancy chair wet, but I can’t bring myself to take it off. I’m unsettled enough right now without awkwardly wrestling with wet clothes. There’s no point trying to make myself comfortable anyway.

My hair drips rainwater down my face, and I stare at the carpet and try to stop shivering. The carpet is so thick I want to lie down and put my face in it. It reminds me of a 70’s shag carpet, except one that won the lottery and put on a silk robe. And white. Why is the room white? It doesn’t look like Jaime at all. I bet he never uses this room.

Only Lannisters can pay for rooms in New York City that they don’t use.

In the next room (only Lannisters can pay for apartments in New York City that have so many rooms) Jaime says something about nobody’s sat in this stupid chair in all the time he’s lived here anyway and not to worry about messing it up. So I don’t, much. He shows up with a blanket that doesn’t go with this room at all, something quilted and old and fairly normal-looking, and wraps it around my shoulders.

I speak up suddenly. “They want to give me another surgery.”

He stops with his hands still on my arms. “On your face?”

I pull the blanket around me. “I saw this doctor - my father insisted - and he thinks he can fix my scars.”

“That’s good news! Isn’t it?” He comes around to sit on the uncomfortable-looking couch across from me. “Why don’t you think that’s good news?”

“They all say that.” I can feel his eyes on me and I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “They all think they can fix me, surgeons. They have some new thing, cutting edge, state of the art, and they’re not like those other doctors. This one’s going to fix my face, he’s special, he’s the one.”

He just stares at me for a second, working on a question, and it’s clear this has never occurred to him to wonder about. “How many surgeries have you had?”

Straight to the point, Lannister. No tact whatsoever. Drives me crazy, but today I like that. It saves time.

“Eleven.”

I hear his sudden intake of breath - he wasn’t expecting that. I smile bitterly. This is all new to him - my parade of doctors and hospitals - and I forget that it’s a big number, eleven. I guess the usual answer is zero.

“Most of them were right after the attack, when I was nine and ten. At first it really did improve things. I was pretty hideous just afterwards, for a while there was just a big hole in my face, basically, and they did fix that. But some of them only made things worse. They’d put new skin in and it wouldn’t take, my jawbone got infected, the muscles didn’t work. Then it was one every couple of years, when the new guy said he could undo the damage the last guy did, and sometimes he did but it would cause some other problem. It worked better but looked worse, and I lost some nerve function. I can’t even feel my face on this part.”

I put up my hand and stroke the creepy blank part that’s all scar tissue and no nerves, where it feels like nothing at all, just in front of my ear. I had this weird impulse for awhile to just scratch there and keep scratching until I felt something. Just dig a big hole in my face again. But I’d have to have another surgery after that, and by then I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I shudder, thinking of hospitals and bandages and taking food through a straw and pain, lots of pain.

“I swore it all off when I turned 18. I said what’s done is done, and this is my face now. There was nothing more they could do anymore, anyway. Just little things. The damage is too great.”

“But this one thinks he can do something?”

“Yeah.”

God, I wish I still had a drink. I look longingly at the liquor cabinet that was probably stocked with all kinds of wonderful things months ago, but it would be empty now. I should have had another gin and tonic before I left the bar.

Lannister follows my eyes, and sighs. He stands up like a tent collapsing and walks over to the fancy rosewood box I was looking at so longingly.

When he opens the little door it’s my turn for my eyes to bug out. It’s full. He has all kinds of bottles in that cabinet. Big, expensive-looking bottles, and at least one decanter full of amber liquid.

“I thought you quit?” I ask it before I can really think about what I’m saying, and when I do I cringe.

“I did.” He carefully selects a bottle. “This is all old stuff. I should probably have thrown it out, but if I didn’t have a drink on hand for Cersei or Tyrion or my father when they came to call it would have been something to explain, and I don’t need the trouble.”

I start to think about that - he shouldn’t be anywhere near alcohol, it’s too much of a temptation. And he keeps it around anyway because he doesn’t want to explain to his family that he’s an alcoholic.

He pours one full glass. Not a small glass either.

“I shouldn’t. Not in front of you.”

“Just this once. It’s a special occasion. Don’t turn down your host, it would be rude.” Jaime brings me the glass, a crystal twisting thing that looks like a movie prop. He hands it over carefully, so it won’t spill.

Has he really quit? If he’s keeping this around, I doubt it. But he looks a lot healthier than he did before, and he hasn’t sounded drunk over the phone lately, not like that first night at least. I think I’d be able to tell. I think.

I’d like to be able to tell him that they would understand, they would support him like a family should and congratulate him on being sober, not drink in front of him and not encourage him to get plastered like usual but the thing is, they probably wouldn’t. He doesn’t have that kind of family. He has the kind that would scoff and say he was being a big baby and then give him a bottle of expensive liquor for his birthday to prove some bizarre point. Something just like this bottle.

I don’t tell him anything. I take the glass from him instead. The first swallow burns all the way down and I tell myself I will persuade him to get rid of the liquor before I go.

He grins at me and settles back in his chair. “Enjoy it. That’s about a hundred dollars you just drank.”

“Good lord.” I take a few swallows quickly. If I’m going to drink in front of him I can at least make it quick. The glass comes back to rest in my hands and I feel the round, full taste of the alcohol in my throat. “It’s delicious.”

“I know.” His smile turns sorrowful. “Used to be my favorite.”

The liquor sends a warming cloud all through me, out to my fingertips. It numbs that painful throb of dread that I’ve been feeling ever since I came out of the doctor’s office today, the old part of me that was always so stupidly hopeful that one day everything would be different. The part I thought I had killed.

A little bit of my self-consciousness recedes. The part of me that knows exactly what I look like and exactly how I don’t fit, how ridiculous I am, what a fool I’m making of myself. It gets a little quieter and I can breathe again. I can exist without hating that I exist. I lean back a little in the chair and I start to feel warm again.

It’s nice.

It’s nice, sitting here.

His green eyes catch the light briefly, and for a second he is so devastatingly, painfully handsome it’s like a blow to the chest. His hair curls down over his face in a ludicrously appealing way, glossy and golden, and it could be one of his magazine photos right here in front of me. But I’m the only one here to appreciate it. Kind of a waste, really.

“He really is world-famous, I guess.” I turn the glass in my hands and let the words roll out of my mouth without looking at them too closely. “The surgeon I saw today. He’s fixed cases worse than mine, from what I’ve read. He made it sound so easy. Maybe he really could do something for me.”

He lays his arm up over the top of the couch casually. Never in my life have I been as at-ease as Jaime is all of the time. I would wonder if he was even listening to me, except I know he is, he always is. He pays a lot more attention to things than he lets on.

“So when’s the surgery?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I drink the rest of the glass, too fast, let the alcohol burn down me like a kind of punishment. Then I set the glass on his perfect coffee table. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go back to hospitals and doctors and people squinting at my face like it’s a clogged sink they have to unplug. It’s awful. It’s horrible and I hate every minute of it and I told myself I would never do it again.”

He shrugs at me. “Then don’t do it.”

That pisses me off. How he makes everything sound so easy. The next thing I know I’m practically lecturing him.

“How can I not do it? What if he really could fix me? I could have a normal face. I could cut my hair. I could get my picture taken like a normal person. I could look in the mirror without wincing. I could talk to people without their eyes going to my left cheek.” I’m getting loud. I guess I’m a loud drunk. I’m usually not around anyone when I’m drinking so I didn’t know it. “If I didn’t have this face, I could go farther in my career. Do interviews, meet people instead of freelancing and working at home. I could go on dates. I could have friends.”

“You could have all of that now.” He leans forward, now strangely intense. “You don’t have to stay shut up in your cave all of the time. You can go out, you can meet people.”

“People who will stare at me and laugh at me and pity me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand. With your face? You get free drinks everywhere you go with that face. You’re the most ridiculously photogenic person on earth. I bet even your driver’s license photo is beautiful. You could not possibly imagine my life.” That liquor is hitting me really hard now. Did he finish bottles of this all on his own? How?

Now he’s the one getting irritated. He starts raking a hand through his hair like he does whenever he’s too agitated to sit still. “Do it, don’t do it, it’s up to you. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Maybe just listen for once. I don’t want your advice. I wasn’t even going to tell anyone about this.” I put my head in my hands. My hair’s still wet. My hands come away damp. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m arguing with you. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now, do you?” Jaime tilts his head to one side, peering at me closely. “I’ve never seen you so worked up before, Brienne. And I’ve seen you with a gun to your head.”

I laugh a little. “I was too mad to be scared then.”

“What are you scared of now?”

I sniffle. Scared is not what I thought I was. But he’s probably right. “I don’t know. I think I… What if I did it and it doesn’t work? I get all my hopes up again and go through all the pain and the medicine and the time off work and the cost, god, I don’t even know how I would pay for it… and if I somehow got through all of that, and it didn’t work? Or it made my face worse? I don’t know what I’d do.”

That surprises me; I wasn’t planning to say any of that. I think a little more, because I think that’s not all, I think there’s something I’m even more afraid of.

“What if it does work and it doesn’t make anything better?”

I sit back again and let that sentence hang in the air all by itself. It plays in my head a few more times and I know now that I’ve said it, I won’t be able to stop thinking it. I’ll be staring at the ceiling thinking that now. Dammit.

Jaime looks confused though. “What do you mean?”

“I just... I’ve spent so many years thinking that if my face was better I would have this whole other life, that people would like me, my career would take off, I’d have a family of my own… just all of these things. What if I fixed my face and it still doesn’t happen? I’d still be… this.”

I hold out my arms, a little woozily, and I look at them. I look at my legs and how my knees jut up from the chair because it’s too low -- no, because I’m too big for it. I’m too big. I’m ridiculous.

“I mean, look at me. Even without my face, people would still stare. I’m six foot five inches, you know. I wear a size eleven shoe. I have to special order my clothes. My shoulders are too broad, my jaw’s too big, I don’t have any curves like a woman should. I’m hardly a woman at all.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But you did. Remember?”

He makes a sour face and clenches his jaw. “Yeah. I was being an asshole.”

“You’re far from the only one to say something about it. Even from the back I get comments, whispers, before they see my face. If I wear a dress they laugh at me, because I look like a man in a dress - I do, I know it.” I cut off whatever he is going to say. “I get called ‘Sir’ everywhere I go, even in a skirt, and then they see I’m a woman and either it’s funny or disgusting or I don’t know what. And it’s just as bad if I wear men’s clothes. I get that same moment of realization where people wonder what exactly I am. What am I trying to do, disguise myself? Am I transitioning one way or another? Do I have gender identity issues? Am I ashamed of being a woman? Suddenly they’ve imagined some whole identity for me that I didn’t choose. I’m not trying to be gender non-conforming, I just have this body and I have to live in it. Maybe I don’t want to wear men’s clothes! Maybe I’d like to wear something delicate and pretty and they just don’t make that for a woman like me, and if I wore it people would laugh!

“People get angry. At me. Because of what I am. I’m an ugly, manish woman and people hate that. They hate it when I try to do feminine things and they hate it when I try to do masculine things and they’d rather I just go away. People don’t want me to exist. That’s why I hide away in my cave. It’s better that way. I’m happier and they’re happier.”

“So what if they fix my face. They can’t fix the rest of me. I’m never going to be right. And the worst thing is… I wouldn’t know what to do if they could. I don’t know how to be anything else. I don’t know how to talk to people and have normal relationships. I’m almost 30 years old and I’ve never had a serious relationship, I don’t have friends, I’ve never been out of this city and I probably never will. Taking the scars off my face will only prove it’s me, I’m the problem, and it’s not my face or my body or other people being assholes. It’s me.”

I have to stop talking now, because my throat is too tight. There’s a sob in there trying to get out and I refuse, I refuse to cry in front of him. So my throat is closing up and I can hardly breathe through it and I have to close my eyes tight and bend over and put my hands on either side of my face and hold myself very still.

“Brienne.”

He’s very close now, he’s come up in front of me kneeling next to my stupid knobby knees and it makes it worse. I’m shaking from the effort of it, holding the tears in. My eyes are starting to leak and there’s nothing I can do about that but I can stop myself from bawling like a baby, damn it, I refuse.

“I like who you are. Brienne?” He puts a hand on my knee. “Who you are is wonderful. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

No. That couldn’t possibly be true.

It gets out. A sob tears out of me. It’s violently, embarrassingly loud and a gush of tears follow it.

I fold myself over in half and put my arms over my face and around my knees so that I’m completely hidden, and I just cry and cry.

It’s horrible. Fuck, I hate crying.

Then the strangest thing happens. Jaime somehow… unfolds me until I fall forward against him. My face is pressed into his shoulder. He has both arms around me and he’s just kneeling there on the floor and somehow I don’t knock him over and he doesn’t struggle with me even though he’s smaller than me. He’s solid. He’s got me. And he just holds me and I cry and my whole body shakes with it.

Eventually it stops. I don’t run out of tears - they’re still in there, I can feel them, but I’m too worn out to cry anymore. I’m raw and exhausted and he’s still holding me against his shoulder. We stay that way for a long while.

He smells so good.

#no tags shhh nobody read this #tumblr fic #dogface AU

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nerdsbianhokie · 4 years ago

Note

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching? // 20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process? // 30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words. // 32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

I def research. I don’t really know how to quantify how deep I’ve gone, but p deep, I guess? like, need to move all my tabs to a new page deep?

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Probably a tie between getting into characterizations and well, related but working things out with others. I really love getting deep into it with others over plot and characterization and such.

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

The city spread out below Alex as she leaned on the railing of Kara's balcony. It was a decent view, the ocean spilling from the high rises to the horizon.

Alex had to admit it was a nice apartment overall. Bright. Spacious for a studio. Probably out of budget for anyone with Kara's job who didn't have the savings Kara did.

The door slid open behind her.

"Yeah, just head over when you can."

Kara leaned against the rail next to her, phone raised to her ear.

"Yeah, I'll see you in the morning. Bye."

"Who will you see?" Alex asked.

"Don't freak out."

"Oh, yeah, that's going to keep me calm."

Kara sighed. "This guy at work, a good guy, I promise, knows about me being Superwoman."

Alex closed her eyes, forced herself to not give into her gut reaction.

"And about all of you."

"Kara!"

"I didn't tell him! He figured it out." Kara slumped forward, arms dangling on the other side of the rail. "He runs one of those blogs about celebrities being immortal."

Alex furrowed her brow. "What?"

"They're…" Kara huffed slightly. "It's an internet thing. People find pictures and paintings and compare them to modern celebrities, joking that it's the same person."

“Why?”

Kara shrugged. “For fun, I guess.”

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

Really testing my memory with this one, so I’ll just go through some recent stuff and see what sticks out

"I don't actually have much food right now," Lucy said. "You good with toast? I do have jam, peanut butter…" She moved some stuff around, then held an arm out so Alex could see what she was holding. "Avocado."

"You don't have much but you have an avocado?"

Lucy shrugged. "Have to have my daily millennial nutritional supplement." who you are (don't be scared)

Sometimes you say things, thinking they'll make me feel better. They don't. Alex to Kara in my still unnamed The Old Guard au wip, may not get into the final but I’m digging it right now

I’m not finding a third? My memory isn’t the best, so I’ll often be really into a line with I write it, then when I post whatever it’s in, then will forget about it in a few days

#4beit

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ethereousdelirious · 5 years ago

Text

I wrote another thing for some OCs of mine! I’ll put context under the cut.

I will say this: it’s a long read for what turned out to be not a lot of sick content. Just so you know that going in, haha

Content Warnings: oblique mentions of sex, brief references to emotionally abusive parents, semi-realistic depiction of urgent care/hospitalization and panic attacks

Please don’t bother correcting me on details i may have gotten wrong regarding flu symptoms/the hospitalization process :) I’m not shooting for absolute realism here and likely never will be. Thanks!

Oh, one more thing! This was based off a prompt that I will try to find so I can properly credit OP. It was basically about Character A getting hospitalized on Christmas and Character B decorating their room for them as a surprise.

This is based off a WIP of mine about 2 college roommates who go on a road trip after graduating and fall in love :) This story takes place in their Junior year and isn’t actually part of the WIP. Canon fanfiction? Is that a thing? Anyway.

The 2 characters that matter are:

Gaël Moreno

(Face claim: Reece King)

Santiago “Santi” Velez

(Face claim: Diego Boneta)

That’s p much all you need to know in terms of context!

Gaël swirled the last of his cider around the bottom of his plastic cup and sighed. As far as parties went, this one was rather small. Most of the attendees were playing Jenga Truth or Dare in the kitchen and the rest had broken off into small groups and were talking on their own.

With another sigh, Gaël tossed back the last of his cider. He glanced longingly into the kitchen, wondering if Santi would be upset if he slipped out.

"Hey."

Gaël jumped at a sudden voice behind him. He turned and came face to face with one of the GSA regulars. "Hey, Keith."

"I'll get to the point." Keith's strawberry blond hair was styled into spikes that quivered slightly as he talked. "This party blows and you look miserable. Do you wanna," he gestured at the hallway and made a suggestive hand motion. "I have condoms."

Gaël glanced back at the kitchen. Santi was pounding the table and chanting with the rest of the group while one of them clumsily attempted to shotgun a beer. "Yeah."

"Thank God, this night isn't gonna be a total waste of time." Keith took Gaël by the hand and led him farther into the house.

When they emerged, Keith said goodbye and left for the night, leaving Gaël to gloomily resume his spot on the couch. The game in the kitchen had gotten quieter. Santi was talking to the host, gesturing wildly with a half-empty beer bottle.

His eyes lit up when he noticed Gaël on the couch.

"Hey!" he called, a little too loudly than was appropriate for the close quarters. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Gaël stood up and pulled his coat back on. "Are you?"

"Yeah, we're winding down here." Santi turned back to the party host, someone with whom Gaël was unfamiliar. "Hit me up tomorrow, I'll totally help you clean up."

"Thanks, bro. Appreciate it "

"You bet." Santi saluted with his bottle, finished the contents, and deposited it in a cardboard box labeled 'recycling.' "Alright, later. Seriously, text me."

"Night," Gaël said stiffly. He took Santi by the arm and led him toward the door.

They walked along side by side, Santi chattering aimlessly about the party and what they were going to do with themselves now that it was winter break.

Finally, he seemed to notice that Gaël didn't want to talk and fell silent.

The clock on the microwave, only just visible from the front door, read 2:58.

"Shit," Gaël groaned. "Tomorrow is gonna suck."

Santi shut the door behind them and locked it with a clumsy hand. "Least you don't have anywhere to be. Unless you wanna come with me to help clean up tomorrow?"

"You're really doing that?" Gaël kicked off his shoes and lined them up by the door. "You're crazy."

Santi waved a hand. "Nah. I mean. I'd appreciate the help if I were in their shoes."

"Fair enough. I'm going to bed."

"Think I'm gonna wait 'til the room stops spinning." Santi sat heavily on the couch. "G'night."

"Night."

Gaël woke to the sound of the front door opening, meaning Santi was either just leaving or just getting back. That, or they were being robbed by the world's most polite burglar.

Yawning, Gaël rolled out of bed and shuffled into the living room. Thankfully, he hadn't drunk enough to earn himself a hangover.

"Hey," Santi greeted him from the couch.

"Hey." Gaël paused on the way to the kitchen. "How did cleanup go?"

"Uhh. I cleaned. I came back. I think I died somewhere on the way home."

"You take any painkillers?"

"Yeah. Like 2 hours ago."

Gaël sighed fondly and rolled his eyes. "I'll get you some painkillers and water."

"Coffee?" Santi pleaded.

"I haven't made any yet." Gaël went to the kitchen to rectify this before bringing Santi a glass of water and some aspirin.

"Thaaaanks." Santi hauled himself into an upright position and took the pills.

Gaël took a seat in one of the armchairs across from the couch and assessed Santi. He looked as bad as Gaël guessed he felt. He was still wearing last night's clothes and his tanned skin was sallow in the late morning sun. His hair was down, which was unusual, and from the way he was squinting, he hadn't bothered putting his contacts in.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the coffee maker percolating.

"Did you ever end up getting a job or anything?" Santi asked suddenly.

"Oh. No." Gaël shrugged. "I made enough from tutoring that I felt okay not subjecting myself to some heinous seasonal retail job."

"Hell yeah, dude. Enjoy that time off."

"What about you?"

"You know me. Got my busking permit all signed and up to date. One of the choir guys got a hand pan and wants to team up."

"Sexy. Is he going with you to play at the old folks' home?"

"Nah, that's all me. Well, and the rest of the choir but you know." Santi waved his hands aimlessly. "I'm the master musician." He swept his hair back like he was going to tie it up, then noticed he didn't have a hair tie on his wrist. He let his hands drop. His hair fanned back out in unruly waves. "You wanna come?"

"I don't sing," Gaël answered. They had this conversation every year.

"Come on, everyone can sing."

"I can open my mouth and make noises." Gaël couldn't help but blush. Whether he was good at singing was beside the point. He was no good in front of crowds and Santi well knew it. "I'll stay here and hold the fort."

"Alright, alright." Santi leaned back and closed his eyes.

Despite the lack of school or work, Gaël actually saw very little of Santi in the following days.

Between busking, practicing for the Christmas concert, and attending house parties, Santi was absent for most of the weekend.

Not that Gaël was sitting around at home waiting for him. Most of his friends had gone home for the holidays, but several members of the GSA had not. Gaël spent much of the weekend with Keith and a few other GSA regulars at various coffee shops and bars in the area.

It wasn't until Monday afternoon that Gaël and Santi had the opportunity for another real conversation.

Gaël came in from a late lunch and found Santi halfway to horizontal on the couch, awkwardly balancing a glass of red wine on his chest.

"I'm not buying us a new couch if you spill that," Gaël said. He locked the front door behind him and came inside properly. There was already an empty glass waiting for him on the coffee table.

"I won't spill," Santi insisted. He sat up a little straighter. Wine sloshed perilously in his glass, a few drops escaping over the side and running onto his hand. "That didn't count."

"You look tired." Gaël sat in the space previously occupied by Santi's legs.

Santi heaved himself properly upright and poured out a glass of wine for Gaël.

"I've never had a Winter Break this hectic before, and that includes the time I was in high school and my parents tried to drag me to Hawaii at the last minute and the airline lost our luggage and my mother threatened to sue them for emotional damages because her favorite Chanel dress was in her suitcase," Santi said all in one breath. He downed half his glass and ran a hand down his face. His hair was down again, which was unusual. In the low light it almost framed his head like a halo. "So it turns out Avi, the guy with the hand pan, has stage fright or something so he wanted to practice until everything was perfect and he kept freaking out every time I tried to improvise. Then we finally get out to our spot and he doesn't want to leave even though I have an agreement with the knife-juggling guy." He paused. "Choir's going fine, though. Except they keep inviting me out to Denny's after every practice and it feels weird saying no. Gaël, I am so sick of pancakes."

"I wondered what all the to-go boxes in the fridge were about." Gaël took a sip from his glass. "Where did this come from, by the way?"

"Oh." Santi sighed. "The choir did a Secret Santa thing which I didn't know about because I'm not technically in the choir and this was the 'backup gift'."

"Not a bad gift," Gaël said with a shrug.

"I agree, especially considering some of the other gifts that were given out."

"Let me guess, candles and hand lotion?"

"You nailed it." Santi drained his glass and leaned over like he was going to refill it before evidently changing his mind and setting the empty glass on the coffee table. "Luckily I have tomorrow off. The concert is on Christmas Eve and then I have the rest of the break to myself. More or less."

"Is there anything you want to do?" Gaël asked. "We could go out for lunch or something. To a real restaurant."

"No pancakes?"

"No pancakes."

"Excellent."

They slipped into silence.

Gaël sighed through his nose. Although he told himself he was over his juvenile crush on Santi, sometimes it came creeping back into his thoughts. This was one of those times. Gaël wanted to run his fingers through Santi's dark blond hair and feel him relax, wanted to run his hands down Santi's neck, his chest--

Blushing furiously, Gaël cut off that train of thought before it could travel any farther south. He just wanted to make Santi feel better, that was all. Because they were friends.

"What is a hand pan?" Gaël asked, mostly to distract himself.

"Oh, it's like…" Santi made a vague hand gesture over his lap. "Like a faceted dome made of metal, and when you hit certain parts of it in a certain way, it makes noise. Kinda like a steel drum."

"Oh. Is Avi any good?"

"He's not bad," Santi said. "Better than I would be anyway. Hang on, let me see if I can find his Instagram."

They spent the rest of the day lounging in the living room, alternating between silence and light conversation. The bottle of wine remained on the coffee table, untouched since Gaël's arrival.

The sun sank below the horizon.

Gaël stretched and shifted positions. "No parties tonight?" he asked, looking sideways at Santi.

"Why, d'you wanna go to one? I think some of the Drama kids are having some sort of get together."

"No." Gaël stuck out his tongue. "I was just wondering."

"You sure? I know some of them. I could introduce you. Or we could have some of your friends over." Santi seemed poised to go on, but instead was overtaken by a yawn. He shook his head.

"Yeah, you look ready to party." Gaël raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should get to bed."

"Hm, yeah," Santi agreed. He didn't move. "Later."

"Alright, but don't expect me to make you coffee tomorrow."

"Of course." Santi smiled brightly.

Gaël refused to meet his eyes.

Ever the early riser, Gaël woke up the next day shortly after the sunrise. Unlike Santi, whose morning routine seemed to involve a lot of squinting and spilling water all over the kitchen in the process of making coffee or tea, Gaël's first act of the day was always to brush his teeth.

Half-awake, he staggered to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and lazily dragged some product through his dark brown curls. He took his time getting ready, knowing that Santi often preferred to sleep in.

To Gaël's surprise, Santi was waiting for him on the couch. He had wrapped himself up in his duvet and sheet and bundled up against one of the armrests. He appeared to be sleeping, but his hazel eyes cracked open upon hearing Gaël approach.

"Morning," Gaël said with a little wave. He poked his head into the kitchen to double check the time. "You're up early. Or did you stay up all night?"

"I was having trouble sleeping so I came out here."

"Did it help?"

"Not really." Santi sniffled and ducked his head under the duvet. After a moment, he sneezed sharply and then emerged. "If you want, you can have my leftover pancakes for breakfast."

"Thanks." Gaël went back into the kitchen to retrieve the to go box. While he was microwaving it, he heard Santi sneeze a few more times. "Bless you," he called over the hum of the microwave.

"Thanks," Santi called back.

He sounded a bit congested, Gaël thought. A familiar wave of anxiety began to rise in his chest. He abandoned his post at the microwave and stuck his head through the doorway into the living room. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." Sanri frowned, confused. "Do I seem not okay?"

Gaël made a face and gestured at the scene before him. Santi was wrapped head to toe in his bedding. Only his face was visible from beneath the pile of blankets. "You seem like you're trying to become one with your duvet."

The microwave beeped. Santi sneezed into his sleeve.

Gaël frowned, but went to go get his pancakes. When he got back to the living room, Santi was attempting to extricate himself from the tangle of sheets and blankets.

"Is the milk still good?" he asked Gaël when he was finally free.

Gaël shrugged. "Go check."

"Just figured I'd ask."

Santi was shivering when he came back into the living room, a bowl of cereal in hand.

Gaël couldn't help but notice. Winters in San Diego weren't exactly harsh, and Gaël was comfortable enough in his boxers and T-shirt. Yet Santi was shivering noticeably.

"Hey," Gaël said. "I think you're sick."

Santi paused in the act of arranging his duvet around himself. "So it's not weirdly cold in here?"

Gaël rolled his eyes. "Go take your temperature."

"But my cereal will get all soggy," Santi whined.

"Alright, whatever. I'm not your mom."

"Thank god for that."

Santi finished eating before Gaël and wandered off. He came back wearing an undersized Grateful Dead hoodie that kept trying to ride up.

"I'm doing it," he said.

"Huh?" Gaël was staring at the little bit of skin that was showing just above the waistband of Santi's sweatpants. He shook his head and looked up. Santi was brandishing a thermometer. "Oh. Good. I mean--" he stuttered. Santi sat down and stuck the thermometer under his tongue. "I hope you're not sick."

"Mm'" Santi hummed in agreement.

They waited a few seconds and the thermometer beeped. Santi made a face. "101.1."

"Huh." Gaël leaned forward. For the most part, Santi looked fine. He was a little pale and he did look tired, but not unusually so. "And you feel okay?"

Santi shrugged. "Yeah, aside from the fact that I'm freezing."

"Huh. Well." Gaël frowned. "I guess let's keep an eye on you."

For a moment, it was quiet. Then Santi shifted under the pile of blankets.

"I need to brush my teeth."

"Go brush your teeth," Gaël said, not looking up from his phone.

"Yeah." Santi got up and left.

The day was, by and large, anticlimactic. Gaël spent most of it on his phone, switching between the couch, an armchair, and his bed whenever he felt the need to move. It went without saying that their lunch plans were cancelled, and Santi went back to bed around noon, leaving Gaël to his own devices.

It would have been a lovely day for a hike, he thought as he looked wistfully out the window, but it wouldn't feel right leaving Santi behind.

So Gaël resigned himself to a boring, lonely day. He did receive a few texts from his friends, but everyone was mostly too busy to have a proper conversation.

At around 6:00, Santi emerged from his bedroom looking noticeably worse, downed a handful of painkillers, and retreated back into the darkness of his room.

"You okay?" Gaël asked as he passed.

"Sleepy," Santi answered, and shut his door.

They both woke early the next morning.

"Feeling any better?" Gaël asked upon emerging from the bathroom to see Santi sprawled out on the couch.

Santi said something akin to "not really." The words came out muffled with half his face pressed into the faux suede couch cushion.

Deciding to forgo breakfast for the moment, Gaël came out to the living room to take a better look at his roommate. "Oh. Shit."

Santi was a mess. His dark blond hair was hopelessly tangled around the dangling cross earring he had evidently neglected to take out, and matted to his sweaty forehead. His cheeks were an angry, feverish red and his eyes were blank, not seeming to focus on Gaël or anything at all.

He didn't say anything, just lay there motionless but for the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and let himself be examined.

"Shit," Gaël repeated. Then, "um."

The thermometer was still on the coffee table where Santi had left it last night.

"Can you sit up for me?"

Santi hummed a dissent. "Dizzy."

"Just… Roll over onto your side, then. I need to take your temperature."

"'Kay." Santi rolled over and allowed Gaël to slip the thermometer under his tongue.

For a few tense seconds, Gaël waited and tried desperately not to freak out. They both got sick all the time. This was nothing. Everything was fine.

Then the thermometer beeped and the panic roared again, loud in Gaël's ears. "104.2. How long--"

"I don't know." Santi closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face. "I woke up feeling really bad."

"What time?"

"Night?"

"And you said you were dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Gaël bit his lip, thinking. "I think you should go to urgent care."

"Mm." Santi didn't open his eyes or attempt to move. "I don't know if I can--" He shuddered and pulled his knees up to his chest with a quiet moan. "I feel really bad."

"Just try to sit up. I need to grab some things and I'll help get you to the car."

"My wallet's, um… In my backpack. I'm still on my parents' insurance."

This made Gaël pause. "Really?" Then he shook himself. "Sorry, not the time. Just try to sit up."

He darted off. Keeping his wits about him was a constant battle. His body wanted so badly to panic. It was all he could do to not hyperventilate as he packed a few essentials into his school bag and started the car.

Santi was sitting up with his head in his hands and his knees braced against his elbows.

"Hey," Gaël said, kneeling beside him. "I'm gonna help you stand, okay?"

"I'm tired," Santi said, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

"I know. You can rest in the car, okay? Put your arm around me."

Santi's body was frightfully hot. It was hard to walk with him leaning so heavily on Gaël's shoulder, but they managed.

After a short drive, they had to repeat the maneuver to get into the urgent care.

"'I'll check you in," Gaël said. "Are you okay to go sit?"

"No," Santi said, clinging on harder. He leaned heavily to the side and Gaël staggered to try and keep them both upright.

One of the receptionists seemed to take notice of their plight. "I'm sending someone out to help, okay?"

Gaël said nothing. He couldn't. All he could do was try to breathe and to lower Santi to the floor as gently as possible.

Breath, he reminded himself. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It wouldn't do any good if he passed out too.

So he knelt on the carpeted floor of the urgent care, sinking into a strange feeling of numbness. Santi was attended to by a doctor and a team of medical assistants and Gaël had to answer questions for them but the answers seemed far away in his mind.

His hands fumbled over Santi's wallet, words clumsy and faltering on his lips until every other sentence was "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."

The carpeting was blue-gray, patterned with rosettes. Gaël watched his cream-colored skate shoes obscure it until it disappeared, replaced by pale orange linoleum.

One of the medical assistants was talking to him. Gaël looked around at the walls of the exam room. The words bounced around in his head without really sinking in.

His body seemed to catch on before his brain did, his shoulders beginning to shake with sobs. He was crying without really feeling it. Tears made dark stains on his pants. Gaël stared blankly down at the orange linoleum and let them fall.

"Gaël, I'm going to be fine," Santi said for what must have been the 50th time.

He didn't look fine. It was impossible to look fine laid up in a hospital bed. Gaël would have said so, but he was too busy crying. He hadn't really stopped since he'd started sobbing in the exam room and his head was starting to ache.

"Come on, Gaël, look at me. It's just the flu."

There was a whole list of things Gaël wanted to say to that, but all he could manage was "But I— And you…"

"You need to calm down or you're going to get admitted too," Santi joked. "Can I tell you a secret?"

This caught Gaël off guard. He looked up and wiped his eyes. "Y-yes."

"I'm not actually sick," Santi said in a stage whisper. "I just faked it to get out of the concert."

"Oh, shit," Gaël said as Santi's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit!" Santi echoed, flailing around aimlessly in the hospital bed. "My phone, I need— Ah, shit, shit, shit. What time is it?"

Gaël dived for his backpack, digging around for Santi's phone. He found it and tossed it over to Santi, who unlocked it and began typing furiously.

"Did you miss it?" Gaël asked, watching Santi's awkward attempt at typing without bending his left arm and messing up his IV.

"No, it starts in 2 hours." Santi sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Ugh." The brief moment of panic had robbed him of breath. He was silent for a moment while he breathed. "Gaël," he said, opening his eyes. "I need you to bust me out of here. Steal a wheelchair while I distract the nurses, and we'll go from there."

"Wh--" Gaël squinted, his eyes darting over the medical equipment in the room. "You— No!"

"I'm kidding," Santi said, but his smile faded too quickly. "I just…" He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I've been looking forward to this, you know? It's kinda the only thing I get to do for Christmas now that my family's all--" He waved his hand dismissively. He sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes even though there were no tears to wipe away. "Sorry, I know it's stupid to freak out like this."

"You just saw me have a panic attack for like three hours and you want to call that a freakout?" Gaël laughed. He wanted to put a hand on Santi's shoulder to hug him, to brush his hair, anything to make him feel even slightly better. As it was, self-deprecation was all he could muster. "I think you're entitled to cry a little bit considering where you are."

"Yeah." Santi gave a heavy sigh. "Merry Christmas, by the way. Your present is in my sock drawer. You can't miss it. It's the only thing in there that isn't socks."

"We can open presents tomorrow. Did they say when they were releasing you?"

"Yeah, hopefully tomorrow. Christmas Day." Santi wiggled his fingers. "They just want to keep me overnight to make sure I don't keel over again. Apparently I'm 'severely dehydrated' and 'drink too much alcohol'."

Gaël scoffed. "They know you're in college, right?"

"That's what I said. Well. Would have said if I could've felt my face at the time."

They fell into silence for a moment.

"I didn't know you liked Christmas so much," Gaël said. "You're always so enthusiastic about everything it's hard to tell sometimes."

Santi raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the character analysis. "Yeah, I've always liked it. I'm not going to go into a Hallmark movie spiel or anything, but it's just nice. Although out of everything, I think the lights are my favorite." He sighed wistfully. "Quiet Harbor, the old folks' home we always perform for, always has the prettiest decorations in the lobby. Speaking of." He picked his phone up off the sheets. "The group chat is blowing up."

"They're not going to cancel, are they?" Gaël asked anxiously, knowing it would upset Santi.

"No, no. I'm not that important. They're just gonna do it without me."

"Ah."

"Can you do me a huge favor, by the way?"

"Of course."

"Can you swing by home and grab my phone charger? And toothbrush? Mm, and regular brush?" Santi attempted to run a hand through his hair and was instantly stopped by tangled up knots.

"Oh, yeah." Gaël blushed. "I'm sorry, I should have thought of that sooner. I'll go right now."

"Thanks," Santi said. He pulled the covers further up around his shoulders. "I'm going to sleep. Possibly for several thousand years."

Gaël drove home in contemplative silence. He gathered up Santi's things and put them all in his trusty backpack, but did not immediately head back to the hospital.

Instead, he drove.

Surely there were stores open on Christmas Eve. Not everything could be closed.

Sure enough, a dollar store was open. Gaël rushed in and surveyed their selection of holiday decor with a discerning eye. He grabbed a few things, even finding a few cheap strings of battery-operated lights.

Once he'd paid, he hopped back into the car and rearranged his backpack, sticking his new purchases at the bottom and Santi's belongings at the top. The backpack' zipper just barely managed to close, straining the seams. Gaël set it in the passenger seat and, after a moment's thought, strapped it in.

Then he headed back to the hospital.

Gaël's plan was not going quite as smoothly as he'd hoped. After an uneventful evening, he'd made the decision to stay the night in Santi's room.

It wasn't, as he'd feared, against hospital policy and Santi didn't protest beyond a few token attempts to get Gaël to leave and spend Christmas Eve with his other friends.

However, Santi was not as heavy a sleeper as Gaël had been hoping and he woke up almost every time a nurse came in to record his vitals.

After one such visit from a nurse, when the sky was just beginning to lighten, Gaël sat up. Tooth by tooth, he unzipped his backpack and set about decorating Santi's hospital room as lavishly as he could without obstructing anything too important.

This might've been against hospital policy, but it wouldn't have to be up for very long.

Since much of the room was taken up by the IV pole, hospital bed, and guest seating, Gaël tried to focus on the windowsill and tables. He set up the lights in careful loops and hung up paper ornaments everywhere he could think of.

When he was done, the room wasn't exactly covered in Christmas decorations, but it was certainly cheerier than before.

Satisfied that Santi was still fast asleep, Gaël set off to get himself a coffee.

"That's lovely," said the nurse, coming in. Her name was Permata. Gaël had met her earlier when she had come in to check Santi's vital signs.

"What's lovely?" Santi asked blearily.

"You'll see."

Santi must have been too tired to argue, because he didn't press the point any further.

From his position by the window, all Gaël could see was Permata's back. She finished what she was doing and left again.

"You awake?" Gaël asked.

"I guess so." Santi yawned. "What did she mean when— Oh." He looked around at all the Christmas decorations: the paper ornaments hung from the edge of the table, the streamers hanging from the message board on the wall, the lights on the windowsill. "Gaël, did you…?"

"You seemed really upset yesterday, and I wanted…" Gaël hesitated. "I didn't want you to be sad on Christmas."

"Gaël." Santi's eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Thank you." He held out his arm for a hug. "Seriously, thank you."

"Of course." Gaël leaned over the bed and embraced Santi. It was an awkward and slightly painful position, with his knees jammed into the plastic safety rail and his body twisted to an odd degree. But it didn't matter. Santi was safe.

That was all that was important.

#posting oc content always makes me so nervous hhhhhhhhh #ethereous writes #whump #sickfic

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hoidn · 5 years ago

Text

if you want to play along, consider yourself tagged.

AO3 name: tree

Fandoms: these are fandoms i've written in, but they're not all my fandoms, if that makes sense. i've written quite a few things in exchanges just because i was familiar enough with the canon to take a pinch-hit or because i didn't know what i was getting myself into.

Longmire (TV), The X-Files, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, House M.D., Star Trek: Voyager, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The X-Files RPF, The Cutting Edge (1992), Blade (Movie Series), Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen, Hannibal (TV), Girl with a Pearl Earring - All Media Types, Lady of the Shard (Webcomic), The Fionavar Tapestry - Guy Gavriel Kay, The Wake - Paul Kingsnorth, Battlestar Galactica (2003), Stranger Than Fiction, Charlotte Gray (2001), Green Gables Fables, Firefly, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Ibis Trilogy - Amitav Ghosh, Octopus Steals My Video Camera and Swims off with It While It's Recording (Short Film), Gilmore Girls, The Middleman (TV), Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, JAG (TV 1995), Hamlet - Shakespeare, The Fall (TV 2013), The Abyss (1989)

the fandoms i haven’t yet posted anything for are many and varied, and any WIPs that may exist for them will likely die with me, which is probably a very good thing.

Number of fics: 94 (?!!)

Fic you spent the most time on: no friggin' idea. i sometimes spend weeks just trying to get one paragraph right and then write two thousand words the next day which need very little editing. it might take me over a year to write something from start to finish that's not much more than a thousand words, but how much of that span of time was spent actually working on that particular fic isn't something i keep track of.

Fic you spent the least time on: hope falls harder — it's one sentence; i spent longer scraping together the title and summary than i did writing the work. in my defence it's in a made-up language that only exists in the text, so it was a difficult sentence.

Longest fic: some wild and necessary hunger with 24,606 words. because of course a trope i didn't like at all until i discovered i liked it in very specific contexts turned itself into my longest fic. of fucking course.

Shortest fic: hope falls harder with 41 words. however, since it's the only fic anywhere ever for this canon, i still win the prize for the longest fic in the fandom.

Most hits: A Wild and Distant Shore with 32,785 hits. fork me. that is terrifying. (what's interesting is that to suppose the truth of it possible has the next highest number at 30,440 and it was written nine years later, so it's accrued hits at a much faster rate than my older P&P fics, but it doesn't even make it into the top 5 by kudos. so a lot of hits but fewer people like it? i'm so curious!)

Most kudos: A Wild and Distant Shore with 1,084 kudos. folks continue to dig the P&P smut.

Most comment threads: if you came this way with 80 threads, but it's an extreme outlier. the next three highest are in the mid-low 30s, which i think is more indicative.

Fave fic you wrote: within the last few years, probably Darlin', everything's on fire (with Through Worlds as a close runner-up). i am genuinely proud of my zombie apocalypse AU. i think it's one of the best things i've ever written.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: as @sarking said, "I’m not a rewriter – it’s hard enough to get something out of me once, or to get a draft and a finished product out of me." i'm also not an expander, with one recent exception. when i write a fic, i tell the story i've got to tell and then there's no more. that said, someone once mentioned they'd like to read chakotay's side of if you came this way and my brain mulled over that to the extent that it's got a title (no mean feat) and its own document, and i've actually noodled a bit at it.

(noodling is, of course, a different process to writing; noodling is to writing what doodling is to drawing. although to continue the alliterative parallels i suppose it should be 'woodling', but as that just looks ridiculous, let's not.)

however, there are many barriers to this fic's completion, among other things that it's daunting trying to match myself. even while i was in the process of writing it, i knew if you came this way was something special. not necessarily the best thing i've ever written in strict terms, but certainly the most joyful in process (at least up until the very end). which isn't to say it was easy, just that somehow all the stars aligned so that my love of the characters and my love of language combined into something wonderful and the process itself became a celebration of that love. oh my god it sounds like i was on acid or something at the time, but i wasn't. just my usual cocktail of crazy meds.

Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: i'm knee-deep in my het big bang fic that won't quit and is definitely not the fic i had intended to write hahahaha. it's for That Show I Can't Stop Making GIFs For Or Writing Fic For Apparently. but! i'm also noodling away at a J/C voyager fic for the kind soul who bid on me in the fandom for australia auction. this may or may not be the final version, given that i haven't written the lead-up yet and i haven't written these characters at all in some time, but i quite like it as it stands, so here we go.

"It has to be me," she said.

"Captain—"

A single raised hand forestalled his protest.

"I've already had this argument with Tuvok. Please don't make me repeat the experience, Commander." She strode a restless to-and-fro across the Ready Room. "Perhaps it makes me a prude but I believe that sex is a private act, not a performance."

"It doesn't make you a prude."

Janeway carried on as if she hadn't heard, her eloquent hands in agitated motion. "And how can I, in good conscience, order someone to... to... perform?"

It was a split-second decision, instinctive.

"You won't have to order anyone, Captain."

She stopped, frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm volunteering for this mission."

Her whole face softened into gentle distress. "Oh, Chakotay. I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

#meme sheep #writing is more surprise than certainty #sometimes i write things

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starburstonlayaway · 6 years ago

Text

for @elizabroadwaytrash and i

Current word count :

40,813

Basic summary:

Tyler and Ethan’s family goes through a lot of changes following their marriage. They lose people, take others in, and new journeys are ventured on every day, no matter how scary or exciting.

Title? WIP? Alternate titles?

“Leave a Message.”

Yes, it is a work-in-progress.

I don’t believe we had any alternative titles, and if we did, I do not recall them.

Favorite character and how they are introduced:

Tyler. He’s introduced at the beginning of the first chapter, seen before anyone else.

Favorite ship:

Rose/Victor! I haven’t gotten to writing their relationship and build-up, but from our plans and how we’ve designed Victor’s character to be, I’m excited.

MC’s biggest mistake:

Rose is probably more of an MC than the others, despite it being a Tyler/Ethan fanfic.

Her biggest mistake was probably refusing to give up on Carter. While he was her boyfriend, his actions toward her (and later, Jazzy) were unacceptable after she came out to him. She isn’t to blame at all, but it’s definitely the thing she regrets most.

Inspiration:

A webcomic on Webtoon called “Always Human.” The comic explores the events happening to the girls Sunati and Austen throughout the course of their relationship. Beautiful art, realistic problems (despite being set in a futuristic utopian society), representation, and well-written romance. I wanted to incorporate these factors into LaM to make it similar to a story I enjoyed very much that left an influence on me.

Underrated character appreciation:

Jazzy! Rose’s best friend. Even in the separate story where she’s one of the main set of characters, she’s still very overlooked. She’s very upbeat and friendly, with lots of knowledge on wlw pop culture and history!

A few favorite dialogues:

“I’m ready, but we’re not in a rush or anything.” “Of course we’re in a rush, you slut! The sooner you guys get married, the sooner you have kids, and the sooner I’m an uncle!“ “Aren’t you occupied enough as it is? If you’re so involved in the idea of having a family, then why haven’t you and Jack had any kids of your own yet?“ “Don’t roast us like this.”

(spoken angrily) “Hey, Mister, that’s my soup!”

“That’s Amy! She’s probably Chica and Henry’s favorite out of all of us, but WE SHOULD REALLY SHARE CUSTODY OF HENRY.”

“Uh, I like to read, mostly, but watching older cartoons is also fun.” “Ooh. What cartoons do you like?” “My current favorite is Adventure Time!” “Adventure Time is considered an older cartoon now?” “Guess so.” “Damn, we’re getting old.” “We’re already old, dude.” “Thanks I feel worse.”

“What kind of cancer is it again?” “Leukemia.” “The survival chances of that aren’t terrible.” “Wow. Thanks.”

“You punched Jazzy?! You fucking punched Jazzy?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why would you punch someone for standing up to you when you were the one being a dick?!” “She wouldn’t get out of my face—” “I don’t wanna hear that bullshit! Carter, you can hurt me all you fucking want and I won’t care, but you’ve crossed the fucking line. Jazzy is the only person that’s been nice to me all year. She’s supported me and loved me no matter what, something you never fucking did!” “What the hell are you—” “We’re done, Carter! I never want to see your ugly transphobic douchebag ass again!”

MC moodboard:

N/A

MC’s fondest memory:

Probably when she was adopted. It was the most exciting day of her life, and lead down a journey of self-discovery.

In close second is the day she became friends with Jazzy. She was there for her when she needed her most.

Songs that remind of LaM or the characters:

“What About Us” by P!nk, probably definitely because it’s the song I used for Tyler and Ethan’s first dance.

“Leave a Message” by gnash, the song I named the book after! This one doesn’t need much of an explanation.

“Party Tattoos” by dodie. I plan to use this song in the closing chapter, sung by Rose.

Enjoy torturing the characters?

Not really, but I do it anyway. Good for character development, which there’s a lot of. But I don’t enjoy it, no. I love the characters in this book like my cat and dogs: with all my heart.

MC’s biggest fear:

Being unaccepted. This fear makes itself evident after what happens with Carter. Her mother’s reaction enforces this more.

Goals:

To finish LaM by the end of sophomore year, editing and all.

To be proud of the finished product.

To use this book as a reminder that I can do it. I can write.

Characters’ secret talents:

Ethan, despite not playing for many, many years, still excels at playing the ukulele. This becomes not so much of a secret later on in the book.

Rose is surprisingly good at tic-tac-toe. Not necessarily a talent, but definitely something she’d want you to note.

Turned into a media? Cast?

Seeing as LaM is a piece of fanwork, I don’t believe I would turn it into a media.

If it was to be a media, however, along with Tyler Scheid and Ethan Nestor to play Tyler and Ethan, as well as Mark Fischbach, Amy Nelson, and Kathryn Knutsen to play their friends, a few choices I would make would be to cast Janet Mock as adult Rose Scheid and Elliot Fletcher as adult Adrian Garcia.

MC’s basic morals and general beliefs:

Rose’s number one moral is to never make someone feel shut out. Having been rejected (as well as accepted) many times in her life, she knows that she never wants anyone to feel like that, and makes an effort to be the reason.

How MC found out the tooth fairy doesn’t exist:

She never really believed in it, to begin with.

Best name:

Jasmine “Jazzy” Hinojosa-Mills.

Least favorite OC:

Carter. Abusive transphobic asshat that left Rose with lots of insecurities and trauma for years to come.

Snippet:

Mark really had gone all out with making the altar just like Tyler had wanted it to look. The arch was made out of ebony wood that had been painted white with golden accents. Flowery vines were twirled all around the wood, the flowers colors of black, grey, purple, and blue. The chairs surrounding the aisle were all made of the same wood as the arch, the cushions blue and grey. Both Ethan and Tyler’s family alike filled those chairs, chattering away with one another. Tyler quickly scanned the side filled with Ethan’s relatives, and wasn’t surprised to see Ethan’s aunt and uncle were not present. He hoped to god that Ethan wouldn’t notice. The guests quieted down and turned their heads to look at Tyler, and he felt put on the spot. Most of the guests smiled at him, others clapped quietly. He could see that two people in particular were both smiling and clapping. Seeing Jack and Kathryn so supportive of him was majorly comforting to Tyler. He exhaled, and glanced at Mark behind him. Mark was already smiling, and nudged his head towards the arch. Tyler walked down the aisle and received praise from just about everyone sat in chairs. He high-fived Jack on his way to his place next to the officiant. The lady smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. She opened her book as Mark took his place next to Tyler, gazing over his friend’s tux and wiping off some dust quickly. Mark gave Tyler a thumbs-up, and Tyler couldn’t stop smiling. Now that he was actually out in front of the guests and standing where he was meant to be, his nerves relaxed. In fact, every thought he’d ever had in doubt of this marriage before that moment vanished, as soon as Ethan walked out.

WIP representation:

LGBT

Tyler/Ethan

Rose is trans

Jazzy is pansexual with two moms

Adrian is trans with two moms

Marcus has two dads

POC

Rose and her mother are black

Adrian and his mama are Mexican

Disabilities

Marcus has leukemia (cancer of the white blood cells)

Standalone or part of a series?

Standalone. Although I suppose you could call it a spinoff of one of our other works, the reader does not need to read that series to understand this story.

Biggest character development:

Definitely Rose. Seeing as the story follows the changes through most of her life, there’s a big difference in her character comparing the first chapter she is introduced to the closing chapter, where she takes center stage.

People who know of the WIP:

My co-writer, Caroline. Though I’ve done most of the writing, Caroline and I brought the idea for this story to life together, creating a unique cast of characters such as Jazzy, Rose, Adrian, Marcus, their families, Victor, Rose’s mother Aaliyah, and Ethan’s uncle Zane. Without her, the story would not have been written in the first place.

The lovely readers on AO3. I’ve uploaded chapters of the WIP onto there, updating at least once a month. It feels good to be putting some of my work out there for other people instead of just keeping such a joy all to myself. Of course, this is just a personal opinion.

Characters’ annoying habits:

Jazzy’s very short-tempered. Make one wrong move, anyone could get shouted at, lectured, maybe even a blow to the face.

Marcus feels a lot of self-pity and spite. He wishes his parents wouldn’t baby him so much just because he has cancer. This, later on, leads to him participating in multiple illegal activities to antagonize them.

Adrian grows to be more selfish as he gets older, even going out of his way to go into the military and disappear from Rose’s life out of the blue one day without telling her. He later regrets this.

Rose has plenty of autophobia to go around. After her mother gave her up to the orphanage at a young age and Carter’s abuse towards her in her late middle school years, followed by Adrian’s sudden leave after high school, she always fears being alone or abandoned by the people she cares about.

Tyler and Ethan both never seem to recover from the grief of their first child’s loss. This makes them closed off to people who ask about the incident, and could sometimes bring them back to their depressive state.

Very last three lines (with context):

“Unsure was she on how to approach this. She’d felt it since that first night she met him, but it’d grown more and more out of hand since. They’d also became closer as friends, even now sometimes hanging out without the needed assistance of Marcus and Jazzy by their sides to ease the tension.”

Context: Rose had just come to the conclusion she had a crush on Adrian.

Characters: Based off IRL people(through looks, personality, or habits)?

Tyler, Ethan, Amy, Kathryn, Mark, Jack, Chica, Henry, and all of the parents in the story are based off IRL influencers. The characters have only been switched and changed a bit, as well as the relationships, of course, to fit the story.

Impossible friendship:

Carter and Jazzy. Don’t really need to explain it if you’ve read the work. They hate each other’s guts more than anyone, and they could never kiss and make up. As characters, they aren’t the types to do that at all, especially with each other.

Am I proud?

Yes. Leave a Message has been my most dedicated piece of work so far, and I’d say I’m well on my way to reaching my personally-set deadline next year if I keep it at the rate I’m going. Not to mention the characters and plotlines are exciting and realistic, in my own opinion. There’s still a lot left to be written, but I’ve got everything planned out. I don’t plan on stopping until I’m finished with it.

#i mainly just posted this instead of keeping it in my drafts for Caroline to see #delete later lol

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